The Exchange

by Park, J. R.

  ‘Forrest…’ a weak whisper was all he could muster. ‘A bit of a shitter for your second day out, huh?’

  He gave a faint smile of reassurance, flashing a chipped tooth and failing to mask the agony across his face. Aimee tried to force a smile back, to comfort her wounded colleague, but her cheeks only contorted with sadness. She felt blood dribble from his wounds, run along her fingers and trickle down her arm.

  ‘This is horrible,’ she replied trying to fight back tears whilst pushing her digits deeper into his injuries in an attempt to plug the holes and stem the bleeding.

  ‘You’re doing… good, kid,’ Osborne gurgled his speech as blood filled his throat. ‘Just like we taught you in training.’

  ‘I had a good teacher,’ she spoke through gritted teeth.

  ‘Forrest… ’ Osborne tried to touch her face but lacked the strength to reach her.

  ‘Don’t try to move,’ Aimee instructed. ‘We’ll get through this.’

  ‘Aimee…’ he struggled with his words. ‘You can’t save me. I’ve already lost too much blood. I thought I’d be dead already.’ He gently smiled, ‘I guess God is looking favourably on me today. Giving me a few extra minutes to look on your pretty face.’

  She felt tears well up behind her eyes.

  ‘You’re not going to die,’ she said, angrily fighting back the desire to cry.

  ‘It’s too late for me,’ he continued. ‘You’ve got to help those kids.’

  The Police Constable’s skin grew paler as he tried to stifle a groan of pain.

  Aimee glanced out the limousine window and clocked the group in the centre of the building site. A dark figure, dressed in a suit, was making its way up the hill towards the car.

  She looked towards the Audi; it remained still.

  ‘I can’t do this alone,’ Aimee protested, turning back to her colleague. ‘I’m just a Special. A part time cop. I wouldn’t have even passed training if it wasn’t for you!’

  ‘Forrest, you can do this,’ Osborne retorted.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Yes you can. You have to. They need you. Call for back up. Get some help.’ He paused to swallow the blood collecting in his mouth. ‘They’re little scum bags… but they don’t deserve to die.’

  ‘Neither do you,’ tears trickled gently down her cheeks. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Quickly looking out the window again she saw the figure getting closer, rapidly covering the distance between them.

  ‘It’s not your fault. We didn’t stand a chance.’ His voice weakened and his eyes began to drift, losing focus on her and meandering towards the blood splattered ceiling. ‘Save those kids for me, especially that damn brother of yours. . .’

  ‘Andy,’ she shouted.

  PC Andrew Osborne’s features relaxed as all the muscles in his face let go. His body fell limp and his head rolled on his neck, resting against his chest.

  Vacant eyes stared from a blank face, an expressionless visage. Even his smile had faded in death, leaving an empty hollowness.

  Special Constable Forrest shuddered at the sight, giving herself to the grief she’d been stifling.

  ‘No, no, no, no!’ she screamed in anger, punching the seat.

  Aimee pulled her gore covered fingers from Osborne’s wounds and watched a torrent of dark red liquid pour from his injuries, spilling onto the carpeted floor.

  The figure loomed large outside, like the shadow of death ready to take Osborne from this world. It was so close she could make out the sound of stones crunching under its steps.

  Aimee reached for her radio, but couldn’t find it clipped to her vest. Patting herself down and scanning the inside of the car confirmed it was not close by.

  Shit! Those bastards must have taken it, she thought to herself.

  Why didn’t she use the radio earlier? She should have used it the moment she’d heard gunshots in the street. She should have pressed its panic button, sending a signal back to control and alerting them of their location.

  But she’d froze, whilst everything else around her sped up. Everything happened so fast…

  Shit!

  Part time cop she may be, but she needed to get herself, and those idiot kids, out of this situation and to safety. Whoever that lot in suits were, it was clear they knew what they were doing, and they were deadly.

