He walked over the threshold, his head bent to one side, trying to see around the door. He saw legs. They look young, he thought, as he watched the legs thrash about on the bed. As his eyes climbed the torso he could tell it was a girl tied to the bed. Just as he was about to reach her face he noticed a second person in the room, on an adjacent bed. This one was naked. Her throat appeared to have been ripped out. She too looked young.
“What the fuc…” His gaze settled on the squirming girl’s eyes, which were flitting to one side madly, as though trying to tell him something. “FUCK!”
Eddie’s straight-razor sliced open Ollie’s left cheek. It cut through the air with deadly accuracy – whoosh. Before he could react to the first cut, a hot slash caught him across the right-hand side of his jawbone, sending him backwards, out of the room. Ollie’s back found the corner of the banister, and the ball of solid wood there slammed into the small of his back – “Aaaargh.”
“Ollie. Are you okay, love?”
He gathered enough wind to be able to answer Roxie. “Stay down there, beaut, and don’t come up here fo—”
The air was driven from him again by a hard fist to the guts delivered by Eddie. Pain tore through his scalp as he was pulled forward by his hair, and a knee forced into his stomach, again and again, before his face was rammed into the wall opposite. Ollie felt his nose crumble on impact. He felt three swift jabs to his kidneys which forced his legs to buckle. I can’t go down, he thought. If I go to ground this fucker will stamp my brains to mush. Instead, he turned his body – it hurt like hell – and faced his attacker. A balled fist smashed into his left eye. Ollie collapsed against the wall again, but forced himself to stay off the ground. Eddie danced back from the fallen man, and looked around frantically. “I want to slice this scummy fucker to ribbons,” he said aloud. “Where in the hell have you got to?”
Ollie leant against the wall, watching the fat man look about the floor. He knew what the man was looking for. His razor. Ollie had seen him drop it in the room.
“Over here, tubby. I got it.”
The grotesque face of Eddie turned to Ollie. A tortured smile spread across his face.
“You have it? Well then, boy bach, best you give it back before I have to hurt you some more. Is that what you want then, is it?”
Ollie watched as Eddie walked over to him: the man’s naked body reminded Ollie of a load of dough. Loose skin flapped under his arms, and his jowls wobbled; more chins than a Chinese phonebook, Ollie thought.
Eddie’s limp, stubby dick looked lost between his tree trunk-like thighs; you couldn’t see where his ankles were due to the fat on his calves.
“Why don’t you come over here and find out then, pork chop?”
Ollie could see the man needed no invitation, and felt like a weak child standing in a giant’s shadow. Eddie grabbed Ollie by his jacket and pulled him forward.
“I’m going to dance all over your dead, fucking body. Then, once I’m done with that, I’m going to fuck your girl, see. How do you like that thought, then? I bet that pisses you off.”
“Thought you’d only be able to get your kicks from screwing children, tubby,” Ollie assumed. “That’s why you got them marks all over your face, isn’t it? I’ve met your type before, and I’m going to kill you, Fatso.”
Eddie let out a bellowing laugh before headbutting Ollie square in the face, once, twice, three times. Ollie felt himself slipping into a state of unconsciousness, and tried to fight it.
“Kill me, will you? We’ll see who kill’s who.”
Eddie began pressing his thumbs into Ollie’s eyes, determined to pop them and drive his thumbnails into the biker’s brain.
“Ha-ha, die, fucker, die!”
“Ollie! Are you okay, love?” her voice frantic. She began climbing the stairs.
“He’s a bit tied up at the minute, slag. But I’ll be down to give you my…argh!”
Eddie’s chirpy tone changed as a vice-like grip on his balls became an intense, swelling pain. He had the urge to throw his guts up. He unplugged Ollie’s eyes and grabbed hold of the hand that was attached to, and squeezing the hell out of, his private parts. Eddie’s face lost its crimson colour and was now a bone white. Ollie gritted his teeth, ducked his head, and drove the back of his skull into the multiple chins of Eddie, snapping his mouth shut. A few bits of ivory ricocheted off Ollie’s back. Eddie stumbled backwards, clutching his balls and chin as he did so. He smacked into the banister, which shook and threatened to give way. Ollie had just enough time to gather himself and get back into the fight. He grabbed a framed picture off the wall, which was shedding wallpaper, and flung it at Eddie. It flipped end over end but failed to hit its target as it flew over the wooden railings, and clattered to the floor beneath.
