Tanek let go of the handle and pelted down the stairs, almost tripping on the final few. He scrambled to open the front door, only to find it locked. Meanwhile, Cynthia had flung open the bedroom door and was ordering William to attack. Bracing himself, Tanek rammed the door, causing it to loosen at its hinges. There was a growling from behind, very close behind, and he slammed into the door again — this time knocking it flat.
Ahead of him, parked next to the cottage, was the Morris car Cynthia had mentioned. Tanek lumbered towards it, aware the dog was only seconds behind. The car was locked as well, so he elbowed in a window, pulled up the knob and climbed into the driver's seat, barely fitting.
William jumped at the side of the car, desperate to climb inside and bite Tanek. He leaned over just enough to stay out of the reach of those vicious teeth, as he broke open the ignition housing and hot-wired the engine. Shoving the gear stick into first, Tanek drove off, and William lost his grip. Through the rear-view mirror he saw the dog chasing after him, Cynthia at the front door watching the pursuit. Tanek sped up and pretty soon he'd left the woman, the animal, and the cottage behind.
With no real strategy in mind, except to get out of the region because he knew Hood's men might be searching for him, Tanek headed east. There was nothing for him on this island anymore and his best bet was to retrace his steps, head back over to Europe. Maybe even head back towards Turkey.
The Morris had an almost full tank of petrol — Tanek doubted whether Cynthia had driven more than a few miles since the time of The Cull — and it was enough to get him to the coast. In a small seaside village, Tanek appropriated a sailing boat and made his way back across the ocean. It wasn't as easy as their bike ride through the Channel Tunnel, but he'd finally made it to the Netherlands.
On nights when he'd let the boat drift and slept down below, Tanek had been surprised to find himself dreaming. He hadn't been able to remember his dreams before. Now they were so vivid, always set in the burning forest and always featuring De Falaise. Somehow he knew, without it having to be explained, that the link his leader shared with The Hooded Man now extended to him. In each dream Tanek had got closer and closer to the man, and in one a stag had trotted up beside De Falaise, seemingly oblivious to the flames licking around it. The Frenchman had pointed to the animal.
"I do not understand," Tanek had told him.
The flames turned to snow, falling on cold, bare branches. De Falaise looked at him with those black, empty eye sockets. "Help me," he mouthed again.
"How?"
The dreams always ended at that point, leaving him none the wiser. That is until a few months ago. He'd been sleeping rough on the streets of Warsaw when he'd had his most vivid dream yet. This time it all fell into place: what De Falaise was telling him to do, where he was telling him to go. The stag, the snow… He wanted Tanek to avenge him, kill The Hooded Man — something that had crossed the big man's mind on more than one occasion, but he'd had no idea how to go about it. Now he knew. The trail was taking him to a person they'd often talked about — someone De Falaise had both hated and admired, because he'd succeeded where the Frenchman had failed.
It was how he'd ended up fighting in The Tsar's arena, then sitting in his hotel room. His fighting skills, built up slowly again after suffering his injuries, had impressed. And his statement about having a proposition had intrigued Russia's new monarch.
"So, what is it that brings you to our country?" The Tsar asked eventually, pouring a measure of vodka for himself and another for his guest.
"You obviously know what happened in Nottingham," Tanek said to him, at the same time accepting the drink with a nod.
"I've always kept my ear to the ground."
"Then you know the threat Hood poses."
The Tsar started laughing, almost choking on his alcohol. "Threat? Threat? What possible threat could that woodsman and his followers pose to me?"
Tanek scowled. "That is exactly what De Falaise thought."
"But your dead master was a lot nearer, wasn't he? The world's a much bigger place these days, my friend."
"Hood is already expanding." Tanek knocked back the vodka. "He has appointed himself protector of the region. Next it will be his country. Then he will look to Europe." It was the most Tanek had said in years, probably ever. But he felt he wasn't just speaking on his own behalf anymore.
The Tsar had leaned back, the leather of his suit competing with the squeak of the chair. "Let him come. He will have to deal with others before he reaches me." He was referring to the warlords who had taken over places like France, Germany and Italy. Those who drove De Falaise to England in the first place.
Tanek held up the glass, ready for another drink. "But your goal is to rule the whole of Europe eventually, is it not?" The Tsar was silent, so he took the answer as a yes. "Then sooner or later you will meet in battle. Why not now, when his forces are small and yours are great?"
"I've heard enough," snapped Bohuslav. "He just wants revenge, sire."
"True," Tanek agreed, before The Tsar could say anything. "But as I understand it, we could be of some use to each other."
The talks had continued, well into the night, fuelled by liquor. Tanek could feel Bohuslav's eyes boring into him as he appealed to The Tsar's ego, assuring him that it wouldn't take much to stamp out Hood, thereby also gaining a foothold in the UK from which to mount attacks on his enemies in Europe, coming at them from both sides.
"I have to admit," The Tsar slurred, well into his second bottle of Smirnoff, "that the thought of conquering America's biggest ally does appeal."
Tanek nodded. "Once you have control of England and Europe, what is to stop you going after them, too?" The picture he'd painted was one of global sovereignty, with The Tsar well and truly on the throne. The man had lapped it up, as Tanek knew he would.
Placing Bohuslav in charge, The Tsar had ordered preparations for this fleet of Zubrs to set sail, with a pit-stop at Denmark before the final leg across the North Sea. It was then that Tanek truly saw the scale of The Tsar's power, the size of his army compared with the one that had been commanded by De Falaise. He also saw that the old-fashioned weaponry he'd used to fight Glaskov was thankfully limited to the gladiatorial arena.
Each craft carried either three T-90 MTB battle tanks or a mixture of APCs, BTR 60 or 90 Armoured Fighting Vehicles, IMZ-Ural motorbikes and UAZ-3159 jeeps, plus around 50 troops (Tanek was told that pre-virus this number would have been at least double). The men were equipped with the standard AK-47s, but also Saiga-12 semi-automatics, 9A-91 shortened assault rifles, PP-19 Bizon submachine guns, compact SR-3 Vikhrs and, for real stopping power, NSV-12.7 large calibre machine guns, RGS-50M modernized special grenade launchers and AGS-17 automatic mounted grenade launchers. The list went on and on, virtually making Tanek salivate.
As he glanced up from his labours, Tanek saw the impressive array of military vehicles and equipment in this particular Zubr's bay. But in spite of being given full use of a selection of rifles and pistols, there was still something comforting about fashioning his own distinctive weapon. The sight of a crossbow bolt entering someone was so much more satisfying than a messy bullet hole.
He was alone at present, the troops having gone off to eat, so Tanek had taken full advantage of the silence. Just the thrum of the engines and creaking of the hull as the hovercraft made its way across the water, taking him back again to the place he'd departed just over a year ago, where he hoped to use his new repeater crossbow on the people who'd cost him the old one.