National Emergency

by Jobling, James

  “What did he say?” Ethan asked.

  Hassam shook his head. “What he said makes no sense.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he said saytan.”

  “So? What does that mean?”

  Hassam looked down at the floor.

  “It’s Turkish for demons.”

  CHAPTER 14

  He had always been a lucky son of a bitch.

  When he had been studying law at Oxford, the night before his final exam, Bryan Sweeney had gone partying with a group of fresher’s and had got so annihilated on cheap whiskey and watered-down lager that he had completely flunked the test. He turned up late, reeking of ale, and had simply waded through the paper as quickly as possible so he could return to his dormitory and slip into an alcohol-induced coma. But, as luck would have it, when he finally received the dreaded results, he was shocked to learn that not only had he passed 98% of the major – but he had aced it!

  On his first date with his future ex-wife, they had gone to see a rock band at the Town Hall and the pair had heard gunfire when leaving the concert. Two rival gangs were firing at each other (thirty-seven shots was fired in total, the police would later confirm) and, as the crowd ran for cover, Bryan had been horrified to see blood splattered all over Aiko’s stomach. Bryan had laid her down on the pavement, thinking she was going to die in his arms but, miraculously, the underwire in her bra had deflected the bullet, bouncing it away from her heart. It pulped her right breast, but only caused superficial damage.

  Backpacking with Aiko through Japan, they had left only two hours before that tsunami had destroyed Fukushima. He’d managed to pass his driving test despite forgetting to put his seat belt on at the beginning and, after picking up food poisoning in Boston, he had been forced to miss the flight which should have taken him to Los Angeles, but would have smashed him straight into the South Tower of the World Trade Centre.

  Yes, Bryan Sweeney was a lucky son of a bitch!

  So, it defied all logic that the Bryan Sweeney should be standing in his best friend’s hallway, veiled in smoke, surrounded by framed superheroes, staring in disbelief at a dead dog hanging in the front porch.

  Blood spewed from the laceration that jaggedly ran from Bella’s throat straight down to her sternum, turning her stomach into mince. The beagle’s steaming innards – grey, glistening, bloated – dangled like grotesque tinsel, pissing caustic acid, looking as though Santa had decided to replace this year’s decorations with used tampons. He had never realised that blood had such a coppery stench.

  Lee Hardcastle took a cautious step onto his brother’s porch and stared at the lifeless dog which was swaying back and forth, reminding him of the pendulum on a grandfather clock. He aimed the beam of light from the torch up, exposing the clothesline used to bind Bella’s back legs together. He grimaced when he realised that they had tried decapitating the poor dog first.

  “Sick bastards,” Bryan whispered.

  Lee nodded his head in agreement. His grip on the wood tightened.

  Due to the ferocious rain, the inferno in the driveway had died down slightly. Tongues of flame still licked the wet night, reaching for the dark heavens and canoodling them, but the initial combustion had died down. Lee scanned the empty driveway for movement. “I told you I heard something.”

  Both men grinned at each other.

  Bryan nodded towards the dead dog. “This is them.”

  “Definitely.”

  Behind the two men, in the dark kitchen, Belinda sobbed a prayer. She had been the one to discover the mangled dog. They had left Bella merrily yapping away in the garden while strategizing their next move. It had been no longer than ten minutes since Ethan had left to find help when the doorbell had buzzed again.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” Lee said, shoving past Bryan and stepping off the porch. “There they are! The little bastards are up there!” Converting the stump of wood into a crude pointer, he trained it on the three drenched silhouettes standing at the top of the drive.

  “Shit,” Bryan cursed. “What now?”

  “I’ve had enough of this bollocks,” Lee spat. He marched from the house and stomped across the gravel driveway. Wind bellowed noisily in his ears, rain soaking him to the bone.

  Bryan grabbed his best friend’s brother by the elbow, reeling him in. “Wait a second.”

  “Let go of me, Bryan.”

  “I will. Once you’ve calmed down.”

  “I’m warning you—”

  “What the hell are you going to do?”

