“Spawny, fucking, shitebag bastard, ya,” cried Billy as a wave of frustration engulfed him. In a blind rage he began picking up some of the larger boxes of junk and throwing them from the back of the truck, straight into the path of David's stalking bike. David swerved around the scattered debris easily enough.
The raging Billy then began throwing some of the old tyres onto the road. These ended up being a bit more challenging for David's navigation skills. After dodging three in a row, he almost collided with the fourth. His bike wobbled hard, but he managed to regain control and continue his pursuit.
Billy roared furiously again, then grabbed his shotgun before letting off a more accurate shot in David's direction. David felt the whoosh of the bullet on the left side of his face, millimetres from his cheek. Billy shot again and missed wildly. Frustration overcame Billy once more and he threw down the gun in disgust. He then grabbed a hold of more tyres and boxes from the back of the pickup, anything he could find or get his hands around. He looked utterly insane. His eyes were almost popping out of his head as he lifted and blindly threw everything and anything, one after the other, all out and onto the road.
David swerved this way and that. He was doing well until one of the last tyres to be thrown rammed into the back of his bike, sending both him and his motorcycle crashing to the tarmac, then skidding off the main road and into the surrounding grass, dirt and bushes. David's left trouser leg was ripped to shreds while his bare leg inside was grated like a block of cheese against the road and dirt. The side of his lower body burned all over after having been dragged on the tarmac. Finally both his body and head slammed against a tree trunk on the edge of the road and he fell unconscious.
On the back of the truck, Billy jumped up and down with sheer joy. He was acting like his football team had just won a huge game in the dying seconds of a cup final.
“Fuck ya, ya fuckin bam pot, bastard ride, ya,” Billy cried, overjoyed. “Get that right up ya, freako. Fucking bull’s eye, ya spam cunt. Fuck ya. Sayonara, ya fuckin arse wipe.”
Eric slammed on the breaks, bringing the truck to a shuddering halt in the middle of the road.
“We should go back and make sure the fucker's dead,” Eric shouted back at Billy through the rear window. He then began throwing the last few shotgun cartridges from the passenger seat for Billy to pick up in the back.
“He's fucking done,” cried Billy, looking and sounding too confident and far too smug for Eric's liking. All of a sudden, David began moving again. Like a huge grizzly bear coming out of hibernation, he was gradually regaining consciousness. As Billy looked on, David began wriggling free from underneath the heavy bike that pinned him to the dirt.
David looked a little surprised at first when he saw the black pickup truck in the distance, fully stationary in the middle of the road. He’d assumed they'd be well and truly gone by now, leaving him for dust.
Back in the truck, Billy let out a deep and weary sigh. “Motherfuckin’ bastard,” cried Billy, spitting at the ground in anger. “This guy’s like the fuckin’ Terminator, ya know, but fae the second movie, ken?”
Eric didn't comment, just watched David limping badly and dragging himself back onto his feet. David put the burning pain engulfing his entire body to the back of his mind as his adrenaline kicked in and took complete control of his actions. He bent over his bike and hauled it up in one swift motion.
“There's no fuckin’ way that bike's still working,” said Billy, almost aghast. “Nay fuckin chance.”
“If it's not,” Eric cried sticking the gear stick into reverse, “Then I'm reversing right over the cunt while you shoot him in the fucking head.”
David switched on the engine and jumpstarted the pedal. The bike started up the first time.
“Fuck me. Go now, man,” Billy roared at Eric. “Drive fuckin now, ya cunt. Let's go, go, go.”
“Jesus Christ,” Eric cried as he shoved the stick back into first gear and slammed down on the accelerator, roaring away farther up the road.
Without wiping any of the dirt and blood from his face, David rode after the pickup truck while black smoke and fumes poured out of the bike's exhaust. The bike didn't look or sound good so he knew he'd have to act fast.
From the opposite direction, a car, followed by a trailing lorry, roared on by. Both of them beeped their horns furiously as the pickup truck and David veered from one side of the road to the other, almost colliding with the oncoming traffic. In the back of the pickup, Billy tried to remain as composed as he could. He picked up the remaining shotgun cartridges lying at his feet and concentrated on firing them at the still-stalking David.
