Weeping Season Read online

  They sat in silence beside Two, watching the stream’s slow but constant progress. Though nothing had been said, Seven knew what Eight was thinking – it was just a matter of who would say it first. The old woman was a hindrance. No way could they continue under her burden, even with water close at hand. She couldn’t be left behind, but was there enough trust to remain in the hope the other would return with help?

  His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of snapping twigs that shot a burst of butterflies through his gut and chest. Eight stared at him, her eyes wide in fear. They got to their feet and stood beside each other, facing the sounds coming at a fast pace from the densest part of the forest on the other side of the stream. He stepped in front of her, not sure what was coming, but ready to face whatever the woods were about to reveal. Was it a bear? A pack of wolves? Eight grasped his arms and they braced for the impending onslaught.

  The noise grew louder and closer, now with muffled cries echoing through the trees.

  He looked at Eight. “People?”

  She grimaced as she shrugged.

  “It might be help,” he said.

  She didn’t respond, instead running the few steps to the bank where she picked up a stone she could barely carry with both hands.

  Seven stared at her, arms out in silent query. A stone she couldn’t handle wouldn’t be much help, especially if they were outnumbered. Then the noise stopped and they held their breaths in anticipation, searching the shadows beyond the treeline above the opposite bank.

  “Hey! I found them,” a woman called. “Down by the river! Here!”

  The woman, dressed in grey rags, stepped out and stood staring at them. A moment later, two men joined her, all three with bristled heads. They walked down to the bank, and Seven noticed as they looked around that each had a numbered tattooed on the back of their skull. He shivered at the prospect of being dressed, even if it was in grey rags. One of the men was young, about the same age as Eight. The woman was older, with a stern look on her face, and the other man had brown skin and a physique that had once been developed but was now faded.

  The woman signalled to the younger man. “Go back and tell Charlie we found them.”

  The lad didn’t hesitate, stepping back into the shadows, the forest floor creaking beneath his quick feet.

  “Who are you people?” Eight called, her voice edged with fear. “Where are we? What the hell is going on here?”

  The woman smiled, her dark eyes lighting up. “We’ll tell you all when we get back to the camp. You guys need some food in your bellies, and that woman clearly needs help.”

  Seven and Eight didn’t put up a fight. What choice did they have? Both of them had no memory of how they’d arrived here. They were cold and naked, and the prospect of food was more than enough to see them moving without protest. Camps in the woods generally had fires, hot food and drink. Or so they hoped…

  The brown-skinned man and Seven hoisted Two up and made their way off in the direction from which the strangers had come – leaving the woman to bring Eight along. As twigs bent and snapped underfoot, Seven glanced at Eight and hoped they weren’t walking into a trap.

  FOUR

  Richard...? Is that you, mate?” someone with a husky voice called over as Seven entered the campsite. At first, it didn’t register that he was being addressed by a real name. The person repeated it three more times, and with that it was as if part of his memory block unlocked. From within the darkness, an image emerged. I am Richard – or Richie, as his friends back home knew him. Hold on, someone here knows me? He looked at the wretched group of men and women huddled around a small fire in the middle of the camp, but couldn’t figure out who’d called out to him. Including himself and his two companions, there were nine in total at the camp, with nine makeshift beds forming an extended circle around the flames.

  “Welcome,” an elderly man said from within the group. He stood at an impressive height that singled him out from the rest. His head was stubbled with white spikes, a faint echo of a crown that once sported grey hair. The number one tattooed on the back of his head was scabbed and blistered – not a great job compared to some of the others. Despite his height, he was overweight, yet frail – skin hung from his limbs and, like the others, he was wrapped in rags. His face bore a striking resemblance to Boris Johnson, which amused Richard as he and Eight were invited to join the group around the fire.

  “Stacy, please help Carol look after that woman,” the old man ordered in a crackly voice, his words clipped and clear. A young woman sprang up and rushed to attend to the unconscious Two.

