Chapter 28
Nathaniel sat at the table in his room and attempted to roll a cigarette with his new homemade ingredients. He had dried some Hazel leaves and some mint, chopped it up and was now rolling it in a scrap of paper.
He stared at his finished product with some trepidation. It looked right but smelt odd. The Zippo was flicked into flame. Applied. He dragged.
When the Professor entered his room, some five minutes later, he was still coughing.
‘Goodness me,’ exclaimed the Prof. ‘Smells like a bonfire in here. What are you burning?’
Nathaniel held up the offending tube of ersatz tobacco. ‘Trying to make cigarettes. Hazel and mint.’
The Prof laughed. ‘Smells disgusting. Anyhow,’ he continued. ‘On a more serious subject. It appears that we have lost two of the scholars.’
‘What do you mean, lost?’
‘Well, I assume that they left on their own accord. Brother and sister. Tom and Louise. Their parents lived fairly close by. Twenty miles or so. I think that they may have gone to find them.’
‘Well good luck to them,’ said Nathaniel.
‘They’re only fifteen and sixteen years old, master sergeant.’
The marine sighed. ‘Suppose that you want me to go after them?’
‘If you could,’ agreed the Prof.
‘Fine. Have you got a map of the surrounds showing where the parents live? I’ll go alone. I’ll tool up just in case, one never knows what uglies are out there. Bring me a couple of candles as well, please Prof.’
While Nathaniel kitted up the Professor went to fetch a map. He returned and handed over the candles, then he showed Nathaniel the route that the teenagers would most likely have taken.
‘When did they go?’ Asked Nathaniel.
‘They were at breakfast,’ said the Prof. ‘But no one saw them at lunch. That’s when the others told me. We checked their rooms and they weren’t there. Plus some clothes, a haversack, water bottles were missing.’
‘So. Maybe four hours. Maybe as much as six. I’ll catch them.’ He hitched the strap for his M249M22 machine gun over his shoulder. He had the one belt of 200 rounds, leaving the rest of the ammo on the bed. He also holstered his 45 and two extra magazines. He wore no body armor.
He left via the front gate, looked at the map, got his bearings and jogged off. A fast, loping run that he could continue all day if he had to.
For the first hour he ran down the only road. A winding, one lane country track with trees so thick that their overhanging branches formed a leaf covered passageway. Every now and then he would come across a gate. He would always stop and check if there was anything in the field. Cows, horses, sheep, people. But he saw nothing.
During the second hour he came across a sheep lying next to the road. Its carcass bloated. Missing legs. Throat cut. It had been inexpertly butchered by someone who carried away what they could and had left the rest.
The marine cast around for spoor. Two people. One older, heavier. The other young. Small. Father and child? Mother and daughter? Nathaniel stood up and started to run once again.
He came to a crossroads and, after consulting the map, turned left. After a mile, a T-junction. Consult map. Turn left again. Nathaniel kept moving fast, worried as the light bled from the afternoon and the sky began to bruise with the coming of evening.
He came across a car. Abandoned, one door open. He checked for anything worthwhile but it was empty.
Finally he came to a small hamlet, at the bottom of a dip, surrounded by trees. Perhaps seven houses. Small cottages and one large Tudor mansion. A little way past the hamlet sat a small church or chapel. It was only a single story high. Small buttresses stood out from the walls and a row of arched windows ran down its length. It looked like a 17th century flat-pack church. Graceless and ugly. A stone toad squatting in the English countryside, dark and forbidding in the lowering light.
Nathaniel knocked on the doors of the cottages, calling out. All of the doors were locked but no one answered. He looked at the church and thought that there just might be a light on inside. A single candle, perhaps. He walked towards the squat stone building, a feeling of trepidation filling him for no real reason apart from the odd appearance of the small ugly building.
It was only when he got close to the narthex of the building, a wooden picket fence with a rough wooden roof, that his unease grew into full concern. The intricate wooden cross that graced the entrance to the church had been ripped off and then re-nailed back up. But this time it was upside down. The marine did not need to get any closer to see what the dark, almost black, fluid was that covered it. He could smell the iron smell of blood from where he stood.
He moved forward with stealth. Pushed the door open just enough to squeeze through.
