by Matt Drabble
“Is this stuff safe?” Dale asked his father as he gingerly picked up a bundle of sticks.
“Can’t do me any harm.” The old man shrugged with a grin.
“And the rest of us?”
But this time Clayton Senior remained quiet.
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Quinn found herself upon the outskirts of the monastery’s borders far quicker than she had hoped. The whole hike up here, she had been desperately trying to come up with some kind of plan, but her mind refused to offer up any help.
She had tried time and time again to get through to Morrison, but the man just wasn’t for listening. He looked at her like she was either crazy or lying, and in truth, she couldn’t blame him.
This was the last place on earth that she wanted to be right now. Her town had been attacked by Niners, and now she was walking right into their backyard.
The men she was leading were armed and looked like they could handle themselves, but they refused to believe just what they were walking into.
“Hold up,” Morrison ordered from behind.
He came up alongside her and stared out through the bushes towards the rear of the monastery and the farmed fields.
“How many are in there?” he demanded.
“I have no idea.”
“Don’t lie to me, girly,” Morrison growled as he took a pistol from a hip holster and pointed it at her.
“I’m not,” she replied honestly. “No one knows how many are in there. They don’t exactly socialise. We don’t see much of them; that is, of course, unless they’re murdering us!”
“Save the lies, my dear; they won’t help you now, I can promise you that.”
“You’re all going to die in there.” She sighed heavily. “I can’t believe that whatever you’re after can be worth it.”
“That’s my business,” Morrison replied. “But yes… yes, it is.”
There was an almost imperceptible shudder that went through the rest of Morrison’s men, but the leader wasn’t about to look weak in front of them. Instead, he slapped Quinn across the face with an expert backhand, the sort of blow meant to shame rather than hurt.
She felt her cheek glowing red but refused to drop her gaze from his eyes.
“You can hit me all you want,” she said firmly as a thin sliver of blood ran from her lip. “It won’t change anything.”
“You’ve got heart, kid, I’ll give you that.” Morrison nodded appreciatively. “But that won’t stop me from putting a bullet in your head, I can assure you of that. Now move,” he ordered, and she had no choice but to comply.
They headed out slowly, breaking cover and moving through the back fields.
The monastery loomed up ahead and Quinn’s mind went right back to the 11-year-old girl she’d been when she’d entered the tunnels underneath all those years ago. Witnessing the sacrifice of the lamb had stung her hard and some nights she still heard the terrified animal’s whines.
As a woman, that night still sat in her memories as a crystal sharp recollection of sheer helplessness and fear.
Returning through the monastery’s front doors a couple of days ago had been tough but manageable, but sneaking back in at night was a whole other story.
The one thing that kept her moving forwards was the realisation that the men Morrison had left behind to finish off Caleb had yet to return. Maybe they had done their job and had gotten lost in the woods while returning to Morrison, but she preferred to believe that Caleb had avoided them and was still out there. If he was, then he’d be coming for her soon; she just had to keep going, long enough for him to find her.
“Where now?” Morrison whispered as they approached the monastery walls.
As much as she wanted to lead them away from this place, she had no choice - for now, at least.
“This way,” she replied softly and led the way to where she remembered the tunnel entrance being.
As she walked in the dark, the armed men with her gave her no comfort. In all the ways that mattered, she felt like an 11-year-old girl again - vulnerable and alone.
She’d hoped that she’d been wrong in her geography, that she was in the wrong part of the grounds, but the tunnel entrance loomed up ahead, and even through the darkness, she knew she was in the right place.
“Here.” She pointed and led the way into the tunnel.
Morrison and his men followed. Now that they were out of sight of any potential witnesses posted on the monastery walls, they switched on several powerful flashlights.
“Wait,” Morrison said quickly.
Quinn watched the man as he knelt down and checked something on the ground. He dipped his fingers and rubbed them together.
“What is it?” Quinn couldn’t help but ask.
“Blood - and no more than a couple of days old,” Morrison replied thoughtfully.
“You still think this a good idea?” she asked him.
“It’s probably just animal blood. Now move,” Morrison answered, motioning her to keep moving forwards.
Quinn headed deeper into the tunnels.
“I don’t suppose you’d consider giving me one of those guns?” she asked but to no reply. “Then how about a flashlight? You want me to lead, then I need to see where I’m going.”
After a brief pause, Morrison nodded to one of his men who stepped forwards and handed her one.
She hefted the weight in her hands but was disappointed to find that the flashlight would make a pretty poor weapon. She’d hoped for heavy metal but instead found it was lightweight plastic.
“Can’t cause much damage with that,” Morrison said as if reading her mind.
Quinn flashed him a sarcastic smile but didn’t say anything he could use against her. Instead, she just kept on moving forwards, all the while hoping for some kind of inspiration.
She led the expedition along the tunnels until they reached a large ancient-looking door. She remembered the door from her trip here before, only that time it had been open and now it was firmly shut.
“Through here,” she said, turning to the men behind her. “If you can get it open.”
Morrison moved past her and checked the door. The wooden barricade was covered with metal studs and looked a formidable obstacle.
