Infidel's Corner Page 3

  The Archbishop sat on his throne smiling with glee. Accountable to no one, he could do as he pleased. Spoilt for choice, one objective took centerstage.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Exodus

  Summanus’s release was the Archbishop’s first move. And he had the honour of issuing the Church’s first proclamation.

  On a podium, Summanus’s adoring fans got to feast their eyes upon him. The enormity of it gave him an unwavering smile. Celebratory passion made it impossible for him to speak. The cheers gave him time to formulate a speech.

  Ready to begin, he raised both arms before pompously wafting his hands. The roar of excitation died to mere whispers and hushes. His admirers weren’t disappointed with a word said. They gave riotous applause after each sentence.

  After displaying gratitude, he poised for the climax.

  “We stand together against these vile infidels and their secular religion. I am honoured tonight to announce our first proclamation; arrest those that dared to stand against you earlier today. Their despicable acts of violence against you must not go unpunished. Believe me; they will repent their sins. We know where they live, we will prize them from their pits and purify this nation as one under God.”

  Sallace sat with his injured comrades as they awaited medical attention. Summanus’s appearance aired on the reception’s television. The nature of unfolding events led Sallace to fear what may come.

  Five minutes into the report and footage from the Secular protest appeared. Sallace was singled out and considered the most wanted. With his unmistakable appearance, all heads turned towards him. The patients stared like zombies. Some shook their head. A terrible sense of urgency only felt during the war took hold.

  Sallace casually walked away before his spectators had other ideas. His injured party followed suit.

  Summanus’s aficionados morphed into a deadly mob on a witch hunt. Non-conformists were the focus of their attention and intentions.

  When Sallace and his crew stepped outside, the slaughter had begun in earnest. Distant screams were heard coming from the city’s heart and closing. Fires began to rage, sending plumes high in the sky, tanned by their source. Hell on earth had arrived for many.

  Back on the main street, several more were making their escape. Sallace called out to a group, “Where are you going?”

  The escapees were wary of him. One held up a gun but lowered it upon realising it was Sallace thanks to a nearby street light. “The whole of London is compromised,” said one youth. “There’s nowhere left to go.”

  Sallace had hoped to retrieve his brother and nephew. It was an impossible feat. There was no time to be sad or pessimistic. He understood that Alex was intelligent enough to hide until the storm had subsided. He could still afford a glimmer of hope.

  His injured friend approached and asked, “what should we do now?”

  “I don’t know, but we can’t stay here.”

  Only one option was apparent; to exit the city altogether. Sallace encouraged everyone to stick together as a group. They travelled North as their numbers grew by the minute. Vigilantes, more dispersed there, couldn’t compete with such a massive assemblage.

  In need of a weapon himself, Sallace found a young male who trembled too much for its practical use and acquired it. He had just five shells.

  They weren’t the only armed side. Darkness concealed Sallace’s group through most streets, but the odd gang would attack. Retaliatory fire would see them off. Armed volunteers cocooned the unarmed and vulnerable members.

  After one in the morning, the moon rose above the horizon. Its light shined upon the countryside ahead – a dead and desolate barrier around the city. Little grass grew to hold the soil together. The sticky slop reduced their pace. Only skeletal trees and shrubs stood like relics frozen in time.

  Their confidence grew with every step taken away from the city. They lowered their guard and familiarised themselves with each other. Then the question of what to do next began to dominate.

  Some had earlier received the knowledge that London wasn’t alone. The purge was underway nationwide. For each of them, there were dozens more lost, injured, dead or imprisoned. The thought of migrating to another town or city was a hopeless dream. They had become nomads, all two thousand of them.

  New individuals and smaller groups continued to amalgamate themselves into Sallace’s band. The acquisition of new weapons, resources and volunteer fighters delighted him. He was the natural leader of their new defence force.

  As they wandered the countryside, a structural hierarchy began to take shape. Fresh ideas and a sense of identity held them together. They were a nation without territory.

  Meanwhile, in London, Summanus was made leader of the Church’s new militia and religious police. After learning of the Infidel’s retreat, he hastily approached the Archbishop who sat on his jewel-encrusted throne and riches with pride. Summanus knelt before him. “Grant me the right through God to do his work and destroy the infidels,” he said before fervently continuing. “And grant me that army.”

  The Archbishop smiled gleefully, pleased with Summanus’s youthful enthusiasm.

  A regional bishop stood next to the chair and asked Summanus, “And if you should succeed, would you bring General Sallace back alive?”

  Summanus paused before answering. “I intend to exterminate them all.”

  “Very well,” said the Archbishop. “Your troops shall be ready by sunrise.”

  For the nomads, food was of prime importance. Stomachs growled, and children cried as resources ran dry.

  On green and fertile land, the surrounding farms presented an unbearable temptation. To pillage would only reinforce others’ view of their incredulous heathen nature. Starvation is always the least desirable outcome.

  Sallace attempted to resolve their conundrum by seeking the farmer’s permission. The farmer was aware of their presence and stood ready to defend his property with a shotgun when Sallace approached. The evening glare was enough to see the weapon drooped over the farmer’s left arm.

