13.5

Solomon was woken by the sound of Davey rolling over again and again in his bunk. His breathing was ragged, fast, like he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

‘What’s the matter, Davey lad?’ Solomon drawled.

Davey took a nervous glance around him. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling. It doesn’t feel safe here. I’m sure I heard guards rushing around out there.’

‘Papa Grim is a psycho, that much is certain, but he wants Mayor Craven dead more than he wants me dead right now. He won’t harm a hair on my head until Craven has breathed his last.’

‘I don’t think it’s that. I think it’s something else.’

Solomon couldn’t shake the feeling that he was right, but for appearance’s sake, he put it to one side.

Sure enough, as they lay awake the sounds of gunshots tore through the night air.

Raised voices followed. The sound of detonating grenades erupted through their eardrums and shook the small shack they inhabited.

For the second time in as many weeks Davey had been woken by explosions and he thought at first he was in the grip of some horrific nightmare or flashback.

‘What the fuck is going on?’ they heard Papa Grim’s voice shout.

More gunfire burst from the woods.

Solomon went to the window, saw muzzle flashes between the trees.

The shootout went on a while.

It seemed everyone was out of their huts and wanting to help protect the makeshift town from the army that was on its way to them.

Confusion reigned as to who was actually shooting at them.

There seemed to be no one there.

Then a battle-hardened voice shouted from the woods; ‘Put your fucking guns down or he’s dead.’

They looked and a figure dressed from head to toe in black came out of the darkness.

The figure had one of the teenagers from the camp in a chokehold tight enough to turn the kid’s face purple, a submachine gun pressed hard into his temple.

‘I want someone,’ the figure proclaimed. ‘I’ll let the rest of you live if you bring him to me.’

Whispers raced around the camp.

‘What’s going on?’ King Solomon said.

‘The medicine man is here,’ one of the hardened bikers said, a look of terror on his stubbled face.

‘What’s he want with us?’

‘He wants him,’ the man said, his trembling finger pointing to Solomon.

*

‘This kid won’t live to see another day unless you bring me King Solomon right fucking now,’ Monique spat.

She shoved the gun harder into the kid’s head for emphasis.

The terror in the kid’s eyes startled Davey, and he felt their souls touch for a fraction of a second. Every kid – and maybe adult too for that matter – was lost and terrified these days.

‘Don’t hurt him, Mon,’ Davey shouted out.

‘I’m sorry, Davey, but I have to,’ she shouted back, her voice cracking as she remembered the reason she was here.

Josie.

Josie’s bear, Benny, that she’d found on a pile of belongings in one of the warehouses in the Freelands.

‘If it’s me she wants, then I’m going to have to pay the piper,’ Solomon said.

Papa Grim put an arm across his chest.

‘It’s my son, Papa. What the hell are you playing at?’ one of the bikers said, straining to be closer to his terrified boy.

‘Solomon’s of more use to me than he is right now,’ Papa Grim smiled.

Solomon shoved past him, raising his hands above his head.

‘What’s going on out there, lady?’ he shouted, his voice deep and strong in spite of the terror he was feeling.

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‘My daughter came to the Freelands,’ Monique replied. ‘She sought protection. Instead she found the inside of one of your fucking abattoirs.’

Davey winced.

As did King Solomon.

Papa Grim let out a little chuckle. ‘Fuck me, this is awkward,’ he said, shaking his head.

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Monique. And I’m deeply ashamed. But I did what I had to do for the sake of my people.’

‘Bring him to me and this kid will live,’ Monique said.

The bikers looked to Papa Grim, who now had several bikers holding Solomon back. They pulled him to his knees so he was a smaller target.

A wall of them stood in front of him, guns aimed at Monique.

‘I don’t need to fire another bullet,’ Monique said. ‘Just give him to me.’

Papa Grim shook his head.

‘I’m sorry, Monique,’ King Solomon said.

Monique’s finger tightened on the trigger.

‘You’re out of your depth, Medicine Man, in spite of your infamous talents,’ Papa Grim said. ‘We’re not giving you Solomon. So what’s next? Are you going to gun the boy down? Then what’s your play? There are three dozen guns levelled on you right now.’

Monique smiled and pulled her jacket open. They saw a complex set up of wires, blinking red lights and what looked like gold bars arranged neatly across her torso.

‘Ahhhh… shit,’ Papa Grim said.

‘Solomon, you took everything from me,’ Monique said, her voice cracking with emotion. ‘I’ve searched this fucking hellhole for years hoping to find my Josie, but then I found her bear in one of the warehouses in the Freelands. She’s dead. Chewed up and shit out by the fucking degenerates in your camp.

‘So I don’t really care if I walk out of here. I just want to take King Solomon out before I go and join the rest of my family in death. So fire all you want. The blast from this vest would still hit him anyway.’

Everyone stood for a mute horrified second, calculating what she had just said.

‘Ok, everyone back the fuck up,’ Papa Grim said.

‘Just let me go to her and all of this will stop,’ Solomon said.

‘You can’t die,’ Davey said.

‘For the greater good, Davey lad.’

The bikers began to back away. The wall in front of King Solomon stayed.

‘We need him,’ Papa Grim said. ‘Besides, I’m going to have the pleasure of slitting his throat personally. I’m going to have to insist you stand down.’

Monique locked eyes with him and he saw only rage and vengeance reflected in those bloodshot spheres.

Everything else had been gnawed away by the cruel world they all inhabited.

‘No one fucking shoot,’ Papa Grim said. ‘No one.’

Fingers twitched on trigger guards.

Monique was seemingly ready to pull the trigger.

Her face changed.

And Davey knew she was preparing herself for her death.

*

‘Don’t shoot him, mom,’ came a voice from behind Davey and the King.

Everyone else was moving away from the confrontation, bar those who were prepared to die protecting King Solomon.

The owner of the voice stood out as she was moving against the flow of the crowd.

Monique kept the gun to the kid’s head, but her grip relaxed a fraction.

Her eyes scanned the crowd, wondering what the hell was going on.

A skinny black girl shoved her way through the bikers.

She wore a battered leather jacket that displayed the colours of the club, even had the Papa Grim skull tattooed onto the back of her shaved head.

‘Regan? What the hell are you doing?’ Papa Grim spat.

Monique’s eyes grew wider by the second.

Her face was that of someone utterly incapable of understanding what was happening before their eyes.

‘Her name isn’t Regan. It’s Josie. And she’s my daughter.’ Monique said.