“Get the hell back downstairs,” he shouted at Roxie, who was now at the top of the staircase, looking at Ollie.
“But—”
“Get back down, mun, now!”
“Ollie I…”
Eddie pushed himself off the banister and met Ollie in the middle of the landing in a bear hug. Both men had their arms wrapped around one another tightly. But the fat man had the weight advantage, and drove both himself and the biker back into the room where the one girl lay dead, and the other was still trying to free herself. Ollie spied the Bowie that he had dropped. It was in the middle of the room. First, he thought, I have to free myself from this bastard.
Both men grunted as they danced and twirled around the room like two mad ballerinas. Ollie stopped the blob’s momentum, and stamped on his exposed toes. He was sure he heard a couple of them crack under his boot. The hug was broken and Eddie went for his toes, giving Ollie the chance to drive a few hard lefts then rights into his opponent’s face and gut: left, right, left right.
Eddie stumbled into the bed behind him, the one that held the writhing girl, and flew over the top of it. He came back up holding his razor.
“Come on then, big boy,” he spat, spraying blood from behind his clenched teeth. “Let’s see you take me out now then, is it?”
Where the fuck did that come from? Ollie thought.
Eddie slashed the cut-throat from side to side. Ollie picked up his knife. Again they went for each other, but this time Ollie went into a rugby tackle, thumped his shoulder into Eddie, and they crashed against a wall. At first neither man could get their knife near flesh. Then Eddie managed to get his blade close to Ollie’s face, but Ollie pushed it to one side and out of the way. The stalemate was broken when Ollie managed to shove Eddie away from him. Eddie staggered through the door, and into Roxie. Ollie followed him out just as Eddie tried to slash at Roxie.
This gave Ollie the strength he needed. He bull-charged Eddie and, on connection with the man, propelled him back with such force that both men went through the frail banisters and crashed to the floor below. Roxie let out a huge wail of fright, and rushed downstairs. The men rotated on the floor until Eddie managed to get the better of Ollie, and while straddling him, plunged his razor into the biker’s gut, ripping sideways. Before he could get another stab at Ollie, a snapped spindle was thrust through his left eyeball. Eddie jolted stiff, relaxed, then slumped down. Ollie pushed the fat man off him and got to his feet. He clutched his side as he booted Eddie in the ribs, time and time again while cursing him into a heap.
“Oh, my God, Ollie.” Roxie rushed over to him. She hugged him tight, but he had to ease her away from him.
“My side, beaut. The bastard got me good.”
“I’ll clean you up now, love. Let me—”
He cut her off. “Upstairs, fast. There is a girl tied up. Go and help her first. I’ll be okay for a bit.”
“But Ollie, bach, you—”
“Go Roxie, love, I’ll be fine, honest.” He smiled at her. He wanted to hold her, but he knew he couldn’t. That poor girl upstairs needed their help.
Roxie rushed up the steps, and into the room she guessed Ollie had been in. There, on the bed, was a young girl of no m
ore than twelve. She was thrashing around and wailing under her gag. Roxie picked a knife that she found on the floor and cut the girl’s restraints. The girl – Amy – sprung up from the bed, ran out the door and down the stairs.
“Hey, come back. I was only trying to help you.”
Roxie ran after the girl, who was now down the stairs and in Ollie’s grip.
“Calm yourself, child,” Ollie said. “We are not going to hurt you, mun. We just saved you.”
Amy’s eyes were frantically wild as she tried to be free from Ollie. She kicked at his legs and tried to bite his hands and arms. Roxie reappeared and helped Ollie try to get the girl to calm down.
