Ben Bracken: Origins (Ben Bracken Books 1 - 5) by Robert Parker Page A

hits him immediately, like iced smelling salts, and invigorates him to the core. He chugs on the chilled oxygen, finally able to get his lungs to some clean, untainted air. It is most welcome, as is the effect it brings. Clarity begins to return. Dag keeps speaking, but lets Ben go - aware that his strength and wherewithal is returning.
    ‘I literally shouted to you as you were heading out the door, back at the pub’ Dag continues, as he looks for something with which to bolster the church door shut, to keep the weirdos contained. ‘I wanted to come with you, as I had the shotgun. Bet you wish you’d waited.’
    ‘I didn’t hear’, Ben responds between breaths.
    ‘You were gone before I’d even got my words up. Look, I can spot ex-military a mile off.’
    Ben looks up with that honed defensiveness, prickly to whenever the military is mentioned - all too aware of it’s divisiveness in the public sphere.
    ‘You needn’t worry, son, we know our own. The Welsh Guards, 1963.’
    ‘The Rifles, 2013.’ Ben responds. He wants to spill the rest but he knows he should not.
    ‘Well, Rifles - there is a bonfire kicking off on the hill behind the Church, another couple of hundred yards up. I’ll keep this ghost army at bay, while you go up there.’
    ‘Thank you, Dag.’ Ben offers earnestly.
    Dag drags an old couch across the front door, then turns to Ben. ‘I can’t speak for anyone in there. I recognize a lot of those old boys. Down in the village we knew something was going on up here, but didn’t know what. It was getting quieter at nights down there, but that’s it. We always left them to it up here. But this... this... doesn’t look good.’
    ‘I have a thing for dropping in on bad situations’ says Ben. ‘You kind of get the feeling for them after a while, but this one is a little out there for me. Am I losing my mind, or does it appear that that old lady who ran out of here is preparing some kind of child sacrifice in a pseudo-voodoo mold?’
    ‘I think I would find it very hard to argue against that’ Dag responds.
    ‘Call the police - get them up here as fast as you can. If all goes well, you won’t see me again. If it doesn’t... Either way, thank you for helping me back there. I’m Ben Bracken. Make sure the police know that.’
    ‘I can do that’ Dag agrees, even though he has got no idea why this guy would want the police to know anything.
    Ben turns to go, but Dag speaks again.
    ‘The old adage is that “the army can change a man”. They never tell you in what way - it’s different for every man. Let whatever happened go, and move forward. Not everyone can say they have much of a life after the army - you have an opportunity to do good.’
    Ben considers this. ‘Believe it or not, that’s exactly what I’m about to do. Sort of.’
    Ben starts to run for the hill, while, behind him, Dag sighs and takes aim at the door. He knows he can fend them off, but he needs to keep them away from Ben and the bonfire as long as possible - for Dag, it feels like a chance to save the town. For all that is good and Holy, it is a chance he must take.
    Ben glances upwards, at the ever-darkening sky. He navigates the terrain easily, his eyes growing more and more accustomed to the low light conditions. High overhead, he can see black smoke darkly clouding the tips of the trees, and his heart sinks - the fire is certainly burning up here, just like Dag said. He can’t quite believe it, as the facts begin to mount. Aside from a family Guy Fawkes night, he can’t think of any other occasion at all that would call for a baby to be present at a lit night-time bonfire. He didn’t want to believe it was voodoo at all, but all the evidence points to it. The church, the baroness, the oppressed congregation, the violence, the phraseology, the fucking copal, the baby... Jesus, thinks Ben - I came here as a kid. I came here to find refuge, and I find as dark a fleapit of human debasement as I could hope to find.