But there was no trace of levity on the Overseer’s face. “You will be fine. You just need to take care. Once you’re out in the centre of the grain, start poking very carefully, as deeply as you can, to try and free the rotten area. It’s most probably caused some sort of air pocket and you’ll need to clear this to get the flow moving again. I’ll signal your friend here when the hopper is running smoothly again so he can tell you when to stop. Okay?”
It sounded anything but okay, however Sam duly nodded his understanding. He and Williams were then shown to the ladder on the outside of the silo which scaled its entire height.
Indeed, just getting to the hatch on top of the giant, galvanised structure presented a daunting challenge which was not for the faint-hearted; a seventy foot climb broken only by three tiny platforms, set at equal distance from each other to allow brief respite before the final, gruelling ascent to the top.
Sam looked up in awe at the sheer scale of the silo and swallowed hard with trepidation. But he had no time to consider it further as a guard nudged him forward with the muzzle of a machine gun and told him to get on with it.
So, with Williams following closely behind, Sam set foot on the bottom rung of the ladder and slowly began the arduous ascent.
The climb took many minutes and required a tremendous amount of stamina to make it to the top. However, Sam finally made it; his legs aching desperately by the time he reached the tiny platform just below the lip of the conical roof. Fortunately, this two foot square podium was encircled by a chunky steel rail which made it a little safer than it might otherwise have been.
Nonetheless, from this precariously high vantage point, Sam could survey the vast Siberian landscape from horizon to horizon - a spectacular sight which would have been utterly awe-inspiring under normal circumstances.
However, what impressed Sam the most as he fought to regain his breath, was the sight of Williams just a few feet below him looking as sprightly as a spring chicken.
Clearly the Welshman was much fitter than Sam had given him credit for. Furthermore, as he arrived at the space immediately beneath the platform, he was barely out of breath - even though that which he had was wheezy and rough.
“Get that hatch open, boyo,” he said, “and shift yourself inside. I don’t wanna be standing here all day.” With Sam occupying the relative safety of platform which offered only enough room for one person, Williams had no option but to cling to the ladder below and wait for the space to be vacated.
“Okay, okay,” Sam puffed. “I’m going.”
With the cold Siberian wind blowing around his ears, he unbolted the hatch, which was no bigger than the platform he was standing on, and pulled open the door.
The musty, cloying aroma of the wheat immediately assaulted his nostrils as he peered into the cavernously dark interior of the silo. However, the light from the hatch allowed him to see the level of the grain some ten feet below. A quick look around also revealed the ladder and the rope the Overseer had mentioned although the thought of climbing down inside was anything but appealing.
Nevertheless, he clambered onto the roof and slithered into position so that his legs dangled into the hatch. Meanwhile, Williams replaced him on the platform on the lip of the roof.
“Here,” Sam said, handing him the eight foot pole, “you take this while I get inside then pass it to me when I’m on the ladder.”
“Okay, boyo. Will do,” replied Williams.
Carefully, Sam eased himself down through the opening and found the top rung of the ladder with his foot. A moment later he was completely inside, both hands and feet now properly on the thin, metal ladder. As he climbed down towards the grain shelf, the Welshman’s head appeared in the window above. He, too, caught the heady stench of the stored crop and inadvertently sucked in a lungful of dust which caused him to cough and splutter as he lowered the pole into the opening.
When Sam reached the grain level, he grabbed hold of the rope which was dangling beside the ladder then, after a beat, held his breath and stepped out onto the soft bed of tiny kernels.
Immediately his boots were engulfed by it and in a matter of seconds his ankles were enveloped, too. He found this most disconcerting and was on the brink of panic, frightened that he might get sucked under, before suddenly his feet found purchase and sunk no further.
Breathing a huge sigh of relief, he looked up at Williams and said, “Right, pass it here then.”
In response, the Welshman had to lean in at full stretch in order for Sam to reach the pole, his job being to stay on the roof and keep a lookout for the Overseer who would give him the thumbs up when the grain began flowing freely from the hopper once more.
Once he had hold of the white, plastic pole, Sam very carefully edged his way out to the centre of the silo, which was over twenty feet in diameter, and tentatively began poking at the grain, being sure to keep a tight grip on the rope.
He did this repeatedly, each time holding his breath for fear of the shelf of rotten wheat collapsing beneath him, terrified that at any moment it would drag him under.
“Say, you know the good thing about prison?” Williams said as he watched him work, his voice echoing around the cavernous metal chamber.
“No, what’s that?” Replied Sam, being extremely wary about his foot placement as he gently continued to push the long pole deeply into the surrounding grain as instructed by the Overseer.
“Gives you lots of time to think,” said Williams. “All that time locked up with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company, it kinda focuses the mind, y’know?”
Sam was not entirely sure where the Welshman was going with this so merely shrugged, “Yeah, I guess. So?”
“So last night I got me to thinking. All that talk yesterday, got my mind all whirring over.”
Sam was only really half listening, more concerned about the shelf of grain he was standing on and how it could give way at any moment. Indeed, as he shoved the pole in yet one more time, he felt something shift slightly beneath his feet. “I reckon that might be it!” He said, “Stick your head over the side and check, will ya.”
