Perhaps they thought he needed time to say goodbye; perhaps they weren’t thinking at all. But for a good five or ten minutes (which actually felt like five or ten years) he was left with the body. Except Gareth wasn’t as dead as they all thought he was.
“Hey little brother,” Gareth’s voice floated across the room. “How’re things?” His eyes were open and he was sitting up, elbow resting against the pillow.
“You...you can’t be...” He looked back at the door which his family had just walked through, about to call them back. Or call a nurse; a doctor: someone. They’d made a mistake, all of them. Gareth was still alive.
“Don’t bother,” said his older brother. “There isn’t time. I just needed to talk to you, that’s all. There are things we need to discuss.”
His mouth fell open, but in spite of himself he found his legs moving, carrying him closer to the bed. “What...?”
“Listen to me,” said Gareth. “You’ll be the only son left when I’ve gone. And when the time comes, you’ll have to be the man of the household.”
“Dad’s the man of the house,” he’d replied, a fact that had been drilled into him since childhood.
“He’ll need your help, little brother. They all will. Something bad’s coming, but...” Gareth smiled; it was a chilling sight. “But out of it will come something good. You’ll have to step up. Remember what Mam always said about you, that you’d be important one day. That you’d
be
someone...”
That was true, she was the only person who ever had. But still he shook his head. He’d never amount to anything, and it was even more ludicrous to suggest that his dad would come to rely on him. He’d never relied on anyone,
ever
.
“You listen to them, though,” Gareth continued. “Because they’ll know things that you won’t. There’ll come a time when you’ll need to listen to the warnings, do you understand?”
He shook his head; had no clue what Gareth was talking about. The fact that this was the most he’d said to him in ages was also throwing his concentration.
“You probably won’t remember much about this talk in the meantime, but you will then. When they begin to tell you...things.” Gareth grinned again. “About the threat you’ll face.”
Threat? Was he talking about Bevin and Lloyd? About the fact that he was going to get his head kicked in eventually, that they’d wait for him to return?
“An even greater threat than that, I’m afraid,” Gareth told him. “In the meantime you’ll just have to
endure
. But listen to what Dad says when he takes you to the matches. Listen and you’ll understand what you must become. See you around, little brother...”
He turned away then, determined to fetch someone now to see to Gareth. Maybe they could give him medication, help him hang on for a little while longer. By the time he looked back again, Gareth was gone: adopting the same position he’d been in moments ago. He looked strangely at peace this time, though, as if he’d got what he needed to off his chest.
No-one believed the fact that Gareth had woken again to speak to him – they just thought he’d made it up. His Mam cried and his Dad took the strap to him for upsetting her (and upsetting
him
, though he’d never admit it). But what with everything that was going on during the funeral week, they forgot about this pretty quickly. What’s more, Gareth was right: so did he.
When he returned to school eventually – he was allowed a bit of time off under such tragic circumstances – Bevin and Lloyd hadn’t forgotten their promise. Nor did they make allowances for the fact he’d just lost his brother. “So what?” Bevin spat in his face. “We still owe you a pastin’.”
He’d taken his lumps, and more besides, until the day when he wouldn’t take anymore. The day Gavin had talked about, after the virus, when his family had come to rely on him...
But that was another story.
He remembered that talk, though, finally – after the shit hit the fan. It triggered something in him, something connected with those rugby matches. Something that made him recall his Dad’s chants at them:
“We are Dragons! We are Dragons!”
It would give him his name, and eventually his power. But he also remembered Gavin’s words about listening to his family because they’d know certain things when the time came.
About a threat that would challenge everything he’d built up since the virus and the Cull.
A threat the Dragon needed to stamp out before it cost him dearly...
H
E HADN’T THOUGHT
about that time in his life for years.
