Black Angel by Conrad Jones

Author:Conrad Jones
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: vampire, occult, satanic, thriller, fiction, cults, violence, police, mystery, action, adventure
ISBN: 9781783333325
Publisher: Andrews UK
Published: 2013-10-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 26

As we reached the lower slopes, the trees gave way to rolling green fields. criss-crossed by grey stone walls which seemed to go on forever. In the distance, I could see Barmouth, the buildings like miniatures against the startling blue of the sea. A darker blue line on the horizon told me where the sea met the sky. The sun was falling towards the sea and as the breeze blew in my face, it was hard to think that I was the subject of a police manhunt. My thoughts ran away with me as the quad made easy going of the tracks and trails.

“This is it,” Bryn shouted over the engine noise.

A slate built farmhouse was nestled into a grassy knoll; two barns and a tall silo to the right of the ivy covered building. The fire-break ran onto a dirt track, which scythed a crescent shaped path from the track to the farm. Although it was an idyllic setting, the dark windows filled me a sense of foreboding. I had been living on my instincts for years and had my situation not been so dire, I would never have gone near the abandoned farmhouse. If I was surrounded there, it was a dead end with no way out. That aside, there was something about the farm that worried me. The breeze, which had been refreshing, now chilled me to the bone.

“Does your dad still use this place regularly?” I shouted.

“We use the silo for sheep food in the winter if it snows and he uses one of the barns to slaughter the odd sheep. Most of the animals go to market but he kills some for meat in the camp shop.”

“What about the house?”

“Still the same as when my Nan was alive, although it’s a bit dusty inside now,” he pointed to a barn. “Her car is in there. My dad started it up a few weeks ago. There’s a generator in the cellar for electric. It’s not too noisy so you should be able to use it.”

“When is he next due here?” I asked over the engine noise.

“I can’t see him coming down here with all that shit going on at the site,” he shouted as he steered the quad towards the farmhouse. “You could take your chances riding across the fields towards Barmouth. No police roadblocks up here!”

The idea appealed to me much more than holing up in the farm, but I would be out in the open and easy to spot from the helicopter. It would take at least an hour to cross the patchwork of fields. If the helicopter climbed to a decent altitude, they would be able to see for miles. I wouldn’t get far before they spotted me. At least in the house they wouldn’t know which direction I’d taken. After 48 hours they would have to widen the net so far that I might be able to slip through it. “They’d see me before I crossed the first field,” I looked towards the sea and longed to be there.

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