Episode Eight - 'Race With the Devil'

The door to the old country house was ajar - temptingly so. Simon Bretnor studied the boarded up windows from a distance and listened to the creaking timbers of the porch as a stray dog sniffed its way around the dustbins.

"Well, it looks quiet enough." He looked to Peter Gabriel for confirmation. Peter nodded.

"This is the house that your people were watching?" asked Elenor Haines, the superhero known as Argent. She stood next to the two Orbital agents. It was early March and in addition to her striking costume she wore a fashionable Giovanni Roussou black leather jacket with vertical mustard-yellow stripes down each arm. It had cost Elenor a month's salary, but as soon as she'd seen it in Paris she knew it would look perfect; practical too for cold weather.

"Yes. Lewis and Mike should have reported back by now." Peter Gabriel lit a cigarette.

"So..." Elenor stared at him. "We go in there?" She flexed the knuckles of her right hand and cleared her throat. "We go in there and see if Professor Woland is hiding in the basement?"

Simon Bretnor regarded the beautiful blonde superhero with a trace of amusement. "Of course not. That could be really dangerous. No, I thought we'd send the army in instead." He turned round to face Captain O'Connell of the Staffordshire 9th Regiment of Foot. "In you go lads!" Captain O'Connell waved his arm and the assembled troops proceeded to storm the building. Dressed in Kevlar body armor, carrying H&K storm guns and tactical stub guns, the British soldiers burst into the house through every available door and window.

"There's uh, rather a lot of them..." Elenor watched from her vantage point beside the khaki green Range Rover.

"One hundred and nineteen to be exact," replied Peter.

"Isn't that overdoing it a bit?"

"On the contrary - that's all we could get at short notice." Peter smiled. "And I think I've still got some Moet in the boot. Anyone care for a glass?"

Fifteen minutes later, Elenor was following Simon and Peter through the ground floor of the derelict and deserted house. Only the words 'Late again Simon' painted on the walls of the hallway in red paint betrayed the fact that someone had been living here a few hours ago. That and the rubbish that lay strewn in every room. Elenor sifted through chocolate wrappers, empty coke cans, used condoms, empty tins and other waste that been simply discarded after use. Whoever these people were, they weren't tidy. She picked up a plastic Burger Ranch snack box and sniffed it. It was still warm and the enticing smell of a Double Whopper BBQ Burger was still fresh in the packaging. Elenor's stomach rumbled as she thought of eating a big juicy burger smothered in mayonnaise.

"How come they know your name?" asked Elenor as she rose to her feet.

"Because of Prague last year." Simon scratched his head as he paced around the living room. The only pieces of furniture in the room were an old sofa and a coffee table. Heaps of rubbish lay piled either side of the sofa. A small mouse lay dead underneath the coffee table. Its head had been bitten off recently.

"What about Prague?" Elenor stuffed her hands into the side pockets of her French jacket. She tried not to think about hamburgers.

"Well, I'd been working on this case for some time. Cathy - that's my girlfriend - and I went to Prague for an extended weekend break. We were staying at a really nice hotel overlooking the river. One day while Cathy was out shopping I got a phone call in my room. The voice on the other end of the line sounded cold and Russian. He said 'You want to speak to me.' It was a statement, not a question. 'I am sitting in a café across the road. I'll wait two minutes, no more.' And then he put the phone down. I somehow knew it was Woland. So of course I grabbed my gun, ran down the stairs and out onto the street. And there he was, calm as anything, sitting at a table, dressed like William Burroughs in a classic suit and matching trilby, sipping cappuccino, as bold as brass. My curiosity overcame any instinctive reaction to shoot him dead where he sat. 'You must understand,' he began as I sat down, 'that human existence is to be endured, not enjoyed. ' I looked into his eyes and it was like looking into a bottomless pit. I felt like I was standing on the edge of a dark abyss, staring in. 'I have a garden,' he said, 'and it is a dark place with plants that do not crave sunlight; a secret garden in which I place the severed dripping heads of those who offend me. Their fresh blood feeds the soil. The blooms that flower in my garden are bitterly sweet. I have a place in my garden for your head should you persist in thinking ill of me.' All I could see were those deep limpet pools of absolute darkness. 'Go home. Go home with your girl and forget my name. Do not court my attention. My way is bright and full of pain.' And then he got up to leave."