As instructed, Williams pulled away from the hatch opening for a moment and looked down at the Overseer standing some seventy feet below. After a few moments the man on the ground lifted his arm and gave the thumbs up to indicate that the blockage had, indeed, cleared and that the flow was moving steadily once more.
Williams returned the signal then shifted himself back to the hatch. “Yep, that’s it. You can come on back - hand me that pole.”
The grain was now vibrating around Sam as the auger resumed its motion far below and again he had that feeling of panic but he was done now. All he had to do was return to the ladder.
He very carefully withdrew the pole and turned back towards the opening, surprised to see that Williams had actually now climbed inside the silo and was standing on the ladder just beneath the hatch - which was not where he was supposed to be.
“Hey, what you doing?” Sam asked.
“Just making it a bit easier, that’s all,” Williams coughed, the dust once again seeping into his lungs. “Save you stretching with that pole.” He reached out his arm, “Here, give it to me.”
Sam was a little surprised but without the pole he could at least concentrate on getting back to the ladder safely, so did not think more of it and handed it to Williams as asked.
With the pole now in his grip, the Welshman resumed the conversation they were having a few moments before. “Like I was saying, all that talk yesterday got me to thinking.”
“Yeah?” Sam said, conscious of each footstep as he gradually made his way back.
“Yeah,” Williams replied matter-of-factly whilst watching intently for a reaction to what he was about to say next, “it got me to thinking about that sweet little black bitch me and Percy fucked in Cambridge.”
Suddenly Sam
stopped and glared at him, his eyes burning with incandescent rage.
Williams smiled now that he had Sam’s unwavering attention, his white face alive with delicious anticipation. “I remembered how me and five other guys fucked her in every hole then strung her up and killed her.”
Sam gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, the rope squashed tightly in his grip as violent thoughts raced through his brain.
But Williams had not finished. “And I remembered you,” he said. “You’re the boyfriend we left for dead, aren’t ya?”
Sam did not answer, too angry to speak.
“See, told you it would come to me eventually, didn’t I?” Said the Welshman triumphantly.
Sam realised now that this was why Williams had been so quiet that morning. He had been conspiring to get him alone - clearly it was the whole reason for him volunteering them for this awful task having spotted an opportunity to take the initiative, his intuition no doubt telling him that Sam was at the prison purposely to kill him.
“I’m gonna rip your fuckin’ head off!” Sam snarled.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Williams scolded, holding the plastic pole like a jousting stick and jabbing Sam brutally on the forehead with the blunt end of it, breaking the skin. “I don’t think so, boyo!” He grinned as Sam staggered backwards, his feet landing hard on the soft grain and causing him to sink up to his shins.
“I don’t think I ever told you that I worked on a farm when I was a lad, did I, boyo?” Asked the Welshman casually, clearly enjoying himself immensely. Sam’s eyes just bored into him, his legs held firmly by the sheer weight of grain as it dragged him slowly downwards. Blood was dripping from the laceration on his forehead and he felt a little dazed from the blow, but he ignored it as Williams continued to speak.
“I couldn’t have been much more than twelve or thirteen, but I still remember it, clear as day.” He said. “It was a blisteringly hot summer’s day - you know, like the ones we used to get in the U.K. years ago - and I was doing much the same job as we’ve been doing here the last few days. And well, the same thing happened, see. The thing that loaded the grain into the trucks got all bunged up and the farmer had to go up into the silo to clear it out. Well, next thing we know, the poor bugger’s got swallowed up by the corn - vanished, just like that. His body wasn’t recovered for a whole week, can you believe it? Horrible way to die it was. Just bloody horrible. I’ll never forget it for as long as I live.” He paused and shook his head as he recalled the moment before speaking again.
“Anyway, when the same thing happened here today, when the thingy got jammed, I saw my chance, didn’t I? Ironic really, cos up to last night I thought you and me was pals - thought you, me and Percy might get to work together one day. But I was wrong, wasn’t I, boyo? You came here to kill me didn’t you?”
“Damn right I did,” spat Sam, “you vile, raping, murderous son of a bitch!”
But Williams merely smiled once more. “Trouble is, boyo, I’m afraid it’s you that’s gonna die here, not me - and I’m sorry to tell you, it ain’t gonna be a very nice way to go. Not nice at all.” With that he jabbed Sam painfully on the chin, opening up yet another nasty gash. Then slammed the butt of the pole hard into Sam’s stomach, gouging him mercilessly and causing him to double over, unable to step backwards due to his legs being trapped in the grain.
However, before Williams could pull the pole back, Sam grabbed it firmly and tugged it towards him.
The sudden reaction surprised the Welshman and in trying to wrestle the pole free he lost his grip on the dusty ladder. As the momentum pulled him off balance, he was propelled forward into the grain, landing with a heavy thud, next to where Sam was buried up to his knees.
Suddenly all Williams’ horrific childhood memories of the farmer being sucked into the grain came flooding back. He started to panic, scrambling madly, desperate to get back to the safety of the ladder once more, but his struggles only seemed to hamper his efforts as the wheat fought to claim him and drag him down into its depths.
