Okay guys, for those of you who have been around long enough, you'll know that I started a series of short stories entitled 'These Streets'. Over the months, this evolved into something a little bigger, to the point where I had a full blown novel planned out. Due to personal reasons, I no longer wish to carry on with this piece of writing, but here it is up until the point where I stopped. For those of you who just can't live without knowing how it was gonna turn out, I'm more than happy to answer questions. Anyways, here goes:
Prologue
Snow covered the streets. It should have been cold. But anger is always hot.
Sweat poured down the faces of the crowd. It soaked into their clothes, melting the thin layer of white that had had a chance to settle.
The air felt as if it would rip under the stress of a thousand shouts and screams, punctuated by gunshots.
A tall, young boy stood near the back of the throng. Baggy, ripped jeans covered his legs, and he wore a black hoodie, drawn tight to cover his face.
He felt the anger surge through him.
It was infectious. It made him feel alive. It gave him a purpose.
How dare they come here and take what was his? Was he expected to give up what he'd spent his life making his?His train of thought was interrupted as a man in front of him collapsed, blood spraying from his temple. A stray bullet had grazed his head. His lips were moving. Instinctively the boy dropped to his knees. The blood formed a pool around his head.
"Any sacrifice, any sacrifice" The man murmured as life seeped out of him. Frantically the boy looked for something to stop the bleeding, but it was too late. Condensation had stopped curling upwards from his mouth. He fought back tears for this man who he'd never known. For the first time he noticed what the man was wearing. A quote was scrawled by hand across his shirt. 'I say a man who was nothing to die for, is not fit to live'. Forcing his sorrow to take a back seat, he stood up. This man had not given up even at death's door. He vowed that he would fight for these streets with tooth and nail.
With his renewed strength he looked around, ready to take on any figure of authority. But there was a change in the feeling of the crowd. A cheer rippled through the people. They had done it. They had won.
Chapter 1
Rays of moonlight feebly illuminated the dark alleyway. The night was quiet with the exception of the steady dripping of melting icicles. A dark figure cursed under his breath as he stepped into puddle, the sound of splashing echoed off of the buildings on either side. He hastily checked for any sign he had been heard.
Satisfied that he had remained undiscovered he relaxed his stance. Keeping his left hand on his waist, the boy extracted a canister from his back pocket.
In the darkness he smiled to himself, he found it ironic that in past decades the world had changed. Technology had advanced, as had ideals and politics. Yet the most powerful weapon was still the written word. He set to work, scrawling messages of hate and anger on the brick.
As he stepped back to admire his work, a small click echoed down the alley. In one swift moment, he dropped the spray paint, drew out his left hand and threw his flick knife to his right. Despite the hours of practise, his right hand shook, causing reflections to bounce off of the walls. All pretence of stealth had been lost when he had dropped the can, and so he risked a shout.
"Who are you?" The boy's voice highlighted the silence of the dark.
After a few deliberate seconds a husky deep voice replied. "Drop your weapon." A young man with a shaven head stepped into view. He wore black cargos and a blood red shirt; the uniform of the British Fascist League.
The boy eyed the man's attire. There was no obvious weapon, yet the man seemed too confident to have not brought an insurance policy. He adopted the stance he had been learning for the past months: legs wide, slightly bent, low centre of gravity, straight back. Despite the attempts at a relaxed posture, his knuckles were white as he gripped his blade.
"No." He whispered softly. The man's eyes widened slowly. He had never met resistance before. However, he did not pause as he swung a punch.
Chapter 2
The top of the sun edged its way over the buildings lining the alleyway; illuminating a half finished slogan scrawled in red paint.
'The Nazis are back and...'
It had been crudely executed and long fingers of crimson snaked their way to the ground where they mixed with splatters of blood.
Three hooded figures huddled around a body sprawled in the middle of one of the many dark pools. "You think he's alive?" A slightly shocked voice broke the silence.
Pain seared through his head as if somebody was slowly driving nails into his skull.
"No chance. Look at all that blood." It was uttered animalistically, almost a growl.
Through the mists of pain he became dimly aware of something different.
"I dunno mate, I think he's breathing."
Hard. It was hard. That was what he could feel.
"You know what? I don't think that blood's his." A third voice broke into the conversation.
He could now make out thin individual stones digging into his back and neck.
"poop. I'd hate to see the other guy"
Gritting his teeth with effort, the boy let out a low moan.
"All right, let's get him somewhere sheltered"
***
A bright light pierced his eyelids. Everything hurt, but it seemed to spread from his forehead, like a bull’s-eye on a dartboard. But slowly, the agony began to subside; he felt a soothing, cooling sensation begin at the epicentre of his pain. Experimentally, he clenched a fist. His fingers burned, but it wasn't unbearable. Feeling more confident, he moved his other arm; again, it wasn't exactly a great feeling but he could handle it. Satisfied that he wasn't about to die any time soon, he cast his mind back to the alley.
He remembered the sheer terror as the fist came hurtling towards him. The way he raised his right arm up in self defence.