David rode closer to the pickup while swaying and swerving, this way and that. An insane glee raged in his eyes, suggesting that he didn't give a shit about getting hit, knocked off his bike or killed, especially by the oncoming traffic. He was on a death wish now. Billy fired more shots. The bullets whizzed by David’s bike and head. When Billy ran out of ammo, David saw his chance. He accelerated to the right-hand side of the pickup, venturing dangerously into the middle of the oncoming lane.
In a blind panic, Billy tried to reload, quick and fast, but his hands were shaking too hard with the vibration of the truck. David pulled out his hunting knife. One hand steered the bike while the other took aim. David then threw his knife with a lethal accuracy. The knife struck Billy, embedding itself deep into the heart of his shoulder blade. Billy howled with pain. He dropped his gun and the last two bullets as he collapsed onto the cargo bed, wriggling in agony.
As Billy gathered himself on the floor, he took a firm grip on the hunting knife and tried to slide it out of his shoulder. His gasps and moans became more intense and his face turned a sickly pale colour. At the front of the truck, Eric whipped his head around to see where the hell his friend had gone. When Eric saw Billy on the floor of the cargo bed, writhing in pain and trying to pull a huge knife from his shoulder blade, Eric panicked and quickly turned to glance out his side window. David was riding tight beside him.
Eric steered hard into David's path, trying to barge him and his bike right off the road. However, David had already anticipated the move. As soon as Eric swerved for him, he jumped in one fleeting motion onto the seat of his bike and leapt into the back of the pickup truck.
When Billy saw David landing beside him, he immediately forgot about the knife sticking out of his shoulder. In a blind panic Billy went straight for his shotgun. David dropped to his knees right on top of him though, cracking at least half a dozen of his ribs in the process. He shoved the rest of the hunting knife deep inside Billy's open wound, this time all the way to the hilt.
Billy screamed and roared to the high heavens. David then turned him over and began pounding him with clenched knuckles, right in his teeth and jaw. He didn't stop until Billy’s entire row of front teeth had been knocked down the back of his bloodied throat.
David yanked the barely conscious Billy back up onto his feet. He was about to throw him over the side of the truck and down the steep mountainside along which they were racing along when Eric began firing his own handgun, wildly into the back of the open pickup.
David released his hold of Billy and dropped flat against the cargo bed. Billy collapsed in a heap too, barely alive. With his head turned away from the steering wheel and still firing sporadically into the back of the truck, Eric unintentionally veered onto the opposite side of the road. He had no time to see the other car coming round the next bend, driving straight for him. The two vehicles collided with such brutal, violent force, the sound they created was like that of a bomb going off.
At the moment of impact, David and Billy were both flung from the back of the truck at a rip-roaring velocity. The truck began flipping into the air and right over the oncoming vehicle. David landed about 20 or so yards away from the crash, right in the middle of an old dirt track parking lay-by. When he slammed against the ground, the speed and momentum at which he was travelling caused him to skid along the dirt and grave
l until he smashed into an old barbed-wire fence overlooking a steep decline to the valley below.
Billy wasn't so lucky. He was instantly impaled on two sharp, slim fence posts. One went through his guts while the other went straight through the back of his neck and spine, almost decapitating him. Instead his head just dangled unnaturally down where he lay.
The pickup truck continued flipping along the edge of the road, then came to a thunderous halt as it slammed against an old stone wall at the start of the lay-by. The other car involved in the crash looked to be a write off. It lay dozens of yards away, on the opposite side of the road, in a crumpled heap of smoke, fire and fumes. Nothing seemed to be moving inside.
For a while, nothing happened. There was no movement on the ground, only the sound of birds circling nearby and squawking at the chaos below. Lying against the fence, breathing slow and hard, David was still very much alive. Yet he seemed in no rush to get up as he patiently waited for any sign of movement from the pickup truck. The scene reminded him of the peaceful calm left hanging in the air immediately after a booming thunderstorm.