  Aimee grasped the door handle of the limousine, but found the door locked. Trying the other side she found the same. Trapped but undeterred, the Special Constable rolled onto her back and raised her knees to her chest. Kicking out, she landed her heavy boots squarely in the centre of the glass. The tinted window hardly even shook as pain shot up Aimee’s already bruised thighs. No doubt this was reinforced glass. Sledge hammers couldn’t get through this stuff. As athletic and stubborn as she was, Aimee had no chance of breaking it.

  Helplessly watching through the window she saw the figure approach. At only fifty metres away she could see the blank expression on his face. Like that of Osborne’s. Like that of death.

  She had to get out.

  She had to get help.

  Desperately, Aimee searched through the limousine, looking for anything that could aid her. Did they leave a gun behind; a key? The last few hours had been a sea of panic and it seemed all sides had struggled to stay afloat as they were swept along by each other’s currents.

  Mistakes could easily be made.

  But not with these guys it seemed.

  The inside of the car was empty, devoid of anything except the seats, not even a pen or a loose button.

  Devoid of anything, that was, except for her and PC Osborne.

  As she approached him she tried to fight off her swelling feelings of grief. His skin was rapidly growing cold and felt unreal to her touch as she searched his body. He had already been stripped of everything useful by their abductors, except for one thing.

  Those bastards had been careful, meticulously professional, but had made one mistake.

  As broken as it was, shattered by the impact of a bullet, the remnants of a police radio hung from his vest, nestled in the shadows of the seat.

  Picking it up, Aimee cradled the radio, wiping it clear of blood and examining the contraption. The casing had splintered into pieces and was tenuously held together by strands of wire and solder. The battery pack however, was still intact and carefully she was able to reconnect the loose wires, re-establishing power. The radio burst into life with an ear bludgeoning wave of static. The speaker crackled and hissed a torrent of interference as Aimee tried to pick up a clear signal. Voices floated in and out of the white noise, but only for a few tantalising moments before being lost to the howls of feedback and the melee of sounds.

  The figure outside filled the window; his image grew taller the closer he got. The blank expression on his face looked ghostly with its emotionless stare, but there was deadly threat in the curled corners of his mouth; an unsavoury anticipation.

  Aimee gripped the radio and held it close, hoping it would work and delirious with the possibility of rescue. Unsure of its capability, she jabbed at the panic button before speaking into the receiver.

  ‘Hello? Hello?’ All of Aimee’s training had been wiped from her mind in her panicked state. ‘Hello? This is Special Constable Forrest. I’ve been kidnapped and held hostage on the new Oracle Centre construction site. PC Osborne has been killed.’ She began to shout, trying to fight through the noise, ‘And we have a number of civilians under threat from an armed but unknown group.’ Franticly, Aimee tried to think of the correct protocol, the terms she had practised many times over, but nothing came to mind.

  The approaching man was only metres away.

  Aimee looked at the group of kids in the distance, in over their heads, then caught sight of herself in the rear view mirror. A frightened twenty-five year old trembled back at her. Osborne was wrong, she couldn’t handle this. She was no cop.

  ‘Please help us,’ she cried, praying someone would hear her call. ‘Anyone, please help us.’ />
  Of all the dreams and visions Taal had been subjected to since their journey began, none had been as vivid and haunting as this one. It was as if all of creation had stopped still, frozen in microcosm before his eyes; a picture postcard of eternity that hung from invisible hooks in all its terrifying beauty.

  The vision had only been fleeting, but it told him enough. It told him they were on the right path and were getting closer.

  He was thankful for its brevity.

  Even with his years of experience and training, Taal was unsure just how long his body and mind could have coped with such a sight. His gnarled, worn hands gripped his wooden staff, and although his face showed no signs of emotion, inwardly he smiled; thankful that his companions had not been subjected to the forces that they currently followed.

  It was dark inside the trailer as the lorry rumbled along the motorway. So dark that Taal could barely make out his faithful companions as they sat patiently, stowed away from the prying eyes of the border control, awaiting for the next command from their leader.

