by Thomas Hall
‘Down here,’ the voice said. He turned his attention towards the floor and saw a dark shape on the ground. The light from outside was failing, everything appeared black and white, but he could still see enough. Around the corner of a unit, the shape became a puddle and then a hand, twitching spasmodically as if grasping for something that wasn’t there.
Tim crouched down, the dark liquid was sticky on his knees. He ignored it and followed the hand up to the arm, past the shoulder to the face. ‘Braker!’ he said.
His friends eyes were closed but twitching like his hand. His mouth hung open as if he was trying to speak.
‘Braker it’s me,’ he said, frantic with worry, he couldn’t work out what had happened.
‘Leave him,’ said the voice, a little closer now but still out of sight. Tim ignored it and leaned towards his friend. He touched his head and found it still warm but sticky, like the black stuff on the floor. ‘There’s nothing you can do for him.’
Tim shook his head, couldn’t accept that, wouldn’t accept it. ‘Braker? Braker can you hear me?’
He didn’t respond. He repeated the question, louder now, he no longer cared who found him and how much trouble he got into. ‘Braker it’s Tim, Braker? What happened Braker?’
‘You’re wasting your time boy,’ said the voice. Breathless and giving up. ‘He’s already dead.’
Tears wet Tim’s eyes and turned everything to a nightmarish blur. He couldn’t think properly, everything seemed to be happening too quickly. But what had happened? Had there been some sort of accident? Had somebody done this on purpose? He needed to get out of there, needed to find someone who could help.
‘Boy?’ said the voice again. ‘Boy are you still there?’
Braker flinched, it looked as if he was having a seizure. A final convulsion and then he was still. His eyes open, staring up at the ceiling. Tim couldn’t move. Braker was dead.
CHAPTER 7
SILENCE SETTLED ON THE KITCHEN. HE KNELT BY his friends side but it wasn’t Braker that he saw. It was his father, it was his mother, it was his little sister Louise. He had known death and he greeted it as an old enemy.
‘Boy?’ said the voice again, breaking the silence and turning his thoughts away from the past. ‘Boy can you hear me?’
Tim stood up. His hands were covered in drying blood and it had soaked into the knees of his jeans. He turned away from his friend, away from the voice that was calling him and left the kitchen behind.
Outside the night had arrived. The world had become still and he was all alone. If the men from the forest had done this then they would return for him. He didn’t care what happened to the rest of the house but Braker was his friend and he would make them pay for what they had done.
Light erupted behind him and a moment later an out of tune piano began to play. He turned at the sound of men talking, a few had begun to sing.
‘Margaret!’ he said. She was still inside, maybe still alive. If he could reach her he might be able to save her from the same fate as Braker. Tim turned towards the bar and ran.
The men outside were gone. In the pale light of the moon he could see the marks in the dust where their motorbikes had been. Had they seen something and fled like cowards? If so then he would find them too, one day.
He pushed open the bar door. The music got louder as he stepped inside and was joined by clinking glasses and the clack of balls on the pool table. No one seemed to be aware that anything was wrong. It crossed his mind that what had happened in the kitchen had been an isolated incident or an accident.
The music continued as he walked through the busy bar room. People stepped aside to let him pass without actually looking at him. His lowly status making him invisible, until someone wanted something.
He walked towards the bar where Margaret should have been talking to men and getting them to buy her expensive drinks that she wouldn’t drink.
Smoke curled and spiralled in the air, drifting lazily towards the ceiling on a current made of voices. Tim reached the bar but he couldn’t see Margaret. Blond Susan sat between two men, pushing her chest towards one and her bum towards the other. She glanced over and caught his eye then quickly turned away. He looked around again and, when he was sure Margaret wasn’t there, he went up to the other woman and tapped her on the shoulder.
‘What do you want?’ she said, turning to show him the scowl on her face. The man looking at her chest moved closer, whispered something in her ear and she laughed.
‘Have you seen Margaret?’ said Tim.
Blond Susan looked away and then back at him. ‘She isn’t here.’
Tim already felt like he was operating on borrowed time. ‘Do you know where she is?’
She laughed. ‘Where do you think?’
Tim didn’t have time for silly games. ‘If you don’t know where --‘
‘She’s in her room, spreading her legs for loose change.’ She laughed again. The men either side of her laughed as well.
‘Thanks,’ Tim said but Blond Susan had already turned back towards the men and didn’t acknowledge him again.
The Master had once told him that he shouldn’t go upstairs until the bar was closed. Tim understood that this was advice whereas being forbidden from entering any of the girls rooms was an order. He planned to ignore both tonight.
He ran up the stairs, took them two at a time in places, and jumped onto the landing. He could hear squeaking coming from some of the rooms but he ignored it and went straight to door number two.
He burst in and found the room lit only by three small candles on the table beside the bed. It was too dark to really see what was going on but Margaret screamed with surprise and pulled the covers over herself.
‘What’s going on?’ said a man that Tim had never seen before. He was laying next to Margaret on the bed, in the spot she appeared to have just vacated.
‘Tim?’ she said, sitting up and clutching the bed sheet to her chest. ‘What are you doing here?’
