by Haywood, RR
Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. There can be no going back. There can be no reprieve now. A thing done is a thing done. End it. End it now. Kill.
She drops the grenade, steps out and closes the door. In the ensuing four seconds there is much noise from tables turning over. From voices screaming high pitched and young. From chairs being kicked away. From feet running. From cans falling to the ground. Four seconds of an air filled with a cacophony of sound.
She drops low. Her hand reaching up to hold the door closed. None of them made it. None of them tried to yank it open.
The muffled whump is loud but not as loud as she thought it would be. The thick walls deadening the sound to a low percussive bang that shakes the door and vibrates through the walls. In the midst of the explosion she detects smaller noises of objects being blasted aside.
A second of silence then the screams come. Not the screams of the panicked now but the screams of the injured and in pain. She doesn’t hesitate but is up, pushing the door open as she pulls the rifle round and steps in to see how one muffled whump has redecorated the room in shades of red.
The air is thick with explosive charge and the displacement of energy makes the hairs on her neck prickle and stand up.
The bodies lie everywhere. The ones closest to the blast torn apart and shredded but the human body is a densely packed thing of flesh and bone that is capable of absorbing blast energy. The ones further away were protected from the initial blast and simply lacerated by fragments instead. Burning hot fragments that seared deep into thighs and stomach and ripped fingers from hands. Scorching chunks of metal that embedded in stomachs and necks and opened the skin on faces that bleed heavily into mouths that scream in absolute pain.
The one closest to her is dead. A boy near her own age with his head mostly gone. She steps over him to the next one lying face down with the entrails from her stomach littering the ground beneath her.
Aaliyah is the closest one screaming and Lilly steps down with a heavy foot pressing into the girl’s neck, forcing her attention up to the rifle aiming down. They lock eyes. One terrified and one dispassionate and cold who simply turns and runs back out the door to sprint fast into the rain.
She gains distance from the room behind her, away from the light that spills metres into the fort. The screams come louder. Aaliyah’s more than anyone else’s for she has seen the devil staring down at her.
The detonation of the grenade and the screams that follow will draw the others. Lilly waits, watching, staring, scanning.
Pea stares hard. Her heart thundering in her chest from the explosion that reached the huddled survivors pushing together to share body warmth in an effort to keep the youngest and the oldest warm and dry. Some have already perished. Too weak from days of desperate survival and now, after the fear of yesterday, the fires and the destruction and working through today with cold hands and empty bellies they simply expire. An old man is held tight by his wife of more than thirty years. His life gone from his body as those around him weep and sob. A young girl, five years old with a frail body succumbs to the ravages of this new world and her body temperature plunges to a level from which it will never recover.
They saw Lilly being dragged away but both Sam and Pea knew that one pistol was no match for so many assault rifles. They fretted, worried and stared about desperate to see Lilly but the guards stayed close with sullen faces that leered and sucked teeth.
‘What was that?’ Sam whispers, leaning closer to her friend. Desperately cold and the shivers rack her body but she holds Milly close, willing her own warmth into the girl.
‘Police offices,’ Pea whispers back, holding Billy closer.
‘Shit,’ Sam hisses when the screams fill the air and for a second she fears the worse and her mind conjures images of Lilly being tortured but there’s more than one voice screaming and not all of them are girls.
‘Lilly,’ Pea mutters, blinking the rain from her eyes, ‘it’s got to be Lilly.’
‘There’s more than one person screaming…’
‘No I mean Lilly is doing something…Sam we have to move…get the pistol.’
Sam hesitates, the fear gripping her to hold her rooted to the spot but the screams come louder, pain filled agonising wails. ‘Joan, take Milly for me…’
‘What are you doing?’ Joan whispers back, checking round to see if the guards are close but the three boys have all moved to cluster together to stare towards the noise.
‘Is Lilly doing something?’ A man whispers through the crowd, heads turn to fix on Pea and Sam. Murmurs rippling with consternation, worry and some with hope.