  “What are you and those people doing on my property?” the farmer sternly asked.

  Sallace tried to express a friendly and radiant tone. “Good evening. My people are hungry and wish to know what it would take for you to part with some of your crops?”

  “You must be joking. I see thousands of you,” said the farmer.

  “Please, we have children who need to eat,” pleaded Sallace.

  “I also have a grandchild to feed and raise alone. Do you have any idea how much apples cost?”

  Sallace thought for several seconds. “What if we could pay?”

  “Depends, doesn’t it.”

  Sallace returned to extract whatever funds he could. Many pockets contained no money while others held a substantial quantity and those in-between.

  He returned to the farmer for a verdict on the funds. It was taken and counted using light through the kitchen window.

  “Okay – but I want just fifty pickers at a time. You can take strawberries and half the apples.”

  Fifty nomads got straight to work. They had to hurry before the final glimmer of daylight faded. Most sat to an energy-rich feast just ten minutes later.

  The people relaxed around a large fire to devour their meal and sleep. The farmer donated blankets and sheets for the children.

  Sallace joined a group of familiar faces and devoured his large share. An awkward silence of disillusionment filled the air.

  “So, what happens now?” asked a young man.

  Many looked to Sallace for an answer, but he glanced back without an explanation. He continued to enjoy a slice of apple.

  A friend of Sallace turned back to the young man with a daring proposal. “We start anew – a separatist breakaway,” she said.

  The young man’s eyes, and of those around him, glistened at the thought. Sallace chuckled. It was construed as derision that required clarification. “Do you really believe they’d leave us in peace?”
>
  “Do you have any better ideas?” she asked. “Or must we live like this for the rest of our lives?”

  Sallace possessed no alternative solution. “Okay, where would we settle?”

  “As far north as possible,” she said. “There’s a disused reservoir at Kielder. It’s surrounded by land, hills and some of England’s last forests.

  “It seems you’ve given this a lot of thought?”

  “Given your military experience, I assume you can appreciate the concept of standing one’s ground.”

  “of course.”

  “And if we were to perish, would you prefer it as a nation or a wandering band of nomads?”

  Sallace smiled. “I guess you’ve sold it.”

  His apparent acceptance of the plan prompted listeners to spread the word. It got people talking, renewing their sense of hope. Sallace couldn’t stop what had apparently become the democratic will of his people.

  As daylight broke the next morning and the embers smouldered away, Sallace was stirred by the forceful application of someone shrugging his left shoulder. It was the farmer, and he had an urgent message. “I think you might be in trouble, pal.”

  “I know,” said Sallace, still half asleep.

  “No, seriously. They’re coming to kill you all,” implied the farmer.

  Sallace stumbled to his hands and knees before standing. He rolled his right shoulder after a night of sleeping on the solid ground. “What do you mean “they?”

  “I heard it on the radio not five minutes ago. Three thousand militia have set off from London with the express purpose of your annihilation.”

  The gravity of their predicament clicked as Sallace restored sufficient faculties. Without further delay, he tasked those around him to help wake and prepare the rest.

  “What else can you tell me?” he asked of the farmer.

  “They also said anyone caught helping you would–”

  “Ah, hell. I’m sorry,” said Sallace. “We could make it look as though your farm was pillaged?”

  “Do that, and I lose my harvest. I’m in a catch twenty-two.”

  “You could always come with us. To have experienced farmers would be of great benefit.”

  “To what end?” said the farmer.

  “Think it through while I help the others.” Sallace began checking the group’s readiness, asking some to collect more food.

  The farmer continued to tail Sallace around the camp. “You can’t defend yourselves with a few bow and arrows and rusted guns,” said the farmer.

  “We’ll find more on the way.”

  “My coming with you may be nothing more than prolonging our lives by days.”

  “True.”

  The farmer took note of Sallace’s apparent lack of fear and misconstrued him. “And you accept such an eventuality like it was nothing?”

  “Then I wouldn’t be bothering at all.”

  “I’m saying we need more weapons. You might like to know my late father was an avid gun collector.”

  Sallace stalled with immediate interest. “You’ve got weapons, here, right now?”

  The farmer pointed to a shack adjacent to his house. It was surrounded by overgrowth but discernible.

  Sallace worked his way around the ivy until he located the doors, which were well sealed. Sallace gave it a couple of kicks before giving way.

  Inside, an arsenal of shotguns and rifles greeted him. Their pristine condition and quantity left him speechless. The lower cupboards contained boxes of ammo, many left unopened.

  Sallace took a box of shells for his weapon and counted them with delight.

  “I hope you like them,” said the farmer.

  “Like?” said Sallace as he cocked an unloaded rifle. It made a normal ping upon firing it. “I almost believed in miracles for a second. You may have just saved us twice in less than twelve hours.”

  Sallace recognised the farmer’s disheartened expression from losing his father’s collection and tapped his shoulder. “Only one fate is inevitable, not the other. Write it with us.”