"What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything. It was several minutes before I snapped out of whatever trance he'd left me in. I think he could have killed me if he'd had a mind to. When I got back to my hotel room I discovered that someone had been through Cathy's suitcase. Her best clothes had been taken and used to dress a blow up doll - one of those sex things. The Cathy doll lay on our bed with a black spike of wood rammed in its...you know...it was a warning. I cleared everything away before Cathy got back, and we left Prague for London that evening." Simon leaned against the doorway. "These people are very dangerous."

"That's why you asked for my help, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Sir." it was one of the soldiers. He pushed back the plastic visor on his helmet as he addressed Simon and Elenor. "I think we've found them, sir. They're tied up in the basement. One of them's still alive."

Outside in the Woods

Professor Woland watched the comings and goings of the armed soldiers from behind cover. He stood amongst a thick copse of trees with his 'Family' standing and sitting beside him. There were seven other members of The Brood in all. Standing with her left arm entwined around Woland's waist was Maya, his lover. She was dressed in a sleeveless Kevlar shirt, waistcoat and top hat. She wore a sword at her waist and absently played with a deck of cards in her right hand, shuffling them with her fingers. The grim figure of Mr Shroom stood beside the Friendly Jester as he juggled with a set of beanbags. The Friendly Jester wore a patched and dirty Jester's suit and a pair of mirrored aviator glasses. The woman called Princess sat in the clearing, cross-legged, a selection of tools adorning her utility belt as always. Elsewhere, the clown-like Duke Duvet watched as the twins, Yin and Yang, proceeded to stake out their two captured soldiers. The troops had foolishly ventured into the woods to secure the perimeter and had run into Woland's people within minutes. Heavily muffled grunts could be heard from behind their gags as Yin and Yang drove tent pegs through the men's hands and feet, pinning them to the ground.

"It's no good howling," said Woland without turning round. "Yin and Yang are deaf, and anyway, they don't care how much it hurts. Didn't Simon warn you not to let yourselves be captured? He should have warned you. Anything is better than being taken alive by us."

Yin picked up a pair of heavy clippers and began to clip bits of ear off the first soldier. Yang had pulled apart a coat hanger wire and was slowly pushing it into the second man's leg and working its way up under his skin.

"Simon..." Woland shook his head sadly. "You should have listened to me in Prague. Now look what I'm going to do..."

Back in Woland's House

Argent was bored. Everyone was walking around the house and the surrounding gardens, but no one was doing much. Simon had gone downstairs with Peter to check on the condition of his two agents, and now Elenor was left to stare at the walls and think about juicy hamburgers. She walked to a quiet room and pulled out her Nokia phone from one of her belt pouches. She dialed up Bloodhawk's number in the US.

In a hotel suite overlooking a northern lake, near Rio, Johann Carver AKA Bloodhawk was lying in bed beside Kory, his model-beautiful girlfriend of several years' standing, when his phone rang. Still entwined in the arms of his lover, Bloodhawk stretched out his arm and clicked the phone on. Kory pressed her face close to his chest.

"Yes?" said Carver.

"Hi Bloodhawk - it's Elenor - you know, Argent. How are you doing?"

"Hello..." Carver ran his fingers through Kory's thick mane of hair, "...Elenor..."

"Hope you don't mind me calling. I'm working on a new case at the moment - The English government has asked me for help. Have you heard of the Brood?"

"No..." Carver sighed, "No I haven't..."

"We've found their house and we're searching it. It's a bit dull at the moment so I thought I'd give you a call and talk shop. What are you working on at the moment?"

"Elenor..." Carver struggled to sit up in bed. "Is this just a social call?"

"Um yes... that's alright, isn't it?"

"Well... the number was really just for emergencies. Don't get me wrong, it's nice to hear you're doing well, but this is the fourth time you've called this week. And it's really not that secure a line."

"Oh. Right..." Elenor stood in the derelict room in the Lake District and chewed one of her finger nails. "I'm sorry - I didn't think."

"That's OK." Carver felt Kory stir beside him in bed. She raised her head and pursed her lips as if to say, "Who's that?" Carver switched the phone to his other ear. "Like I said, it's nice to hear you're doing well, Elenor."

