Plebs

by Jim Goforth

  "Prove it," Blaise prodded maliciously. "Kill Drake."

  “Okay," Dennis said without hesitation. "Give me something. A knife, anything."

  “No, don't kill Drake!" Melissa blasted, glaring at Blaise.

  "Alright I'll do this." Without warning Dennis lunged at Drake and slugged him in the abdomen with a savage right handed punch.

  As Drake doubled over, Dennis belted his blindfolded and gagged face with a jarring uppercut and the big fellow clocked his cranium on a tree trunk and fell over in the grass.

  At this stage Dennis looked prepared to carry on with the attack by launching into the fallen form of Wesley Drake with kicking swinging feet, but he was grabbed and impeded by a strong hold at the hands of Ryan.

  "Steady on there Dennis," Ryan suggested, unnerved by the abrupt attack Dennis launched upon Drake. "If I let you go are you gonna relax?"

  "Yes."

  Ryan reluctantly released Dennis and the fellow stood panting, his hands still curled in tight fists.

  "You believe me?" He challenged Blaise and Melissa. "You see I'll kill him. Easy."

  "Yeah, I see." Blaise looked extremely amused. "I believe you."

  "So do I get a gun?"

  "Your call Melissa," Blaise handed the decision to the star tattooed leader.

  "Okay," Melissa eventually nodded curtly after a long silence of deliberation. "But I'm warning you Dennis, if you sell us out in any way, you will be the first one shot."

  "I'm not gonna fuck up!" Dennis vowed resolutely. "I've burned my bridges with these guys. If I fuck you guys over I've got nothing and nobody. You think I want that?"

  "Here." Corey finished rummaging in the arms bag and was now handing a .32 calibre pistol to Dennis butt first. "You know how to use this?"

  "Yes." Dennis affirmed, taking the offered firearm and clasping it in his hands almost reverently.

  "The safety switch is on," Corey said. "Show me where that is."

  After Dennis had correctly identified the location of the safety and answered a few other basic questions, Corey ascertained that the lad did indeed seem to know what he was dealing with.

  After all, hanging with Errol Haskell, Wesley Drake and their squadron of violence adoring goons it was reasonably safe to assume that Dennis King did have some knowledge of dangerous weaponry.

  "Alright," Blaise announced. "Let's stop fucking around. Time's a wasting. Let's do this."

  Time ran out before any of them could do anything.

  "Wait! Get down!" A terse warning was hissed by Rachel. "Somebody's come outside."

  Anybody standing, and this was in fact the majority of the group, instantly ducked back down to the ground.

  Rachel was correct; a solitary figure had emerged from the front entrance of the bomb blasted St Agnes, a large bulky shape cradling a rifle.

  This character strolled several feet away from the columns and the rubble shrouding the entry and stairs to the church and turned attention to where the line of vehicles were parked, seemingly gazing in consternation at said automobiles.

  Even from this distance those crouched down in the grass across the field who knew Errol Haskell were able to identify this hulking brute as being that very individual.

  "Fuck, what's he doing?" Blaise muttered, her gun trained on Haskell.

  "Looking for Drake and Dennis, I'll bet," Corey replied in a whisper.

  Glowering furiously over the continued absence of two of his minions, Errol Haskell yanked a mobile phone from his capacious jacket pocket and, reclining his rifle upon a great broken chunk of concrete, began to savagely punch buttons on his telephone.

  A strident voice blasted through the quiescence of the evening as a fast moving, but stumbling figure came charging through Corey's cluster of crouching crew and blundered out of hiding into the field.

  This was Wesley Drake, awakened from his tree induced coma.

  Though his hands were still securely knotted behind his back, he’d managed to drag the gag down past his mouth so it hung around his chin like some ridiculous electrical tape beard.

  Looking like an escapee from the firing squad, still blindfolded, he lumbered with a speedy, but ungainly pace away from the trees into the clear of the field, bellowing at the top of his lungs.

  "Errol, that you? Errol, it's a trap, look out! Fucking look out Errol, get down, look out! It's me, Big Wes! Look out, there's a fucking trap!"

