The Wasteland Soldier, Book 3, Drums Of War (TWS) by Laurence Moore Read Free Book Online

found the ale last night, didn’t you?”
    Jeremy gulped down a mouthful of peas and potatoes. He had no problem checking in on Daniel and heating up food and feeding him but the thought of emptying a piss and shit bucket made his stomach lurch. He looked at Quinn’s brother, once a popular and good natured and likeable man in Brix, now more like a re-animated corpse. In a drink fuelled rage he’d poured out his pain upon the Holy House, dousing the building and attempting to set fire to it, blaming them for taking Clarissa from this world; but he’d clumsily ignited himself and was fortunate that Duggan had been on patrol that evening. The captain had saved Daniel’s life and spun a tale that pinned the crime on Sal Munton and his gang with Daniel an innocent bystander who’d stumbled across them. No one doubted Duggan’s word and the local people instantly believed that no sin was beyond the wild crime family.
    Jeremy had noticed in the days after the fire there had been muttering through the village. How could He punish Daniel by first taking his child and then mutilating him in a fire?
    How indeed, thought Jeremy.
    He licked his bowl clean, smoothed back his hair. He watched Quinn gather items and put them inside a battered rucksack.
    “When are you going?”
    “In a few hours,” she said, tipping the leftovers of the soup into a flask.
    “You can’t go into Mosscar.”
    She squeezed his shoulder. “You’re a good boy, Jeremy. Take care of my brother. He’s all I have now.”
    “You have me,” said Jeremy, a sad look in his eyes. “The city will kill you.”
    “I’ll be okay,” she said, passing him a small leather bag of coins. “This should take care of any food.”
    He felt the weight of the coins. “But the sickness. It killed …”
    “I’ll be okay,” said Quinn, firmly. “I know what I’m doing.”
    Jeremy nodded, fell silent.
    “Listen to me, Jeremy, Daniel has nothing and he’ll depend on you but he can manage some things so don’t do everything for him. And no drink. No matter how much he begs for it. Ale is bad for him. I know you won’t let me down.”
    “I won’t let you down. I promise. I just …”
    She dropped her voice to a whisper.
    “I have to tell you something, Jeremy, something you must never repeat. It might stop you from worrying.”
    She opened her rucksack, took out a much larger bag of coins. He stared at it. He had never seen so much money before.
    “What’s all that for?”
    “I’m meeting someone before I go into Mosscar. He can supply me with a piece of Ancient tech. It will keep me alive in there. I don’t have time to explain it to you – I just want you to stop worrying. I told you, Jeremy, I’m not stupid, I know exactly what I’m doing.”
    Jeremy went pale.
    “Are you okay?” she asked.
    He grabbed a bucket and threw up. She massaged the back of his neck as he wretched.
    “It’s against the law,” he said, panting, his face ashen. “They’ll hang you if you’re caught with Ancient tech.”
    “Then you need to be a grown up and learn how to keep your mouth shut.”
    He steadied his breathing.
    “Do you want to help me sort out the weapons? Dobbs and Farrell will be here soon. They’re taking over from me …”
    “What’s all that shouting?” said Jeremy, suddenly.
     
     
     
    “You killed my kids,” hissed Sal Munton, veins popping on his craggy face, desperation in his eyes. “You murderers.”
    Duggan looked at his six men, bruised and bleeding, wrists bound with rope, kneeling at the edge of the woods. Munton was surrounded by his gang of thieves, ten of them, all children, some no more than five or six years old, a mixture of boys and girls. Many of them were his own blood, his seed tossed into a host of different women, but a number of them were strays; orphans and runaways picked up from settlements and villages scattered through the Western Hills. Duggan wondered if any had been stolen, whisked away in the night,