There were maybe twelve or fifteen people in the church. Lit by six candles. Dull, orange guttering light. The people were dressed in robes of dark material. And, laid out on the floor of the chancel, in front of the alter, were two naked bodies. Despite the dull lighting Nathaniel recognized them instantly as Tom and Louise. Standing over them was another man, also dressed in a hooded robe. He held a book in one hand and a long silver blade in the other. The edge of the blade was covered in blood and Nathaniel could see that an upside down crucifix had been cut into both of the teenager’s chests, the stipes running between their breasts and the patibulum slashed across their lower abdomen. The cuts weren’t as deep as to need stitches but they were deep enough to allow the blood to flow freely from them. It was their blood that had been used to desecrate the cross outside.
Tom was staring at the hooded figure with undisguised hatred. Louise was whimpering, her eyes clenched tightly shut.
The hooded man was chanting something in Latin.
‘Dominus malum, accipe nos.’
Nathaniel’s limited knowledge of Latin was based more on street Italian than the classics but as far as he could work out this meant something like, Dark Lord take us now. The marine slowly raised his weapon to point at the dark priest, his movement a picture of stealth.
Then the dark priest put down the book, pulled his robes aside and started to urinate on the two bound bodies.
‘No way,’ shouted the marine as he depressed the trigger to the SAW. Eight high velocity rounds smashed into the dark priest in under one second, ripping into his torso, lifting him up and throwing him bodily back into the nave, some ten feet away.
The noise of the machine gun in the enclosed stone room was beyond deafening and most of the worshippers simply fell to the floor in shock. Two of them, however, reacted with staggering speed, turning and running at the marine. But, as fast as they thought they were, to Nathaniel’s super-quick reflexes it was as if he were watching someone running at him through knee high mud. He let them get within six feet of him and then ripped off two short bursts. Five rounds each that literally tore them in half.
Then he shouted in his loudest parade ground voice.
‘Listen up, crazies. Move to the right hand side of the church. Do it now or I will open fire on you.’
The hooded congregation shuffled to do his bidding, the noise and blood and the violent butchery having subdued any feelings of retaliation.
Nathaniel rushed to the two teenagers, picked up the sacrificial knife and quickly cut Tom’s bonds. Then he handed the boy the knife.
‘Cut your sister free,’ commanded the marine. Tom nodded, his eyes wide with shock but his movements still steady.
Nathaniel grasped his shoulder and squeezed. ‘Good boy, well done.’ Then the marine chose one of the worshippers at random.
‘Hey, you. Halfwit, where are their clothes?’
The worshipper said nothing. Nathaniel stepped forward, flicked the man’s hood back and hit him in the face with the butt of the machine gun. He went over backwards in a welter of blood, his nose shattered and shifted to the right hand side of his face. He was unconscious before he hit the floor. Nathaniel moved to the next worshipper.
‘Clothes,’ he said.
They pointed at the alter. ‘Behind there.’
‘Fetch them,’ commanded the marine.
The man scampered over and pulled a pile of clothes from behind the altar.
‘Give them to the boy.’
He handed them to Tom who sorted quickly through them, picking out his sister’s underwear, jeans, t-shirt and sneakers that he gave to her. Only then did he dress himself.
Nathaniel beckoned for the two teenagers to join him.
‘You guys okay?’ He asked.
They both nodded.
‘The bastard pissed on us,’ said Tom, his voice shaking with anger.
‘Yep,’ agreed Nathaniel. ‘But now his pissing days are long gone.’ He took Louise by then shoulder. ‘Are you all right? No…umm…’
Louise smiled, a slight movement of the lips. ‘They didn’t rape me or anything,’ she said. ‘Apparently that was the lord Satan’s job.’
The marine shook his head. ‘Crazy animals.’
‘How dare you?’ Shouted one of the congregation. ‘How dare you label us as crazy? We are the Order of Nine Angels and our moment has come. No longer shall we skulk in the darkness, avoiding the unbelievers. Nay, we shall stride forth and conquer. Do you not see? The Dark Lord has brought about the new Dark Age. He has painted the sky with his colors and only those who worship him and love him shall survive. Through human sacrifice and foul deeds shall we praise his name. Dominus malum, accipe nos.’
The rest of the congregation joined in with the chant, their heads rocking rhythmically, eyes staring glassily forward.
‘Dominus malum, accipe nos. Dominus malum, accipe nos.’
