The Scream of Feyer: hitching a ride with a suicide bomber

by Steve Hammond Kaye

  The Avoiders laughed at Feyer’s deliberate humour. All three of them inwardly knew that they were journeying into unknown territory. Feyer’s childhood memories might assist them a little, but the devil and his project guns would be waiting for them and in short, their chances of success looked very slim. The three of them had preserved a bizarre upbeat fatalism during their time in the house and this had worked to maintain good relations. Though as the clock-started ticking to their departure, the cold realisation of what they were up against started to fully sink in.

  Feyer sensed this shift in thinking and ran a check on their supplies to ensure that they stayed focused on their mission. She started by listing their deadly cargo first.

  "Yo guys - we’re going to undertake a final stock check before we load up our boat. Claire you’ve got Plutura 26 B strapped to your back, one machete, the field binoculars and some plastic explosive. Check?"

  "Yep. Check Feyer."

  "Dean you’ve got one close-range 9mm pistol, some steel garrotting wire, one machete, six racked hand – grenades and some manual orienteering gear. Check?"

  "Affirmative Feyer."

  "Cool. I’ll be running with one beaten to fuck Uzi, a case of ammunition, a claw-hammer and some acid for close-quarter combat. Check?"

  The others checked back and then Feyer continued.

  "We’ve all got to wear the heavy-duty survival clothing that Dean got us from that mountaineering store in Bodo and we’ve got enough food for a week. We should be done before that time has elapsed anyway! Remember the magic numbers are 6084277791. Write those fucking digits down on everything that you handle! Now we’re going to get some sleep before our journey, but have you got any questions before we hit our beds?"

  Neither Hines nor Blackwell had any questions and so the three of them retired to their sleeping quarters.

  None of the three Avoiders found it easy to get sleep as their minds were racing with the thrill of their impending confrontation. The septic-snow blanket seemed to signify Klue’s desperation to Feyer. She wondered if his Lofoten kingdom would be similarly tainted or whether his lair would be as it was when she had visited the place as a child. Eventually her restless mind gained temporary solace from sleep.

  Hines had been appointed to wake the others and her rough touch activated a quick response from the sleeping pair. Beads of sweat glistened on the woman’s brow due to the adrenalin that was running through her. Hines then spoke the shared intent of all three of them.

  "Wake-up guys. Time to end Europe!"

  The three of them left their temporary home and walked the short journey to the harbour. The respirators made their breathing sound laboured and when they spoke a staccato-echo added an eerie dimension to their words. In a short while the Avoiders located the boat that Blackwell had prepared in readiness for them and after they placed their supplies on the lower deck of the trawler, they climbed up to the cabin. Dean took the central position at the helm and prepared for the passage ahead of them. The powerful twin-engines were then activated and after Hines cut the mooring ropes, the vessel started to leave Bodo harbour behind. As the boat gained power, Claire looked back at the receding land mass and shivered slightly as she thought of the ordeal ahead of them.

  The Avoiders were only five kilometres out when the overcast night sky that had been a feature inland, started to clear and they were soon travelling under a very vivid starry sky. Feyer shouted to her fellow Avoiders.

  "Okay guys we can lose the respirators until cloud cover returns. It’s time for a bit of Arctic-circle freshness in our lungs!"

  The sea was incredibly calm; the antithesis of the volatile weather that had dogged the Avoiders since leaving Germany and the waves didn’t impede the vessel to any great extent, as it ate up the distance to Moskenesoya. Blackwell was finding it easy to navigate with the charts that were on board and as he plotted a course for Reine, he relaxed a little and concentrated on the aesthetic beauty of the sea reflecting the moonlight.

  When the boat was within fifty kilometres of the Lofoten Islands, a dense fog gradually started to replace the natural beauty that they had become accustomed to. Feyer called for the respirators to be worn again and Blackwell cut the speed of the vessel down quite dramatically, continuing for a short while at a miserly five knots. Eventually the fog became so dense that Dean had no other option but to temporarily shut the engines down.