Lying by the side of the desert road after the strike, after seeing so many of his men blown to pieces. After being thrown clear of the Land Rover Defender by the explosion itself, his ears still ringing from the blast. Henry had returned to consciousness in waves, blinking and seeing only a blue sky; which swiftly turned black, as the trails of smoke rising from the vehicles – including a Ferret Armoured car and a FV107 Scimitar CVR – drifted across. He’d tried to move, conscious that he was still weighed down by his helmet and backpack. Then he’d felt the searing pain in his leg, waking him fully.
He hissed through his teeth, spitting out blood as he did so.
A mortar or rocket based-system (probably a Howitzer), combined with an RPG (Rocket Propelled Grenade) attack proved that absolutely nowhere was safe over here at the moment. He’d figured that out as soon as he’d stepped off the transport. The campaign was a just one, though, with a clear motivation. The liberation of Kuwait was of paramount importance; the unjust invasion of that country by dictator Saddam Hussein was something the UK had firmly got behind (in fact they’d committed the largest contingent of any European nation, the second largest contributor to the coalition force fighting Iraq). Operation Granby, it had been named. A matter of principle, defending the weak against the strong. Hadn’t that been one of the reasons he’d originally signed up to the army in the first place? Prepared for just such an occurrence. In spite of what people thought in the outside world, this wasn’t just about oil. Innocent people were dying...
And so were
his
people: friends and comrades. He’d seen it close-up and personal, especially now... Henry looked across for signs of other survivors, but saw nothing. He shouted, but again he felt the stab of pain in his leg. He hadn’t looked down at it yet, hadn’t dared to... but now he did. It was twisted in an awkward way, the bone definitely broken, and shrapnel was sticking out of a wound at the thigh.
“Fuck...” Not only was he probably going to die himself from that, unless he was incredibly lucky, he couldn’t even get up to see if anyone else needed medical attention. But the more Henry looked across at that devastation, the more bodies he saw there covered in blood – inside the flaming vehicles of the small convoy – and the more he realised that if anyone was still that close to ground zero they’d be beyond medical help. The fact that nobody had answered his call spoke volumes. Christ, the waste of those lives... he could hardly take it in. Men whose families would never see them again. Henry felt tears welling in his eyes, but he didn’t have time to sit here and mourn for the lost. The smoke rising in the air was going to give away the hit, and more enemy fire would soon rain down to make sure they were out of commission for good.
Henry had to retreat, and fast. Removing his combat jacket and helmet to make himself lighter, he scrambled to get away, as much as it hurt him to do so. He crawled along on his belly, dragging his leg behind him. Sure enough another set of explosions came when he was only about twenty metres away; he ducked, lying still as the Earth beneath him shook. Sand rose all around and fell, both beside and on top of him. He knew that soon they’d come on foot to look around. He didn’t have much time left...
Using every ounce of strength he had left, he made it to a set of rocks within crawling distance of the ambush. There he waited, and it wasn’t long before enemy soldiers emerged to examine the wreckage. He heard that foreign tongue so familiar to him after two months posted here, and tried to shut out the faces of soldiers like Jimmy Handley, Max Clemens and Frank Oldham. Tried to block out the images of children’s faces on photos posted up on lockers back at camp, of wives and girlfriends. With every fibre of his being he wanted revenge on those bastards just out of sight. But you should always be careful what you wish for.
While some of them picked over the remains, others fanned out to search the desert for any potential troopers who’d made it out alive. For all they knew, there could be at least a dozen marching their way back to report all this, to call down an air strike on the region. It’s what Henry would do if he could walk. If he had access to a radio, he’d call them up anyway and just get them to do it right here and now. Bomb them all to crap and be done with it; wasn’t as if he had any family to speak of, his mother and father dead, and Catherine...
The voices were growing closer. Henry moved back around the rock, shifting position. He risked a look, seeing two Iraqi foot soldiers heading in his direction, before forking off – only one coming over to check where he was hiding. Henry swallowed dryly. He had only a knife to hand as a weapon, so he drew it, then waited for the man to round the corner. When he did, the look of shock and surprise on the soldier’s face was comical. He looked like he was about to raise his rifle and shoot, so Henry rammed the knife into his gut. There hadn’t been time to register his age as Henry did this, only time to react. But, as he fell, Henry saw that the soldier couldn’t have been more than fifteen, perhaps even younger. That gave him pause for thought – could it be that this lad was forced to join Saddam’s forces like so many others? The threat of death hanging over his own family? If Henry had been able-bodied, maybe he could have used his hand-to-hand skills (as he was well versed in many forms of martial arts) to take the kid down without having to kill him.
