‘They’re asking Billy about the bag.’
‘He won’t talk. He knows nothing about the bag, you know.’
Billy scrabbled above the red embers, his new shoes kicking at the glowing coals.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Come up and watch.’
‘Nah, I’m okay. I’m ready to run and the air’s fresh down here.’
A spark shot up Billy’s trousers and small flames licked at his rolled cuffs. The digger man placed Billy on the hot coals and I yelped in alarm.
‘What?’ Tommy said. He jumped at the loft, trying to get a hold on the rough planks.
‘Nothing, nothing,’ I said. I didn’t want Tommy witnessing the pain his brother endured.
Flames caught on both Billy’s legs. He jumped from foot to foot fanning the voracious fire. I couldn’t watch and jumped from the loft to the dirt floor. Tommy grabbed me and pushed me up against the work bench.
‘What?’ he kept repeating.
Billy’s cries carried through the warped wooden panels. ‘We need to save Billy,’ I said. ‘You run toward the laneway and I’ll run toward the service track to the overpass. We have to get them off Billy. Don’t look at Billy, eh? Just run. It’s us they want, not Billy. They’ll give chase so be ready to run hard.’
The bolts stuck and Tommy and I busted our shoulders against the thin wooden door. We fell out of Blacky’s shed and landed in the dirt. Billy’s short legs stamped at the coals and his hands flapped at the flames. The stout man’s grip gave Billy no room to dodge the heat or lose the flames.
The man on the sofa stood, pushing on the armrest as his hand reached for his gun. I grabbed my hunting knife and Tommy ignored my instructions and ran for his brother.
The man pulled his gun as Tommy neared the furnace. I threw the knife as the gun sighted on Tommy.
The knife hit him hard in the chest, the blade burying itself to the hilt. He staggered to the side, his hands clutching at the shaft as he fell against the furnace. He reached out, his hand landing in the hot coals, his coat catching fire as he screamed in agony and dropped to his knees.
The man holding Billy dropped him on the fire.
Flames raged on Billy’s lower half. As he went to jump, Tommy barged into the squat man knocking his weapon from his grasp. He caught Billy and threw him to the ground and rolled him over and over in the dirt, flapping at the flames.
I threw my coat at Tommy as the man tried to stand. With a hard kick to his face I took off, running for the passageway leading to Smelly Alley. Tommy ran with Billy wrapped in my coat heading for the allotments. A gun fired at my back and pushed me to up my pace and keep my head low. I kept to the dark of the passageway, trying to keep my footfall soft and my movement smooth.
More shots fired as I hit the lane leading me to Smelly Alley and the town square. Chips of brick spat at me, but I kept running, puffing hard, my heart pounding and bouncing against my ribcage. A stitch brewed and my legs ached, my shins bitching with each clumsy step.
A soldier slept in a jeep guarding the square. The screen flashed and squawked as I slunk past, my back to the dark of the buildings. Behind me, I could see the stout man with his black hat in place and a gun guiding him as he exited Smelly Alley. He tapped up the sleeping soldier, waving his gun in the air and headlights picked me out against the blackened wall of the Town Hall.
I froze, but at the order ‘Halt,’ I ran.
My escape route took me along Ostere Lane, between Sylvia’s Coffee Shop and Ahmed’s Emporium. A narrow overgrown path traveled across the back of Ahmed’s shop and opened into the alley behind the Old Poet. The swinging sign—a man in top hat and tail—squeaked in the wind. I threw myself against the door and banged at the window.
The jeep flashed by the alley heading toward the High Street, but the fat digger man shouted, spotting me cowering against the back door. I couldn’t wait for Ivan or the clown to open the door.
The toilet window sat open, ventilating the noxious odor. I jumped onto the bin, eased my legs through the open window and stepped onto the rickety sink. I pulled the window closed, snipped it shut and dropped to the damp floor trying to calm my breathing and slow my heart. Each breath hurt on intake and perspiration dripped from my face and down my arse.
Tommy should be safe with the Ferals. The man left at Blacky’s needed to pull a knife out of his chest before he considered harming others. A fist pounded on the back door and a light shone against the dirty frosted toilet window. I cringed against the rusted urinal until I heard the jeep drive away from the pub.