  As the boat was gently rocked by more robust waves, Dean activated the digital land – scanning device that was installed in the cabin. The infrared system on the scanner calculated that Reine was twenty-two kilometres distant and Blackwell reported this information to Feyer. She ascertained if any form of motion was possible.

  "You’ve made great time Dean but we can’t stay drifting like this for too long. If we’re still here in broad daylight we’re fucking done for and our bodies will sink with our lethal cargo before we hit the land-based spiral winds. It will be a case of mission failed – what can you do?"

  "Have a look yourself Feyer. Those massed red patches between us and Moskenesoya represent rock clusters. Even if we slow our speed right down, the chances of not getting holed are miniscule. You see, there is less than two metres visibility out there and even the most skilful seaman would probably take this boat under if they attempted it. It would be tantamount to suicide."

  This further line of irony brought the inevitable laughter from the three of them. Feyer composed herself and then she spoke again.

  "Isn’t that what we’re about anyway Dean? Look, if we lose out trying to get through, at least we’ve gone down fighting, but if we wait for the fog to lift and are spotted by a project chopper, they’ll just take us out for sport! We’d be picked off like flies without being able to fight back. After all that we’ve been through, we deserve to die whilst taking the bastards with us. We’re so close now Dean!"

  "So what do you propose then Feyer?"

  "I propose that you rev-up this fucker to full power and hit that stretch of water like you’re going for a sea-speed record!"

  A resigned look came over Blackwell and an exasperated sigh came from his mouth. Then a wry smile registered on his face and he spoke with his leader again.

  "I had a feeling that you were going to say something along those lines Ms Deathwish! Okay then guys – brace yourselves!"

  Blackwell then restarted the vessel and soon it was ripping through the water at a maximum speed of twenty – seven knots. All three of the Avoiders stood proud in the half – open cabin as spray skimmed their faces. At first they couldn’t see the prow in front of them because the dense fog enveloped every area of the boat except their cabin space. Then after thirty-four minutes, more sections of the boat started to appear in the luminance created by the lights on deck. The fog was lifting!

  Hines was ecstatic.

  "It’s breaking up! Thank fuck for Feyer’s nerve!"

  When the boat was five kilometres off Moskenesoya, the last traces of the fog disappeared and the coastline could be discerned – stark against the horizon. Despite the temporary halt, Blackwell had made their destination in just a shade over four hours! Feyer flung her arms around him in gratitude, and then she started to help him spot the entrance to the inlet where Reine was located. Initially this proved no easy task, but then Feyer recognised the distinctive Hamney point. This area was just to the north of Reine and now the Avoiders had struck gold.

  In the weak, early-morning daylight the vessel was skilfully steered into the inlet and then she was scuttled in an area of slack deep water. The Avoiders then left the dying boat in a plastic life-raft and together, the three of them paddled to the land surrounding Reine. The smell of verdant pasture greeted them when they started to move inland and birds could be heard in the low trees. The scene was a far-cry from Bodo. No septic snow was evident and the respirators were put back in their cases.

  * * *

  Klue felt uneasy. He could smell that his enemy were close and in his rage he visited Wheeler.<
br />
  "Look at me with your one eye – you fucking idiot! I smell them here Jess – polluting my fetid virtue with their fucking presence. I can’t touch that woman Wheeler – you know that. When we find her I want you to personally cut her in half for me. If you manage that, I’ll let you keep your sight. The rest of your unit must wipe the others. I have detected only two other scents. Even the disillusioned scum who pretend to remain loyal to you can’t fuck this up Wheeler!"

  "My men have lost their fighting unity Klue. All they’ve done since we landed is get wasted on Absinth and rape the local women. This place is another party-playground for them. If they could see you they would be jolted back in line. I’ve disciplined the bastards, killed a few of them too, but as soon as my back is turned they’re off on another hedonism trip. Couldn’t they see you?"

  "No – not yet. All parties will meet soon head-on. I feel this in my dead-blood. Take your men and wait for an ambush along the coast near Sorvagen. I feel right about that region."

  "No pain today Klue?"