He took another step into the room and closed the door behind him.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ the man said. ‘What are you doing here boy?’
Tim ignored him and walked towards Margaret. As he got closer and his eyes adjusted to the light he saw her bare shoulders and the top part of her leg and he realised that she wasn’t wearing any clothes. His mouth was suddenly dry but he forced himself to do what he’d come to do. ‘Braker’s dead.’
‘What?’ she said, in her surprise she dropped the covers and revealed herself to him. Tim stared down at her naked chest until she realised what had happened and covered herself. ‘What happened? Was there an accident?’
She was making it very difficult for him to concentrate. The room smelled like her and the image of her chest would be burned into his mind forever. ‘Someone killed him.’
Margaret shook her head. The man beside her started to climb out of the bed and Tim saw that he was naked too. ‘I don’t know what you two are playing at,’ he said. ‘But I’m not paying for this.’
‘Sam wait,’ Margaret said but he was already up and pulling on his trousers. He bent over to pick up his shirt and carried it towards the door.
‘I’m not a fool Margie, I don’t know what this is but I’m not a fool.’
Margaret stood up, holding the thin sheet around herself like a dress and walked after him.
‘Wait,’ Tim said. Neither of them did.
The man reached for the door handle, Margaret reached for his hand. Her mouth opened, she started to speak. Tim was moving across the room towards them but he was too far away, he wasn’t going to be able to stop her.
It sounded like a crack of thunder. All three of them stopped where they were. The thunder roared again and then someone screamed.
The thunder crack was gunfire and, the next time they heard it, it was followed by a booming voice that was distorted by distance and concrete. The man and Margaret turned to look at Tim and it was as if they were seeing him for the first time
.
‘What’s going on Tim?’ Margaret said. Her tone was soft but he could hear suspicion there as well.
‘What have you done boy?’ Sam said.
Tim shook his head. It hadn’t been his fault, had it?
‘Who are they Tim?’ Margaret said.
‘I don’t know,’ Tim said but he thought he did. Those two men from New Haven who had come to get what he’d told them was there. But he hadn’t known they would bring guns, that they would kill his friends as well as his enemies. He tried to convince himself that he was innocent, but he knew that he wasn’t.
Margaret looked at the man by the door. He turned the black handle, the door opened and a thin shaft of light cut the room in two; Tim was on one side and Margaret was on the other.
‘Can you see anything?’ Margaret said.
The man was just a dark shape cast against the light but they both saw him shake his head.
‘Braker’s dead,’ he said. ‘I found him in the kitchen and I came to help you.’
She turned to look at him, the disbelief still evident in her expression. ‘What were you doing in the kitchen?’
‘They sent me to find out where the food was. It doesn’t matter, does it? We have to leave.’
‘There’s about twenty of them,’ Sam said. He turned away from the door and closed it softly behind him. ‘They’ve got guns.’
‘How do you suggest we leave?’ Margaret said to Tim. ‘Climb out the window?’
He didn’t see why not. They were on the second floor but they could hang before they dropped or maybe tie the bed sheets to something and climb down. Tim went to the window and tried to open it, but it was locked. Even if it hadn’t been, even if they broke the glass, he saw that there were black metal bars on the other side that would stop them getting out.
‘You see?’ Margaret said as he turned back to the room. ‘We’re trapped.’
Heavy footsteps on the stairs were followed by voices on the landing. He could hear banging on the other doors. ‘Open up,’ it commanded. ‘We aren’t going to hurt you.’
‘What should we do?’ Margaret said.
‘Don’t...’ he started to say until he realised she wasn’t talking to him.
‘We should do what they say,’ Sam said. ‘They’ve got no reason to hurt us.’
The occupants of the other rooms seemed to have come to the same conclusion. Tim heard doors opening and tentative steps being taken out to the landing.
The man had his hand on the door again, already turning the handle, and Margaret was walking towards him. Tim reached out for her.
Her shoulder was soft and warm. She turned towards him, startled by the sudden physical contact. ‘Please don’t,’ he said.
The door opened she pulled away. He tried to hold her back but he was just a boy and she was a full grown woman. She looked back at him, her big brown eyes shining in the moonlight. She seemed about to say something but he never heard what it was. A hand reached through the door and pulled her out of the room.
Tim stood alone, too shocked to move. He could hear voices on the landing and at the bottom of the stairs.
CHAPTER 8
GUNSHOT RANG THROUGH THE AIR AND THEN EVERYTHING was still. It was enough to startle him out of his paralysis and suddenly he was aware that his heart was beating too quickly, that he was short of breath despite standing still. If they searched the rooms they would find him at once. He had little doubt that they would shoot him on sight.
The bed was the only thing that offered any protection. He threw himself onto the floor and crawled beneath it, pushing aside the dust bunnies and empty packets that crackled as he touched them. It wasn’t the best hiding place in the world but it was all he had.
There was a loud bang that wasn’t a gunshot and suddenly the room was filled with light. He lay as still as he could, held his breath and closed his eyes. He listened to the heavy boots cross the room. He heard their footsteps, felt the floorboards beneath the carpet flex and creak as they moved around. A moment later, though it seemed like a life time, they were gone. They slammed the door behind them and he was alone.