"Yes, well, and um, I might be over in the States again next month. I've managed to get another business trip to cover a Gucci show. I'll be staying in New York. Perhaps we could meet up for a drink if you're in the area?" Elenor tried to sound bright, breezy and casual.

Carver sighed again. "I'm probably not going to be in town. Sorry."

"Right, well, um, OK. I can imagine your team keeps you pretty busy."

"Yes."

"Right. Well, it's been great to speak to you again, Bloodhawk."

"And you Elenor."

"Bye." Elenor switched the phone off.

"Was that the Argent girl again?" asked Kory.

"Yes... Elenor phoned to tell me about her latest case." Carver chucked the shock-proof phone on the floor. "Elenor always phones to tell me about her latest case..."

Kory prodded Carver in the chest. "She certainly seems to be your number one fan. Should I be getting jealous?" She smiled.

Carver groaned and lay back down in bed.

The Dog & Duck Pub in South London

Pete slowly lowered his pint of beer and stared coldly at the woman sitting opposite him. Nearby, Steve stopped throwing darts at the pub dart board, and Dan tapped his cigarette lighter against the pub table. "Is this some sort of fucking joke, bitch?" Pete pointed a nicotine stained finger at her. "Cuz if it is, you've picked the wrong people to take the piss out of."

Rachel Parr sat in the filthy confines of the spit n' sawdust Dog & Duck Pub, situated in the Elephant & Castle. She was wearing an off the shoulder black dress and an expensive Prada jacket. She was smoking Gitane cigarettes and smelt of expensive Chanel perfume. It hadn't been difficult to distract a table full of low lifes from their nightly snooker game. Rachel smiled sweetly as she stubbed her cigarette out on a metal saucer. "I'm 100% serious," she replied.

"Fuck off." Pete stood up. Dan stood next to him. "Fuck off out of my boozer before one of us forgets you're a girl and gives you a slap, or something worse."

Rachel remained seated and reached for her Prada shoulder bag. She looked soft, vulnerable and rich. Pete, Dan and Steve had assumed she was the sort of rich girl who liked to slum it from time to time. They had been more than happy to accommodate her until she'd bought a round of drinks and said, "I'm going to be a super villain. I want you all to work for me."

"I'm going to need henchmen," said Rachel politely. "Every super villain needs henchmen." She produced her purse from the Prada bag. "I thought perhaps I'd let you have five thousand pounds each as a signing on fee?" She looked up at the men through her mascara-tinted eyelashes.

"You're carrying fifteen thousand pounds in your fucking bag?" Dan couldn't believe his luck. "Well, you're about to learn how fucking stupid that is." He reached down and snatched the purse from her hands. Rachel didn't attempt to stop him.

"You some sort of reporter?" Steve asked Rachel, as Dan pulled out a thick wad of notes from the Gucci purse.

"What the fuck..." Dan stared at the bundle of money - every note had been cut in half. "Where's the other half?"

"In my flat." Rachel reached for her Prada bag and checked her make-up in a small hand mirror. "We can go there if you like." The three men looked at each other.

"This is some sort of Police trap," said Dan. "I don't understand it, but it's gotta be. She's got the old Bill outside watching us."

"Who's old Bill?" asked Rachel as she replaced her mirror.

"She's laughing at us..." said Steve. "I'm going to fucking give 'er one."

Dan grabbed Steve's arm and pulled him back. "Don't be stupid. If the old Bill are watching they'll haul you in for assault. But... if she's serious..." Dan regarded Rachel as she sat at the table, hardly touching her glass of red wine. He sat back down opposite her. "Just supposing you are fucking nuts, Rachel, and you honestly think you're going to be a super villain - what do you want us for?"

"Well, at the moment I don't have any super powers, so that's my first priority. Quite a few super heroes have pieces of hi-tech equipment that simulate super powers. Starlight has his power ring; Blackbat has his utility belt full of gadgets; and closer to home, Charming Billy has his Miracle Wand; and Argent has a pair of suspensor bracelets that enable her to fly. I've done my research."

"So?"

"So, I want you to help me steal them. Then I'll effectively have some super powers."

"You want us to mug Blackbat?" Dan stood up again. "You are fucking nuts."

"No... not right away. I thought we'd start at the bottom and work our way up. I thought we'd start with..." Rachel examined her list, "Argent. She shouldn't be too difficult."

"What, that blonde bird who was on the cover of GEEZER! Magazine?"

