Chapter 16

It took several hours to pick up the raiding party's trail. Despite the comforting bulk of the heater in the pocket of my robe, I felt less than enthusiastic about the task I'd set myself.

I guessed that the Trogs had already crossed over to the other side of the river, and I looked for some means to follow without risking the fast flowing currents. Half a mile further north was a fording point, where the river was shallower, and a number of large stones had been placed at regular intervals across the riverbed. Several rocks broke the surface, allowing me to leap from one to the other to arrive safely on the far bank. I raced south to make up for lost ground, my eyes and ears primed for any hint of my quarry.

Tired and exhausted, I made camp and postponed trying to locate them until the following morning. Not wanting to risk the exposure of a fire, I gathered a pile of small rocks, then stood back and took aim with the heat weapon. The pistol comprised little more than a rotary control for energy output and an activation trigger. Dialling a low setting, I fired at the rocks until they began to glow. I'd seen Kirk use his phaser to perform this trick on Star Trek, and it was gratifying to see it work equally well here.

I curled up on the ground, letting the radiating heat infuse my body. I questioned the sanity of my decision to undertake this quest until sheer exhaustion took its toll and I fell asleep.

Birds chirruping in the trees dragged me slowly to awareness. The sun was high in the sky and I cursed as I'd intended to start out early. Now valuable time had been lost. I climbed to the top of a large hill and scanned for any relevant sign. Just as I was about to abandon all hope, a flash of reflected light came from directly west of my position, several miles distant. With a lot of ground to make up, I raced as fast as could, resting only occasionally for a few minutes to catch my breath.

From time to time, I caught a flicker in the distance, but it was almost impossible to tell whether or not I was gaining ground. My stomach rumbled, and I cursed not having had the presence of mind to collect a small amount of food before departing the village. My limbs ached and the rate of progress had fallen off sharply, leaving me discouraged about ever managing to catch up.

It was late afternoon and the light was fading fast when I almost made a critical error. I plunged headlong into a small copse without taking the slightest precautions beforehand. The first that I knew of my close proximity to the raiding party was when I almost collided with a foraging Trog. I reacted swiftly, leaping into the cover of some underbrush. I bit my lip to stifle the agony, as sharp brambles scored my flesh. The Trog continued with its hunt for food, making me wonder why it didn't just eat the grain.

Having spent many minutes plucking berries from a nearby bush, it wandered back to the small clearing, where several other Trogs lay stretched out on the grass. There was no sign of the Silver Demon, but I knew that it was probably close at hand. My fingers wrapped around the butt of the heater and I wondered how I could employ it without suffering the same fate as Troyal. Dozens of bags of grain were stacked against the trunk of a tree, confirming I'd definitely located the right group.

At the point of exhaustion, I realised that I was in no fit state to engage them, so decided to abandon any confrontation until the following morning. I massaged my aching limbs, chafing them to keep warm, before finally falling asleep within the dense foliage, safe from casual observation.

I awoke just as the first shafts of sunlight filtered over the horizon. Struggling to my feet, I winced as cramps engulfed my left leg. Shifting my weight from side to side, I waited until the stiffness abated before emerging from cover and risking a look at the Trog's encampment. My heart stopped as I saw the Silver Demon from a distance of no more than a dozen yards.

Its back was turned towards me. Even at this distance, I could detect no sign of imperfections in the smooth surface of its body. A Trog was making adjustments at the front. As I glanced down, I spotted a couple of access plates resting in the grass nearby. The machine was obviously partly dismantled, which potentially offered the unique opportunity to disable it. With the stasis field incomplete, a heat beam delivered to its interior would doubtless have devastating consequences. Despite the fact that I'd still have a couple of dozen angry Trogs to deal with afterwards, I decided destroying the Silver Demon warranted the risk.

I circled around their position, intending to emerge on the opposite side of their camp, facing the front of the machine. With its innards exposed, I would fry its internal mechanism and hopefully flee before the Trogs could counter-attack, or so I told myself. Placing one foot in front of the other, careful not to produce a sound that would give away my presence, I slowly emerged from the trees and prepared to execute a swift advance that would allow the completion of my objective. Adrenaline surged through my body as I gathered up courage for the assault.

Drawing the heater and jumping to my feet, I abandoned cover and raced to within a few yards of the machine. I aimed and prepared to fire but my finger faltered, refusing to obey commands. I blinked my eyes several times to clear the hallucination, but the delay allowed enough time for the Trogs to react and descend upon me. I squeezed the trigger, but it was already too late as the weapon went flying into the undergrowth as two Trogs collided with me, sending me sprawling to the ground. I regained my feet, but then collapsed under the onslaught as several more animals sprang upon me. They held rudimentary clubs in their hands and I suffered countless blows before finally succumbing, descending into darkness.

My body felt like it had somehow endured ten rounds with Mike Tyson. Every part of me hurt, in a similar manner to when Tamar beat me within my cell. Despite the fugue, I felt gratitude that at least I was still alive.

Both my hands and ankles were tied together with twine, elevated above my head and secured around a long pole whose ends were carried on the shoulders of two Trogs. I groaned as I was transported like a hog on the way to market. The Silver Demon strode at the head of the procession, leading us to who knew where.

The memory of earlier returned, seeing not a jumble of wires, but human flesh within the confines of the mechanism. What I thought was an automaton was instead nothing but an elaborate suit of armour. Within the suit, a woman of perhaps twenty to thirty years of age stared defiantly back at me, almost daring me to end her existence. Wires attached to electrodes on her scalp and upper body transferred signals from her brain and obviously amplified tiny muscle movements to control every function of the mechanism.

"Not so self-assured now, are you, Guardian?" the voice teased from behind the faceplate.