  "No I can tell that you are starting to enjoy the pain that I inflict on you. If you kill the problem of destiny, I’ll hurt you as much as you fucking want."

  What Klue had stated had been correct. Wheeler was petrified about losing his remaining eye, but most other forms of mutilation that he experienced at the hands of Klue now gave him a form of psychosexual thrill! He realised this and used it as a dark reward-mechanism.

  Wheeler already knew that the devil feared Feyer, as the beast had mentioned her place in prefiguration before. Klue had eventually told Jess that he could change the call of destiny if he got a human to carry out the deed for him. This meant that Klue subsequently needed Wheeler!

  The Avoiders spent their first two days on Moskenesoya lying low in the grassland close to their point of entry. Occasionally one of them would undertake a surveillance duty and scout ahead looking over the terrain ahead of them. They moved in a chameleon-like fashion when they were separated from the other Avoiders, blending into hollows with their daubed faces.

  Once the scouting was completed the heavy-duty clothing was buried and the tattered rags were put back on. Their weapons were concealed in haversacks and the case was rendered innocuous in appearance with a loose canvas covering. The three of them now looked no different from the inhabitants of Moskenesoya – at least most of them!

  When the Avoiders entered Reine on the third day, they were surprised to find that this small town was largely untouched as far as the usual overt project tainting was concerned. A fish market had attracted a crowd of some size and a few comparatively jovial faces were evident. Feyer told the others in hushed tones, that seeing Reine was like going back in time to her childhood days – nothing had changed! Seeing this life of aesthetic simplicity didn’t make the three of them waver in their belief, with regard to what they were attempting to undertake. They knew in their hearts that Europe desperately needed their coup de grâce.

  A shout went up from the marketplace and Feyer realised that a fortunate opportunity was coming their way. The others not being able to speak Norwegian didn’t understand what the man who had made the shout had actually said and subsequently Feyer had to translate his words.

  "Guys – good news! The local fishermen are herding a school of Killer Whales along the coastline to Sorvagen. The locals are going to cull them in the shallow water. This act bonds the community and folklore is linked with the slaughter. The market traders are going to lay on a couple of transportation lorries to take those people who want to go to the cull. If we go, it will take a few kilometres of our journey to hell and we’ll be able to stay unobtrusive if enemy forces come our way. We’ll just melt in with the locals."

  The Avoiders mixed in with the locals and queued to board one of the lorries. They tightly grasped their haversacks, ensuring that no weapons protruded from them. It was essential that their cover wasn’t blown, especially by a trivial mistake! They inched toward the closest lorry and then Feyer stopped momentarily. She was looking at Dean Blackwell who had become transfixed by a piece of paper that was rising in the wind that blew around them. Feyer followed his eyes and together they witnessed the fragment of paper rise upwards in a corkscrew type motion. There was no doubt about it – the spiral winds were here!"

  It didn’t take long for the two lorries to make their way up the coast – road to the scene of slaughter. The sight that met their eyes on arrival was gruesome in the extreme, but now the three of them were past caring.

  Two Killer Whales had already been forced into the shallows and five burly locals were battering one of the thrashing creatures with harpoons. Blood sprayed high into the air as each blow was struck and jubilant cheers from the locals accompanied each display of barbarism. The Avoiders watched the gory spectacle without saying anything to each other for fear of arousing suspicion from the locals. It was at that moment that Wheeler’s cohort arrived to watch the slaughter. Marco Sant had naturally accompanied his leader and it was he who recognised the woman who had caused the MC-Project so much consternation. His eyes had a manic intensity as he informed Wheeler.

  "Jess! The fucking bitch is hiding with the locals! Blast the fucker to pieces guys!"

  The project cohort started to unleash their firepower in the direction of the local contingent, but the Lofoten Islanders had had enough of their brutality and they readily fought back. Some of the fishermen started to approach the project cohort from the blind- side.