The more hopelessly he tried to resist, the deeper he inevitably sank, his hysteria rising with each second that passed.
Williams pressed down with his hands in an attempt to push himself away but the dust had already permeated his lungs and he succumbed to a debilitating coughing fit as his hands sunk elbow deep into the irresistible pull of the grain.
“Help me!” He begged, as he wheezed and spluttered, the spittle foaming on his grey lips and dribbling down his pale chin as it turned muddy brown with seed dust. “Please! Help me!”
But Sam was sinking too. Yet with Williams now prostrated beneath him, he managed to use the Welshman’s shoulders for purchase as he bent his knees onto them.
Then, throwing the pole aside, he grabbed the rope tightly with both hands and, using all his strength, slowly inched his knees forward over Williams’ shoulders, steadily shuffling himself free in painfully slow increments. But it was working.
Meanwhile, Williams was coughing loudly, Sam’s weight forcing him lower in the grain which had now completely engulfed his arms and was gradually dragging him ever deeper. “I can’t breathe!” He gasped. “It’s pulling me under - help me, please!”
But Sam ignored him and concentrated on freeing himself which, after much wriggling and pulling, he did.
His feet finally burst free of the grain so that he could now scramble up onto Williams’ back. Using it as a plank to spread the weight it allowed him a platform from which to leap to safety. Indeed, with one almighty bound and with the aid of the rope, he managed to jump onto the ladder once more.
Once out of danger, he looked back to see Williams’ white face half buried in seed. He was coughing violently as hundreds of tiny kernels poured into his mouth and down his throat, unable to fight it as the grain slowly swallowed him up. Before it engulfed him fully, he emitted a spluttering, gurgled scream as his grey eyes flew wide with absolute terror. Then, a moment later, his whole head was sucked under.
Sam watched impassively as Williams’ shoulders and upper body immediately followed until finally, only his legs remained.
Yet even though the rest of him was helplessly buried under the sheer weight of the wheat, the Welshman still kicked his legs violently for several long moments, trying desperately to hold onto the last vestiges of breath in his dust filled lungs.
Soon, however, the air was exhausted and his legs at last fell still. Then they, too, slithered silently beneath the grain to leave no trace of Brendan Williams ever having been there.
The Albino was no more.
***
After some time, Sam climbed back out of the hatch, his face bloodied and bruised and his body covered in dust.
As he emerged, a guard was waiting to greet him. The man was standing on the small platform at the edge of the roof, pointing a machine gun and breathing heavily from the brutally punishing climb.
The guard immediately saw the blood on Sam’s face and when Williams failed to appear behind him, put two and two together and made five.
In the belief that Sam had killed Williams, he was then summarily escorted down from the silo and taken straight to the High Security Wing charged with the murder of a fellow inmate.
It was not specified how long he was to be detained there.
Chapter Thirty
London, England 1997.
After finding life in Cambridge simply too hard to bear without Sam or Vasily, Miriam had taken a residency at St. Thomas’ Hospital in Lambeth, believing that the hustle and bustle of London might help clear away the cloud of sadness that had hung over her for far too long.
Indeed, it had now been almost three years since she had last seen or heard from Sam and she realised now that it was perhaps time to move on.
That first Christmas, shortly after he and Vas left for America, was the worst of her life. She had waited for as long as possible for the
telephone to ring on Christmas morning before heading off to work, convinced that Sam would call. But he did not and it left her absolutely devastated.
When he failed to phone on any of the following days, Miriam spent a miserable New Year’s Eve alone, eventually reaching the conclusion that he was never going to call, which was when her heart truly broke.
Naturally she tried telephoning the Beresford home in New Hampshire repeatedly but there was never any reply.
It was as if Sam had simply vanished off the face of the earth.
To make matters worse still, Vas had also disappeared. He did not return to Cambridge after Christmas as originally planned and had dropped out of college altogether.
Miri became convinced that something had happened to the pair of them - maybe something related to the deaths of Finch and the two skinheads. Perhaps there had been unforeseen fall-out and Sam and Vas had been killed as a result.
It did not bear thinking about and only made her fraught with worry.
Indeed, it was not until nearly ten months later that she finally received a letter from Vasily.
Basically it stated that he and Sam were both fine and living in an undisclosed location. She was not to worry about them but it would perhaps be in her own best interests to move on with her life as neither he nor Sam were likely to return to England anytime soon. He ended by wishing her good luck and saying that they both loved her but for her own sake she must try to forget them.
The letter arrived in the October of 1995 and Miri had no way of knowing that Vas had gone against his father’s best advice in writing it. Nor that he had waited so long to do so in order to protect her, knowing that she was possibly being watched and her correspondence monitored. Yet he had purposely kept the letter vague, giving nothing of importance away, nothing which might lead others to believe she perhaps knew more than she did.
It was a risk but Sam had insisted Vas write it, aware that Miri might well be waiting for him. But with potentially eight years in a Siberian prison camp ahead of him he felt it only fair that she be allowed to get on with her life.
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