  Exactly how old Taal was, no one was sure. In appearance he looked deceptively thin and frail, as if his whole body had been pulled tightly around his bones. His skin was a light brown colour, tough and weathered like old leather. The robes that covered his body seemed oversized, engulfing his small frame and tiny stature. The material was grey in colour with flashes of gold and blue wound into simplistic but carefully measured patterns. Similar markings were painted onto his face and continued over his large, hairless head. His features held an expression of ever present calm whilst his eyes held a glint from centuries of wisdom.

  His travelling companions made for a strange menagerie of the human race, but such was the way with the Servants of the Sacred Whisper. It did not discriminate with those it called.

  Sanay was a strong man, probably in his early thirties. He spoke with a Germanic accent and always had a smile beneath those crisp, sky-like eyes. Maja was maybe a decade younger than him. Her thick, black hair was wrapped in a headdress, whose gold patterns twinkled like stars as she moved, even in the darkness. Her Polish accent had softened over time, but still reverberated through her words when she spoke. How such a young girl heard the whisper on the winds and made her way to the temple was a story untold, although such an early calling had marked her as a talent to be watchful for.

  No one spoke of the lives they’d had before they entered the pact of the Servitude. It was irrelevant. Histories would be abandoned, families forgotten, names changed.

  No one asked.

  No one cared.

  Kal, their fourth companion, carried large, thick scars across his face. Mementos from a hideous act of violence that had left his midnight-black skin permanently marked and forever foul to the human eye. Where he came from and what had happened was never queried. Kal had found his way across the continents, following the words in the breeze, and entered the temple. Like all seekers, he was relieved to find he wasn’t alone, discovering his seeming madness was a gift shared by others.

  Taal recalled each of their rebirths. Everyone he’d witnessed first-hand. But despite his superior level within the Servitude he felt it an honour to be partnered on this journey with such esteemed company. He knew of their potential and the role they would play, even though it hadn’t been made fully clear to them yet. All secrets would be revealed in time.

  The vibrations in the lorry softened until they felt the vehicle slow to a stop. Taal looked up from his meditations. It had been a long and arduous passage, and whilst they had encountered kindness on their journey, they had also borne the brunt of abhorrent cruelty. Their destination was still some distance away and he sensed more adversity before they reached their goal.

  Muffled voices outside the stationary lorry caught all their ears.

  ‘What can I help you with, officer?’ Taal recognised the voice of the driver.

  ‘What’s your business?’ another voice replied, sneering his words.

  The Servitude remained seated in the dark. They looked to Taal for guidance. He did not move, but carefully listened.

  ‘Transporting this load up to Newcastle,’ the driver answered. ‘Been on the road most of the day. Came in over the Channel and straight up the motorway. Still a journey ahead of me.’

  ‘Newcastle, huh? And what is this a load of?’ his questioner sounded suspicious.

  ‘Uh…brake pads. Seventeen thousand brake pads. We all gotta stop sometime.’ He laughed nervously but was met with a steely silence.

  The trailer echoed as the man outside tapped against its metal hull.

  ‘Are you aware you’ve been leaking fluid for the last few miles?’ the muffled voice of the officer grew more agitated. ‘Didn’t you do your walk round checks before you set off?’

  ‘Leaking? Really? It was fine when I left,’ the driver defended himself.

  ‘Open this trailer up,’ a new voice called out. ‘Let’s see these brake pads.’

  ‘I’ve really got to be heading on, I’m behind schedule as it is,’ the driver’s feeble tone wavered, matching his fading conviction.

  ‘Just get it open.’

  A heavy clunk thudded against the steel walls, then slowly the doors of the trailer began to open. Light crept in from the outside, illuminating the four robed passengers. They rose to their feet blinking at the three silhouettes that stood on the roadside peering in.

  ‘What have we here?’ a booming voice called out. ‘Come on you lot, out of there. Slowly.’

  As the eyes of the uncovered passengers grew accustomed to the light, the silhouettes outside became more detailed, revealing a worried truck driver and two large policemen. Taal, Maja, Sanay and Kal obediently made their way out of the lorry and knelt down by the roadside.