Sam slides the pistol from her waistband, ‘Pea, give Billy to…’
‘Let me take him,’ Dorothy says, stretching her arms out to take the boy.
‘Oh Christ,’ Sam mutters, full of panic and dread. Her hands trembling from cold and fear, ‘Jesus, Pea…’
‘Sam, we’ve got to do something…we have to,’ Pea says with urgency showing in her voice.
‘I know I know, okay…what then? What do we do?’
‘Shoot those little shits,’ Joan mutters darkly, seventy years old and fed up with sitting in the rain.
‘Do it,’ Dorothy whispers.
‘Do it.’
‘Shoot them.’
‘Do something.’
‘Quickly.’
‘Sam,’ Pea hisses in alarm at the voices clamouring louder.
‘Fuck it,’ Sam lifts the gun to hold with two hands, she aims, takes a breath and pulls the trigger.
‘Take the safety off my dear,’ Joan calls up helpfully.
‘Fuck it,’ Sam mutters again, dropping the gun down to fumble for the switch on the side.
‘Have you got it?’ Pea asks, moving closer.
‘Can’t see a bloody thing,’ Sam says.
‘Just above the trigger on the left side, lift your thumb up,’ Joan says.
‘Do you want to bloody do it?’ Sam asks.
‘Gladly,’ Joan says, passing Milly to the person closest to her, ‘hand it over.’
‘Seriously?’ Sam asks, staring with shock as the old woman gets painfully to her feet.
‘Yes come on, stop farting about with it, my dear. Hand it over,’ Joan says, motioning with her hand for the gun to be passed over.
‘Do you know how to use one?’ Pea asks, looking up at the grey haired old woman.
‘Well clearly neither of you two do, come on, quickly now, stop dithering and pass me the pistol. Ah right,’ Joan says, weighing the pistol in her hand, ‘standard issue British police Glock 17 with a seventeen round capacity magazine,’ she grips the gun in her right hand, presses the button and releases the magazine which she thumb presses, ‘loaded,’ she mutters, sliding the magazine back in before sliding the top back and thumbing the safety off all in one smooth movement. She twists, lifting the pistol in her hand, ‘You there, you boys…’ she shouts, her voice shrill and impatient, ‘put your guns down or I shall shoot you.’
‘Oh my fucking God,’ Sam mouths.
‘Don’t bloody warn ‘em,’ someone mutters.
‘Just shoot the little shits.’
‘Rules of engagement,’ Joan says stiffly, ‘one must give fair warning, you boys…disarm and lay down your weapons.’
‘What the fuck?’ One of the boys turns at the noise of the old woman shouting, ‘fuck!’
‘What? Shit…’
‘Don’t dither about now,’ Joan shouts, ‘put your guns…’
She doesn’t get to finish the sentence. The first boy lifts his rifle. The second boy jerks away also lifting his rifle. The third boy turns, drops and also brings his to aim.
Three shots ring out. Three loud percussive retorts fired from a standard issue matt black British Police Glock 17 with a seventeen round capacity fired by a grumpy old lady with grey hair plastered to her scalp. She kills the first boy with a clear head shot that blows his brains out. The second one is taken through the chest, a wise m
ove considering he was a moving target. The third through the neck. She did consider aiming for the head but he was dropping at the time so she got him through his throat instead. Each one aimed and delivered with speed and precision.
Silence. Ears ringing. Eyes staring. Pea blinks, ‘did that just happen?’
‘National pistol champion back in the mid-eighties,’ Joan says, twitching her aim back to the second boy knowing a chest wound might not be fatal. ‘Someone get the rifles from those horrid young men. Of course, that was before they banned handguns in the UK. We used to go to Spain after that. Well, until Arthur had his stroke that is. Come on, stop dithering, pick those rifles up before the water gets into them.’
