Blackout & Burn: A Complete EMP Thriller Series

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “Are the railings broken?”

  “No, it’s just easy to see down into the quarry there.”

  Bill grunts and walks slowly forward until he reaches the wooden slats that sit across the pathway. He turns his torch to the railings and pushes at them. They’re sturdy and high. “No chance of a fall from here, not unless Clarissa had climbed over.” The hairs on his neck prickle. What if that is it? What if she’d climbed over the fence to get a better view of the sun setting over the quarry. What if then she’d fallen? She didn’t strike him as the type to take unnecessary risks, but ... he thinks back to their conversations—of her love of hill walking and going the extra mile to take in the view—it was one of the things that made them kindred spirits—yes, she was exactly that type! Shining his torch down into the dark quarry his belly clenches. It’s at least a one hundred-foot drop to the bottom. If she’d fallen then she’d be badly hurt or worse. His mouth is dry as he turns back to the men. “Uri, Andy. Shine some light down here. I need a better look.” The torches make a hollow in the dark, lighting up a small patch of the quarry floor, but Bill can see no evidence of Clarissa. If she’d fallen he’d expect to see patches of broken stems or snapped branches. There’s nothing. “If she fell, I don’t think it was here.”

  “I agree,” Uri replies. “There is no sign of a fall—nothing broken.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, perhaps she’s not here then. We should check further along the road. Perhaps she’s lying hurt in a ditch? I’ve only been this far so perhaps we should check the higher roads that go over the wolds?”

  “Why would she be lying in a ditch?” Bill’s voice is scathing. “Why would she have gone over the wolds if she knew you were back here waiting for her?”

  “I have no idea. Who knows what goes on inside a woman’s head!”

  Bill swings the torch into Andy’s face and clutches the handle as he wrestles with his rising anger. He wants to swing the torch into Andy’s face and wipe that self-satisfied smirk off it—for good.

  Bill takes a deep breath that fills his lungs. “Clarissa!”

  The sound reverberates across the quarry.

  “Clarissa!” he shouts again, louder this time.

  “Claariissaa!” He forces the noise from his belly, extending the vowels until they fill the air.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Clarissa lies at the bottom of the quarry. The pain in her ribs is excruciating and her entire body aches with exhaustion. Getting down to the bottom had taken every last ounce of energy. She knows getting home is what she must do, but for now all she’s capable of is lying there. Once she’s rested then she’ll move. She shivers. Her fingers are damp—the moisture taken high up into the sky by the warmth of the sun’s rays is descending back to earth. If she stays she’ll be drenched just like the dew-sodden grasses of her lawn at home in the mornings.

  She remembers herself at home, at the house in the city, hanging out the washing, the wet soaking through the canvas of her house shoes. She lies in the stillness, remembering its rooms—all gone, destroyed. All her memories, all her photographs of the girls and Reece gone! Pain rises and, unable to take a full breath, a low and wheedling noise escapes her throat. Reece! How desperately she wants him, needs him, still misses him. She catches for a tiny breath as the pain in her ribs rides roughshod over her bruised body. Perhaps ... perhaps she can lie here ... perhaps it’s her turn to join him? She shivers and lets the familiar pain of his loss overwhelm her. She takes another sip of air and lets the tears roll across her cheeks and disappear into her hair.

  “Clarissa!”

  A voice calling her. Is it in her memory or real? She catches her breath and listens.

  “Claariissaa!”

  Yes, there it is again.

  “Here!” The sound that comes from her throat is rasping, the voice small and tight. She coughs, takes a tiny breath, and calls her reply. “Here!” Her voice, though a little louder, is barely above a whisper.

  “Clarissa!” the voice sounds again, more distant this time.

  No! “Here!” she calls. “I’m here.” They’ll never hear her!

  Fingers scrabble at the earth. She takes a lump of chalk and knocks it against the quarry floor. It lands with a dull thud in the clump of grass at her side.

  “Clarissa!” Further away again.

  No! She searches the quarry floor, scraping the ground with the back of her hand, the rock still gripped in her palm. There! Chalk, hard and angular, juts out of the ground. She cracks against it with her rock. The sound is sharp in the night. Pain pierces her body. She groans in pain but knocks again.

  Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap!

  “I’m here!” she rasps with each knock.

  Please let them hear! Please.

  “Clarissa!” Further away? No!

  “CLARISSA!” BILL SHOUTS again. He stops and listens but can hear nothing as Andy’s shout follows his.

  “Shh!” he reprimands. “I’m trying to listen.”

  Bill swings his torch away from the quarry and walks further along the track. It doesn’t seem right that she’d continue up here. Why would she when bloody Andy was sat back there on his lazy arse? To get away from him perhaps? Had he seen them kiss? No, he was sure that was their own private moment. But what if she’d told him? He swings the torch and shines it directly into his eyes.

  “Why would she come up here on her own, Andy?”

  “I told you, she wanted to see the sunset across the quarry.”

  “And you just couldn’t be arsed to walk another hundred feet to be with her?”

  “No! For the last time, I needed a rest.”

  “You sick or something?” Bill snaps. “You got an infirmity?” His story just didn’t ring true. He takes a step towards Andy.

  Startled, Andy takes a step back and bumps up against Uri, his head barely reaching the Russian’s shoulder, a monolith of muscle, massive against Andy’s paunchy frame.

  “Something doesn’t add up, Andy,” Bill pushes. “Did she want to get away from you?”

  “No! I told you-” He stops and straightens himself rolling his shoulders. “It’s him you want to be worried about,” he says gesturing to Uri. “He’s the one who tried to kill her. He’s the contract killer. He’s the one Bolstovsky sent to kill Clarissa.”

  Bill catches his breath and stares directly into Andy’s eyes. As far as he was aware Uri had never revealed his source—never once mentioned who it was that wanted Clarissa dead—just that he’d been given the contract. It all sounded a bit too much like something out of a bad thriller for Bill’s taste but he was well aware of the workings of the Russian mafia in England. There were even documentaries uncovering the money-laundering and corruption of the oligarchs, even at the highest levels of the Russian state. It may seem far-fetched, but Bill wasn’t about to underestimate the seriousness of the situation.

  “Uri? Who is Bolstovsky?”

  “My boss.”

  “Yes, and if he doesn’t carry out the contract then his head’ll be on the chopping block,” Andy says with ire. “So, it’s not me you’ve got to worry about.”

  Bill steps up to Andy until he’s only inches from his face. “I’ve been watching you since we picked you up in the city. I’ve made a note of every conversation you’ve had. I’ve watched Uri like a hawk too. At no point have you two sat, had a cup of tea, and chatted about Uri’s job. So ... tell me, Andy, how do you know about Bolstovsky?”

  Andy’s face drains of colour and sags under the torchlight. Bill watches the man’s eyes narrow as he processes his thoughts. Bill doesn’t blink for a second. Andy opens his mouth to lie.

  “I-”

  “He knows,” Uri interrupts. “Because he is on Bolstovsky’s payroll.”

  Bill stares at Uri. The moment is critical; Bolstovsky owns them both and Bill is outnumbered. If Uri turns on him he’s in trouble—perhaps more trouble than he can deal with. Show no fear! Grip firm around the hilt of his knife, he steps u
p to Andy and grabs his shirt. “If you’ve done anything to hurt that woman I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

  Tap! Tap! Tap!

  Bill cocks his ear to the sound, his grasp still firm on Andy’s shirt.

  “I-”

  “Shh!”

  Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap!

  The tip of Bill’s knife makes a dimple in the soft flesh beneath Andy’s chin.

  “Clarissa!” Bill shouts. This time Andy is deathly silent.

  Tap! Tap! Tap!

  “It’s her!” Bill recognises this as a crucial moment. If Uri decides to side with Andy then they could overwhelm him and leave Clarissa out in the night with who knows what injuries.

  Andy bats at the knife. Bill’s hand judders. He was expecting a blow from Andy and his arm remains strong. Bringing the blade back beneath Andy’s chin he pushes the point into the soft flesh. Uri remains still, a massive block behind the squirming man. Bill eyes him, waiting for the moment he’ll turn.