  As Richard looked around, he realised that, apart from the beds and fire, the camp was bare of any equipment. Everyone else looked hungry, tired, and cold, and all of them had their heads shaved and freshly tattooed.

  “Ok, what the hell is going on here?” he demanded. “Where are we? And why are we here?”

  “Patience, my dear man,” the old guy said in his posh English accent, his open hand up in a placating gesture. “My name is Charles. Welcome to the camp. We knew there were more of you out there, and thankfully we have won this task by locating you and bringing you here.”

  Richard turned to Eight, who frowned and shook her head, “What task?” he muttered.

  “Never mind that now,” Charles said. “Come sit by the fire. Ian will get you something to wear, and we have warm soup for you. Unfortunately, it has no meat in it – only a basic vegetable soup. However, it will warm your insides.”

  Someone handed them their ration in a grubby bowl, but the rags could wait – the food took priority over anything else. With a snort, Richard slurped it down.

  “Don’t rush it, old chap,” Charles advised. “It is likely you haven’t eaten in quite a while. You don’t want to cramp up.”

  Cramp was nothing to the pain and discomfort he’d experienced since waking in the woods, and this guy wanted them to go easy on the food? He looked around at everyone staring at them. Surreal, or what? Then the headache returned. His vision blurred while he weathered the storm. When it cleared, he edged closer to the fire to feel its heat.

  Carol and Stacy made the old woman comfortable near the flames. Even so, she was in a dire state, slumped and motionless on her camp bed.

  “How’d you know my name?” Richard asked, looking from one to the other to see who would answer. When he locked eyes on a man standing to his left, something inside shifted – another patch of blocked memory edging free.

  “Richie, it’s me?” The man walked towards him. “Don’t you remember, mate? It’s me, Tom.”

  Tom? Tom…? Yes, Tom, from back home. A friend? Was he? “Yes, sorry, Tom. Of course!” He shook his head. “Forgive me, I’m having trouble remembering stuff. Well, anything, really.” He glanced around the gathering. “I woke up yesterday deep in the woods and I… I don’t know.”

  “Let me guess, foggy memory?” Charles waved his hand across his brow. “Headaches drilling into the back of your head? You are not alone with that. The rest of us also woke up in this wider area.” A couple of them nodded in agreement. “This is no accident, Richard. Indeed, somebody made this camp and fenced us all in here.”

  “Who did?” Eight snapped, startling almost everyone. “What’s going on here?”

  Charles held his open hand up again. “I shall tell you what I know. But first, you two need to relax, drink your soup, and try to let your minds settle.”

  Any semblance of sun was blocked out by the thick canopy above the campsite, and eight of the nine huddled around the fire to keep warm and to allow Richard and Eight to finish their first meal in days.

  After a good while, Charles got to his feet. “Right, chaps, let us get the formalities out of the way, shall we? We are all here now, aren’t we? First, let’s hear from our new arrivals. As I said, chaps, my name is Charles.” He extended his hand to Richard.

  “Richard, apparently,” he answered with a nervous snigger, then looked to Eight and shrugged.

  S
he took a long breath, “Tiffany. Or Tiff.”

  He glared at her. “I thought you couldn’t remember anything?”

  “A few things came back to me this morning. I just didn’t want to get into it.” Her soft voice hinted at a youthful innocence, some distance from the sharp tone before.

  “I am sure we all have a lot of questions for one another,” Charles said, “but first, let’s get the obvious out of the way. We all have a new feature on our scalps, don’t we? So, I shall go in numerical order.” He stepped away from the group and turned to show his tattoo. “From what I am told, I have the number one.” He turned back. “My name is Charles. I can’t recall my surname, but from what I remember, I believe, outside of this place, I was enjoying some sort of retirement.”

  He pointed over to the unconscious woman, still slumped on her camp bed. “This old dear has the number two. Did anyone happen to catch her name?”

  Everyone shook their heads.

  “That is a pity. But for now, we will continue on in order. Shall we?”