I stepped over the puddle lapping at the toilet door. ‘The river Ost must be high,’ I muttered. Ivan occupied the spot light, the fairy lights strobing on his balding crown. The clown sat on a chair facing the stage, swaying and clapping with the music. The slow melody suited Ivan’s baritone. It gave him time to sop on his drink and puff on the cigar. I waved to them both as I ran for the front door. ‘Lock it behind me, eh?’
I ran across the cobbled lane and stopped a foot inside the cemetery gate. The lone streetlight shone full on my position and left me open to the sniper I’d met earlier. My heart pounded and I’d lost all ability to breathe without gasping. I slid deep into shadow and stalked the far side of the grounds, stopping to watch the mausoleum steps. Though I worried about the sniper, my curiosity was piqued by the open grave and Linda’s no show.
Where was the girl who rejected me after a lifetime of encouraging me?
Had the vicar rescued the child from the grave?
Had she heard the gun fire and chosen not to meet?
Or maybe the sniper shot the girl and she couldn’t keep the appointment.
The sound of the loud jeep in the quiet forced me to run. The child in the open grave and the Linda puzzle needed to be tackled in daylight. I hit the slagheap at a sprint, my legs struggling with the incline and the litter. Behind me the jeep clattered along Church Lane, pushing me to breach the summit. My rapid descent caused an avalanche of refuse and I tripped and slid to the bottom on my arse.
The dog lay stretched out on the sofa. I skirted to the side of the allotments, keeping well back from the black sedan. The man sat with a lit cigarette in his mouth, a bloodied bandage held to his chest and his hand and arm wrapped in a scarf. I’d hit the Black Hatted man with a serious knife and he’d lived to smoke a fag with his good hand.
I jumped the fence to the allotments and blended into the foliage as the jeep bounced over the service road and parked beside the black sedan. The fat man, climbed out of the vehicle, his gun aimed toward the allotments. With a first aid kit in hand, the soldier tended the wound, removing the knife, cleaning and redressing before shaking his head at the state of the man’s burnt hand. He helped him into the jeep and they exited toward the overpass.
Once I saw the taillights disappear I left the allotments, happy to leave the creepy sounds and deep dark foliage. I retrieved my bloodied knife from the ground beside the sedan as Tommy wheeled his brother to the furnace in a wheelbarrow.
‘Call an ambulance,’ he said. ‘Billy’s dying.’
I took his phone and dialed, pressing hands free so I could help Tommy get his brother out of the barrow. Tommy sat on the sofa with Billy’s head resting in his lap. Green slimy leaves covered Billy’s lower half. I pointed at the foliage as I listened to the recorded message.
‘The Ferals, well, Mrs. Feral, put them on. She reckons they take the heat out of the burn and treat the puss and stuff. I don’t know. Ben, he’s not conscious. And he keeps whimpering and crying out. He’s going to be all right isn’t he?’
‘For sure.’
A human voice spoke. ‘Ambulance, do you have insurance?’ the operator asked.
‘Who has insurance?’
Tommy touched me on the arm, his head nodding. ‘Really?’ I said. Billy and Tommy lived rough, scavenged for scraps and shared my rocket fuel, so how, or who, paid their premiums?
‘Yes, both parties are insured. One ha
s serious burns to his body and the other has…’ I looked at Tommy, at his arm.
‘I’ve been shot. My arm’s broken.’
‘The other person has a broken arm.
‘We’re at the old brewery estate below the overpass.’
I returned the phone to Billy’s jacket pocket. ‘You all right?’ I said.
‘Yeah, I reckon I’ll live. Arm hurts big time, but we stopped them killing me brother, didn’t we?’
Billy’s face shaded white and his breathing rasped with shallow desperate gulps.
‘Sure we did. Listen, I’m out of here. I need to get back to Tilly’s. I’ve got weapons stashed and a load of tidying up to do.’
Tommy nodded. ‘Good girl, that Tilly and it’s nice you going round there to clean up. You working hard on this one is good, you know.’
‘Bugger off. You’re delirious.’ I chose not to share the gory details decorating Tilly’s house.
‘What sort of weapons does she have?’