  Anything that could be utilised was promptly incorporated. The group’s enhanced defence capabilities and food reserves had heightened morale. However, their lack of variety in food soon became monotonous. The journey would stop and start. Many couldn’t pass up an opportunity to forage local wild fruits and berries.

  Meanwhile, Summanus had also initiated a hunt. He began with a simple inspection of his soldiers. Ordered to comply despite his youth, they withheld their opinions. For them, it was about the thrill of the chase. Summanus was nothing more than a sideshow.

  Summanus’s militia also set off on foot. They split into three fundamental units of a thousand, spreading North, East and West before fragmenting again. Every bit of ground, town and city wouldn’t go unscathed.

  Aware of Sallace’s leading group, Summanus viewed them as the piece-de-resistance. Their destruction would signify secularism’s ultimate defeat.

  The people could demonstrate their loyalty by surrendering a name or two. Failure to comply would lead to accusations of commiseration at best. The witch hunt turned families and neighbours against one another. Thousands were falsely accused.

  Summanus’s forces were like a travelling circus show from hell. The accused were rounded up and publicly executed – not with bullets, but an axe and a block. And this occurred within every settlement.

  Fresh purges took hold with news of Summanus’s approach. Fortunately, potential victims were aware of Sallace’s gathering and general direction. For this reason, Sallace experienced a near constant surge in numbers, swelling to over eight thousand while slipping through Derbyshire’s countryside.

  The mounting need for food gave them little choice but to pillage the occasional farm. Eggs, chickens, fruits and vegetables were stolen. With their vision of an independent society in mind, seeds were removed, dried and stored for future cultivation.

  Children played in a nearby stream. Their parents rested nearby, soothing their sore and blistered feet in the cool water. Sallace watched while the sun bathed him in a gentle heat. Notions of a self-sufficient society grew on him.

  For five other days did they snake their way through hilly terrain. It was a safe passage between cities where, at the end of England’s backbone, their goal would come into view.

  Almost there, the land grew more lush with life. Villages lay abandoned, surrounded by pristine landscapes and untouched beauty. It was a land of variety and unspoilt waterfalls that hosted the freshest water anyone had ever tasted. The coming of autumn had coloured the leaves a mix of red, brown and orange hues. The evergreens stood tall and unrelenting to the seasonal change.

  Those under the age of thirty had seldom seen a woodland. They feared but also respected nature. The trees offered a curtain of shelter against the outside world.

  Their botanophobia waned with experience. The occasional flutter of bushes would send their hearts racing. A scurrying animal would send them running or clinging to one another for dear life.

  Those at the front employed long sticks to swat away cobwebs and their ‘fat bottomed’ inhabitants.

  Later that evening, the swiping of overgrowth revealed Kielder lake in the distance, signifying the journey’s conclusion. The sense of relief among the group was emotionally overwhelming. They could finally relax – for a while at least.

  Summanus’s zeal for death left his militia distracted across southern England. He remained weeks away from reaching his ultimate prize.

  The nomads were no longer such. A primitive camp emerged, but they couldn’t remain there. The location wasn’t ideal for building their new world. The thought of destroying such natural beauty was also morally reprehensible.

  As the threat of annihilation loomed, only a small band of explorers were sent to investigate the Eastern and Western terrains. News of the nomads’ arrival had sent the local farmers packing. These abandoned farms required new management. They became part of an expanding territory, and most
aggressively towards the North Eastern corner of England.

  Sallace and his new defence force remained at the reservoir. The idyllic scenery wasn’t a backdrop for some rest and recuperation. It was a time to train and prepare, the day after their arrival.

  Step one; weapons count. They possessed over three hundred bows, a hundred and twenty shotguns and eighty rifles.

  Step two; give their users fresh practice. It was already established who had experience and favour with a particular weapon and style. On a field, the defenders demonstrated their competence. Gun users had limited target practice for the sake of ammo preservation. Archers could fire an unlimited number of shots.

  Step three; plan for every scenario. Summanus’s forces could attack from any number of directions. Each possibility held a unique strategy.

  New arrivals offered a fresh insight into Summanus’s position and direction. The rate of influx diminished with Summanus’s approach.

  Three weeks later, and Summanus’s point of attack was narrowed down. With so much uncertainty, they had to lure him to a favourable position for the defenders. Few held the audacious will to act as bate. But Sallace had a trustworthy friend that could lead such a group; the Captain, Edwards, who steered him to success as a teen, and whose life Sallace had saved during the Battle for Riyadh.

  Captain Edwards had arrived just two days prior, but ready to work. He led thirty volunteers several miles south and fabricated a trail to the forest’s outskirts. There, a band of trees would act as the dividing line between the two sides.

  The Captain’s team ensured that Summanus always caught a glimpse of him on the horizon. The militia maintained a steady pace, savouring the meal to come. They couldn’t resist the pursuit.

  Summanus paused three hundred yards from the woodland. It stretched from horizon to horizon. Distant figures vanished into nature’s shadowed realm.

  Alarm bells rang in the heads of the militia. “They know Christ can’t protect us in there,” said one soldier.