Amidst the falling dust (The Green and Pleasant Land) by Oliver Kennedy

to raise his weapon and squeeze the trigger. But Tasker wasn't an idiot, he hadn't stayed alive this long by being rash. There was something about this newcomer that reeked of death, the capacity for violence oozed from every obsidian pore and the lieutenant knew it.
    “These are unusual times, as well you know” replies the stranger cryptically. The chalk white skin of his face gave away nothing of any emotional content, neither did his pure jet back eyes which looked like something from a horror film.
    “I'm going to need to take him with me”, speaks the stranger indicating with one of the guns at the injured man on the moss.
    “What is he to you?” I find myself asking. The stranger turns his eyes on me. As he assesses me there is a faint hint of surprise in his reply.
    “You have the look of a Redmayne” he speaks, I am shocked and can find no words to reply, the stranger continues.
    “He is a parasite and a criminal, I will take him to meet his justice”. Tasker glares at me, then the stranger, then his fellows.
    “I don't think so” says the lieutenant. Suddenly I notice something. Ever so slightly the black clad figures arms are tensing. They quiver in the air and I can see the fingers holding the triggers of the long barrelled weapons he has trained on us are taut with pressure. If I did not know better I would swear that the stranger is trying with all his considerable strength to pull the triggers, to send us on our merry way to hell, but he can't, some force restricts him.
    “Our mercy will be our undoing you know” says the black clad man to no one in particular. As he speaks he lifts the heavy looking cannons and points them into the air, adopting more of a relaxed posture. Almost as soon as this happens one of our group strikes. It's not me, or Tasker, or Dan or Mark or Patricia. No, Sergeant Trowler who has to this point avoided all interaction with the stranger springs up, SA-80 in hand, he is firing as he brings the weapon to bare, the others react a split second later, aim is taken, lead is loaded and flung through the air at hundreds of miles an hour.
    I look to the stranger, I expect to see him fly back through the air punctured by half a hundred bullet holes. Few of my expectations are being met these days. He moves, I will not say he moves quickly, I will not say he moves with inhuman speed for even this does not do him justice. He moves so fast that my eyes can barely track his movements. The stranger bends around trees like the wind, they cannot track him with their heavy leaden barrels.
    Over fallen logs and through the undergrowth he moves with grace that would fill the eyes of every dead ballet dancer with green envy. It seems like only moments and he is gone. A few wisps of vapour hang in the air from the rapid fire machine guns which have collectively failed to hit their mark as they vandalised the trees and the air.
    “What the shitting hell was that?” asked Tasker after a few moments of dumb incomprehension.
    “I don't know, but I don't fancy being here when he comes back” says Kirby. Tasker nods.
    “Too bloody right, lets move”.
    “We have to take him with us” says Trowler quietly.
    “No way, bugger him, lets go” says Tasker starting to stride of into the trees.
    “We have no choice” says Trowler moving to the body of the blood soaked man.
    “I wasn't putting it up for debate” says Tasker intercepting the sergeant. They stand eyeball to eyeball for quite some time. No one else knows what to do. I sense that this confrontation has been building for a while. I am surprised to see Tasker back down.
    “Fine, but he's your responsibility” says the lieutenant, storming off into the trees without a word to anyone else. Trowler picks the injured man up into his arms in an almost reverential fashion and follows Tasker. I exchange looks and shrugs with the others and then we fall in line. About ten minutes later we are all stood together on the edge of the woodland.