Nathaniel pulled out his Colt and handed it to Tom, slipping the safety off as he did so. ‘Here, be careful, the safety is off. You point it, hold tight, pull the trigger. Anything in the way dies. Simple. Get it?’
Tom nodded.
‘Good boy. Go outside with your sister and wait for me.’
The two teenagers ran from the building, eager to escape from the awful darkness and the stench of death.
By now the congregation had worked itself up into an ardor of religious ecstasy. Some were weeping openly, others were rending their hair, literally tearing it out in clumps while still others were biting their own tongues, blood flowing freely from their mouths. And then, all at once, they charged the marine.
From outside the desecrated church the two teenagers heard the SAW open up. The sound muted by the thick stone walls. Like a gigantic typewriter typing at an incredible speed. Or the sound of a cloth being torn magnified in volume a million times.
The door swung open. Tom raised the Colt but it was only the marine. He stood in silence for a while, the only sound the plinking of the machine gun as it cooled down in the fresh night air. Eventually he spoke.
‘Now those people were what we like to call, howling at the moon crazy.’
‘Did you kill them all?’ Asked Louise, her voice quiet. Horror etched into her expression.
Nathaniel nodded.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘They were evil. They deserved to die.’
‘Amen and hallelujah to that,’ agreed Nathaniel. ‘Now, let’s go through these houses, see what we can find. Then we clean you guys up, sort out your wounds and get a good night sleep. Don’t worry, I’ll stay awake, make sure that you’re safe. Then, tomorrow we go and find you parents. Deal?’
The two teenagers smiled. ‘Deal,’ they said together.
When they entered the first cottage Nathaniel took the two candles that the Prof had given him and lit them, passing one to Louise and one to Tom. The cottage revealed nothing of note, the second one, however, must have had a husband and wife of almost identical size to the two teenagers. They each chose a selection of fresh clothes. Then Nathaniel took a bucket and went to the rainwater butt. After a few trips he had shallow filled a bath.
Louise washed first, cleaning the blood and sweat and urine off herself, then she wrapped up in a towel. Tom followed suit. Then the two of them went into the sitting room.
‘Right,’ said the marine to Louise. ‘I’m going to have to take a look at your wound. You’ll have to take your towel off and cover up with your hands.’
The marine had taken out his medical kit and selected some bandages, a tube of antibiotic cream, a packet of quick-clot, a bottle of povidone-iodine solution and adhesive tape.
Louise lay back on the sofa and dropped her towel to her hips, covering herself from just below her navel. She didn’t bother to place her hands over her breasts. Her cut was still oozing blood, particularly between her breasts where the incision was deeper.
‘This is going to sting a bit,’ Nathaniel warned as he tore off a square of sterile bandage and soaked it with the iodine solution. He used it to swab the wound clean, working firmly but efficiently. Tears sprang to Louise’s eyes but she didn’t flinch. Then Nathaniel sprinkled some quick-clot over the wound and the bleeding stopped immediately. Finally he ran a length of sterile bandage down each of the cuts and stuck it on using the adhesive tape.
While he did the same to Tom, his sister dressed herself. And Tom followed.
‘Well done, guys,’ said Nathaniel. ‘I’m proud of you. Tom, keep hold of the 45. Bring the candles. Let’s check out the rest of the houses.’
The other four cottages were similarly uninteresting and it was only when they entered the Tudor mansion that things started to look up.
The malevolent occupiers of the hamlet had obviously pooled their recourses and moved them to the main house for safekeeping. It was their sick rite at the church that had drawn them all away, leaving no one to guard the hoard. The entrance hall was piled high with cases of tinned food, boxes of medical goods, sacks of dry goods, bottles of water and, even more importantly, racks of shotguns with boxes of ammunition.
‘Well damn me sideways,’ said Nathaniel. Louise giggled at his profanity. ‘Man,’ he continued. ‘We’d need a five ton truck to shift all of this. Don’t know how we’re going to do it but we have to get it back to the abbey. Come on, guys, let’s check the rest of the place out.’
The sitting room had a huge pile of wood set against the one wall, ready for cold weather and cooking in the hearth. There were also a few boxes of large church candles. In the dining room, heaps of blankets, heavy weather coats, boots, gloves and other items of clothing and more candles. The house was a treasure trove. Nathaniel was rooting through the boxes when he heard something. He stopped and listened.
‘You guys hear that?’ He asked.