  "Ah fuck!" Blaise hissed. "We've got to stop him!"

  It was an unexpected angel who delivered a severe stoppage to the fleeing refugee figure of Big Wes Drake.

  Dennis King stood up straight with his newly obtained firearm clenched tight in a two fisted grip, took aim and snapped off a single shot.

  His aim was true.

  Though it was dark here amidst the trees and knee-length grass, out in the field it was much brighter and Drake had not managed to run far from his former position.

  The bullet fired by Dennis slammed into Drake's burly back and hurled him forwards, face first into the unrelenting ground.

  Whether the escapee was dead or not was yet to be ascertained, but he didn't rise.

  "Get down!” Melissa hissed at Dennis, for rather than duck for cover upon hearing the solitary gunshot Errol Haskell then dropped his mobile phone and snatched up his rifle.

  Dennis sprawled in the grass adjacent to Corey as Haskell blasted blindly into the trees.

  As Haskell backed away with his rifle still trained on the woods and then ducked down behind the chunk of concrete he'd formerly utilised as a gun rest, more figures spilled out of the desecrated church.

  "Ah fuck!" Blaise cursed again. "Our plans fucked!"

  "What are we gonna do?" Serena wailed.

  "Shh quiet!" Melissa warned. "We're gonna have to spread out and try to surround the church."

  "We can't split up!"

  "We're sitting ducks if we stay in a bunch. True we might get some of them, but they're gonna get some of us too. If we spread out around the church and start shooting from a whole bunch of directions they should get the idea that we're all around them and retreat back inside."

  "Where they will undoubtedly barricade themselves in," Lee put in scornfully. "And try as you might I bet you can't blow that fucking church up!"

  "No, but I can still blow the fucking truck sky high and smoke 'em out," Blaise countered.

  "Okay, that’s enough chatter. Let's spread. In pairs. Everyone got spare ammo?"

  "Everyone should have," Melissa confirmed. "Quick, everyone, pairs now. And spread. Keep down."

  As soon as Blaise originally indicated that they should pair up Corey immediately gravitated towards Desiree, skulking through the grass to be close to her.

  He couldn't bear to be partnered with somebody else. There was no way in hell she was going to be out of his sight, even though he had a strong suspicion that Melissa wanted the stronger shooters to be paired with the weaker in the party and pairing he and Desiree -two of the better gun handlers- together may leave somebody else vulnerable.

  Even so, Corey couldn't stand the thought of being separated from her when gunfire began to ring out in earnest, never knowing if she was alright or if one of the shots was claiming her life.

  There wasn't any great abundance of time to be standing around debating on who should go with her as Haskell's cronies spilled out of the church and Melissa to her credit despatched the duty succinctly.

  "Serena, you stay with me. Blaise you take Caroline, Ryan you and Jess, Lee and Tasha, Corey Desi, Rachel you with Peter. Shit...Dennis."

  "I'll go with..." Dennis gazed around in bemusement at the sorted pairs, his eyes glazed. He looked in some sort of shock which wasn't surprising considering what he'd just dome.

  "You can come with us," Corey spoke up, somewhat against his better judgement.

  "Good, done," said Melissa. "Okay, let's do this. Split."

  It seemed so sudden, brutal and rushed, there were no last goodbyes exchanged in case they were never
to see each other again.

  One minute they were all in the same vicinity fanned out in the grass, the next they all abruptly dispersed, spreading rapidly apart.

  CHAPTER 37

  The main protagonists -the three alpha women- took charge of the dispersal, swiftly moving away from the area in which they'd been assembled and from where the shot dropping Wesley Drake had issued, with their partners, and the remainder did likewise, vanishing into the woods.

  As Corey's partner -or rather, one of them- was Desiree, he found himself quickly vacating the scene in pursuit of her, Dennis King close by his side.

  While Melissa and Blaise both headed left, Blaise going first and apparently still aiming to head right around the clearing, Desiree took Corey and Dennis right.

  Behind them, in the distance, Corey heard others also coming around to the right as his trio had done, but he didn't know who it may have been.

