Free Son of Heaven by David Wingrove Page A

going in to Corfe. You wanna come?’
    ‘Nah… later, maybe.’
    Meg looked disappointed, but she didn’t argue. As she ran off, Peter looked down at Boy, then knelt to pet him and rough up his coat.
    ‘You’re a good dog… You liked Aunt Mary’s stew, didn’t you? You could’ve eaten a whole bowl on your own…’
    He stopped, straightening up. He thought he’d heard something.
    ‘Boy,’ he whispered. ‘Stay. I’ll be back in a minute.’
    While Boy did as he was told, Peter crossed the garden. He moved slowly, quietly. At the back door, which was partly open, he paused.
    Mary was at the sink, her back to him. She was hunched forward, her head lowered. At first he thought he’d been mistaken, but then he saw how she was shaking and heard the noise again.
    She was crying. She was standing there with her hands in the soapy water, sobbing her heart out.
    Peter turned away. Something had to be wrong.
    As he walked back, Boy came over, sensing his mood, nuzzling him, as if to somehow comfort him.
    ‘There’s my beauty,’ he said softly, bending down to pet him again. ‘There’s…’
    The first few shots could have been anything. It could have been a hunter, out in the meadows. What followed, however, was anything but normal. It sounded more like a fireworks display. Not only
that, but he could hear the distinctive sound of a semi-automatic, and he knew Dick Gifford had a semiautomatic. A .338 Browning.
    Oh Christ…
    They’d been ambushed. He was certain of it.
    He ran across. ‘Aunt Mary! Quick! Something’s happening!’
    She came out, wiping her eyes with her apron, then stood there looking north, listening intently. But it had died down now. Then, another brief flurry, before it all went silent again.
    ‘It’s them,’ he said. ‘It’s got to be.’
    ‘It hasn’t got to be…’
    But he could see she thought otherwise.
    ‘Aunt Mary…?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Just now… in the kitchen…’
    The way she looked at him, he could see that she wasn’t going to answer.
    ‘Peter. You’d better run in to Corfe. Let them know that the men might have got into trouble on the road. Maybe they can get someone out there. Find out what’s been
happening… And Peter… don’t say anything to the girls.’
    He nodded, then ran off, Boy in hot pursuit.
    Be okay , he thought, picturing his father clearly in his head. Just be okay .
    It was difficult knowing what to do with Tom. If they’d been coming back from market it would have been okay. They could have laid him down in the back of one of the
wagons and let him get some rest. As it was, he had to sit up on the bench seat, between Eddie Buckland and Jake, who had an arm about his old friend, making sure he didn’t topple off.
    They had decided to stop at Wool. It wasn’t far, only a couple of miles on from where they’d been attacked, and it marked the halfway point of their journey. Usually they’d
press on, all the way to Dorchester in the one day. It meant they’d have to set off early the next morning if they were to get to the market when it opened.
    As they trundled along, Jake kept Tom talking. The morphine, aside from numbing the pain, was making him sleepy, but Jake didn’t want him to fall asleep before they arrived in Wool and got
him in a proper bed. And so they talked about old times.
    ‘Back then they’d have seen to you properly,’ Jake said cheerily. ‘Given you an implant and grown new tissue within a week. And not even a scar. Like new.’
    ‘You think they’ve still got all that stuff, Jake? I mean, in America or somewhere like that?’
    ‘It’s possible, I suppose. And I guess once you’ve discovered all that stuff you can’t un -discover it. But I reckon it’ll be years before any of it comes
back. When things fell apart, they really fell apart. I saw it, remember? When things come crashing down like that, it isn’t easy to reconstruct. It isn’t easy at all. I read
somewhere… oh, a long time ago… that the