Neil White 3 Book Bundle

He picked it up using a paper towel and dropped it into a plastic bag. It was time to take it back. He paused for a moment, aware of the risk he was about to take, and had a last look around the apartment, wondering when he would return.

As he turned towards the door, Charlie glanced out of the window and down towards the street. He jumped back. The two men were there, getting out of a car, the same ones he had seen outside Amelia’s house and at his office.

Why were they there? Who were they? Had someone spoken to them, one of Amelia’s neighbours? Perhaps they had recognised his car. He had left it just a short distance along her street.

Charlie went behind the curtains and peered around the side. The two men were looking up towards the apartment. He hid behind the curtain again. It was no coincidence. It was time to go.

But where could he go? To the police? Of course not. It would be his last moment of freedom if he did, and he would never come out, protesting his innocence to the grave. He knew exactly how it looked. He could feel the weight of the knife in his hand. He felt a jolt as the words murder weapon came into his head for the first time, but he knew that he couldn’t dwell on that. He would have time to mourn Amelia later, but if he didn’t get moving he would have more mourning time than he needed, with just the four walls of a cell to distract him. His avenues of escape were narrowing.

Charlie’s apartment was on the top floor of a four-storey block. He didn’t want to take the lift, because there would be no escape if the door opened to them in the lobby; really just a corridor lined by mailboxes, accessed using a secure key.

He tucked the knife under his left armpit, the blade pointing downwards, and fastened his suit jacket. He switched on the burglar alarm and then left the apartment. If they broke in, he would hear it go off, and then he would know how serious they were.

Charlie thought about his way out of the building. There was CCTV on the landings, fed through to the building manager, so he had to look normal. Charlie jammed his hands into his pockets so that his arm held the knife against his ribs. It looked like he wasn’t carrying anything. He made a play of looking at the lift and then shaking his head, as if he didn’t want to wait around. Every cell in his body screamed at him to run, to get out of there as quickly as possible, but he had to think of the longer view, of how the footage would look in front of a jury. All it would show so far was a man deciding that the stairs, rather than the lift, were the best route. He did his best to make his walk look natural, almost a saunter, and he just hoped that the camera didn’t pick up the sweat on his forehead, or the nervous way he licked at his lips.

He got to the stairs and pushed open the door. He pushed himself against the wall and waited, so that he could make sure they were on his floor before he set off down.

It seemed like an age. The knife was sticking into his side, and he was worried that it would prick the skin too much and just add more of his DNA to its tip. But still he waited, trying to keep his breathing silent. He felt the sting of sweat as it trickled into his eyes. Then he heard the noise of the lift as it went upwards, and voices in the hallway.

Charlie set off down the stairs, trying to keep his footsteps light but moving quickly. There was a knock on his door, and then a pause, before he heard loud bangs and shouts, closely followed by the shriek of his burglar alarm.

It was no courtesy visit.

He bolted down the stairs, not worrying about the noise. It was just about getting out. He was holding the knife in one hand now, still wrapped in the bag, the stair rail sliding through his other hand, his footsteps in time with the fast pant of his breaths all the way to the ground floor.

There was no pretence anymore. The door to the street was made out of glass and Charlie could see the way ahead was clear. He ran at it, feeling it thump against the flat of his hand, and then he was outside, running.

He got some looks as he ran for the pavement, but that wasn’t his concern. He had to get away. He slowed to a fast walk, his chest tight, his heart hammering, ignoring those who gave him strange looks, sweat pouring down his face.

Just as Charlie got to the end of the street, he looked back towards his apartment. There was someone on his balcony, looking out. It was the first man in the suit, and before he turned away, Charlie was sure that the person looked right at him, their eyes connecting even over that distance.

He had to keep moving.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Henry clapped his hands and everyone turned to look. He had been talking to Arni in angry whispers, whilst the rest of the group were discussing how things were changing. The wire mesh. The visitors to the house. They seemed almost palpably nervous. Fingers were chewed, eyes wary.