  “I… I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know? You want to go up there and you don’t know what you’ll do when you get there?”

  “Teach them a bloody lesson, that’s what.”

  One of the hooded youths laughed hysterically.

  “Think about what you’re saying here, Lee.”

  “I don’t need to.”

  “This is crazy.”

  “Get your fucking hands off me!”

  “Just wait here until—”

  “Until what? What am I meant to be waiting for, Bryan?” Lee slap-clawed himself free, grabbing a handful of the lawyer and propelling him against the open front door. Bella’s dripping corpse rotated manically. “Police aren’t coming, mate! Do you not understand that?” He pointed towards the blue tarpaulin covering Harold. “They killed him. They killed Harold! I couldn’t do anything about that, but I can sure as hell do something about this!”

  “Lee, please—”

  “Look after my Mum.”

  With that, Lee stomped purposefully up the sloping driveway, fingers tightly wrapped around the piece of wood. The band of youths watched him approach, the same way a hungry lion might watch a meaty antelope.

  After closing the front door and applying the deadbolt, Bryan raced into the kitchen to get a better view from the overlooking window. Belinda was still sitting at the table, eyes tightly closed, hands clasped together, breathing faithful promises of gibberish to God.

  Lee’s out there! Has she not even noticed?

  Bryan leaned over the draining board. It was a struggle to see past the flickering flames and the pouring rain, but it looked as though Lee had stopped in front of the youths. They appeared to be talking! There was no commotion. No raised voices. No unexpected bouts of violence. Even Lee seemed to be keeping calm. It looked like he was talking in a quiet but cautious tone to them.

  Is this what all of this needed? Just somebody to go over there and speak with… wait a minute. What the hell’s that? Shit, two more of them coming from around the side of the house!

  Bryan watched helplessly as two youths raced up the driveway towards Lee. From the kitchen window, he watched as one of them sprang forward and punched Lee in the face. Bryan could hear the sound of knuckles crunching jaw from inside the house! Lee was shoved square in the back and another kneed him in the gut. Buckling with pain, Lee Hardcastle collapsed into a heap on the ground.

  Sensing the danger that he was clearly in, Lee scrambled quickly to his feet, raising the plank of wood, but another youth – this one about ten-years-old – jumped up and socked him in the side of the head. Lee refused to go down off a punch from a child, but he did drop the length of wood before he ever had chance to use it. It washed away beneath a tide of Nike and Adidas trainers. Somebody pushed their way through the jeering crowd, the frontrunner of these deadbeats, and Lee recognised the acne-riddled face of the youth from the garden, the one who had insulted Karris. Before he could react, he was dragged to his feet and a barrage of insults and phlegm were spat at him.

  The youth reached around the back of his jogging trousers and pulled a heavy-looking handgun from his waistband. Lee’s heart throbbed with dread and his stomach contracted.

  Oh, lord, he’s got a gun! He’s got a fucking gun!

  Brisket-sized fists claimed him by the throat, squeezing his oesophagus. The kid smashed the Beretta against the side of his skull, splitting skin, a single tear of blood trickling down the
side of his face.

  Lee began to cry.

  There’s that bitch that attacked Mum!

  She was crouching in front of him, making blubbering noises, extending her bottom lip mockingly, rubbing her fingers against her cheeks. The sight of this… this… whore turned the blood in his arteries to poison.

  “What’re you looking at?” she asked.

  Lee winced at how sour her breath was. It was like sniffing an ashtray. “I’m looking at a stupid bitch.”

  “What’d you call me?” She stepped closer, raising her tattooed eyebrows.

  “Think you heard me perfectly the first—”

  A fist of sovereign rings smacked him straight in the mouth, shredding his lips. There was enough strength in her pint-sized body to dislodge his front teeth. The jab took him completely by surprise, and the slag packed the strength of a bare-knuckle traveller. Lee swayed uncertainly on the balls of his heels as she bobbed and weaved like a boxer in her prime. She demanded something from the circle of youths surrounding him, and then they literally tore his Foo Fighters vest from him. Camera phones came out and recorded the whole humiliating experience, degrading him further by storing the assault so they could upload it to Facebook and Twitter later.