  “Turn around and go back down the path,” Bill orders. “She’s down in that quarry.”

  Andy remains still. Bill senses his confidence.

  “Uri,” he says with a smirk. “Tell Bill how it’s going to be.”

  “How it’s going to be?” the giant asks.

  “Yes, Uri. How you’re going to fulfil your obligations.”

  Uri stares down at Andy’s head. A flicker of uncertainty crosses his eyes as he looks up and Bill’s stomach clenches.

  “If he doesn’t fulfil his obligation, Bolstovsky will make him pay. Won’t he Uri.”

  Uri remains silent and Bill watches the internal struggle playing out on his face. The next moments will decide Clarissa’s fate and that all depends on Uri and just how loyal he is, or afraid. As he stares at Uri and then Andy, Bill says a silent prayer in hope that Uri’s sense of gratitude to Jessie and Clarissa is stronger than his fear of Bolstovsky. Doubtful!

  “You’re rather quiet, Uri,” Andy says with a cockiness that Bill wants to punch out of him, “for a man who is risking the life of his family ...” Andy trails off.

  Uri’s eyes narrow.

  “Don’t you remember Barker and what happened to his wife and daughter, Uri?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what about Shultz? And wasn’t it you who delivered the final message to Grekov.”

  “Yes,” Uri replies and for a moment he steps back from Andy.

  “And how many other men does Bolstovsky have at his disposal who can carry out those final messages, Uri? Probably men that aren’t as quick and thoughtful as you.”

  Bill is losing the battle.

  Tap! Tap! Tap!

  Bill snaps.

  “Just turn around, you scrote! Turn around and walk back along the track.”

  “I don’t think so, Bill,” Andy says with confidence despite the point of the knife digging into the dimple at the base of his throat. “Uri, show Bill what it means to piss off the Family and then go and finish off the woman.” He nods at Bill with a smirk. Uri steps away. A stone drops through Bill to the depths of his belly. Uri disappears into the dark.

  Tap! Tap! Tap!

  A massive hand reaches over Andy’s shoulder and clamps around his chin. His head jerks back as another hand clamps around forehead. Eyes wide with surprise Uri breaks Andy’s neck with sharp a twist. The body limp, Uri tosses it to the hedgerow. It lands with a thud and crack of snapped branches.

  Bill shines his torch on Andy’s lifeless body then turns back to Uri.

  “He is snake,” Uri spits.

  “Sure, but-”

  “He was last connection I had with Bolstovsky. Viktoria ... she wants us to make new life. We let them think we are dead—burned in the apartment in the city—but we stay here—have a happier life.”

  “Yes,” Bill nods. He looks down once again at Andy crumpled on the ground, his head at an awkward angle and half-hidden by the grass and cow parsley growing in the hedgerow. He marvels at Uri’s deft technique. “That was one smooth move.”

  “Thank you,” Uri says. “I have much practice.”

  Bill grunts and shudders. Uri was definitely not someone he wanted to cross.

  Tap! Tap! Tap!

  “We find her now,” Uri says with determination.

  “Yes,” Bill replies with relief.

  They follow the path back along the quarry and shine their torches down the steep sides from the viewing point.

  “We need to find the entrance and look for her at ground level.”

  Twenty minutes pass before they find the road that passes the old track that leads in to the abandoned quarry. As they walk Bill calls again for Clarissa. He waits. The tapping sounds again and he follows the noise, each time he calls the tapping grows louder.

  “She’s there,” he calls in elation as he spots a long and brightly-coloured form ahead but groans with disappointment when they reach it. It’s just an old plastic sack emblazoned with a bright logo.

  The tapping comes again. Swinging his torch across the ground, the light arcs and he sees her. Leaning against the quarry wall, her dark hair is stark against the white of the chalk.

  “Clarissa!” he calls.

  “Here!” she rasps and knocks her fist against the ground. Tap, tap, tap!

  Clever girl! “I’m coming,” Shrugging off his rucksack he kneels beside her. “I’m here.”

  “Thank you!” she whispers and closes her eyes.

