Mark splashed water into his tired face, looking at his pale features in the cracked mirror. This was what Chris said he always did after a nightmare, but Mark didn't really see how it helped. The screams still haunted his thoughts regardless.
As he looked at his reflection through sunken eyes, his thoughts turned back to the weird dream he had had. As soon as the strange soldier had dragged him away from that hell of a school, and the body of his only son, his mind was blank. He vaguely remembered being taken to a red brick house in a long row of terraces, stumbling up the stairs and collapsing on the first bed he found. And from then on his night had been dominated by that one image, of his son dead on the grey tarmac, and the sightless eyes of that bitch Sandra, mocking him .She had been there, in his dream, or rather nightmare, laughing as she blew out the brains of his screaming son, then grinning as she shoved the gun in her own mouth and pulled the trigger. That same image had been there all the time, in different ways but always the same outcome. Sometimes he was there, and she spoke to him before committing the act, sometimes he arrived to find the aftermath and sometimes, most disturbingly of all, he was the one telling Sandra to do it and handing her the gun.
He shook himself. Now was not the time for those sorts of thoughts. He exited the bathroom, changing his shirt from one of his hanging on the bannister in the tight corridor. In the room to his right Chris lay asleep on one of the beds, an ugly bruise evidence for when Mark hit him. He really hadn't meant to do that, it had been a spur of the moment sort of thing, an attempt to just lash out and make someone pay. Closing the door quickly he entered the other room at the end of the hall, finding his stuff all lay out on the bedside table next to the unmade bed. Quickly finding his jeans from the floor and throwing them on he stuck the evil looking cleaver through his belt, along with the short handled crowbar before pulling on his heavy work boots. The crossbow he found by the wardrobe, and, after checking it was still in working order, left it where it was, the box full of bolts next to it. Opening the wardrobe he found a green army dress uniform, which had obviously been well kept, and a few odd shirts.
After closing the wardrobe he left the room, Chris' snores still emanating from the other bedroom, and staggered down the stairs, trying to block out the images still in his head. Shaking himself one more time, he entered the living room, a modest little space with a fireplace and two sofas, Eliza sat on one, drinking tea and on the other an Asian man, short but stocky with a clipped moustache and wearing an old green army uniform , who stood up as Mark entered and offered his hand.
"Mark this is…"Eliza began but Mark quickly interrupted, saying firmly.
"Eliza we need to go. Go wake Chris up and we can be on the road within the next ten minutes."
"Aren't you going to thank our host? This is Sergeant Gage Thapa" Eliza said with a frown, a disapproving look on her face as she set her teacup down.
Mark nodded, anger in his eyes as he turned to the sergeant.
"Of course Mr Thapa, I forgot my manners. I've a lot to thank you for, but what should I start with, eh? Oh yeah, thanks for stopping those walkers overrunning the school, yeah thanks mate, good one there…Also, I have to thank you for saving all those kids and their teachers, good idea to let them shoot themselves. And of course, you did a great job of saving my son didn't you? Because of you he's out there on that playground, a fucking bullet hole in his head! Does that make you feel good eh? That you let all those kids die?!"
"Mark stop!" Eliza cried, standing up to confront him, but he only shook his head.
"Shut it Eliza! This little fuck here could have saved them all, if he had only fucking…"
At this point Gage spoke, the short Asian man showing no anger at Mark's words, only a calm even tone.
"Look I understand your going through a hard time…Mark is it? I understand exactly what you…"
He never finished his sentence as Mark suddenly lunged forward and grabbed the other man, shoving him into the wall. Instantly there was the sound of a blade being drawn and Mark felt a tip of cold steel pressed to his neck, looking down to see Gage holding a large bladed curved knife to his throat and he took his hands off him. The blade was quickly sheathed again and Gage smiled as if it had never happened.
"Now if your frigging finished take a seat" Eliza demanded, practically manhandling Mark onto the sofa next to her as Gage sat down and poured him a cup from a porcelain teapot, offering him it. Mark took it grudgingly and listened as Gage began to speak.
"I believe I need to introduce myself Mark, for your benefit at least. As your friend Eliza told you, my name is Gage Thapa, former sergeant in the Duke of Edinburgh's Own 7th Gurkha Rifles. And, as I told you a minute ago, I know about your son's death and ,trust me, I am very sorry that it happened and, if I could, I would have done all in my power to stop the…nightmare ,at that school. I know full well what it is like to lose your only son."
As he said this he stood up and went over to the mantelpiece, motioning for Mark to join him. As he came over, Mark saw the photos laid out, an old wedding photo of Gage in his uniform with a smiling bride, and then one of a grinning two year old boy on a tricycle, the same boy at around ten years old in the uniform of the local school, the same one Thomas had gone to. Finally the boy, who Mark could now see as Gage's son due to the uncanny resemblance, was in one more photo, dressed in the dress uniform he had seen upstairs, a broad smile on his face as he stood next to his father.
"That was the proudest day of my life." Gage said softly. "I remember how excited he was when he got into the regiment, the same as I had been in. My wife and I went to wave him off when he went to Afghanistan, she cried so much, but she was so proud…"
He tailed off, running his hand over the silver badge on the black beret next to the photo.