  “Take your pants off,” she demanded.

  “No.”

  She pressed the muzzle of the Berretta against the back of his skull. “She said take your pants off, yeah?” The cretin disengaged the safety. “Now be a good boy and do as you’re told and you might not fuckin’ die tonight.”

  “There’s no need for anybody to die,” Lee sobbed.

  “She said take your pants off.”

  “I have money,” pleaded Lee.

  “Take them off now!”

  Refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing just how embarrassed and shit-scared he was, Lee unbuttoned his soaking wet Levis and pulled them around his ankles. Now he stood in the driveway in just his boxer shorts. The Neanderthals cheered and laughed.

  “Yeah… well, yeah… come on then!” Lee roared defiantly. He held up his arms to the black heavens, looking like a stowaway seeing the British border for the first time. “Come on! Come see what a real man looks like!”

  The young girl smiled. “Lose the underwear,” she ordered. Folding bony arms over a pathetic cleavage, she smiled mockingly.

  Is she kidding?

  “Not a chance,” Lee said. He swallowed and tasted bile.

  Suddenly, she snatched hold of his scrotum and squeezed, hard, making him yowl with pain, yanking him forward at the same time and delivering a head-butt straight to the bridge of his nose. Something unintelligible spilled from between bloody lips, then he was on his back, gravel embalming his body as the youths kicked and stomped on his arms, feet, hands, buttocks—everywhere!

  He felt rough hands rolling over him, yanking down his underwear, whisking it past his knees, forcing it down around his ankles. The youth armed with the Beretta crouched beside Lee and snatched his wedding ring off.

  “Stand up,” the girl panted. And it was only then that he realised who those rough hands had belonged to.

  “Go fuck your—”

  Once again, the gun was pressed against the back of his skull.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll do it,” he breathed. Painfully, he climbed from his knees to his bare feet.

  “Get hard,” she demanded.

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” the girl smiled. She ran a fake fingernail teasingly across the tip of his exposed penis. “I want you to get hard for me.”

  “You people are sick!”

  “What’s up, sweetie?” she purred seductively. “Can you not do it? Am I not fit enough for you?”

  “Maybe he needs a hand, Leanne,” the prick behind sneered.

  “Is that it, honey? Do you want me to help? Do you want to see my boobs?” She slipped an index finger between her lips and looked at him with dopey eyes. “But I’m only fourteen years old, mister. Please don’ be rough with me.”

  For God’s sake!

  She reached out and grabbed his penis, masturbating it painfully. With the threat of the Beretta still pressed against the back of his skull, Lee closed his eyes, forced himself to drift thirteen years into the past, back to the night he took his wife’s virginity. A couple of perverse seconds later, he was fully erect. The mob laughed mockingly.

  “Is it money you want?” Lee sobbed. “If it is, my brother has a shitload of it.”

  “What’re you talkin’ about?” Leanne asked.

  “My brother is a builder. He… he owns a building business. Doesn’t trust banks, though. There’s a safe. He’s got thousands in there.”

  Leanne’s eyes widened.

  The Beretta remained firmly pressed against his head.

  “Where is it?” Leanne demanded to know.

  “First let me and my mother go.”

  Suddenly, they spun him around. The youth with the handgun kicked him full force in the testicles. Lee doubled over, coughing, spluttering, vomiting, groaning. Fingers gripped his fringe and snapped his head back viciously. The muzzle was aimed directly at his forehead.

  “Where’s the fuckin’ safe?”

  “Please… just let… me go…”

  “Answer the question.”

  Lee wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “It’s… it’s in the garage.”

  The youth looked at Leanne, eyes seeking approval.

  Leanne nodded.

  He pulled the trigger.

  CHAPTER 15

  Belinda Hardcastle charged into Bryan Sweeny, pushing him back slightly, splattering him against the front door and screaming into his face.