Henry held out his hands. ‘I need to go out, to see if the authorities are watching us,’ he said, his voice low. ‘I’m going to make myself visible, just to see if I’m followed. The rest of you, prepare up here, be ready, in case I don’t come back.’

‘I’m scared, Henry,’ a woman said. It was Jennifer Elam, the older woman.

‘Just hold your nerve,’ Henry said. He closed his eyes for a moment and his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Just believe in what we are doing.’ His voice was almost a whisper now. His hand gripped his shirt and he opened his eyes. ‘Feel it. We have something special in this group, and you have made me realise who I am. What I am. Rely on that to get you through, because, all I am doing is thinking of us, of what I can do for the group. People will talk about us in years to come, of how we fought back.’

Henry looked slowly around the group, taking in each one of them. ‘We need more help though, because we have to fight them in their world. Their shallow, pitiful, material world.’ He pointed to John. ‘Do you feel the freedom now?’

‘I do.’

‘How does it feel?’

John smiled. ‘Like whoever doesn’t have what we have is somehow empty.’

Henry’s grin spread slowly. ‘That’s right. They are just magpies. They get excited by shiny things, or they worship false faiths like some fad. We are the future, our movement, and so give up everything you own, John. Whatever property you have, or savings, they just tie you to your past life. Donate it to me, for the group.’

John nodded, encouraged. ‘That will feel good,’ he said, but then he took a deep breath. ‘But there are some things I still find difficult.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, Gemma,’ and he looked towards her. ‘You say we shouldn’t feel bonds, that we should be free to share, but I feel like we have a connection, and I know she feels it too.’ Gemma blushed. ‘I don’t want to share her, but you say that I should, and I don’t know how I feel about that.’

Henry glowered for a few seconds, and no one seemed to be breathing, waiting for his response. When he did speak, his voice was quiet, measured. ‘We do not have possessions in this group. Everything belongs to the group. Even Gemma.’

‘But you make her sound like a thing, not a person.’

Henry’s jaw clenched. ‘What do you want? Marriage? The union of one man and one woman? One more contract with the State?’ He shook his head. ‘You think Gemma is special, but you want to deprive the rest of us of that special thing. You want to keep it all for yourself. That isn’t thinking of the group. I chose her for you, John, because I knew you would like her. You cannot just throw it back in my face and say that you want her all for yourself?’

‘No, it isn’t like that.’

‘So what is it like?’

John looked at Gemma, who was staring at her lap. Her cheeks were red, and John couldn’t work out if she was embarrassed or angry. ‘I just like her, that’s all,’ he said.

Henry paused for a moment, and then he smiled. ‘You are allowed to like her. We all like her.’

John nodded. ‘All right, I’m sorry.’

Henry stepped off his stool and approached John. ‘Are you sure you believe in me? In us, as free men?’

‘I believe, Henry, but how will we know when we’ve won the fight?’

‘Because there will be no rules, no possessions, no restrictions. We will take back what has been stolen. People lost their homes because the banks got greedy. There are empty houses but people live on the streets. None of this is right, and so anyone who isn’t with us is our enemy, you understand that?’

John nodded.

Henry grinned. He pointed at Lucy, and Arni, and David, the youngest male, skinny and twitchy. As they got to their feet, Henry ran out of the room, pausing only to collect some boots.

‘How long do we wait?’ John shouted, as he followed them outside.

Henry paused, and then turned back towards the house. ‘Until we come back. Don’t leave. If anyone else tries to come, don’t let them in.’ He pointed to the grilles. ‘The house is more secure, but stock it so we can defend it. Food. Oil. Wood. We might have to barricade ourselves in. Remember Waco, how the police underestimated them?’

‘Everyone died in the end.’

‘There is always a price to pay,’ Henry said.

‘But what about what we talked about earlier?’

Henry looked angry for a moment, but then he raised his fingers to his lips. ‘Remember what I said. There are things I’ve got to attend to first, because events might derail us.’ Then he ran to his van along with the others, laughing excitedly. There were knives in their pockets; John could see the glint of shiny metal where they jutted out.

He watched as the engine started and then they set off towards Oulton, bumping along the farm track, throwing up dirt in a cloud.