After getting the youngster to finally relax, Roxie spent the next few minutes taking care of Ollie’s injuries. From one of their bags she found tissue paper, gauze tape and some hand cream. She padded his side wound then taped it down. She dabbed at the cuts on his face with more paper and a bottle of water, cleaning them of blood before rubbing some cream into them. Ollie gritted his teeth at the stinging pain.
His eyes appeared slightly bloodshot, but nothing serious. He was still dizzy from the headbutts he had received, but knew he could cope with that. His nose was broken, but not shattered, which he had feared it would be. He crunched it back into position, causing it to piss blood.
As she patched Ollie up, Roxie kept an eye on the girl. She was sitting in front of the fire just gazing into the flames. Her eyes unmoving. Her state seemed catatonic. Roxie felt a pinch of sorrow for the child, and wondered where her parents were.
Roxie stripped her skirt off and got into a pair of jeans. She had brought spare clothes along with other bits and pieces. She placed all of the gathered bandanas from their fallen crew members into her holdall, then handed Ollie a box of headache tablets which she had had stashed away. He swallowed two.
While she continued to dress, Ollie gathered up all their weapons, placing them by the fire – Amy didn’t flinch or move as he did so. He’d come across a hard wooden handle that looked like it had once belonged to an axe. The one end was stained red. He then fed the last of the shotgun shells into the shotgun, making sure it was ready for action.
As Roxie buckled her jeans, the front door flew open. Roxie jumped back out of the way as a man brandishing a machine-gun came rushing in and shouted, “Freeze.” Ollie just stood there in amazement and shock. He knew that the person standing in front of him was not a threat; he wasn’t military. Nor was he sick like the others.
“We are human,” Ollie said.
The man breathed a sigh of relief, and started lowering the gun.
“Sorry, I thought you were like them,” the man said.
Silence filled the room. Nobody spoke for the next few minutes.
“My name’s Jeff,” the man finally said, and offered his hand.
Ollie felt the rage build inside at how stupid this man had been coming in here like that, shouting in their faces. He looked at Jeff’s outstretched hand, and then knocked the guy out with a swift couple of blows to the face and head.
Chapter 3
Jeff looked over at Maria – she was asleep. Her long dark hair covered her face. He could hear Ollie and his girlfriend, Roxie, talking quietly out in the kitchen. The young girl, Amy, sat by the fire, was still silent. She had spoken once since he and Maria had arrived, and that was only to inform them all that her name was Amy. He rested his head against the barrel of the gun, which was now cool, and let his mind drift.
“What’re you thinking about, Jeff?” Maria’s voice was soft, like that of a child.
He raised his head slowly, his damp, sweaty hair clinging to the barrel. He was too scared to answer back just in case his voice cracked, or he gave away his thoughts of leaving them to die in this Godforsaken hellhole.
“Jeff?” she pushed, her tone wavering.
Could she see the terror hidden in his eyes?
“That sound out there, it’s getting to me.” He kept his voice low, not wanting the two in the kitchen to hear him. “I wish they would just leave us alone, give us a chance to rest, for pity’s sake.” She became a slight blur in his vision. He wiped the sliding tears away. “Do they have to come after us all the time? Why don’t they give up?” He looked over at the dead man in the middle of the room, the snapped banister jutting from his left eyeball. “Even though I know what that man did to those poor kids upstairs, I can’t help wishing I was him, dead and out of all this. Out of this hell and back with my wife.”
He was conscious of the fact that his voice had been getting louder as he spoke, and shut up. He didn’t want Ollie back in the room. The man had too much strength and fight to burn. Next time he might just pummel me into the ground, Jeff thought. Them outside I can just about handle – him I can’t. Plus he had nothing to say to the man. Not even when the biker had told Jeff his story. He’d just nodded his head and listened.
Maria swept most of the spent rounds of ammunition out of her way as she slid over to him; the bullets had come from Jeff’s gun. He had shot a few that had been close to the windows. She put her arm around his back; he followed suit by putting his around her shoulder, drawing her into him until they were snug against each other.