‘It’s coming from there,’ said Louise, pointing at a door in the dining room. Nathaniel went over and put his ear to the wood. Now he could clearly hear someone. A male voice. Singing, deep and melodious. Then the singing stopped to be replaced by the same voice swearing at the top of his lungs, the fact that they could hardly hear, testament to the thickness of the door.
‘He gestured to the two teenagers. ‘Stand back,’ and he opened the door. ‘Hey,’ he shouted. ‘Who’s there?’
A bottle came whipping out of the darkness and shattered behind the marine. A blood colored chrysanthemum of red wine splashed across the wall. Nathaniel took a few quick steps back into the room.
And then someone came running up the stairs. A barrel of a man. Perhaps five feet ten high by similar dimensions in width. Most likely weighing in at over three hundred pounds. He was wearing a black cassock and, on his feet, a pair of steel capped work boots.
‘Ya feckin bastard,’ he yelled as he ran straight into the marine. It was like he had run into a wall and the look of surprise on his face was almost comical, had he not been so angry. He staggered about for a second or so and then sat down with a thump. Flat on his buttocks with his legs out straight in front of him. A huge child at play.
He shook his head and looked at the marine. ‘And who da feck are youse?’ He demanded.
‘Master gunnery sergeant Nathaniel Hogan, United Sates Marine Corp. And you?’
‘I be father Phelim O’Hara. I tort dat you wus one of does devil worshippin bastards. Dat’s why I tru a bottle at yez,’ said the man, his Irish accent so broad as to need serious concentration to follow what he was saying.
‘Not a problem,’ said Nathaniel.
The priest stood up. ‘Tell me, young marine soldier, how comes yez didna fall doon when I charged yez?’
‘I make a habit of not falling down, Father.’
‘Aye, be dat as it may, when Father Phelim O’Hara runs into someone dey falls down. Always dey falls down.’
‘Well, you can’t say that any more now, Father, can you?’
The priest shook his head sadly. ‘Nay and nay again, to be sure. Still, I won’t mention it ta any and I be sure dat you won’t nieder. So den tell me, where are does Satan worshipping pig feckers?’
There was a pause before Nathaniel answered. ‘I killed them, Father.’
O’Hara rubbed his hands together. ‘Well done, young marine. D’ja do it wid dat machine gon of yourn?’
Nathaniel nodded.
‘Good work, my son. For did not our Lord say; “March against Babylon. Pursue, kill, and completely destroy dem, as I have commanded yez. Let da battle cry be heard in da land, a shout of great destruction”. Jeremiah 50:21-22.’
Nathaniel smiled.
‘So what next, good peoples?’ Asked the priest.
‘I’ve promised to take Tom and Louise to find their parents. Not far, few miles away. Then I’d like to get this booty in the house to the abbey where we’re all staying.’
‘Easily done,’ said the priest. ‘First den, we gets a good night sleep. Den tomorrow we saddle up some horses for you three peoples. I’ll stay here and guard de place from vagabonds and suchlike. When yez come back we’ll load da goodies on da wagon and be off.’
‘So they have horses and wagons?’ Asked Nathaniel.
‘Oh yes dey does,’ confirmed O’Hara. ‘Lots of da beasties.’
‘Sounds good,’ agreed the marine. ‘I’ll take first watch. You two get some sleep. Father, your time is your own.’
‘Tanks be ta you, young soldier. I tink dat I’ll sit up for a while. Dey has got a lovely lot of wines and whiskeys in da cellar dat I was incarcerated and I shall partake and sit wid youse.’
Father O’Hara picked up one of the church candles, lit it with his lighter and wandered back down the stairs into the cellar. The two teenagers grabbed some blankets and went through to the sitting room and lay down on two of the sofas. Not wanting to stray too far from the marine and his comforting presence. Within moments they had both fallen into an exhausted slumber.
O’Hara came up from the cellar carrying four wine bottles in his ham-sized mitts. He put them down on the dining room table, went through to the kitchen and returned with two glasses and a corkscrew. He opened two of the bottles and poured Nathaniel a glass without asking. He slid it across and then fished a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket. Again, without offering, he lit two and handed one to the marine.
Nathaniel inhaled with great pleasure and nodded his thanks.
‘Dere be a huge number of dees in da cellar,’ said the priest. ‘Most be fifty cartons at least. Now, boyo, what brings you here? Tell da father yourn story and den, if dere be time, I shall regale you wid mine.’
