Hurst by Robin Crumby (the reading list book TXT) 📖

that they should have survived the virus, only to be killed by something innocuous like a candle left to burn. Sister Imelda said the candle might have fallen over, out of its saucer and on to a carpet or against a drape. In a few minutes, the whole bedroom would have been ablaze and then from there, a fire uncontained would have spread rapidly to the other rooms.

Stella looked up, tears streaming down her face. Mila sat cross-legged on the picnic blanket, hugging Stella tightly. There was nothing that anyone could say to make it better, so she said nothing. The three of them stared back at the hotel, as it smouldered quietly, the fire’s energy spent.

Sister Theodora was busying herself organising others, handing round cups of tea, cut-up fruit and blankets for those who had fought so hard throughout the night to save the hotel and rescue the trapped women. Mila stroked Adele’s hair one last time and kissed her gently on the forehead. She rose to go find the others.

The nurse had set up a temporary surgery in one of the outbuildings that had once been a soft-play gym for toddlers. Its padded floors were bright blues and reds that made for comfortable mattresses to treat the walking wounded and those more seriously injured by the fire. In the corner, on the far side, Riley found Zed wrapped in a blanket, clutching a steaming mug of milky tea. Someone had cleaned his face, but around his eyes and ears there were streaks of dirt and singed hair that reminded Riley of the 7/7 bombing victims on the London Underground all those years ago. There was a look of terror etched on his face, staring blankly with unseeing eyes. He was alive, but had needed CPR to get him breathing again, overcome by fumes. He nodded wearily at Riley and blinked his eyes rapidly as she approached.

“Looking good, Zed. You just can’t stay out of trouble.”

He tried to sit up but the strain was too much and he slumped back. Mila helped him upright. She leaned him back against the bright red cushions that smelled of a nursery. The disinfectant did a poor job of masking a heady blend of nappies and rancid milk.

“How are the others?” asked Zed.

“Stella got out early. She was lucky. Some of them didn’t make it out at all. Six died in their sleep. They just never woke up. There wasn’t a mark on them.” Riley shook her head, still trying to dispel the mental image of those women lying dead in their beds. “If I was going to die, that’s how I’d like to go. In my bed, dreaming of being on a beach somewhere hot.” Her voice trailed off.

“We need to get out of this place,” said Zed, his voice croaky. He reached for a glass of water, clearing his throat before continuing. “We need to get back to Hurst, to our own people. We’ve been gone too long already. They’ll be worried about us. What if they sent a rescue party or followed our trail into town? They’d go straight to the hospital. We’ve got to get back.”

“Not till you’re well enough to move. Remember what the nurse said,” said Riley.

“We don’t have time enough to wait around here,” said Zed.

“And we can’t just leave these people in their hour of need. Look around.” She extended her arm towards the twenty or so people stretched out around them. Some were fighting for breath from smoke inhalation, others were in agony from burns. The nurse was bustling between them, bathing limbs and foreheads with wet towels. “They need us. We can’t just ship out after all they’ve done for us.”

“There’s nothing we can do for them. They brought this on themselves.”

“What? You can’t seriously be suggesting that none of this would have happened if men had been around to save the day?”

“Don’t twist my words, Riley. I’m just saying that what comes around goes around. Let’s not forget that Joe is still locked up in the stables.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’ve seen it before. Cosmic forces. Karma. Call it what you like.” He glanced up and raised his eyebrows. “What would the sisters say: ‘The Lord moves in mysterious ways.’ I’m just saying that natural forces are at work here, rebalancing. Honi soit qui mal y pense and all that.”

“What does that even mean?” asked Mila, puzzled.

“You know, the Order of the Garter. Evil comes to those who think evil. You must have heard that before, right? Jack’s forever banging on about it.”

“Nope. I swear you make this stuff up.”

“It just means that life has a funny sort of way of getting its own back.”

“Whatever the sisters think or believe, no one deserves to die. Just because they have strong views about men, doesn’t mean they deserved this.”

“I’m not saying that at all. Don’t re-imagine what the sisters have done here. This isn’t the fulfilment of some weird feminist crusade for female empowerment.”

“People are entitled to create a new community based on different values.”

“Whatever happened to sexual equality being the goal? Whoever said that to be happy and prosperous required that someone else, an entire sex, had to be subjugated?”

“If people don’t like what they’ve done here, then they should leave.”

“You mean, if men don’t like it, they should leave? Careful, Riley. You’re beginning to sound like them.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to stay any more than you do. But you can’t say it’s not refreshing to see the boot on the other foot for a change.”

“It just goes to prove that, given half a chance, women can be just as abusive and prejudiced as men.”