He ran his fingers over the door, testing the hinges and the strength of the wood.
“Shane,” he ordered and one of his men hurried over.
Shane was wearing a black backpack and turned around to offer it to Morrison. His boss rummaged through it before pulling out a crowbar and handing it to the largest of his crew.
“Owens,” he said, pointing at the door.
The big man placed the crowbar tip into the gap between the door hinge side and the surrounding wall before exerting pressure to try and pry the door open. After much effort, the door wouldn’t budge and Morrison sent Shane to help. The two men leaned all of their considerable weight into the effort but still the door wouldn’t move. Although the wood was ancient, it apparently hadn’t weakened with age.
“You sure this is the only way in?” Morrison demanded of her.
“Only way I know, unless you want to go and ring the front door bell. Then you’ll see that I’ve not been lying about these freaks, but hey, it’s your choice,” she replied with a smile.
Morrison and his men spent the next 10 minutes or so fighting with the door without success. Quinn didn’t mind the time being wasted as it gave Caleb more time to reach her, but she was starting to become concerned about the amount of time and - more so - the increasing amount of noise they were making down here. The last thing she wanted was for the Niners to discover them here. She just wanted to keep moving and keep out of sight.
“Let me try,” she finally said to the group of sweating men.
Morrison stepped aside, and she did the one thing that no one had thought to try: she turned the door handle.
The unlocked door swung open easily without so much as a horror movie creak, and Quinn bent over slightly before waving an arm
to usher the men inside.
“Smart arse,” Morrison grumbled as he stomped past her into the chamber inside.
The open room inside brought back immediate memories of her last trip here and the stone altar was still sitting in the middle of the chamber. There were dark patches seeped into the rock and she found it easy to believe that much blood had been spilled here down the years.
As the powerful flashlight shone around the room, she could now see other pieces of equipment and furniture. There were shelving units holding a multitude of glass jars and bottles. There was some kind of pipework apparatus on a long table with giant vats nearby. There was also a sickly sweet aroma that hung thickly in the air.
“What is that smell?” she asked aloud.
“Some kind of homebrew,” Shane answered as he moved over to check the equipment. “My old man used to make his own hooch. I’m guessing the monks like to party.”
Morrison moved to one of the vats and lifted the barrel lid up. He dipped his fingers inside and tasted the contents. “Hey, that’s not bad,” he said appreciatively.
He took a nearby mug and scooped up a full drink from the vat.
“That’s really good,” he said, wiping his mouth after downing the liquid. “A little sweet maybe, but good,” he said, licking his lips.
Someone knocked over a glass which smashed on the stone floor off to the side.
“For Christ’s sake, which idiot did that?” Morrison bellowed and everyone turned to see who’d messed up now.
Quinn was the first to see that the man wasn’t one of Morrison’s men.
He was large, rotund and with a great bushy beard; he was also wearing the robes of the Niners.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” the monk said in a low rumble to all of them at once.
“Well there goes the element of surprise.” Morrison sighed and shook his head. “Is it my curse to be permanently stuck working with morons?” he asked himself.
“Watch him,” Quinn warned.
“Yeah, he looks scary all right.” Owens laughed.
“Grab him,” Morrison ordered the big man, who stepped forwards to oblige.
“Watch him, dammit!” Quinn warned again.
Owens towered over the Niner and she could see that his sheer size and bulk made him overly confident as he reached out to grab the Niner.
She saw a flash of light before Owens grunted and let out a long deep breath.
The big man staggered backwards, trying to hold his innards in as they threatened to fall from the hole in his gut and splash onto the stone floor.
“What the...?” Owens barely mouthed before he sank to his knees, his face ivory white.
The Niner stepped forwards, his white robe sleeve now soaked red and staining fast.
“Watch him!” Quinn shouted to the rest of the group.
She saw with no little fear that the rest of them seemed to be frozen in shock as the Niner approached. The man’s beard and wild appearance seemed to have shocked them into inaction and the crazy dancing light in his eyes wasn’t helping any.
“All right there, chief, that’s far enough,” Morrison announced firmly to the man, but he didn’t stop coming. “Look, normally you’d already be dead, but lucky for you, I need a little information first.”
“He won’t listen!” Quinn yelled at him. “Can’t you see that?”
“I don’t care how crazy he is, he’s not crazy enough to stop a bullet,” Morrison said, raising his weapon.
The Niner kept moving forwards slowly, the knife in his hand dripping with Owens’s blood.
“I’m looking for a man called Rollins. He came here recently,” Morrison called out. “You see him? How about the one of you lot who grows mushrooms? You know him?”
But the man just kept moving forwards, and Quinn noticed that Morrison had started to back up.
“Goddammit, man. What the hell is wrong with you?” Morrison demanded.
“You shouldn’t be here,” the Niner reiterated. “Blasphemy. BLASPHEMY!” he suddenly roared, lunging at Morrison.
The gunshot was monstrously loud in the small stone chamber and the explosion was amplified by the echoing walls.