As it was...
Bullets raked the rocks where Henry was, and he grabbed the discarded rifle – returning fire between the cracks in the boulders. He was outgunned and outnumbered: there must have been about fifteen Iraqis out there. Henry fired again, certain that at any moment his ammo would run out.
Then there was silence. Henry looked out over the rock, his leg throbbing in agony. There was no sign of the enemy troops who’d been firing in his direction. It was as if they’d simply vanished. He had theories, of course: they’d fled because they thought that air strike was already on its way (the coalition did control the skies, after all), or perhaps they thought there was more than just one survivor out there. Or maybe there had been other forces on hand that day. Whatever the case, Henry didn’t question it back then... He was just grateful that they’d buggered off.
And his journey to find help could begin.
He tried again to walk, and failed; without a stick as a crutch it was absolutely hopeless on that injured leg. The shrapnel had also moved during the fight, loosening so much he had no option but to remove it. Sadly, that had been the only thing stopping him from bleeding out, and now he had another problem. Henry tried to stem the bleeding with a bandage, ripped material from his combats, but it was soaked in seconds.
Sighing, he began to crawl again. If he’d made it to the rocks, then he could make it to some kind of aid – or would die in the process.
The more he crawled in the heat, wearing just his vest and trousers, the more he began to think it would be the latter option. He was going to die out here, in the heat, blood pumping from his leg.
He began to feel woozy as he crested a hill, losing sight of the original skirmish. Henry rolled down the sand, tumbling over and over until he reached the bottom of the dune. It took great effort, but he looked up over the horizon – seeing nothing but ochre in the distance.
His mouth was dry, lips cracking as he attempted to crawl on. Henry clawed at the sand, pulling himself further and further along, a millimetre at a time. Until he had absolutely no more strength.
It was as he lay there that he became frightened. As the certainty that he was going to die really took hold. And it was then that he thought back to all those Sunday school lessons he’d been taught, his parents so staunchly religious it had made him hate every single syllable of the Bible.
He recalled the story about Jesus being tested in the desert and wondered if this was
his
test? And what he might get if he passed it. What he’d have to do in return for more life?
It was then, after years of turning his back on religion, that he finally prayed. Henry asked that God heard him, that he might spare him... and in return, he’d be a better man. He wouldn’t swear, he wouldn’t (kill young boys anymore; wouldn’t leave fallen comrades to their certain death)... wouldn’t do anything that the Lord didn’t want him to do.
Henry was very surprised to hear an answer.
To hear the words of God, so sharp the Almighty could have been standing next to him and speaking in his ear. He told Henry that yes, he would be saved. But in return one day he would be called upon. There would be a battle at some point, and Henry must stand as
His
representative on Earth against the forces of darkness. One of God’s warriors. Would he agree?
“Ye-yess...” mouthed Henry, spluttering grains of sand.
He was shown then a vision of what he would be up against. Marching over the sand, heading in his direction were men... At first, through his half-closed eyes, he thought they were Iraqis. But as they drew closer he saw they were all wearing strange kind of robes. They were all hooded, the cowls that same maroon colour, swinging some kind of swords as they came. Henry shivered, in spite of the heat.
He knew who these forces belonged to. If he was now believing in God again, then it stood to reason that he had to believe in the other side... His vision was fading, loss of blood and exhaustion finally catching up with him. If the army was real, then he could do nothing about it now – couldn’t move, let alone fight.
But as he slipped into unconsciousness again, he heard the voice in his ear tell him that he’d also be called on one day to do something that would go against everything he believed in. That he would know what this was when the time came... And that it might just save the world.