  A series of shots ripped the face from an elderly woman, but a local who found a novel way of using his gaff promptly decapitated the man who pulled the trigger! The Avoiders utilised their weapons with extreme precision, as ammunition was limited to say the least! They cut into the project ranks with close – quarter grenades in the initial skirmishes. When all but one of these had been used, the fight became an extremely savage melee with all three sides cutting into each other less than a few metres apart.

  The dying whales still thrashed in the surf whilst their blood ebbed from them. Human blood simultaneously flowed down into the shallows – creating a bizarre fusion in the process. Marco Sant was in the thick of the action. He clocked Claire Hines in the sight of his favoured pistol and then he blew her brain apart! Hardly anything remained of her head and her truncated corpse fell messily into the shallows. He was still on a high from his kill when Feyer’s claw-hammer smashed into the back of his head. She yelled in vengeance.

  "Bleed – you cunt!"

  Sant took a few minutes to die. Blood dripped through his fingers as he cradled his smashed head in his hands. This man deserved a painful death and Feyer had answered the call.

  More Lofoten Islanders joined the fray and the MC-Project forces started to diminish still further. Wheeler’s men had experienced countless volatile combat situations, but this was different. Wheeler had told Klue about the general apathy spreading through his men and nearly all of them suffered from delayed reactions that were triggered off by designer drug-addiction. A decade before, Wheeler’s unit were untouchable in terms of military prowess, but they had been reduced to fighting clumsily at close-quarters – grappling for gaffs with outraged Islanders! They were effectively paying for indulging in decadent high-living for so long. They had lost the edge!

  Jess Wheeler fought like a man possessed – and in many ways, he was!

  He hadn’t succumbed to the temptations that had decimated his unit and he used his tall athletic frame to maximum effect. He had discarded his machine gun and chosen to utilise one of the long-handled gaffs as his battle weapon. The man gashed his way through the stomachs of four islanders within seconds of entering the fight and he cast an evil smile in their direction as they bled to death with their guts hanging out. He didn’t seem to be impeded by losing an eye and his fighting movements seemed even quicker if anything. The empty eye-socket worked from him in another way – adding a terrifying dimension to his face that froze his enemies. As he hacked his way through the frenzy, he fought with the ch
ill factor of a ruthless black zombie and the blood of his victims dripped down his forearms. He turned to seek another victim, but the cards had finally run out for Jess Wheeler!

  The man was blasted to the ground when Dean Blackwell threw their last close-quarter grenade in his direction. He hit the ground very hard and suffered acute pain in his face and back. He had also lost the vision in his final eye! The man crawled helplessly across the rough terrain and then the first gaff prodded him – drawing blood on his side. He let out a hollow grunt as his wounds bled more profusely and this meant that more of the islanders noticed his presence. These people hated Wheeler, with vengeance glinting in their eyes. In a few days he had been responsible for the deaths, rapes and mutilations of so many of their number – now it was vendetta-time!

  Wheeler let out a piercing scream as he was skewered in the small of his back. Then the man temporarily blacked out in great pain as his left shoulder-blade was punctured. He only lost consciousness for a few seconds though because he was awoken by the symmetry of pain that was associated with the piercing of his right shoulder-blade. The final present from the islanders involved a sturdy harpoon splicing his genital area. As the battle still raged on around him, Wheeler’s evil life started to drain away. The small group of islanders around him still had a final form of revenge in store for the MC-Project leader! They were going to scatter him to the four winds! Four long-handled billhooks were put through the wounds made by the gaffs and as the man screamed with terror he was raised on the shoulders of four of the strongest locals. Wheeler screamed for mercy, but he had never shown that quality to others. On a given signal, the four carriers strained every ounce of their strength and slowly started to walk in the four separate directions that they had been given. Wheeler’s body was ripped apart in seconds and his face was trampled into the dirt.

  Fishermen had killed the most powerful man in the world!

  Blackwell and Feyer saw Wheeler die and as the battle started to subside with a victory for the islanders seemingly imminent, both of them began to wonder if the passions of these people didn’t shed new light on their mission. Neither of them got a chance to re-evaluate their stance though as the ultimate evil chose that moment to let the world see his presence.