So Nathaniel told his story. He didn’t mean to go into the details that he did, but the father was a professional listener and knew exactly when and how to keep the marine talking. Within a few hours he had extracted Nathaniel’s entire life story up until the killing in the church and the second bottle of wine was almost empty and the priest had collected a carton of cigarettes. The room was blue with smoke and the two candles flickered their orange light across the walls and chased shadows across the wood beamed ceiling.
‘So, Father,’ said the marine. ‘Do you think that God is punishing us?’
‘No, Nathaniel. He’ll not be punishing us, He is testing us. Oh, to be sure, ours is a vengeful God and humanity is, when it comes down to it, a fairly useless fecking bunch. But our Lord he does love us, worthless sinners dat we be. Now you get yourself some shuteye, marine. The good father will keep a lookout for yez.’
Nathaniel pulled a blanket from the pile, lay on the carpet and went to sleep.
The next morning Nathaniel rose before the sun. Father O’Hara hadn’t slept and sat where he had been the night before. Two empty packs of cigarettes and three empty wine bottles bore testament to his cast iron constitution.
‘Top of the morning to yez, marine,’ he greeted. Nathaniel nodded a greeting, scrabbled for a cigarette and lit up. Then he went through to the sitting room and woke the teenagers up. They awoke bright eyed and bushy tailed as only the young can.
They breakfasted on tinned beans heated up in the fireplace, washed down with mineral water and strong black coffee.
Afterwards Father O’Hara took them to the stables. All in all there were six horses. The feed bins were full of oats and there was plenty of hay. The tack room had sufficient saddlery for all of the mounts. Around the back of the stables were two old, reconditioned Dray wagons. Open tops with four tyres and leaf suspension. Probably ten foot by five foot, each with a set of harnesses for two horses.
Tom and Louise saddled five of the horses, one for each of them, excluding O’Hara who was staying to guard the stash, and two extra for their parents.
They mounted up and set off at a fast walk. After half an hour or so Nathaniel spoke.
‘Listen up, guys,’ he said. ‘I want you both to be prepared for the worst. I don’t want to be the kiss of death or anything, I hope and pray that all will be fine. But just in case, anything could have happened. Your folks may not be there, they could have moved on, gotten ill, hurt themselves. Just prepare and be strong.’
They both nodded solemnly at him and he could see that they held no false hopes.
It took them a little under four hours to travel the twenty miles to the teenager’s parent’s house. It was a massive Georgian pile set well back on a country road. Steel gates that looked as if they had never been shut, a marble chip driveway and no perceivable neighbours.
The house itself was white, covered in ivy and in need of some repair. Old money on a slow genteel slide to ruin.
They dismounted and tied the horses to the stone balustrade that ran along the front of the house. Nathaniel waved the two teenagers behind him as they mounted the steps. The front door was closed but unlocked and they walked in, pausing for a second or so in order to let their eyes adjust to the dim interior.
The two teenagers pushed past Nathaniel, calling out for their parents. The marine followed them as they went from room to room, a sitting room, drawing room, dining room. They found the mother in the library. She was lying on the floor, on her side.
She was alive. Nathaniel knelt down next to her, lifted her head and put his water bottle to her lips. She sipped, swallowed, gagged and then drank fervently. Her eyes flickered open and a smile spread across her face.
‘My darlings,’ she whispered. ‘Is this real?’
Tom grabbed her hand and Louise started weeping.
‘Mummy,’ said Tom. ‘We’re here. You’ll be safe now.’
‘Where’s daddy?’ Asked Louise.
‘I’m so sorry, my darlings,’ she said. ‘So sorry.’
‘What, mummy?’ Demanded Louise. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Daddy died last week,’ she said. ‘His asthma. I’m so sorry.’
‘But what’s wrong with you, mummy?’ Asked Tom.
‘Silly me. All my fault. Daddy had an attack and his pump had run out. So I ran upstairs to look for another. But I slipped. Fell. I think that I’ve broken my hips. It’s taken me two days to crawl here from the bottom of the steps and now that I’m here I do wonder why I bothered. No water here. No water there.’
Nathaniel held the bottle to her lips again and she drank greedily. Then she held out her hand to the marine. ‘Marjorie Stepford,’ she said.