Then something happened. There was a slight bit of movement followed by a series of pained groans coming from inside the compartment of the pickup truck. It sounded like someone had just woken up to discover their body had been broken in two. Soon a badly injured Eric desperately began dragging himself from the upside-down vehicle.
David watched as the broken man tried to haul himself out of the smashed passenger-side window. Even if he did manage to pull himself out, he wouldn't be going anywhere in a hurry. By the look of it, he'd be lucky to ever walk again. Nonetheless, David had a job to do. With great effort, he began peeling himself free of the barbed-wire fence, wincing as he did. The wire knots ripped and scratched his skin to shreds, mostly on his arms and the lower back and sides of his stomach. Yet the pain was an afterthought to him now.
With great patience, David freed himself from the wire, then hobbled painfully slowly towards the pickup and Eric, who had now hauled himself fully from the shattered window. He'd also managed to slice open the side of his stomach as he crawled over the shards of jagged glass. Eric dragged himself towards the bushes and grass that ran along the edge of the clifftop.
Hearing the scuffle of dragging feet from behind, Eric crooked his neck to see David coming towards him. He tried to crawl faster, groaning with pain as blood pumped from the huge gash on the side of his abdominals. It left a thick, red trail as he slid along the ground like a dying snake. In his heart, Eric knew crawling any further was useless. He was at David's mercy now.
David approached the exhausted and deflated Eric. With all the remaining strength left in his body he crouched and dragged the fearful man back onto his feet. David could see that his left leg was severely broken, while his thigh still bled badly from the gunshot wound David had inflicted back at the garden party. Add the deep, nasty-looking gash on his stomach and Eric was not looking in the best of shape. Eric whimpered in defeat as he found himself face to face with the eerily calm David.
“Why, man? Fucking why?” Eric sobbed, tired and defeated. The emotion and anguish of the past ten minutes suddenly caught up to him. He'd never been in such bad shape in his entire life and he was clueless as to what it had all been about in the first place. “Why are you doing this, man? Why? Who are you? Who the fuck are you?”
With no warning, David punched Eric in the gut, splitting his stomach wound open another few inches. He then head-butted him in the face, shattering Eric’s nose and sending him hurling back to the ground in a bloodied, crumpled heap. Eric cried even harder, holding his bloodied face in agony. He started throwing up as he desperately tried to catch his breath.
Giving him little time to recover, David grabbed Eric by the roots of his hair and dragged him over to the edge of the cliff. It seemed like a good hundred-foot drop at the very least into the rocky canyon below. As he was dragged to his fate, Eric roared with all his remaining energy, kicking, bleeding and screaming.
Once upon the edge, David threw Eric down onto the hard ground.
“Please,” Eric begged. Tears, mixed with snot and blood, streamed down the length of his face. “I'm sorry, man. Whatever the fuck I did tae ya, am fucking sorry, aw right? I have a wife and kids, man. They need me. Please. Am sorry.”
David said nothing. Instead he continued staring hard into Eric's eyes. His lack of conversation was even more unbearable to Eric than the throbbing pain rippling throughout his body.
“Please,” Eric continued. “Have mercy on me, man. I dinnie ken what I've done, but am sorry ... I mean, what the hell do you want from me man. Huh? What the hell do you fucking want from me? Speak tae me, man. Speak tae me. Al give you anything, man. Al give you fucking anything.” Eric sobbed.
David remained absolutely silent, then took another long, deep breath. On the outside he looked calmer than a Tibetan monk. Inside though his rage towards the man in front of him burned furiously. He wanted to end Eric right there and then. Just throw him over the cliff and be done with the sorry, pathetic sight of him.
Deep down, inside though, David also wanted Eric to know. He wanted him to know what he'd done to deserve all of this wrath and fury, right before his painful, bitter end. He wanted Eric to see that horrific memory of all the terrible things he'd done and the heartache and pain he'd caused. David wanted to see it all flicker through the man's eyes right before he ended the sick fucker once and for all.