“Don’t talk like that, Jeff,” she said, looking up at him. “If it had not been for you, then I would still be trapped in the petrol station. I was terrified.” He felt her shudder, and applied more pressure to his hug. She looked up at him, and felt his blackening eye.
“Does it still hurt?” He could only nod. “They’ll be gone in the morning, Jeff. Try not to think about them.”
Her voice was soothing, he thought. Just like a mother’s would be to her child.
“Do you live with your parents?” He felt her back stiffen at the question. “Sorry, I…I didn’t mean to pry. Just, just…” He let himself trail off.
“It’s okay. I haven’t seen my mum and dad since I left for work the night of the attack.” She began to weep. “I argued with my dad just before I left. Now I may never get to tell him how stupid I was. That I’m sorry for what I said.”
Now it was his turn to coo. To settle her with a gentle voice. But what came out resembled a harsh rasp of a tone; his throat was dry. What a dumb thing to have said, asking about her parents with all this going on.
“I’m sure they managed to get free, or kept themselves safe indoors.” He looked over at the main window to the cottage. He had crudely boarded it up with the aid of Ollie – they had used the table from the kitchen. It covered most of the big window, apart from a couple of inches either side, through which they could be seen wandering around outside. The window Ollie had climbed through had also been covered. Cupboard doors had been used for that one.
They had torn up some of the planks from the cottage-floor and reinforced the table with them. There was plenty of wood around the place. Hell, they could even take down some of the doors from the rooms upstairs and use them.
Jeff had parked the truck outside in such a way that the window and door to the cottage were blocked. The cab to the vehicle was opposite the front door, so if they did need to use the truck in an escape, they could. He and Ollie had also found and unloaded an ammunition crate from the back of the wagon. It contained bullets for their SA80s. They’d discovered a Browning 9mm pistol with three spare clips, which they had given to Roxie.
Out back was a small, overrun garden, sealed off with a very high stone wall. There had been a couple of them out there, which Ollie had blasted dead with his shotgun. Rickety old garden furniture lay strewn about, green as a result of being lashed by the weather. A small tool shed stood at the bottom, in which Jeff had found a few jars of rusted nails and a hammer. They had come in handy for boarding up the window. He’d also found various rusting gardening implements, such as a rake, spade, hose, shears and a gardening fork. The fork and shears they kept because they could be of use; even though the prongs were blunt and the scissors dull, they were still spare weapons.
There was no furnitur
e inside the house, not a scrap. And the same went for food. The cottage was thick with dust and cobwebs. Rats could be heard and seen. No carpet lay on the floor, exposing damp, rotting floorboards. The pipes in the kitchen had either frozen, seized or burst, as no water came from the taps, just brown sludge that made the pipelines groan.
“We could take the truck to their house, you know? Pick them up and bring them here, or take them to safety. I have a…” He let himself trail off.
“You have a what? Jeff? Come on, tell me.” A slight irritation in her voice. “What are you hiding from me?” She sounded like a teenager in mid-pout.
She twisted, loosening his grip on her shoulders, and looked him in the eye. “You can tell me, you know that. If you don’t trust the other two you can just tell me, and I won’t say a word. I promise. If you are thinking of leaving, I want you to take me with you.”
“A plane, I have a plane.” There, it was said. He instantly felt better knowing that she knew. “Before all this happened I was a flight instructor, based on the outskirts of Cardiff airport, working for a flying club. The plane isn’t mine, so to speak; it belongs to the club.”
She felt that he spoke with a plum in his throat, that he may have been looking down on her and the others somewhat. “So how come you have the keys then, Jeff?” Her tone of voice was somewhat distrusting.
“I have the keys because when things started getting really bad I left work with them, hoping to fly my wife and myself out of danger. But she got sick, and I didn’t want to take her from the house in her condition, so we did what we have done here, barricaded ourselves in in the vain hope of sitting it out. There’s no hope of us outlasting this, this hell we are caught up in. Our only chance is to make it to my plane, and fly away from here.”
Walled In Page 3