"That's the one."

Dan looked at Pete. "I reckon we could do her without much of a problem." He turned back to face Rachel. "You've got some sort of plan?"

"Oh yes." Rachel smiled. "It won't be difficult. And the five thousand pounds each is only a signing on fee. I've got a lot more money than that. Well?"

Pete thought about it for a moment. "This can't be a Police trick - it'd get laughed out of court. Hey, what the hell, I'm in." Dan and Steve nodded in agreement.

"Excellent. Then there's just one more thing."

"What's that?" asked Pete.

"Now that you're working for me, you'll call me Miss Parr, not Rachel or bitch. Do we understand each other?" She reached for another Gitane.

The Lakeside Travel Inn - The Lake District, England

It was late by the time Bretnor and Gabriel had completed their sweep of the house and the surrounding grounds. And so, rather than face a long night time drive, Peter phoned ahead to book three rooms at the nearest travel inn, with the intention of departing in the morning.

By half past ten they had managed to run up an impressive wine bill in the restaurant. Elenor was now pretty drunk on expensive Chardonnay and laughing with the two ORBITAL agents.

"...and that's my point - it was a golden age for super heroes, and here we are in 2001 still looking back at the late twentieth century and copying it. No one has any originality left these days. Take a look at fashion and music - we're going around in circles. We should be forward thinking - we should forget all that nostalgia and concentrate on building something new in our lives. It's precisely because of our obsession with the past that we funded our Muscle 7 programme and created the Brood."

"Muscle 7? Is that some sort of drug?" asked Elenor.

"Yes, and highly unstable it was too. Since then our lab boffins have produced an equally dangerous Muscle 8 and the current version Muscle 9 which appears to have avoided the psychotic reaction problem."

"There's a safe version?"

"Of course it's not safe - nothing's ever safe. It still kills hundreds of thousands of brain cells, and probably poisons your liver so you'll be dead when you're 45, but it doesn't drive you mad like batch 7 and 8 did. The main difference with Batch 9 is that the effects only last for ten to twelve hours. But we're still looking at years of testing before the drug is accepted by the UN. That's what I mean - England is so behind in the superhero race that we pour millions of credits into research programmes like that. Anyway, enough about work. What do you do when you're not beating up super villains?"

"I'm a writer," slurred Elenor.

"What do you write?" asked Gabriel, suddenly interested.

"Oh no..." Elenor giggled. "I know what you're up to. You want to find out my secret identity." She smiled. "Well it's not going to happen."

Bretnor sighed. "No one's taking notes right now. So you're a writer - does it pay well?"

"No." Elenor laughed. "Not really."

"You obviously haven't thought this through. You could be making a lot of money from this super hero business."

"What?"

"Yes you could. Have you ever considered sponsorship? You have a very marketable image. I'm sure there's lots of companies that would like to sponsor an attractive female superhero operating in the Home Counties area."

Elenor began laughing again.

"I'm serious," continued Bretnor as he reached for the bottle and poured everyone more wine. "Sponsorship deals, TV appearances, advertising... hey, can you sing?"

"Sing?"

"If you've got a good voice you could probably make a few records. And none of it needs to affect your crime fighting."

"I used to sing in a band when I was at university. Well, we only played twice, but it was fun for a while."

"There you are then. Get a good producer and a decent song writer and who knows, you might be filling Wembley Arena this time next year."

"I couldn't do middle of the road ballads. I hate that mushy stuff."

"What sort of music do you like?" asked Gabriel.

"High energy dance, break beat, and the English retro Mod scene from a few years ago."

"Well, it all sells. Of course you'd need a good manager."

Elenor finished her glass of wine and pushed it away. "I need to use the toilet again. Sorry, but I'm not used to drinking this much. Do any of you have any hangover tablets? I think I'm going to need one before I go to bed."

"There's some in the van."

Elenor stood up and left the table. She walked out of the restaurant and around the corner to the toilets. All the cubicles were empty, so Elenor stumbled into the first one, sat down, peeled her knickers down around her ankles, and began to pee. The toilet room was clean and smelt of fresh oranges, which was nice. Elenor finished off, flushed the toilet, and walked to the wash basins. She smiled at herself in the mirror as she washed her hands. "I'm just so lovely," she thought to herself. "No wonder Peter and Simon can't take their eyes off me." Elenor kissed herself in the mirror and turned her head to one side in what she thought was a coy pose. "God, I feel like a pop star."