"When we got that letter from his CO, I just remember being numb, as if it hadn't happened. It was quick, his mates said. A sniper shot him during a fire fight, pierced his helmet. He was dead before the others even knew… My wife left soon after that, back to the old country. Can't really blame her. I was a wreck for a year or so, grief does that to you, sat in the pub getting wasted or getting into fights in places a man like me shouldn't be in. In a weird way this whole disaster saved me, gave me purpose in life when I thought there was no way to go on."
Mark felt his heart go out to this man, who had lost so much yet still had a smile on his face.
"I…" he began, wanting to apologise to Gage, but the other man just shook his head.
"It's fine, I was like that when Ganju died. I almost punched my best mate when he came around after the funeral. But you need to focus that grief, put it to one side until you're ready to deal with it properly, then finally look at yourself and be able to grieve, and then move on, but still remember them forever."
Mark nodded, feeling a bit foolish now as he sat down.
"Anyway…" Eliza said, changing the subject. "Gage was telling me he wanted to join us. Like a fourth musketeer."
Mark grinned for what felt like the first time in ages.
"So what do you bring to the table then sergeant?"
Gage smiled and reached behind his chair.
"This for a start…" and pulled a long barrelled rifle from behind him, placing it on the coffee table after removing the magazine.
"Whoa…" Mark said softly as Gage spoke again.
"That there is an L1A1 Self Loading Rifle. Saw me through over ten years of service until I retired twenty years ago. Kept it clean and ready for action ever since."
"How did you get this?" Eliza said, peering to look closer at the bulky weapon and Gage grinned.
"Let's just say I had a good friend at the barracks. It feels good to get the old girl back in action."
Peering closer Mark noticed two separate phrases scratched into the wooden stock. Reading the first out his eyes widened.
"Tumbledown 14th June 1982-FI. You fought in the Falklands?"
"Well, I don't like to brag but yes, I was there. Didn't see a huge amount of action though. Seems the Argies thought we were sword wielding monsters who beheaded prisoners so they turned tail and ran when they heard us coming…"
He laughed, and then pointed to the inscription below that.
"Now, that was the real battle for me. Northern Ireland 1988. Almost got my legs blown off by an IRA grenade the first week and we were in fire fights practically every other day for the whole tour."
Mark frowned.
"Alright, you've got military experience but so do a lot of those soldiers off the news and I heard they didn't handle all that well against the walkers. You do know how to kill them I hope? Headshots?"
Gage looked genuinely surprised when Mark said that, leaning forward in interest.
"Really? I was always taught to go for headshots anyway, guess that's what comes of only having a semi auto weapon. Not like those high tech assault rifles the boys out there have now. And of course, I always have this, my kukri."
He proudly drew his blade from his sheath and handed it to Eliza, who studied the blade inetently.
"So have you got supplies here then?" she said as she studied the intricate design on the handle.
"Loads. Food, water, and a whole load of my old army kit. Feel free to take what you need, that is, if I can join your little band? Safety in numbers and all that…"
"Of course." Said a voice from across the room, and all three of them turned to see Chris, fully dressed, rubbing his bruised head slightly as he stood in the doorway.
Gage smiled.
"Well we should get moving then. Those 'walkers' from the school will be making their way here soon. I forgot to lock the gate when we ran from there. Now is it Chris? Your sister told me about you. I'm Gage Thapa."
As Chris absently shook the Gurkha's meaty hand Mark stood up to grab his stuff from upstairs, saying.
"Look, I know you're in our group and all Gage but, have you got some kind of transport? Because I know those walkers are slow but they're bloody persistent."
The old soldier smiled.
"I have just the thing."
Ten minutes later and all four were stood on the deserted street outside, staring at Gage's transport.
"Bit vintage isn't it?" Eliza said, absently glancing up and down the street.
"So was the van though." Chris replied. "Plus this thing looks like it could handle better off road."
"Yes." Gage agreed, grinning broadly as he unlocked the ancient vehicle. "I bought this Land Rover off a friend in the regiment when they amalgamated it with a few other units. Still kept the old paintwork and everything. Anyway it's got a full tank so it should be enough for us to get to…"
"Southampton." Chris finished for him, pulling down the tailgate at the back and climbing in, Mark quickly following, his crossbow loaded and ready.
"I get to go shotgun it seems." Eliza said with a laugh as Gage placed his rifle behind the driver's seat, all the other supplies already crammed into the back with Mark and Chris, along with Gage's son's uniform, carefully folded up and placed in a pile with his photos.
As she opened the door Gage turned to her, handing her a large black pistol.
"You might as well take my old sidearm. It's the same as your brothers and I've got a ton of ammo but, just be careful with it ok? Hop in."
As Eliza climbed in Gage looked back at his house for a second, before placing his son's black beret on his head, a tear in his eye as he gave the house a final salute and then climbed into the driver's seat and closed the door.
He turned to the two in the back as the roar of jet engines filled the air, and three Eurofighters screamed overhead, trailing smoke.
"Next stop Southampton!"