Three shots from behind. Not an assault rifle but a pistol fired and something about the way the shots ring out makes Lilly pause from turning to run in that direction. They were precise, almost timed like how Dave would fire but now nothing. Just silence. The fear for her brother is acute. The sense of urgency to run and protect him is overwhelming but this has to be finished. She goes to shout, thinks and stops herself. Her eyes still wide and unblinking. Figures running from the front gate along the wall towards the police office. More further up spilling out of the old armoury with muffled shouts that she just about catches.
The ones from the inner gate will get there first. Three of them. Four coming from the other direction and there will be more spilling out of rooms blinking awake and more coming from the outer gate. Thirty of them. Eighteen or nineteen left.
On her knees and she keeps her profile low. Using the rain and darkness to mask her position. She waits, watching for the three to reach the room. Flicking her head side to side to track the positions of the other four coming from the other side.
The first three get closer to the offices. Shouting ahead, calling names and trying to work out what just happened. Inside the room the screams still come and they get louder as those inside hear their own friends coming.
Now. Move now. She gets to her feet and runs while staying ducked. She has to get closer. The three reach the door and run inside as she breaks into a sprint and once again pushes the rifle behind her. Twist and pull.
She twists.
She pulls.
The pin drops and she throws the grenade forward through the door where it rolls heavy and solid. She drops down onto one knee and in the four seconds of waiting she brings the rifle round and sweeps her aim along the wall trying to find the other four that were running down.
The grenade is louder this time. The door open and the energy is displaced through that open portal with a huge bang and a whoosh of air filled with litter and dust that scorches out metres into the open air only to be washed down by the rain pouring from the sky.
More screams sound out. More voices wailing from being struck by fragments spinning supercharged through the office to lacerate and flay the skin from their bones.
‘DOWN,’ Liam’s voice screaming the order. His mind faster than many of the others. One explosion. Three shots. A second explosion and he tells his crew to get down and wait.
Lilly can’t see them. She backs up, dropping away from the light of the offices and slinking into the darkness.
‘WHAT’S HAPPENING?’ Someone shouts from the other side. More voices call out. Someone from the area of the gate screaming to know what’s going on.
Still she drops back, pacing through the puddles as she tries to discern the shapes on the ground and the contours of the wall while all the time the air in front of her is distorted by the water hammering that serves to reduce the noise.
She knows they are in that direction but without them moving or shouting she can’t gain the precise location. They will be watching too. Staring into the darkness to see shapes and shades.
‘LILLY?’ Pea’s voice shouting her name but she can’t answer for fear of giving her position away.
‘LILLY?’ Sam joins in, shouting urgently, ‘BILLY IS FINE…WE’VE KILLED THE THREE HERE…’
An assault rifle fires, one shot, two shots. A scream that cuts off instantly.
‘…AND ANOTHER ONE NOW TOO,’ Sam shouts after a brief pause.
She wants desperately to shout back, to tell them she is okay but Liam is there, watching, waiting. She sweeps her aim along the ground straining to see anything that could be a person.
‘BILLY IS FINE…WE’VE KILLED THE THREE HERE…’
‘There,’ someone yelps. Joan swings round, the rifle butt nestled in her shoulder. Relaxed yet poised and she tracks the shapes running through the darkness. They call to each other. The older kids shouting. The noise gives her precise direction and she fires once, dropping the running figure who screams as the round takes her through the stomach. She fires again, blowing the skull out and bringing silence to their area.
‘Fuck,’ Sam whispers, ‘AND ANOTHER ONE NOW TOO.’
‘Can you hear her?’ Pea asks, straining as hard as Lilly but they can only see a few feet out from their position. The darkness is so great, the rain so heavy. In the distance the orange lights of the police office glow blurred and indistinct but they heard the second explosion and the new screams filling the air.
Confusion now. Something is happening. The crews shout to each other, desperate to know what’s going on.
It must be Lilly. It has to be Lilly. ‘Why isn’t she answering?’ Sam asks, holding an assault rifle, ‘and how do you use this thing?’
‘Point and shoot, my dear,’ Joan says, holding her rifle aimed and ready, ‘but please do not point them at each other or anyone else…just those you intend to kill…in fact, may I do the firing and you two can pass me yours when mine runs out. Is that okay?’