Elenor yawned and stretched her arms as she left the toilet room. She failed to see Professor Woland standing to one side of the door until it was too late. He reached out and grabbed her by the hair and swung her suddenly into the wall. Spinning her round, Woland punched her in the face, knocking Elenor to the ground. She landed with a crack.

Woland stared coldly at the fallen heroine. He reached out both his hands and turned to face the Friendly Jester. "I'll have the children now," he said. The Jester handed him two terrified kids. Woland took one in each hand and lifted them effortlessly off the floor. He stared at them for a moment. "People always say that childhood is the happiest time of your life, little ones. Which is perhaps just as well, because that's all you're going to get." And then the two men walked into the restaurant.

Argent was thrown through the air to land with a crash on the dinner table, scattering plates, glasses and bottles across the restaurant floor. Bretnor and Gabriel reacted immediately, jumping out of their chairs and reaching for their service pistols. Bretnor was quickest on the draw, brandishing an H&K stub gun and pointing it at Woland's face while Peter was still reaching for his own pistol.

But Woland was even quicker. He held the two children in front of his body and began to spin them round, alternatively using them as cover and leaving himself exposed to the range of Simon's gun. "Now you see me, now you don't!" shouted Woland as the screaming children flailed about in the air.

"Shoot him!" screamed Gabriel as he cleared his own pistol from its shoulder holster. "Blow his fucking head off!"

"I... can't..." the children were being spun like batons in front of Woland and the Jester. Simon knew that any shot he made ran the risk of killing one of the kids.

"Shoot the fucker!" Gabriel was pointing his gun now. A series of rapid fire shots would kill the children, but would also kill Woland.

"Now you see me..." for a brief split second, Woland was exposed, "now you don't..." and then just as suddenly the kids were in front of him again. And all the while Woland and the Friendly Jester were getting closer to the dinner table.

"We're not going to get another chance!" screamed Gabriel, though he still hadn't fired himself. "Simon! Shoot him!"

"I can't get a clear shot!" replied Bretnor.

"Now you see me..." Woland grinned. Bretnor and Gabriel had chosen the best table for their dinner. It was flanked on either side by a large window, overlooking the pleasant travel lodge gardens with the forest in the background. "Now you don't." And then suddenly there was a crash as a figure leapt through one of the windows at a speed of fifty miles an hour. Bretnor was bowled over, taken by surprise. He hit the floor, losing his gun, as the newcomer simply wrenched it from his closed hand as easily as taking a tube of Smarties from a baby.

"May I introduce on your right Mr Shroom," said Woland. "Mr Shroom is a contradiction even to himself. Although he understandably despises small children, he feels nothing but love for a small puppy dog that he rescued from a fire he started last year. Mr Shroom rarely speaks except to comment on the weather. Possessing remarkable strength and stamina, he once arm wrestled a bull to the ground in Seville and then proceeded to tear its heart out with his bare hands. Mr Shroom doesn't like the color red either."

Gabriel spun round and turned his gun on the maniac who was smacking his partner into the ground. "GET AWAY FROM HIM YOU FUCKER!" Gabriel was about to risk a shot when the other window smashed inwards. A woman spun through the air and landed feet first into Gabriel's back.

"To your left is the lovely Maya," continued Woland. "The only joy I have ever experienced in my life has been with her. A mistress of tantric sex, Maya has taken me to plateaus of pleasure that you people will never experience. We couple like alley cats in heat, clawing and scratching at each other when the moon is full. Very few people are fortunate enough to be beaten by her. Count yourselves lucky in that respect."

Maya took hold of Gabriel's stub gun and threw it through the broken window. She watched it fly, spinning in the air as it disappeared from view, over the far hedges, past the road and on toward the forest in the distance.

Elenor stirred on the dinner table, her costume covered in food and wine. She lifted herself up and regarded the scene in the room. She saw Bretnor lifted into the air by Mr Shroom and thrown against the ceiling. She saw Maya lift Gabriel by his left ankle and spin him around the room. And then she saw Woland staring down at her. "I suppose I won't be needing these children anymore." He looked into the eyes of the first child. "Have you ever wanted to fly like Superman? Hmm?" Woland suddenly threw the child out through an unbroken window. His young fragile body burst through the sheet glass at a speed of ninety miles an hour. The child hit the road outside fifty yards away.