David took out his wallet, which, for a brief moment confused Eric. He watched as David opened the wallet and gently removed an old, worn picture from the plastic flap. David then crouched down in front of him. His raging, insane eyes pierced straight through Eric's own scared and confused pupils, into the back of his skull. David then held the picture up to Eric's bloodied face. “You recognise this picture, you sick sack of shit?”
Eric tried to gaze at the photograph, but it became nothing but a watery blur to him, with all the tears, blood, snot and dirt smeared all over his face. Desperately, he tried to refocus.
“Do you recognise the man in this picture, you sick, sick fuck?” David roared like an un-caged lion. Eric wiped away more of the blood, snot and tears from his face. He refocused on the picture again. It was a picture of a young, handsome and smiling black man, dressed in an army uniform.
Eric looked perplexed. He was at a loss for words. He'd expected the picture to be of a young woman or even a child – someone he’d accidentally killed or possibly done a hit-and-run with, way back when drink and driving was against the law. Yes, he'd done a few of them in his time.
“You butchered this man. You beat this man and tortured this man to within an inch of his life. Then you hung him up from a fucking tree, poured gasoline over his naked body and set him alight and left him to die like he was nothing ... fucking nothing!” David roared again like a demon unleashed from the darkest and deepest regions of his imagination.
Eric suddenly remembered. He remembered everything as it all came flooding back to him in a hurricane of emotions. He knew exactly who the man in the picture was now, and in a heartbeat, he was transported back to that time and place almost one year ago.
Chapter 28
Eric remembered driving the pickup truck with his four best mates – all of them now dead, he feared, after the rampage that had started back at his weekend barbeque. Two sat up front with him, while the other three lazed in the cargo bed at the back. The civil war had just broken out around the country. Most people were aware of the severity of the situation, others not so much, or at the very least believing it might all be just a passing facade or a countrywide protest and riot that had gotten seriously out of hand but would soon correct with the actions of the government and the armed forces.
Eric and his mates were not of the latter opinion. With all the immigration protests, Islamophobia and race hate hot in the air, Eric and his gang of thugs had been looking for trouble, killing some tourists here, raping some foreigners there. Now
they were driving all around the Scottish West Coast looking for their next targets.
All of them had been drinking heavily. Even Eric was sipping on his third can of lager that morning as they rocketed along the narrow Highland roads, veering in and out of the light summer traffic. It was especially light for that time of year in amongst the majestic Highlands, as most of the smart tourists had stopped coming to the country months ago, with all the hate crimes drastically on the increase, to the extent that one occurred every few minutes. And with more police and armed forces being called into the major cities to deal with the riots and rapidly rising violence, the countryside had become a free-for-all crime spree.
Laughing and joking, the group of men finally pulled over at a secluded beach to have a rest from driving around all morning. They wanted to smoke some of the weed they had just stolen from a group of German campers they had pretty much left for dead. All of them sat in the back of the pickup, passing around their joints while joking and drinking more and more.
On the other side of the beach, two men were swimming and playing around in the sea. None of the men in the pickup paid them any particular attention at first, not until 20 minutes later when the two swimmers waded out of the water, hand in hand, laughing and joking amongst themselves. One of the men was David. The other was Ashley – the handsome black man from David's photograph.
None of the men in the back of the pickup truck were any the wiser to David's and Ashley's antics though until Billy went for a pee over the side of the truck, to the amusement of the other drunken men. From his new height advantage Billy was the first to see the two men, David and Ashley, strolling hand in hand along the opposite side of the beach, acting like any young-and-in-love couple.
To Billy, though, what he was witnessing between the two men on the beach was not normal by any stretch of his bigoted, narrow-minded imagination. He immediately stopped pissing into the wind and zipped up his jeans. He even spilt urine down the inside of his trouser leg as he anxiously turned to Eric, interrupting his conversation with the other men, desperate for them to stand up and take a look at the disgusting and unnatural behaviour for themselves.
The Wrath of David Page 21