“Oh God, oh God.” He began to whisper as the realisation began to dawn on him. “No, please, no.”
“Don't worry mate, you'll be fine.” Reassured one of the people from his dreams. 'Badger! He's waking up!'
As he peeled his eyes slowly open, they watered from the harsh light emitted by the bare light bulb dangling above his head; a dark man swam into view as they adjusted to the contrast. He was clean shaven and seemed to be in his early twenties, and an old sword was buckled at his waist. He had a dark complexion and was clearly of Middle Eastern descent. This surprised the boy; he hadn’t seen anybody so obviously foreign for years. It was an amazing feat that he had managed to avoid deportation.
He pushed himself into a sitting position, the aching was still there but the fiery pain seemed to have subsided for now. He was in a drab empty room; the walls and ceiling were white, the floor stripped to boards. A curtain covered the single window, although sunlight crept through the dividing crack.
“An abandoned building, just like any other.” He thought to himself.
“Wakey, wakey sleeping beauty.” Strangely, the man's accent seemed to point to London middle class background.
”Where am I?” The groaned the boy. His voice was garbled and his tongue felt like a slug in his mouth.
“Not the most original line I guess...”A previously unnoticed door in the corner of the room swung open squeakily on its rusted hinges. A huge bulky figure stepped through the gap. His shoulders spanned the doorway and his head was dangerously close to the ceiling. Stubble covered his face, but it failed to disguise a jagged scar on his right cheek. His hair was buzz cut; the impression he gave was not of somebody who took much care of his appearance.
“You're in one of our safe houses.” He growled. “Camel has fixed you up, you'll be fighting fit in a week.” He indicated the dark skinned man.
“I'm Badger; we don't use our real names here. And after your display last night, you'll be known as Wolf.”
“What do you mean ‘our’? How many of you are there?” Wolf only just realised his predicament.
“This is Kidnap, and this guy doesn't exactly look like he's gonna let me walk free...”“Even I don’t know the answer to that question, but there are not many of us. We represent those in society who have none to represent them, namely foreigners.”
“What do you want with me? And what do you know about last night?”
“You're lucky we found you; not only did we patch you up but we have the CCTV tapes of your little scuffle.” Almost as an afterthought Badger leaned in a little closer, “Where did you learn to fight like that?” he whispered. His eyes glinted in awe.
Wolf panicked.
“How much can I tell him? He claims to stand up for others, but how can I trust him?”“I... uh, it just came naturally.” he stammered.
Badger's dark brown eyes pierced him; he betrayed nothing as he slowly replied “Of course it did.” There was no hint of irony or sarcasm. “I suppose your family will want to know where you are.”
“I have no family.” Wolf spat out, frustrated with the questioning. “I don't need anybody else.”
“We'll see about that.” Badger smirked “Where do you stay?”
“This is like a bloody interrogation.”“Around.” he replied guardedly.
“Good, you'll stay with us from now.” revealed Badger. “We could do with more recruits with your...”He paused, eyeing Wolf slowly, searching for the word. “Talents.”
“WHAT? I don't even know you!”
Badger gave a snort of laughter “You didn't think we'd just let you go, did you? On your feet, we need to head back to HQ.” He spoke now with heightened urgency. Wolf peeled himself off the mildewed mattress he'd been lying on. His now blood stained hoodie lay crumpled on the floor. He pulled it on over his baggy navy t-shirt. His jeans were ripped, dotted with brown and black after his ordeal; his once blue trainers felt sticky on the bare floorboards. There was no chance that he'd be able to disguise that he'd been fighting.
Now that he'd stood up, he could better judge the height of the men. Badger towered over him, but Camel barely reached his shoulders. The small man led the way out of the room. Bright sunlight startled Wolf after the dark room and a blast of cool air froze his exposed face. Hurriedly he pulled up his hood and tightened the cords.
Leaning against the wall to the right of the front door stood a short, stocky man wearing cargo shorts and a tight “Hard Rock Cafe” t-shirt. His blond hair was shaved down to a number two and he sported a stud in his left ear.
“This is Rat.” Badger indicated the guard. “He used to be a professional bodyguard and's as hard as nails.” Wolf noticed a small smirk on Rat's face as he jokingly flexed a bicep.
Camel led the way down through the backstreets. Despite the sun being high in the sky, shadows played across the narrow alleys camouflaging the grime. The route snaked deeper into the older and rougher part of town. Slogans covered the walls:
'White is right!' and
'chansey the Nazis!' battled to cover each other. Wolf's night time efforts had not been in vain.
Badger and Wolf walked side by side, with Rat bringing up the rear. “So, if Rat's a guard, what do you and Camel do?” Wolf finally plucked up the courage to ask the intimidating man.
“Camel's a medic. Although, I wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of him and a scimitar. You're lucky he was with us when we found you. My job is little more... obscure, you'll find out more soon...” Badger cut himself short as Camel came to an abrupt stop outside an old terraced house.