  “Clarissa!” he urges. “Stay awake for me.” He reaches for the blanket. Her eyes flicker as he covers her shoulder. “Here,” he says. “I have some water. Drink.” He holds the bottle as she drinks, allowing just a small sip. “You’re hurt,” he says scanning her body. There’s nothing obvious other than a deep scratch across her forehead and the puffiness growing over one eye.

  “Where does it hurt?” he asks with trepidation. He wants to know it hurts. Hurting is good—she’s not paralysed if it hurts.

  “Everywhere,” she replies. “I think my ribs are broken—my right side.”

  The pain is obvious as she draws breath. She sips at the air. He’s seen broken ribs before. This is something more. He watches as she gasps barely taking in air before breathing out.

  “I think my lung may be punctured,” she says with a grimace echoing his thoughts.

  “It’s possible,” he replies playing down his fears. “But you’re in good hands now.” He turns to Uri behind him. “I’ll wait here whilst you fetch the car. Bring it inside as far as you can.” Uri nods and disappears and Bill settles in to wait with her and keep her warm and calm.

  He knows she struggles to speak but he can’t help asking the question that weighs heavy on his mind.

  “What happened, Clarissa?”

  She takes a shallow breath and closes her eyes. When she looks back at him tears have filmed them. “He pushed me.”

  “Andy?”

  “Yes,” she rasps with a look of fear.

  “You don’t have to worry about him anymore, Clarissa. I’ve dealt with him, well, Uri dealt with him.”

  A questioning frown. He nods in reply and her brow clears as understanding passes between them.

  “Thank you.”

  Bill pulls the blanket a little closer to her neck then takes a swig of water from the bottle. In the distance the engine starts. He listens and sighs with relief as it grows louder. He’d half expected Uri to abandon them and disappear with his wife and daughter. Bill strokes Clarissa’s forehead, a gentle touch at the hairline. He’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Sam knocks on the door for the second time that night. He didn’t recognise the car that had sped off with the four strangers in it. Barton was a small town and although it was becoming more popular with commuters and people escaping the higher house prices in the south, he still felt he had the hang of the place. The four people in the car were unusual and he’d certainly have noticed the vintage Ford Escort, it was the exact same model his mother had don
e the school run in when he was still at primary school although from the look of the glossy shine to the body work it had been lovingly restored and probably had a full concourse job done on it too. It had to be more reliable than his mother’s old car anyway—almost vintage even in the Eighties. He laughs for a moment despite his trembling hands. The car had let them down on so many mornings and he’d been late to school so many times that he couldn’t stand being late for anything. His car was always fully serviced and ready for action at a moment’s notice—had to be in his line of work, well had had to be before the accident. Memories give way to a dark pain but he forces a smile as he hears Martha’s footsteps.

  “Sam!” she shouts and flings her arms around him. He staggers back.

  “Steady on!”

  “Sorry, but I’ve been petrified,” she says pulling her cardigan over her chest. It only just overlaps in the middle and her cleavage presses together to form a long and deep horizontal line that starts just below her neck. Her dark eyes search his face, the emotion is genuine. Poor Martha! He hadn’t been a good lover to her—too distant, not dependable.

  “Just put that there, Sam,” she says motioning to the cylinder. He drops it to the floor and pushes it up against the wall where it won’t be a trip hazard. She grabs his hand before he has a chance to turn back. “Come up, Sam.”

  “Well ...”

  “Please, Sam.”

  He can’t bear the desperation in her voice. “Perhaps just for a while.”

  A pang of guilt as he takes the first steps.

  “I’m terrified.”

  He shouldn’t stay. It would give her false hope—be dishonest of him.

  “I don’t want to be on my own.”

  He relaxes. She just wants company. He can deal with that.

  “OK.”

  She sighs with relief and tugs at his hand guiding him up the stairs, slipping her arm around his back. She leans into him. He accepts her need and strokes her hair. He didn’t love her - would never love her – probably, but she needed him and, if he was truthful, he needed her.

  As they step up to the landing and the front door of her apartment Sam looks out across the town. The lights of a car disappear up the hill and a fire blazes in the distance.