I tried to reply but my tongue was swollen within my mouth, making speech virtually impossible. As her words permeated my addled brain, alarm bells started to ring. I tried to figure out the meaning, until the truth finally dawned: she'd spoken in perfect English.

I tried to figure out the implications but, with the swaying motion of my captivity, it was incredibly hard to concentrate.

"How would she know my native tongue?" I wondered before abandoning the question to suffer the enduring discomfort of my confinement.

"We've never had a Guardian before," she informed me. "It will be interesting to see what you're made of, now that you haven't got your weapon to fall back on. The Trogs have a good memory for all the pain and misery you've inflicted on them. I'm sure they'll relish the opportunity for payback."

I groaned as my headache returned with a vengeance. I wanted to deny my involvement in their suffering, but felt in no shape to do so.

"Just a few more hours to our settlement, and then the fun will begin. You'll soon wish you were never born. I know you don't understand a word that I'm saying, but it doesn't matter. When we're done with you, you'll be glad to hear any voice. I'm going to enjoy making you suffer, just as you've made us all suffer for decades, with all your arrogance and spitefulness."

I wondered what she was talking about, who she was, and whom she represented. The answers would doubtless come soon enough, but whether I would survive long enough to pass on the knowledge remained to be seen.

The forest thinned out and gave way to concrete. We were evidently entering the remains of one of the abandoned cities and I idly speculated which one it would be. Rusted street signs supported rampant vegetation that grew up from cracks in the ground. Derelict vehicles lay rotting at the roadside at frequent intervals, strong reminders of the time when man controlled every square inch of the world's surface.

I caught a tentative glimpse of another sign and had to check twice to before I believed what I saw. I began to laugh, small chuckles that became louder and louder as the irony of the situation stuck me. After all that had happened, I was now less than a mile away from where I once lived.

"What's so funny, Guardian?" the woman demanded from behind her silver facade. I continued to laugh, infuriating her even more.

She threw up her hands in exasperation and marched off. "You won't be laughing soon," she muttered, "just my luck to capture an imbecile."

We made our way to a large structure that I immediately recognised as what remained of the underground multi-storey car park that I'd use whenever I did the weekly shop. It felt strangely exhilarating to finally return home, everything else that had happened suddenly fading into obscurity. I smiled as I looked along the high street before we descended the entry ramp into the bowels of the earth.

"Let him down," my captor demanded. The Trogs obeyed her command without hesitation, dropping me from my perch, but leaving my hands tied and attached to a long leash that two of the animals maintained careful hold of to prevent my escape.

As we descended another level, a high pitched scream came from nearby. From my left, two young children emerged. They stopped dead in their tracks to stare, not at the Trogs, but at the bruised and bloody stranger in their midst, dressed in tattered rags.

Unlike the few children that I'd seen at the citadel's nurturing centre, both these wore scruffy shorts and a t-shirt.

"Go and play somewhere else," the woman snapped. "He's dangerous."

"Yes, Nessa," they chorused, reluctantly retreating, but then peeping back at us from behind a support buttress. I couldn't help but flash them a conspiratorial smile. They giggled from their hiding place.

From a narrow doorway, two men emerged. They both wore trousers belted at the waist, and a shirt that buttoned up the front. One also wore what appeared to be a baseball cap. Both men sported thick beards, the first I'd seen since arriving in this time.

"Take him and lock him somewhere secure. I'm going to get out of this infernal contraption and recover."

"Right you are, Vanessa," the man with the cap replied. "Do you want us to try and get some sense out of him?"

"No. We'll leave that to my father. He speaks their lingo better than any of us."

The man grabbed me roughly by the elbow, and manhandled me towards the doorway from which they'd emerged. "Don't give us any trouble, Guardian, or I'll be forced to rough you up," he warned, making a passable attempt at the citadel's language.

They led me down two flights of stone stairs, and along a dark, dank corridor before finally pushing me inside what was once a storeroom of some kind.

"Food please," I muttered, just as they were about to slam the door in my face.

They looked at one another. "We'll see what we can do."

The door slammed shut and I was alone. The room was illuminated by a single glowing globe set into the ceiling. I inspected my surroundings, eventually collapsing atop a pile of plastic sheeting that had valiantly resisted the ravages of time. It bore the logo of a famous DIY store, and I wallowed in nostalgia.

An hour later, the door opened and a young woman carried in a tray of food. One of the men from earlier watched me carefully, a revolver in his hand. It was strange being surrounded by such familiar objects, but also somehow deeply reassuring. Nothing had prepared me for the fact that anybody other than those in the citadels existed, and yet here was a group of people that bore more striking similarity to me than any other, surviving against all odds in the ruins of my former home town. I held up my bound wrists, and the girl turned to her colleague for confirmation before loosening my bonds.

"Don't try anything silly," the man warned, waving the pistol in my direction. "This will kill you just as surely as those ray guns of yours."

I nodded my understanding and accepted the food. "Thanks," I told the girl.

"You're welcome."

They all retreated out of the door, and I tucked into my first food in days: two slices of crusty bread, some cheese and an apple. It was enough to stop the rumbling, but I could have eaten the same again, twice over.

I rummaged in my pockets for the knife, but both it and my iPhone were missing. I hoped that they'd been confiscated, rather than having dropped out and lost whilst I was in transit. The pictures on the iPhone were my only reminders of the past.

Strangely, I felt happy, almost as though I knew these people. I wondered how they'd managed to survive, separate from the citadel with all its technology. Other questions occurred to me, such as how much did the citadel know of their existence and whether there was more to the raids on the villages than what was generally understood.

The two children seemed totally at ease with the Trogs, leading me to suspect that the animals had formed some form of symbiotic relationship with the inhabitants. With all these unanswered questions rattling around my brain, I lay back and finally caught up on my sleep.