"NOOOOO!" screamed Elenor. She suddenly felt very sober. Woland dropped the second child to the ground for the moment. "WHY? WHY!"

"Because it's fun," he said. "Time Magazine says you know kung fu." Elenor lifted herself painfully off the table and nodded. "Then show me." Woland smiled, and his smile was like that of a fox eating shit through a wire brush. He stepped back and beckoned Elenor with his fingers. "Hurt me, if you can."

Elenor stood up and dropped low into a fighting stance. She had done this for eighteen years in classes, but very rarely for real. Woland extended his hands into a Tiger Claw 'ready' stance and awaited her first move.

"You're good. Actually you're very good." Kick - block, punch - block, elbow jab - block, punch - block, Woland parried every blow Elenor threw at him. "Yes. good technique, sharp reflexes; you've been practicing a long time I'd say." Punch - block, kick - block. "But no matter how good you are, you'll never be as fast as me. My reflexes are speeded up by Muscle 7. I'm more than human, more than your flesh and blood." Palm strike - block, punch - block, heel of right foot to left knee - block. Elenor was breathing hard now, desperately trying to find a gap in Woland's hands. "Where did you learn to fight?" asked Woland as he brushed her next punch aside.

"My... huh... Uncle... huh... taught me."

"How young were you when you started?" Woland brushed a kick to one side and quickly tapped Elenor on the nose just to show that he could.

"Five... I was five..." There wasn't an opening; his hands were moving like pistons, countering every move she made.

"Excellent. And you're fit - a lean body, mostly muscle, very little extraneous fat - good, good. But your hair's too long for fighting - it gets in your eyes." Woland smacked her suddenly in the face. He made it look as easy as swatting a fly. "You'll lose because I'm faster."

Elenor spat blood onto the floor. Now she suddenly found herself having to defend. Her forearms were turning black with bruises as she desperately blocked a series of several jabs and punches from her Russian opponent.

Woland grinned as he jabbed Argent in the stomach. "There is something I've always wanted to know. Do you, as a superhero, enjoy inflicting pain on people? Does it give you a buzz when you see a criminal beaten and bleeding on the floor at your feet?" Woland seized Elenor's right hand as it punched toward his face. He took hold of her little finger and snapped it suddenly. As Elenor screamed he released her hand and stepped back a few paces. "You must enjoy it. Why else do this?" Elenor spun a kick at Woland's ribs. He caught her leg and flipped her over onto the floor. "Imagine you have a child molester in front of you, begging for mercy. You know for a fact that he's raped and tortured a small child. Don't pretend that you wouldn't enjoy the feel of your fist as it breaks his nose, shatters his jaw. I know what you feel. I understand your desire to hurt people. The only difference between you and me is that I don't need a reason to do it. That makes me more honest, don't you think? Perhaps that's why I don't feel the need to wear a mask."

"You'll find the lateral phalange of your little finger is broken." Woland looked down and unbuckled one of Elenor's ankle boots, shaking it off her foot. "It's a very minor wound but in the short term you'll find it very difficult to use your right hand." He removed her other boot and then threw both boots away. "We're going to play a game now. Duke Duvet loves to hunt. I'm going to give the three of you a five minute head start. The Duke is out there somewhere in the forest waiting for you. As you're a super hero I'm going to give you a minor handicap by making you run barefoot. Do watch out for brambles and sharp stones."

Deep in the Forest

Elenor was running barefoot across broken ground, running headlong between trees and bushes. She had no idea where she was running to, only aware what she was running away from. Behind her something was crashing like a juggernaut through the forest, ploughing straight through or over obstacles as if they weren't there. Her feet were cut and bleeding, but the fear and adrenaline pumping through her body now made that irrelevant. Elenor had her mobile phone in one hand as she was running. She was pressing the redial number over and over again. "Bloodhawk! For God's sake answer your phone!" Again and again Elenor got an engaged tone. "Please answer your phone!" It was dark and Elenor wasn't looking where she was going. She slid suddenly down an embankment, through a bush, and skidded into a small clearing beside a slow moving stream. The Thunder that was chasing behind her sounded very close now. Elenor screamed again - her sonic pulse ripping branches from the trees in a ninety degree arc. She had no idea where Simon or Peter were. Maybe they were already dead. She could hear a voice from somewhere in the trees.