Riley looked back mockingly. “Prejudiced maybe, but I wouldn’t say evil, would you? It’s not like we’re depriving you of basic human rights, forcing you to stay indoors and never show your face in public. We're not saying you can’t drive a car, vote, have a job, or any of the other stuff that women were routinely denied in some countries. Women will always have more of a bias towards nurturing than men. Call it oestrogen trumping testosterone any day of the week. You don’t see women slaughtering each other for bragging rights.”

“And I wouldn’t say locking a man up in a stable as part of some cult breeding programme is very progressive either. Would you?”

“I don’t see Joe complaining. He’s like a pig in mud,” added Riley.

“But surely you can’t defend what they’re doing here? This nightmarish version of feminism is abhorrent. It’s like a social experiment gone wrong. It deserves to fail.”

Adele popped her head around the doorway and spotted the three of them in the corner. She skipped over and sank down on top of Riley, wrapping herself in the blanket and snuggling down in its folds. Adele’s arrival defused the escalating hostility between them. Mila shrugged her shoulders watching the pair of them go at it. They could fight for hours, going back and forth like this, evenly matched, exploring idea and counter-idea. Mila couldn't see the point; both of them were so stubborn, they were never going to change.

Seeing Adele, Riley’s whole face seemed to relax into a smile. “How’re you doing, kiddo? Making yourself useful?”

“Yeah, Sister Mel made me make like a hundred flatbreads.” She wriggled round to face Riley, her eyes wide, her expression mischievous. “Hey, guess what I just heard? Joe and the other men have escaped.”

Riley sat bolt upright, her fatigue suddenly evaporated. It was like an electric shock had passed through her body. “Escaped where?” She grabbed Adele’s shoulders. “This is important, Adele. You need to tell me exactly what you heard.”

Adele looked puzzled but realised this was not just another game. She sighed and told her what she knew. “Just that when the guard went to check on them after the fire, the stables were empty, the doors were wide open.”

Riley and Zed looked at each other in confusion.

“Why would Joe escape when they promised to release him tomorrow? It doesn’t make any sense. The finger of suspicion is going to point squarely at us,” said Zed.

“They can’t have gone very far. All the cars are still parked outside,” added Mila.

“Well, if it wasn’t one of us who let them out, then who the hell was it?” wondered Zed out loud.

Chapter Thirty-eight

As the sun burst through the trees on the far side of the wood, Joe and the others were already two miles away, putting as much distance between them and the hotel as they could before the alarm was raised. They were fairly certain that the sisters wouldn’t send their guards after them.

Joe had wanted to stay behind, to wait for his friends. It seemed pointless to escape. He only had another day before Zed was well enough and the Hurst team could go home. Seamus had insisted he came with them. He told Joe that he would get the blame. Perhaps Seamus simply didn’t trust Joe to keep quiet. In the end he felt he had no choice but to go with them. He would bide his time and wait for an opportunity to slip away.

The small group stayed as far as they could from roads, crossing fields and following footpaths through turnstiles, along fences and hedgerows that grew wild and impassable in places. The dawn chorus of crows and rooks masked any noise they made as they hurried away. Speed was more important than stealth right now. Besides, they reckoned there was no one around to hear them.

They had Jean to thank for their escape. She was a mousey little thing, small for her age, Joe reckoned no more than sixteen. She had the responsibility of bringing the men food and water twice a day. Joe had warmed to her almost immediately. She was naive and impressionable, sympathetic to their plight. She had agreed to help them should the opportunity arise. All they had needed was a diversion.

It had been Seamus who had talked her into helping. He was always going on about the injustice of their captivity and how the right thing to do was to release them and help them escape. He had nurtured this idea almost daily for the last four months, or so he said, twisting the conversation, moulding her to his purpose.

Lying on his bed in the evenings, Joe had listened to Seamus whispering kindnesses to Jean, engaging her in conversation, trying to build her trust, gain her confidence, then bad-mouthing her as soon as she had left, his guile and artifice laid bare. Joe didn’t like Seamus’s methods but figured the end justified the means.

“Did I ever tell you what I was doing before all this?” asked Seamus. Joe realised he was fond of the sound of his own voice, as if he was afraid of silence. “I was labouring on this farm just north of New Milton with these Polish lads. I only ever intended to stay in England for the summer months till harvest time. I was trying to earn enough money to travel. Me and a couple of mates planned to spend the winter in Athens, doing bar work and sleeping above a fast-food restaurant we knew, near the Acropolis. But I never made it out of England.”

“What happened?” Joe prompted, keen to keep him talking.

“Sure, I remember like it was yesterday. I woke at first light with the mother of all hangovers. They took the money and my car, but they wouldn’t have got far. That car was only held together with fibreglass. I rewelded that chassis so many times it was a death trap. The rest of the farm buildings were deserted. The family must have left in the night. I stuck around for a couple of days but when it was clear that no one was coming back I broke in to the farmhouse and lived there on my own until the food ran out. After that I suppose I began a nomadic existence, living on my wits,