  ‘You have been a prize wally,’ the policeman with the thick, black moustache dryly remarked to the driver. ‘Smuggling immigrants into the country? Not a wise move.’

  The policeman took hold of the driver and pushed him into the side panel of the lorry, slamming his face against the metal that displayed the logo of a car company. His lip split on the impact and blood dribbled down his chin.

  ‘Steady Byrne,’ the policeman’s colleague called out.

  ‘Can it, Wallis,’ Byrne called back, taking the driver’s hands behind his back and aggressively forcing a pair of handcuffs onto his wrists.

  The driver winced in pain.

  Pleased with his work, Byrne turned his attention to the four bizarrely dressed stowaways.

  ‘Where on earth are you lot from? Have you escaped some travelling circus?’ he laughed as he slowly walked closer to the line-up in order to take a better look.

  They remained silent, watching him with attentive concentration.

  ‘What’s the matter? You don’t speak? Oh come on, you can talk to little ole me, I won’t bite,’ his words dripped with insincerity.

  Again his comments were met with a mute reaction.

  ‘Who are you?’ he seethed.

  Still his question went unanswered.

  Byrne’s face grew red as his simmering rage boiled over.

  ‘FUCKING ANSWER ME!’ he screamed directly into the face of Taal.

  Taal’s facial expression did not change, remaining calm and neutral. This only enraged the police officer further.

  ‘So you’re not going to talk?’ his tone retreated to a sinister serenity. ‘You’re not going to tell me who you are or why you’re hiding out in this lorry? Really? That’s how you want to play it? Damn, you are going to be in so much trouble.’ Byrne gave a malicious grin.

  He seemed to be getting off on this exchange, revelling in the confrontation and the power. Taal noticed a swelling in the policeman’s trousers.

  ‘What’s with these stupid outfits?’ he continued, prodding their grey robes. ‘What the fuck are you wearing? And what happened to you, boy? What’s with this scar shit all over your face?’

  Byrne stopped in front of Kal and grabbed his shoulders with both h
ands. He gripped hard and pulled Kal to his feet, bringing their eyes level.

  ‘Kal!’ Maja called out, concerned for her companion and rising to defend him.

  Sanay took hold of her and pulled her back to her knees.

  Taal remained still, watching the foray unfold before him.

  ‘Kal, hey?’ Byrne spat his words. ‘What are you doing, Kal?’ He shook him wildly whilst he bellowed into Kal’s distressed expression. ‘You fucking scarred freak! Is this some kind of terrorist thing? What are you? Some bunch of religious nuts come to blow us up? Or are you even lower than that? Are you just some pissant refugees? Sneaking your way into this country so you can scrounge off the state whilst the likes of me and Wallis foot the bill through our taxes. I’d rather have you pull a gun. At least then I take care of you quickly. Might even earn myself a commendation.’

  ‘Come on Byrne, leave it out,’ Wallis said placing a calming hand on his colleague’s shoulder.

  ‘Get that fucking driver in the back of the fucking car,’ Byrne replied, barking his orders through gritted teeth whilst all the while maintaining eye contact with Kal. ‘Radio through to the station and tell them what we’ve got. That truck needs to be impounded.’

  Wallis acquiesced to this order. He knew what was going to happen next, he’d seen it countless times before. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to cover for his partner’s violent streaks, and it wouldn’t be the last. It was morally hard to swallow, but it was the price he paid for a quiet life in the force. Wallis led the obese driver to the car, and as he explained his arrest he heard the sickening slap of knuckle against cheek.

  Kal landed in a crumpled heap on the floor, bleeding from a cut just under his eye.

  Byrne smiled as he recognised the look of fear in the wounded man’s face, and gently cradled the aching bulge in the crotch of his own trousers.

  He paid no attention to the cars that sped by on the busy motorway. This was his turf.

  The policeman’s moment of self-absorbed sadism, however, was quickly interrupted.

  ‘Byrne! There’s a problem with the radio,’ Wallis shouted over the rumble of motorway traffic.