"If you've got a gun I'd advise you to shoot yourself now," said Duke Duvet. "If you've got a knife, you've got a few seconds to cut your own throat."

Elenor aimed another scream into the trees.

"If you haven't got a gun... if you haven't got a knife..." continued the Duke, as Elenor backed away, "then you're going to take a long time to die. I'm going to keep you in a small box, with the two men, and once a day I'll take you out and make you perform together." Elenor screamed another sonic pulse in the direction of the voice. "I'll feed you on maggots and urine and no one will ever find you. And you will take so long to die..." Elenor fumbled in her belt pouch and clicked on her Maglite torch. She shone the beam about the clearing. The source of the voice was circling around her. Elenor pulled out a flash-bang and threw it into the trees. It ignited with a burst, but the voice continued. "Maybe I'll stitch the three of you together with wire. Maybe I'll make you pregnant and force you to eat your own baby. You'll take so long to die..."

The Duke shot out into the clearing like a bullet. "Time's up!" he screamed as he hit Elenor with the full weight of his body. He smacked her into the side of a tree and lifted her into the air with his left hand. Elenor kicked at his chest with her foot and felt a rib crack. "Too little, and far too late," sneered the Duke. "But for that rib, I think I'll take both your eyes." He pointed two steel like fingers at Elenor's face.

From the other side of the clearing there was a distinct sound - 'thwip' - like the sound a bow might make. Elenor stared as an arrow split the Duke's head like a pumpkin. For a moment he stood there, still laughing, and then he dropped to the forest floor, quite dead.

Elenor fell, unable to take much more of this. She watched, dazed as a figure emerged from the dark trees. It was a man, dressed like a hippy traveler, wearing laced up leather trousers, thick boots, a hand made linen shirt, a long leather waistcoat that hung to his knees, and a poncho made from an old blanket. His face was dirty. He had matted long hair, in what looked like dreadlocks and he was carrying a powerful English longbow and a quiver of arrows. The man approached Elenor and dropped to his knees.

"Thank you. Who are you?" asked Elenor breathlessly as she felt the adrenaline begin to subside. Her hands were trembling.

The man thought about this for a moment. He looked at Elenor, looked at her Argent costume and replied with a smile, "Herne. Are you OK?"

"No..." Elenor glanced back over her shoulder, back the way she had come, "I'm far from OK." Elenor felt weak and drained, but she knew that she was still in terrible danger.

"I heard you scream. That's a powerful set of lungs you've got there. My bender is about half a mile in that direction." Herne pointed somewhere. "That's uh, a tent. I'm one of the pagans from the Rainbow Lodge collective in Wales. I'm not going to hurt you." Elenor stared at him. She knew there were some 'back to nature' communities in Wales that had taken to living a pre-Industrial lifestyle in the valleys. She shook her head.

"Listen..." said Elenor. "We are both in incredible danger."

"Then perhaps I'd better get you back to my bender. You should be safe hidden there for a while, and you can tell me what's going on here."

Sanctuary

"You really live like this?" asked Elenor. She sat in a crudely made tent constructed from tree branches and plastic sheeting. There was enough room for three people to sleep at a push, provided they were at least on kissing terms. The floor was made waterproof by a sheet of blue plastic tarpaulin that looked like it had been stolen from a construction site. On top of this lay a number of hemp-woven rugs and a few blankets. A selection of cooking pots, a thermal stove and some tatty clothes occupied one of the corners alongside a freshly skinned rabbit, a sack of assorted root vegetables, and a ceramic jug of cider brandy. One of the other corners was taken up by a selection of wood working tools. Elenor could see several half-constructed arrows lying on the work surface. Despite the plastic sheets draped over the roof of the tent, a few drops of water fell inside as the rain drummed relentlessly.

"Ouch!" Elenor screwed her nose up as Herne bound her broken finger into a splint.

"That hurts, huh? Sorry."

"Yes, well, I guess I should just grin and bear it if I'm supposed to be a super hero." Elenor held her bandaged hand up and examined the broken finger closely. "You've done a good job on this. I wouldn't have known where to start."