Chapter 3
The ancient, dark green door looked as it could withstand a siege. The three men checked the streets either side of the entrance for passersby. When they were convinced they were alone, Camel rapped sharply on the door four times. A hatch was drawn back and an eye quickly filled the gap. The man on the other side gave an affirmative grunt and swung open the door. Wolf was shoved in and the others quickly followed.
The sentry on the door was pounced on by Camel, who quickly kissed both his cheeks. The young man turned bright red and quickly began vigorously rubbing his face. “You don't need to do that every fooking time.” He muttered as he touched fists with Rat.
The four of them were standing in a large entrance hall, the walls were clad in dark wood panelling and the brightly tiled floor contrasted with the drab furnishings. A lonely bookcase stood next to the stool where the guard had been seated. An assault rifle rested on the floor in front. The sight of this made Wolf feel queasy, he'd never been at home around firearms.
“You can go through now.” The unnamed man indicated a door on the left. Wolf had no idea what to expect as he gingerly followed Badger through. Rat and Camel had seemingly disappeared while he was examining his surroundings.
Three men were seated around a long dining table. An intricately designed chandelier hung above them, shedding light on the scene. The figure at the head of the table was in his late sixties, with short white hair and a grey moustache. Despite his age, he held an air of confidence and the others eyed him with respect. To the right of him sat a tall African man of slight build. He was in the process of trimming his fingernails with a military issue dagger. The third man had his back to Wolf. He also, was past his prime and had little hair on his head. Wolf gasped as the ageing man turned around his seat. Then, remembering himself, he pushed his feet together and bowed low.
“Sensei!” He breathed in recognition of a man he’d not seen in years.
“Relax... Wolf, I hear they call you now.” The old man sighed softly “It appears you have had to put your training to use. It is not an experience I would wish on anybody. I am sorry you live in these troubled times. However, this only stresses how important it is for you to continue your studies.”
The man at the head of the table stood up. Despite his age, his arms and chest were heavily muscled, and he stood perfectly straight. “Welcome Wolf,” he began “I am Eagle, the leader of our group. We have been living in the background of society for a few years now. We oppose the fascist and racist dictatorship that has overtaken our country in recent years.”
“So, you’re like the resistance?”
Eagle let out a deep chuckle “Somebody’s been watching too many war films. But yes, I suppose you could put it that way. This,” he indicated the black man to his right. “Is Cobra. He’s our weapons specialist, and spent 5 years in the Zimbabwean SAS before the regime change.” Cobra grinned, at least half his teeth were gold plated, as he revealed two more knives concealed in his sleeves. “I believe you have already met Sensei...”
“I am too old for your silly codenames.” the older man interjected.
“Burnside, our martial arts consultant. Badger is our firearms instructor. He was working with the commandos when you were still in nappies. So,” Eagle reassumed his seat, stretching his arms out, fingers interlocked, and smiled in an almost fatherly way. “I know that we do a dangerous job, but with over 70 years of experience under our belts, you’ll be in the safest of hands. And as I’ve always said, better to die for a cause than to be caught in the crossfire. Will you join us?”
Wolf almost laughed at the irony of the situation. Here he was, covered in blood and bandages, completely dependent on these strangers’ help and he was being offered a place amongst them. “Yeah, of course I will. But, I really don’t feel so good.”
“That is to be expected.” Agreed Eagle “Mouse will show you your room.” Almost as if he’d been listening in, the man who had let them in stepped into the room.
“C’mon.” He jerked his head in the direction of the hallway. Wolf turned around to say goodbye to the leaders, but they had already resumed their conversation. As he passed Mouse, he received a powerful slap on the back. “Good on ya. I knew you’d join the moment I saw your eyes.” It was only now that his Scottish accent came through. “Just up here.” He led the way up a staircase off of the hall.
“Voila.” he spread his arms out as if unveiling a masterpiece. Wolf gasped in amazement; the corridor stretched out 3 times as long as it should on both sides. “It’s like the fooking Tardis.” Mouse joked “It’s bigger on the inside.” After staring for a few seconds, Wolf noticed where the internal walls had been knocked down. From the outside, the street appeared to have several abandoned buildings, but on the inside it could house 50 people.
“Here we are,” They stopped outside a bedroom with a large red cross painted on the door. “Due to your state, you’ll be staying in the med room for a couple of days.” He swung the door open, revealing two bunk beds crammed in next to each other, just leaving enough room for a large, double-doored metal cabinet and a small rectangular mirror. Light came from a lamp hanging from the ceiling, the window was boarded up, despite the glass panes being intact. “I’ll leave you to it.”
When Mouse slammed the door, Wolf was overcome with tiredness. He’d walked halfway across the city, was covered in bandages and still ached from the fight the previous night. Stripping to his boxers, he was able to examine the damage for the first time. His nose was slightly broken, a large bump had formed halfway down the bridge; one of his eyes was deep purple, turning black. The eyebrow above had been cut open, and was crudely taped back together with butterfly stitches. His right hand was bandaged, along with his left elbow. All in all, he looked like he’d just walked out of a hospital.
With barely enough energy left to turn off the light, Wolf collapsed into the nearest bed, not bothering to cover himself.
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