Tommy’s head listed against the sofa and his hand, which had been stroking Billy’s head, slapped at his cheek with feeble attempts at tenderness.
‘Tilly received visitors earlier today and I took their weapons in return for them dying. Bit nasty really.’
He looked at me and smiled. ‘What are you like? More bodies and in Tilly’s house? She isn’t going to be happy, you know? You got to be worse than the plague.’
A siren sounded and an ambulance crossed the overpass and turned into the narrow side road leading to Blacky’s car park. ‘Good service if you got insurance, eh Tommy? I’m out of here.’
He lifted his head and smiled, but his head fell back as the ambulance pulled up to Blacky’s shed.
A man in dark green jumped from the vehicle and approached. The dog growled. The dog never growls.
I smiled and pointed at Billy. ‘Serious burns to his legs and abdomen.’ I pointed at Tommy. ‘He’s been shot I think.’
As the paramedic bent to inspect Billy’s injuries the dragon bus pulled into the compound and parked beside the stable. Jackie stepped out of the driver’s side of the vehicle and stood at ease watching the ambulance men at work. Two Project soldiers exited from the side door and stood in shadow with hands on guns. Jackie stopped by Blacky’s shed, standing with his arms folded. I approached, not that keen on talking with the man as I hadn’t made any progress with the bag.
We shook hands and we both faded into the shadow, leaning against the rough wood of the shed. ‘I can’t find the damn bag Jackie, but I’m not the only one who can’t find it. Jesus man every one’s looking for this bloody bag. I was in Tilly’s house yesterday afternoon and two coppers and two Black Hats shot the crap out of each other. Blood and gore, a right splatter fest and all because they thought I’d hidden the damn bag at Tilly’s.
‘These Black Hats are everywhere. Nab’s dead because of that damn bag. Well maybe not because of the bag but because he covered my arse yesterday, eh? I didn’t ask him to, no way, but they’ve just shot and buried him over by the brewery wall.
‘Seriously I don’t know where the damn bag is.’
‘You will find bag.’
‘I’m no betting man Jackie,’ I said to his retreating back. ‘But it’s not looking good. I still think it’s the Slotvaks, but asking them isn’t something a boy should do on his own. They’re the only folk in the square when Marvin arrived with the bag. And they’re right bloody thieves. If it isn’t nailed down the Slotvaks will have it, eh?
‘Seriously.’
But Jackie wasn’t listening.
The ambulance man jumped into the vehicle and the driver slammed the doors shut. The ambulance performed a slow turn before heading for the overpass.
I turned toward the passageway leading to town center as the dragon bus followed the ambulance. The ambulance didn’t have the flashing lights on or the siren sounding, which I assumed to be good news.
Chapter Twenty-One
Where’s the bloody Rug
I checked into a hotel between Tilly’s house and Upper Ostere well away from the army patrolling the curfew. The wad of Black Hat cash convinced the night clerk a room could be made available to a vagrant and I slept big time after a hot shower. In the morning I tucked the starched napkin into my crusty shirt before grazing long and hard at the breakfast table.
I detoured via Blacky’s shed, dumping the cash from the Black Hats pockets up the arse end of the sofa. The hound needed a fuss and his food and water bowl required filling. I opened the stables and gave the donkey a rub, sorted his feedbag and filled the trough.
I dumped coal on top of the smoking embers and gave the bellows a pump. The hound and I stretched out on the sofa for a period watching the coals glow.
‘Four dead bodies, eh, old boy?’ The dog’s ears perked up and its head turned to listen. ‘And Tilly’s rug. She loves that rug. An ex-boyfriend brought that thing back from a crazy part of the world where they bang their heads on the ground and stupid stuff like that. I mean, you weren’t allowed to stand on its precious fibers. Why put it on the floor if it’s that valuable, eh?’
***
Noon found me standing outside Tilly’s house, her front door ajar and the cat performing a figure of eight between my legs. The door protested and lurched on its one remaining hinge. The cat skipped inside, but I stopped at the coat rack staring at the bare wooden floor. Not so many hours ago a copper and bucket of blood blocked the doorway. When I left Tilly’s house, the hoodlum with the ponytail lay curled like a suckling babe and Zac, nursing an armful of bloodied gizzards, propped up the rear door. The house stood empty. Not even the fat copper lay sucking on Tilly’s precious rug.