‘Fuck yeah,’ Sam snorts, shaking her head from the speed in which everything is happening.
‘LILLY?’ Pea shouts again, worried sick at where the girl is.
‘Perhaps she cannot answer,’ Joan says, shouting over the children now crying from being woken by the gunshots booming so close to them.
She cannot answer and the stand-off ensues with tension mounting. Four against one. All of them trying to see the other and knowing they are there. Lilly knows the shouts of her name from Pea and Sam have told Liam it is her pressing the attack and Liam would have also heard them shout they have killed three. That raises the stakes.
Blowers told her how to use the grenade but another of their group taught her something else too. A distraction has to be something visual and something audible. Dave’s words. Dave the coldest killer amongst them. Nothing can kill Dave. Nick told her that.
Visual and audible.
She twists.
She pulls.
The pin drops and she throws overhand as hard as possible and risking the movement of being seen. She drops and waits. One. Two. Three. Four. The explosion booms in the open air. A huge bang that sends water pluming into the air with a scorch of flames that give light in the darkness. Visual and audible. She runs, sprinting the second the detonation comes. Heading closer to the area she knows Liam is hiding. She risks seconds of motion before dropping down to lie flat and still. Watching. Waiting.
Closer now and she scans the ground, holding her upper body up from the puddles with the strength of her stomach muscles that radiate pain within seconds. Her body is exhausted and hurts everywhere but still she finds the energy to keep going. Something in her refusing to stop or give in.
She spots the first shape of the figure hugging the ground. Just a low rise that seems blacker and darker from the water in which it lays. It must be one of them. She tracks either side of the shape, seeing another one further back then another off to the left. Three of them now clear. There were four but she knows not where the last one is.
The shapes move and twitch. Hushed voices whispering in panic. She can’t hear the words but just snatches of tone that imply great fear. Another voice, calmer than the others. That must be Liam giving orders to stay still and stay quiet.
Her rifle aims on the closest. Her eyes staring down th
e length of the barrel to the shape that she knows is human form. Someone with a life who has fears and hopes the same as everyone else. Someone with a heart and brain, with feelings and emotions. Just like her brother who was made to stay outside hungry in the rain.
She fires. The round spins from the barrel splitting the air apart as it reaches subsonic speed and punches to more than double the speed of sound. By the time the noise of the shot hits her ears, so the boy is struck with the 5.56 round slamming down through his shoulder and shredding organs as it travels through his body to come out his lower back. He doesn’t scream or shout but dies silent and fast. His blood leaking red to turn pink in the puddles about his body.
Direction is gained. The other two shapes twitch to move. She fires again and this round does get a response as a huge scream rips through the air and the figure rolls onto its back clutching its leg.
‘STAY QUIET YOU DUMB CUNTS,’ Liam shouts, his voice somehow calm but showing exasperation at his comrades.
‘MY LEG…MY FUCKIN’ LEG…’
The third shape stands quickly with her arms reaching up to the sky and the rifle left in the water by her feet.
‘Don’t shoot…please…’ she calls out, plaintive and terrified, ‘don’t shoot me…I give up…’
Give up? This isn’t a game. She’s shot dead and the pink mist from her skull exploding hangs in the air for a second after her body drops.
‘FUCK!’ Liam shouts seeing the girl shot down, ‘WHO IS THAT? WHO IS FIRING?’
‘What’s a spit roast, Liam?’ Lilly calls out, her voice shouting to be heard over the boy screaming in pain from his kneecap being shot out.
‘LILLY? FUCK…THAT YOU?’
‘What’s a spit roast, Liam?’
His eyes go wide. His heart missing beats as he scrabbles back into the base of the wall. His mind working frantic and fast. He was going to give up too if the girl hadn’t of been shot. Now there’s no way out. No escape. A round slams into the wall feet away but still too close for comfort. He suppresses the yelp and blinks furiously.