  As they stalked through the lengthy grass, slipping between the trees, Corey briefly ruminated on his impulsive decision to allow Dennis to accompany him and Desiree rather than somebody else.

  Ultimately he would have preferred to have been with Desiree and her alone for there were many drawbacks to having Dennis King in tow. Corey didn't particularly doubt that Dennis was genuine about his desire to remain on their side, shooting Wesley Drake had been a fairly good indication of his intentions, but all the same, that tiny niggling little pessimistic side to Corey had to ask the question, could Dennis be trusted entirely?

  What was more, Dennis could slow him and Desiree down and he could become a hindrance, even a liability.

  He certainly wouldn't have understood the true gravity of the situation as Desiree and Corey did, or exactly what was at stake, and even inadvertently may happen to betray their presence due to that reason.

  It was too late to regret electing to bring him though. All Corey could hope was that Dennis wanted to stay alive as desperately bad as he himself did and didn't do anything to jeopardise all their chances of that remaining a possibility.

  Desiree picked her way through the trees in the dark with ease and minimum noise.

  Just behind her, Corey attempted to do likewise, heart thumping in his chest, pistol in hand.

  Where they were in relation to the clearing, a good fifteen feet or so from the edge of the trees, meant they couldn't hope to see much out there and still remain undetected.

  Corey could only guess that Haskell and company either remained in disquiet outside the church or instead turned tail back into the sanctuary inside; he'd heard no further gun shots ring out since his current traveling partner Dennis King decided to open fire at the fugitive Wesley Drake.

  He knew where Desiree was leading them; around the right side of the clearing until they could come out of the woods behind where the assemblage of cars were parked, using the vehicles as cover to approach the church.

  He felt jitterier than ever, anticipating exiting the safety of the woods to see that Haskell's gang had all suddenly decided to vacate the scene and were making tracks en masse to their respective automobiles.

  That would put Desiree, Dennis and him right in the thick of a gunfight where they would be outnumbered and outgunned before anybody else arrived.

  Corey cursed his mental ability to conjure up the worst and gripped his gun tighter, hearing the shallow breathing of Dennis alongside him huffing in his ear.

  Corey wanted to stay as close to Desiree as possible, but he gave her space to navigate and lead the way so they weren't all a cluster easy to pick off. Dennis on the other hand was virtually wearing the same set of clothes Corey was, such was his nearness in proximity.

  That was beginning to irk and vex Corey, making him more edgy than ever.

  He pictured that Dennis was fearing Wesley Drake, not yet dead, or even Errol Haskell was about to burst into the woods blazing furiously.

  Corey himself was envisioning similar scenarios, but they started once they left the dark of the woods. At the moment he felt relatively safe and shrouded, though those feelings diminished with each step for each step was one closer to leaving that cover.

  Abruptly Desiree angled in to the left, gradually cutting out towards the fringes of the clearing.

  She glanced back over her shoulder to ensure that her two charges were in tow and then carried on.

  "Shit," Dennis said unexpectedly, the first words anyone had spoken since the group first separated. "You reckon Drake's dead? You think I killed him?"

  "I don't know. Maybe," Corey hissed back. "Be quiet."

  He guessed they probably weren't exactly close enough for any low tones of speech to carry to the ears of Haskell and co and betray their approach, but all the same he wanted to be as quiet as he could possibly be and that meant not uttering a word at all.

  Dennis lapsed back into silence, causing Corey to ponder King's query.

  He wondered if maybe Dennis suddenly felt guilty or something, if he was about to do another back flip in his allegiance and decide he should be on Haskell's side after all.

  Corey didn't especially need to be thinking on those lines; if Dennis suddenly decided that was an option then Somerset was likely to be first man down.

  Gunshots split the uneasy silence with a cacophonous blast, a whole series of them sounding.

  Desiree was virtually on the edge of the clearing about to step out from the shrouds of trees; she suddenly dropped and vanished from sight, going down like she was a marionette puppet cut free of its strings.

  An involuntary expression of dismay punched itself out of Corey's mouth as he watched her disappear, almost simultaneous with the soundtrack of gunfire.