Morrison hit the man in the leg and the Niner stopped in his tracks and fell to one knee, before rising again.
“Hey, man, stay down!” Morrison warned, but the Niner didn’t listen.
Quinn had to cover her ears with her hands as Morrison emptied the rest of the clip into the Niner. With each bullet that smashed into him, she felt sure he’d fall, but he just kept coming.
Small dots of blood showed up on his chest with every shot that struck home, but inexplicably, he kept stumbling forwards until he’d reached Morrison and grabbed him by the black combat top he was wearing.
Dimly, she heard his gun run dry as he was caught in the Niner’s grip. On pure instinct, she ran to Owens’s fallen body and grabbed up his weapon. Like most islanders, she’d hunted as a child and she quickly slipped the safety off.
Morrison was struggling to keep the Niner’s knife hand away from his chest as the man pressed forwards. Quinn placed the automatic pistol against the side of the Niner’s head and braced herself as she pulled the trigger.
This time, the Niner dropped like a stone, and Morrison stepped back gasping.
“What the hell..., I mean, what the fu...?” he spluttered, looking down at the now-dead monk on the ground. “And what the hell were you lot bloody doing?” he demanded of his remaining men, but no one answered.
He quickly slipped a spare clip into his weapon and raised it quickly to Quinn’s head in one smooth motion.
“Don’t think I’m not grateful, but I’ll take that gun now, thank you,” he ordered.
“Seriously?” she exclaimed, reluctant to hand it over.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to insist,” he said coldly, and she had no choice but to hand it over.
“Shane? How is he?” Morrison asked his man whom he wanted to check on Owens.”
“SHANE!” Morrison shouted. “Dammit, Walker, give Shane a slap,” he said, addressing the last of his men.
Walker obliged and shook Shane back into life.
“...Dead,” Shane replied shakily after checking.
“Well, now, that just leaves the four of us for now, at least.” Morrison sighed. “Well, let’s get moving,” he said, turning to the stairs that led up into the monastery.
“You can’t be serious!” Quinn cried out upon seeing that the man meant to press on. “Surely you mean that way?” she said, pointing back to the door they’d entered.
“I most certainly do not.”
“I don’t know, Boss,” Walker said awkwardly. “Maybe we should cut out?”
“And what do you think?” Morrison asked, turning to Shane.
“I say we get the fuck out of here.”
“Well, then. It’s a good job that this isn’t a democracy.” Morrison smiled coldly. “Now move.”
Quinn watched as the two lackeys did as they were told and headed upwards. She followed last.
There had been a brief moment when she’d been at the back of the group and thought that maybe she could make a run for it. She was pretty sure that now she’d gotten Morrison and his men inside they wouldn’t bother chasing after her, but it would also mean fleeing back into the dark tunnel alone and she had no idea if there were Niners moving in from behind, drawn by the gunfire.
She was stuck between the proverbial rock and a hard place, and in the end, she decided to stay with Morrison, for now at least. His men and their guns seemed safer now than running blind and unarmed in Niner territory.
CHAPTER 21
Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the mouth
Caleb was making slower time than he’d have liked, but that was mainly due to Cooper Fox’s reluctant pace.
“Will you hurry up!” he hissed at his hesitant travelling companion who was taking another break and was currently sitting on a rock.
�
��I’m tired and there’s something wrong with my leg,” Cooper whined.
“The only thing that’s wrong with you is cowardice!”
“Hey, this isn’t my fight! You want to ride in on your white horse and save the day, get the girl and all that then, go right ahead.”
“Don’t you have an ounce of decency in your body? You’re an islander, for Christ’s sake, Cooper. Try acting like it.”
“Why don’t you just leave me then if I’m so useless?”
“Because two heads are better than one, even if one of them is yours; now get moving before I move you.”
Cooper finally dragged himself back to his feet and trudged onwards. Caleb kept the man in front of him, giving Cooper a hard shove in the back when required.
Quinn was up ahead and on her way to possibly the worst place on Earth right now. Her captors seemed to have no idea what they were walking into, and he had no idea who they were or indeed what they wanted. A sudden thought popped into his head.
“Who are they, Cooper?”
“What?”
“Those men, the ones that took Quinn. Who are they?”
“How the hell should I know?” The man shrugged unconvincingly.
“Because anything shit that happens on this island normally has your fingerprints on it, that’s why.”
“Well, I don’t know them and I don’t like the insinu..., the accusa... I don’t like being blamed,” he finished with trouble.
“Then how about you take a break from being guilty?” Caleb replied as they both stopped on the woodland trail.
He had two automatic pistols taken from the men he’d killed, along with several extra clips. He pulled one of the guns from his belt now. and although he didn’t need the weapon to deal with Cooper, he hoped the added theatrical menace would aid the questioning.
“I’ll ask you once more,” he said, raising the gun. “Who are they?”
He watched on as Cooper’s face crumpled, seemingly in pain, as he tried to come up with a lie on the spot, but it was obvious that his brain didn’t function under intense pressure.
“I... They...,” Cooper spluttered.
“Don’t bother trying to lie; you’re really not that good at it.”