  The brown-skinned man, built like a boxer, stood and revealed the number three on his head. “My name is Nabil,” he announced, his accent a mix of Mancunian and Middle Eastern. “I woke up here yesterday chained to a tree, but my memory is faded, and I dunno how I got here.”

  He looked familiar to Richard, but he couldn’t place him.

  Nobody asked any questions. The next to stand was the stern-faced woman in or about her thirties. Her look said approach with care, the kind of person who should carry a warning sign around their neck. She had four on the back of her head, with dried blood still visible beneath the tattoo where it had dribbled down her neck. “I’m Stacy. That’s all I’ve got. Can’t remember anything before Charles picked me up out there in the woods.”

  After a few moments of silence, the young lad stood. He’d been branded with the number five. His eyes were filled with hurt and pain, his body thin and gaunt, with his skin taut across his cheekbones and brow, giving his face a skeletal look. “My name is… Ian,” he stammered, his voice shaking. “Nnn…nice to meet you.” Then he sank into himself and began to sob. “I want to go home.”

  Next was Number Six. A woman in her fifties stood with real confidence. She gave Ian a hug. “There, there. Sit down, my dear.”

  She watched as the broken lad returned to his position at the fire. “He’s having an emotional time trying to cope with all of this. My name is Carol. I suppose I am the mammy of the group.” Her mammy joke was met with silence. “Back in the real world, I am a nurse in the London Bridge Hospital. Can’t remember much outside of that. But before I woke up in this place, I was working a night shift. Things get a little hazy after that and, I suppose, here I am.”

  Everyone turned and looked at Seven.

  Richard didn’t stand. Instead, he took a sip of hot water from a clay cup beside the pot warming by the fire. “As you all probably heard, I’m Richard. Or Richie, as I think my friends call me. Woke up chained to a tree near Tiffany. I think I was working in London prior to that, but can’t be sure.”

  This was met with a collective head nod.

  Eight looked around and shrugged. “Hi, Guys. My name is Tiffany and I am from Essex. Everyone calls me, Tiff. And I—”

  “This isn’t a fucking job interview,” Tom barked, his voice as harsh as his words. His eyes boiled with anger as he stood and towered over the group. “I’m number nine because some cunt shaved my head and branded me. And when I find the prick, I am going to carve him up really good.”

  Charles stood and patted Tom’s shoulder – probably the only one who could have done such a thing at that moment without becoming the recipient of the angry man’s wrath. “Sit down, Tom. That’s quite enough for now. We are all overwhelmed and scared here.”

  “So, what’s the plan now, old man? Tell fucking campfire stories and sing Kumbaya? Hold on while I break out the marshmallows.”

  “No,” Charles answered, keeping his tone gentle. “As we determined earlier, there are nine sets of bedding in camp, which means all nine of us are here now. And please don’t be under any illusions – we were all put in this compound for a reason.”

  Tom looked to the canopy and growled. “I know that, Chucky. But this is against my will.” He looked around the camp. "I want fucking answers and I want to get the fuck out of here.”

  Richard remembered Tom from work, but it was a bit vague. Was he a friend, or just a colleague? He’d always been an angry cockney – that was for sure. Good company for after-work drinks, which was great after having moved to London from Ireland and only getting to know people. Tom helped him plug into the local social scene. A cold wave shot through him. My wife? Visuals flooded back. He had a beautiful wife. Elizabeth – or Lizzy, as her friends and family knew her. Or did she hate that name? Confusion washed over him again. Why is this happening to me? Why can’t I remember crap before waking up in this place? He winced from the pain pounding into his brain, like a spike buried inside his skull.

  “Ok, Tom,” Charles said, “we need to be calm. Let's discuss what we do know, shall we?”

  “Hey, you’re the self-appointed chief. Knock yourself out, Boss.”

  Charles took a moment to clear his throat. “Okay, where was that poor dear found?” He nodded towards Two.

  “Richie and I found her chained to a tree,” Tiffany answered. “She had fallen into a ditch and hung upside down until we came along.”