Nathaniel took her hand and squeezed it slightly. ‘Pleased to meet you, ma’am,’ he said. ‘Master gunnery sergeant Nathaniel Hogan, United States Marine Corp, at your service.’
She smiled through her pain and Nathaniel felt his heart go out to her. To her bravery, her composure. Her essential Britishness.
‘Well, master sergeant, I’ve always said, if you want something done then call on a non-commissioned officer, preferably a sergeant. So, taking care of my children are you?’
The marine nodded. ‘I am, ma’am.’
‘Good,’ she nodded. ‘Well done.’
Tom started to weep, silently.
‘No, no,’ Marjorie admonished him. ‘That simply won’t do, Thomas. Can’t go around weeping at everything, goodness me, what would people think?’
Tom held his chin up. ‘Sorry, mummy.’
‘Now, give mummy a hug, both of you, and then I want you to leave me alone with the master sergeant for a while. Okay?’
The two teenagers hugged their mother and kissed her and then left the room, obeying her wishes.
Nathaniel knelt down next to her again.
‘Sergeant Hogan,’ she said. ‘I have broken both of my hips. I cannot move my legs and I can feel that some sort of infection has set in. Now, I’m not sure what has happened to the civilized world but I do know that it seems to no longer exist. Am I correct in that assumption?’
Nathaniel nodded. ‘There has been some sort of solar flare. The electromagnetic waves caused by it have destroyed the world’s electrical and electronic goods. Essentially, ma’am, we are back in the dark ages.’
Marjorie nodded. ‘Thought as much. So, the only thing left for me would be a long, slow, agonising death.’
Nathaniel showed her the respect of not lying. ‘Yes, ma’am. At best case scenario. Might not be so long. We cannot operate, cannot replace the hips, don’t even have a decent supply of painkillers.’
‘Fine. Now, sergeant, be an absolute sweetheart. Go upstairs, third door on the left you will find a bedroom. Go inside, the next door is a bathroom en suite. Medicine cabinet inside. Take a look and you will find a bottle of Xanax. After that, go to the drawing room, in the corner you will see a liquor cabinet. Bring a bottle of Cognac.’ She patted Nathaniel on the hand. ‘Hurry now, sergeant. No time for dilly-dallying.’
The marine did as he was asked, opening the bottle of cognac as he walked back into the room. He handed both the pills and the alcohol over to Marjorie. She prized the cap off the unopened bottle of Xanax and proceeded to swallow them with the cognac, taking five or so at a time until the bottle was finished, breathing deeply as she did so in order to not cough from the spirit intake.
When the pills were finished she struggled her way through half of the bottle of cognac and then beckoned Nathaniel to her.
‘My husband died in the kitchen a few days back. Don’t let the children see the body, I’m sure that he looks well past his best by now.’ Nathaniel nodded. ‘I’m not sure how quickly this cocktail works so, please send the children in. It’s time for me to say goodbye.’
Nathaniel stood up, faced the lady of the house and saluted. ‘I wish that we could have met under better circumstances, ma’am,’ he said.
‘As do I, master sergeant,’ she replied. ‘As do I.’
Nathaniel went through to the entrance hall and told the two teenagers that their mother wanted to see them. Then he went outside, sat on the balustrade, lit a cigarette and waited.
After half an hour the two siblings walked out of the front door.
Louise strode up to the marine and slapped him, hard, across the face. Nathaniel saw it coming but didn’t move.
‘She’s dead,’ said Louise. ‘She’s dead and you could have prevented it. You gave her the pills, you killed her.’ She slapped the marine again.
Nathaniel shook his head. ‘She was a very brave lady, Louise. She knew that she was beyond cure and she did the right thing. Seeing you and Tom before she went was a gift beyond all that she could have hoped for. I am really, really sorry for your loss, but I did not kill your mother and I would never do anything to hurt either of you.’ He stepped forward and put his arms around Louise and hugged her. She burst into tears and clung to him, her breath coming in short ragged bursts.
Tom stood to the side, his eyes red rimmed but tearless, obeying his mother’s last wishes. No tears, no crying, after all, what would people think.
Nathaniel reached out and pulled Tom into an embrace with his sister.
‘It’s alright, my boy,’ he said. ‘You can cry. There’s no shame in tears. None at all.’
So the two teenagers cried for the loss of their family. And their world and all that they had ever known.
And the big marine held them tight and kept them safe.