"Well, you learn to fend for yourself out here." He packed his remaining bandages away in a small tin box and slid it beneath some damp smelling blankets. "You're the Argent, aren't you?"

"Uh, yes, I am." Elenor combed her hair back with the fingers of her left hand. "You've heard of me?"

Herne laughed. "Just because I live in a tent doesn't mean I don't get to read the papers from time to time. The newspapers love you."

"I wonder why..." said Elenor sarcastically. "It's certainly not for my crime fighting abilities."

The rain continued to drum on the taut plastic sheeting. Herne leant back against one of the tree trunks that his tent was built around and reached into his belt pouch for some tobacco and Rizzlas. He rolled up a crude cigarette, lit it with a match, and put it to his mouth. "The first smoke of the day is always the best." He passed the cigarette toward Elenor, but she declined.

"I don't smoke, thanks." She looked at the thin roll up and thought 'even if I did, I wouldn't touch that.' Elenor picked up a blanket, placed it on the floor and carefully sat down on it. This brought forth some more laughter from her host. "What?"

"Nothing."

"So you're Herne? I... can't say I've heard of you."

"It's my tribal name. My real name's Alex."

"I don't understand."

He laughed, "It's like, an environmental thing? You know, like the green movement. We all have tribal names in addition to the ones we were born with. The bow's for hunting. I was hunting when I heard your scream. What's Argent mean?"

"Actually, you see, I didn't choose the name. it's all a bit complicated." Elenor rubbed her left hand against the blanket she was sitting on and put her fingers to her nose. "Your blankets are moldy."

"That's the rural life for you."

"You sleep in these?"

"Yeah, but I wash myself in the stream every day."

"Out there? It's barely spring. the water must be freezing cold. I can't believe you live like this!"

Herne picked up the ceramic jar and a pair of chipped mugs. He poured a measure of home brewed cider brandy into each cup. "Here, this will warm you up."

The cider brandy did just that. Elenor sipped it several times. It wasn't too bad really.

"So what's going on? If you don't mind me asking?"

The Lakeside Travel Lodge

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" asked Herne as Elenor crouched beside him. They both sat silently at the edge of the trees, watching the car park for signs of movement.

"We've got no choice. Those things can track us down - they will track us down. And they're so fast... we've got to get to the car and get out of here."

"What about the two men who were with you?"

"I'm sorry - there's nothing I can do for them. They'll probably have been taken by now. There's nothing I can do."

Herne stared at her. "You're really frightened, aren't you? I always thought super heroes were supposed to be fearless."

"You haven't seen these people in action. I just want to get out of here. This is far too serious for me." Elenor bit her lip. "Come on, it's now or never."

They ran to the Range Rover. Only when they were close to the car did they see that the engine had been pulled out and thrown away.

"Oh God!" Elenor kicked the nearest wheel. "We'll never get away on foot..."

"What about the boot?" suggested Herne. "There might be some guns in there. At least that would give us a chance, right?"

"Of course! I'm sorry - I'm really not thinking straight - you're right, I am scared - I'm terrified." Elenor opened the passenger door (the lock had been ripped away) and flicked the switch on the dashboard that released the boot. She ran round to the back of the car, imagining that one of Woland's men would appear any moment now. "Yesss." Elenor pulled out a heavy duty machine gun and a box of ammunition. "I've got no idea how to use this, but it can't be that difficult." She passed the weapon to Herne. And then Elenor noticed something else buried in amongst the Moet bottles. She reached into the boot and pulled out a sealed medical case, which she quickly opened.

Herne noticed that Elenor had gone unusually quiet. She was staring at the contents of a small box. "Something useful?" he asked as he studied the machine gun.

Elenor held up a small vial and a hypodermic needle. The vial was labeled 'MUSCLE 9 - CAUTION'. She felt herself tremble, as Woland's words came back to her. "You're good. Actually you're very good. But no matter how good you are, you'll never be as fast as me. My reflexes are speeded up by Muscle 7. I'm more than human, more than your flesh and blood."

"What?" said Herne.

Elenor closed her eyes and thought of what Bretnor had said to her. "Of course it's not safe - nothing's ever safe. It still kills hundreds of thousands of brain cells, and probably poisons your liver so you'll be dead when you're 45."

"Hey, will you speak to me, or what?"

Elenor opened her eyes. "We might..." she swallowed to clear her dry throat, "we might survive this after all."