  “Okay, well, there you have it, chaps. All nine of us woke up in this forest, disorientated and shackled to one of these fine pine trees. All of our memories are hazy and, yet, each of us managed to find our way to this campsite, where, magically, there is bedding for all, water, some cutlery, and the means to make some soup and start a fire. This is no coincidence, let me tell you.”

  The group uttered a collective groan as they nodded agreement.

  “Why us?” Richard asked. “Why us nine?”

  “Never mind the why, Richie, mate,” Tom said, “you should be asking, who is watching, and why?”

  Richard looked to where Tom pointed. “These little buggers are all around us and watching our every move.”

  He scanned each tree and branch, struggling to accept that there were dozens of tiny cameras hanging well out of reach. Like little black bubbles, their spidery eyes glinting.

  “We’re being watched,” Tom announced, “and whoever is on the other side of the lens did this. Stripped us naked, chained us up, and put us on the wrong side of that electric fence.”

  “Did you see the dead bodies, too?” Tiff asked. Tom didn’t answer but Charles nodded in the affirmative.

  “I’m getting my strength back,” Nabil said, breaking the silence. “And once I’m ready, I’m following that river downstream and getting the fuck out of here. This is nothing more than a sick joke and I’m not laughing.”

  The group didn’t argue with his sentiment, with many obviously having come through a similar experience to Richard and Tiffany, still shattered and bruised from their ordeal. The water and food provided would have to do for now, and getting some rest was all most could think about. Two, silent and still on the camp bed, needed urgent medical attention, but no one could even begin to think about playing doctor to her. It was all too much. They talked among themselves, trying to piece together the fragments of memory in an effort to find out who they were. Nothing concrete could be laid, but some minor personality traits were recalled. Carol mentioned a fear of heights, while Charles remembered a fear of death – which amused Richard, as the old man didn’t look too far away from facing that.

  Amongst the chatter about fear, death, and wishes, Richard couldn’t help but notice how organised Stacey was. Her bed was as clean as it could be under the circumstances, and she was constantly cleaning beneath her nails with twigs. Mild OCD, or some sort of mysophobia? That was one trait he could recall about his wife, but then the headache came back.

  He rested as best he could for the rest of the ev
ening. At one stage, he looked up and thought he glimpsed the moon glowing through the canopy, but he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t be sure of anything, except for the deafening silence that accompanied the bone-numbing chill around the camp. As far as he could tell, everyone was awake, just lying on their beds wrapped in rags and trying to keep warm. The forest cloaked them, but also held them prisoner, its looming silence occasionally broken by one of the group shifting beneath their blanket, or by a camera buzzing as its lens adjusted.

  Thoughts of home filled his head, and what he could puzzle together from disjointed memories. The day he and Lizzy moved in together floated past like an old movie replaying in his mind’s eye. She announced her pregnancy and gave him the ultimatum: get a real job or… From beyond the headache, his role in fatherhood came to him. His heartbeat skipped at the thought of being a father, but the child’s face, or anything about it, wouldn’t come to him. He shifted it to the side and focused back on her offer – well, ultimatum. Things would have to change. His job wouldn’t cover rent, never mind a mortgage. How long ago had that been? Was his son or daughter waiting for him at home? Where was home? He couldn’t remember his occupation – but was ninety-nine percent certain it involved computers. At the very least, he sat in front of one all day. He needed to get home. Nabil was right. At first light, they had to get out of this place.

  FIVE

  The silence was shattered by a loud static crackling throughout the camp, almost like a klaxon, causing everyone to jump. Richard shot up and looked around in the darkness, honing in on the sound of a radio struggling to find a tuning. It seemed to come from near the campfire, its embers now giving little light.

  Several called out in confusion. Charles barked orders to get the fire going, and Tom and Nabil scrambled to place wood on it. “He’s coming back, chaps.”

  “Who is?” Tiffany cried. “Who's coming back?”

  “The one who tasked us to bring you three back to camp,” Charles replied. “Now hurry up and line up.”