The Return of the Arinn by Frank P. Ryan

Author:Frank P. Ryan [Ryan, Frank P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Quercus
Published: 2015-11-05T00:00:00+00:00

Goya’s Nightmares

Mark leaned the RPG on the near side of the Mamma Pig and fired on a butcher’s shop that was already ablaze. They had no idea if there were Paramilitaries inside, but the shop’s window looked out onto a bottleneck where the two-lane entrance road was constricted to a single lane – the perfect place for a trap – and they couldn’t afford to take the chance. The front wall of the shop blew out and the roof collapsed in on it. They might have heard screaming from inside, but it was difficult to be sure against the roar of falling debris and flames and they didn’t wait to find out. While Bull slammed the porthole shut, Cogwheel rammed the Pig through the shell of a burned-out lorry, the side of which had a triple infinity spray-painted on it in glaring orange. They emerged through blazing rubble into what had been the high street.

The central part of the town showed the typical rural English pattern of new build sprawl around the rambling, original streets.

Tajh said: ‘Slow down a mite, Cogwheel. And hush, everyone.’

Cogwheel slowed and they hushed.

‘Open up the flaps on the screen a little more.’

Cogwheel opened the flaps.

‘Now listen.’

They could hear people screaming.

‘Can anybody tell where it’s coming from?’

‘Seems to be coming from close up ahead – maybe to the left.’

‘I believe,’ Nan said, ‘it’s coming from more than one direction.’

‘Mark?’

Mark stared ahead. It was close to two in the afternoon with a winter sun barely above the horizon. The forward view beyond thirty yards was lost in the misty air tinted by snow, but he could see black smoke pouring out of blazing terrace cottages.

‘Let’s try opening the flaps a bit more.’

They all looked forward again through the snow that was melting onto the windscreen. All they could make out was ruin and smoke.

‘Where is everybody?’

‘The Paramilitaries must be forcing people to gather together somewhere convenient.’

‘Like where?’

‘Some building. A school maybe – or a church.’

Cogwheel cursed between clenched teeth. ‘Where to now?’

Tajh said: ‘We look for the green.’

‘What green?’

‘These villages always have a green. It’ll be right at the heart of the old part of the town. Just keep on driving until we come to it.’

Cogwheel revved again, the guillotine blades at the front of the Pig ramming aside the burning wreck of a Post Office delivery van. Mark sat beside Padraig, both leaning back against the offside porthole.

‘How are you, Padraig?’

‘I’ve felt better.’

‘Even so, it’s great to be able to talk to you again. There’s so much we need to discuss.’

‘Alan? Kate . . .?’

‘They’re alive. At least, they were the last time I saw them. We’ll talk soon. We have a lot of catching up to do. And Nan and me, we need your advice.’

Everybody aboard the Pig slewed to the right as Cogwheel made a sharp left turn into a narrow lane. Another terrace of cottages was on their left and a white plastered nursery school to their right. The nursery had its own walled car park on the corner facing a crossroads.

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