  He couldn't even tell where the posse of shouts emanated from. They seemed to reverberate from all around the clearing, within the clearing, everywhere and it looked like Desiree was on the receiving end of some of that.

  Temporarily frozen, Corey snapped out of it long enough to grab hold of Dennis and hit the deck, crunching the pair of them down to the forest floor in a bed of grass, fallen leaves and twigs that snapped under them.

  No bullets had come whistling overhead or past them, but the way Desiree's movement had been so abruptly curtailed and she'd plunged down out of Corey's visibility immediately drove the horrible thought into his mind that she had been spied at the forested edge and fired upon.

  "Is she...did she...?" Dennis whispered in a fearful croak, freezing where he'd landed on his belly in the grass.

  "Shut up!" Corey hissed, choking to even say that. "I don't know."

  He wasn't planning on laying here in the dark and the undergrowth wondering while Desiree may be collapsed, shot and dying just over there where the woods ended and the area behind the ensemble of parked cars began.

  Still low to the ground he hunched on elbows and knees and started to crawl through the grass, moving as fast as he could, as quietly as possible, desperate and with a pounding heart.

  "Where are you going? Are you insane?" Dennis bleated from behind him, the tone in his questions signifying he didn't want, or intend to follow. "They'll get you too!"

  Corey didn't favour him with an answer. He needed to get to Desiree and he should have thought that much was obvious, even to Dennis King.

  Another sequence of gunshots rent the night in an erratic staccato stutter of deafening reports and this time shouts and curses came with them.

  Closer to the fringe where the majority of trees ended, Corey came to the understanding that these sounds of gunfire came not from Haskell and company.

  He started to stand up in order to perhaps catch a glimpse of the happenings, make heads or tails of it and even see if he could identify where Desiree had fallen.

  Something snagged the leg of his jeans and yanked him down sharply, back to the floor of the woods.

  Fearing an assault by one of Haskell's thugs who might have decided to enter the thickly treed area, or worse, another loose marauding Pleb, Corey slapped a hand inside his jacket fumbling for the butt of his
gun inside the underarm holster, trying to recall when he'd put the gun away in the first place.

  He needn't have worried.

  "Hey! Hey, it's me!" Came a hushed voice and one that drowned him in a warm tidal wave of relief.

  Prone on the ground alongside him was Desiree, the catalyst for his tumble back to earth.

  "Jesus, I...hell, I though…" Corey babbled, but she stopped it with a finger to his lips.

  "That was from our people, the gunshots," she whispered in his ear. "I ducked down as soon as they opened up, with plans to make for the cars but one of your buddy Errol's boys came a bit too close for comfort for me to get over there in time."

  "Shit, I thought you were shot, I thought I'd lost you," Corey murmured, not a bit surprised that he felt almost on the edge of crying, a couple of hot tears pricking at his eyes. "You went down like you'd caught a bullet, I almost..."

  "Shh," she reprimanded, then rolled from her side onto her elbows much like Corey had done when attempting to get to her, when he thought she had been the target of the roars and cracks of blasting guns, wriggling stealthily to the edge of the woods.

  Corey followed suit, feeling like a half-assed commando until he realised she'd ceased her forward crawl and the clearing, or at least part of it, was visible to them.

  Some of the vehicles that obviously brought Haskell, Raven and their respective bands of lunatics were parked just ahead, several lengthy metres away from where the main body of trees stood, leaving a dash in open space the only way to get to their cover.

  Further over to the left, circling with his eyes right around the circumference of the cleared area surrounding St Agnes/The Spot, Corey tried to spot some of his friends lurking amongst the trees. Illogically, he somehow expected to see them charging the Spot guns raised.

  He saw none of them.

  He saw the dark lumpen figure of Wesley Drake capsized on the ground where he'd toppled, knocked down by a shot from his former tag-along partner Dennis, evidently not about to get up any time soon.

  There looked to be another murky shape about three or four feet from Drake's body, likewise taking an earthen nap, but Corey didn't hazard a guess as to who or what it was, though a fervent wish for it to be Errol Haskell entered his heart.