The floorboards across the whole house looked clean. No flowers or shards of glass beneath the dining table. No blood or random hats.
The cat and I approached the kitchen, turning in circles, bemused by the state of Tilly’s house. Someone had cleaned the entire house and I prayed Tilly hadn’t come home early.
‘And where is the bloody rug?’ I leant against the server looking at Tilly’s lounge and shrugged. ‘Where the bloody hell have they gone?’
A slow, lazy voice answered me. ‘Somewhere safe.’
The gun pointing at me talked loud and clear. He leant against the foyer wall, dressed in the trending black tight-fitting suit with the obligatory white shirt and big black hat. I’d seen him in the allotments when Nab dug his grave. He gave the two thugs with the spades their instructions and left in the first car.
‘I’ve been looking for you.’
‘Congratulations. What do you guys want? A medal or a ticker-tape parade? We don’t have nothing worth nicking, eh? We scrounge and beg and steal to survive. Why the sudden interest in me?’
‘You know why. You have a bag that belongs to us.’
I took my backpack from my shoulders and proffered the tatty item. ‘There’s a crusty loaf in there and a block of ham not smelling so nice. Still edible, so long as you wash it down with lots of vodka and breathe through your mouth.’
He lifted the gun and clicked and flicked something suggesting he was moments away from firing the damn thing. ‘You know the bag I mean.’
I lifted my backpack onto my shoulder, my hand resting on the opening, ready to reach for my bread knife. ‘I don’t know of any other bags. Your mates were looking through Tilly’s wardrobe. So, are we talking about something slinky with diamantes? If we are then you’ve got the wrong girl. She likes hessian, hemp and bright colors, eh?’
‘Humor in the face of death must be applauded, but, as you well know, I’m talking about a long sports bag.’
‘Right. Not seen one of them. Well not recently. It’s not something I need in my life. I mean I only carry the backpack to hide the vodka.’
‘I like your spunk and pluck young man,’ he said. ‘But we saw Marvin hand the bag to you in the square. We believe he asked you to hold it because he was feeling the heat and we’re certain it’s here because you can’t keep
away.’
‘Pardon, but my girl lives here. I came back to tidy up her house after two of your buffoons shared bullets with Ostere’s finest Law enforcers.’
‘So you were here for the massacre. How come you got to walk out when four idiots shared lead?’
I shrugged. ‘They didn’t know I was here, not until the firing stopped, eh?’
‘Well there you go.’ He lowered his weapon. ‘Kept out of it, did you?’
He stepped forward and tapped me on the chest with his gun, his finger flexing against the trigger, the nail bitten too bloody short.
‘Shame my two didn’t follow your lead.’
The gun dropped to his side, the nervous finger still on the trigger, but the muzzle no longer threatening my body. I shuffled back into the kitchen, took a deep breath and wiped a trickle of sweat from my brow.
‘So now we got two dead coppers blocking up the back door of the city morgue and you …’ He points the gun back at my chest and smiles. ‘A witness to the bloody chaos and not playing the game to our rules.’
He stepped forward and swung the gun, slapping me across the cheek with the side of the weapon. I squawked in pain and dropped to my knees. ‘And you took the piss out of two of my men last night and we still don’t have the bag.’
From the floor, with one hand on my cheek and the other hand clutching the handle of the knife in my backpack, I smiled. I had nothing to smile about, but I thought it amusing that they saw me as their answer.
‘You think you’re smart, don’t you,’ he said.
‘No, but your men are stupid and I can’t see how that’s my fault. They’re big and tough, but got no street smarts, do you know what I mean, eh? Me and my homeless folk are scrapping every minute of every bloody day, but you guys swan around in your mega cars with leather trim. You guys lose the hunger. Maybe you don’t pay ‘em enough or, worse, you pay ‘em too much.’
He walked away and my hand gripped the bread knife, but let it go. The knife’s sole purpose related to slicing bread, not sailing through the air and sticking folk. It resembled an axe and I needed a tomahawk. I reached to my calf pocket and touched the hunting knife.
No More Heroes-#1 Dystopian Thriller Heroes Series Page 13