  How can a woman in her sixties possess so much strength?

  Bryan gritted his teeth and refused to let her barge past, wincing as fingernails clawed his face and tiny fists bashed his chest. He smothered her hands in his own, pulling her towards him, absorbing insults, enduring wrath, blocking her path like the first insistent branch of a dam. He hated this! He hated having no control in a situation offering no answers. There was no excuse for these louts to be attacking them. Poor Lee had been beaten and shot (killed?), but for what? What had they achieved? What could they achieve? They had severed Bella from throat to groin and strung her up by her legs, but why? None of it made any sense. Belinda went for the door again, but this time Bryan had to dispense all his strength, heaving her back into the kitchen.

  “You can’t go out there,” grunted Bryan. He figured that wrestling her through the doorway was probably the equivalent of pushing a wardrobe upstairs singlehandedly. “I’m sorry, I really am, but they’re still out there, Belinda.” Quivering fingers clicked the fluorescents off and blackness flooded the bungalow. Fangs of flame pirouetted through the kitchen window, providing Bryan with just enough light to see the bastards outside. Thunder growled ravenously.

  “He’s dead, isn’t he?” Belinda sobbed into another handkerchief. Bryan didn’t know where she was getting them from. “They’ve killed him. I can feel it.” She patted her chest, just above her broken heart. “I can feel it here.”

  Bryan moved across to the rain-spattered window and peered outside. The throb of his distraught heart increased as he saw the youths striding down the sparkly-wet driveway towards the house.

  Five! There are five of the little shits!

  Stealthily, he crossed the kitchen, snatching a bread knife from the block.

  “He’s dead. I know he is.”

  “Belinda,” hissed Bryan, “not now.”

  “I know. Trust me, I know.”

  Bryan thought it best to keep his mouth closed.

  “Why are they doing this?” Belinda sobbed.

  “I don’t know. We just need to stay here until the police or Ethan show up.”

  “And what if Ethan doesn’t make it back?” A flotilla of fear launched another strike against her ruptured heart. “Or what if he makes it all the way back and they do the exact same thing to him as they did to Lee?
I could lose two sons in one night!”

  “You can’t think like that.”

  A giggling lout rapped his knuckles against the front door, knocking as casually as a FedEx deliveryman. A hooded silhouette peered through the kitchen window. He squinted into the dark kitchen and Belinda gasped loudly. Bryan pressed a finger to her lips to silence her.

  The scraggy girl crouched in front of the door and lifted the letterbox, shushing her jeering comrades. “Cooooooeeee!” she called through the mail-slot. “Avon calling!”

  Knuckles clapped gently against the window. Bryan had to press up against the fridge to avoid being seen. He whispered for Belinda to find a similar source of cover. Laughter boomed from outside as something heavy - possibly the same brick they had used to kill Harold - struck the front door. Belinda stifled a scream and waddled into the doorway. Bryan raised a hand, gesturing for her to remain quiet. Something bounced off the door again. This time, Bryan was convinced it was a shoulder. Cracking wood. Trickling, followed by laughter. The vile stench of urine wafting through the house. Bryan closed his eyes, throat constricting to the size of a pinhead, hands shaking uncontrollably, the handle of the knife growing absurdly heavy in his grasp.

  And then they kicked the front door open.

  Bryan grabbed Belinda by the hand and towed her out of the kitchen, down the hall, into the living room where they closed the door as the sound of adolescent feet scuttled into the house. There was only a single corner lamp burning in the lounge and Bryan quickly flipped it off at the mains. He dragged Belinda to the far end of the room and pushed her in between an armchair and a display cabinet boasting twenty or thirty vintage Star Wars figurines, reprimanding her when she tried speaking.

  From the hallway, he could clearly hear the repulsive degenerates charging all over the bungalow; hear that girl – that bitch – command something, then one of Ethan’s beloved framed comic books was destroyed.

  “Listen to me, Belinda,” Bryan whispered. “I need you to stay here. I need you to be as quiet as possible.”