Guns roared loudly enough to muffle the sound of his tears. The floor vibrated beneath him and he could feel, as much as hear, people running around. He imagined the panic they must be feeling and it stopped him thinking about the panic that he was feeling. It seemed impossible that they wouldn’t find him, that they wouldn’t catch him and kill him like the rest.
The fight, if it really was a fight - he could imagine that some of the bar’s patrons carried guns but not many of them - went on for a long time. His fear ebbed away with the minutes, the dark room began to feel safe.
The roar of gunfire stopped. Every now and again he heard a rattle of more shots being fired, but as time went on they became shorter and less frequent. Finally they stopped altogether.
At any moment he expected to hear footsteps on the stairs. He lay still but none came. He heard distant voices getting further away. There was no sign of anyone coming to find him, but he wasn’t going to risk leaving his hiding place. He could only imagine what he would find if he left the room and went downstairs, it was a horror that he didn’t think he could face until the sun was up.
Time passed. The adrenaline that had kept him going so far left his system and he struggled to keep his eyes open. He didn’t want to sleep, didn’t want to wake up with a gun pointed at his head, or worse, not wake up at all, but he couldn’t resist it. Sleep stole over him and there was nothing he could do.
CHAPTER 9
TIM DIDN’T DREAM. ONE MOMENT HE WAS FALLING asleep and the next he was awake. Sunlight filled the room and he was sweating. A blissful moment followed, where he was unaware of what had happened. It passed too quickly and the events of the previous night returned to him.
At some point he would have to move, he realised, but the thought of what awaited him on the other side of the door was enough to ensure that it wouldn’t be soon.
The thought of hunger, starvation even, didn’t concern him as much as doing everything he could to avoid returning to the kitchen. The thought of wetting himself was nothing compared to the thought of seeing all the dead bodies that he knew were out there.
He might have let himself starve to death if he hadn’t heard her voice.
‘Tim?’ It was so faint that he might have imagined it. ‘Tim are you there?’
He looked around the room but he already knew that he was the only one there. She was speaking to him from the other side of the door.
While she continued to call his name he tried to summon up the courage to get out from under the bed and go to the door. His mouth was so dry that his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and it hurt to swallow. He had to do it though, he couldn’t hide forever.
He tried to move forwards but he had to twist around unnaturally and there was barely enough room to lie flat. He tried moving backwards and found it quicker and slightly more comfortable.
He stood up. In the full glare of the sun he felt exposed and vulnerable. People had been hurting him for as long as he’d worked for The Master but, as far as he knew, they had never tried to kill him.
‘Tim help,’ she called again.
He turned towards it, towards the door. He licked his dry lips with a tongue that felt like it was covered in sand and broken glass. He felt a surge of hope in the realisation that she was still be alive.
The landing was clear but from the doorway he could see clearly what had happened. A massacre had taken place and now the floor was hidden beneath the dead. There were so many bodies that they lost all meaning. Living and breathing, he was the odd one out.
‘Tim help me.’
He turned and saw her on the landing. Margaret lay face down on the floor, her right arm out as if she was reaching for something and that something, he realised, was him.
He dashed across the floor, heedless of the fact that she might not be the only one still alive and that neither side would welcome h
is appearance. He fell to his knees, his eyes roving her body for signs of injury. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘I’m...’ she said but seemed to struggle with speech. ‘...shot.’
She was lying on her front. He checked along her back again. There was no sign of any wound. ‘I need to turn you over,’ he said. ‘Okay?’
She made a noise that might have been agreement or not. He put his hands underneath her, felt the warmth and softness of her skin again, but this time there was something else. Something sticky and wet, coating his hands and making her slippery to touch.
He took a firmer hold, aware that he was hurting her. She gritted her teeth and he did what he had to do as quickly as he could so as to shorten her suffering.
Margaret fell onto her back with a breathless thump. Her makeshift dress fell open to reveal her naked body, but there was nothing exciting about it now. A thick layer of blood had dried around the wound in her stomach leaving a crusty shell that cracked with each gasping breath she took. She closed her eyes and Tim stared in horror.
‘Is it bad?’ Margaret said.
He looked at her face and saw that she had opened her eyes. He didn’t know what to say, to bring comfort to a dying friend or tell her the truth, that maybe with a good doctor she stood a chance but an eleven year old boy, with only the barest grasps of human anatomy, was only likely to hasten her death if he tried to do anything.
The bar had a doctor, of course. No one survived in the wilderness for long without someone to tell them what pills to pop when they got an infection, to set broken bones and clean wounds. But, even if the doctor wasn’t as dead as the rest of them, he would have hesitated to bring him to Margaret.
The man was a drunk, although that didn’t preclude him from knowing what he was doing, and Tim had an idea that any adult would be more use than he was. The trouble with Doctor Sharp was not that he wasn’t a good doctor but that he was a mercenary old bastard. He seemed to have forgotten that he was supposed to help those that needed it and chosen to only help those who could pay.