“Fucking bouncers…” he uttered, running his fingertips down the purpley-pink tramline. The rest of his six-foot-four, nineteen-stone frame fared the same: scars from knife attacks, bites and dents all over from punches and kicks, not to mention the grotty ink comprising flaming ace cards and naked women.
He was a product of his business and the underworld he’d grown up in, which in turn had stemmed from Jason being a victim of his youth—a casualty to the anarchy that had stormed within his guts throughout his teenage years.
“Ah well, fuck it! I was never destined to be the next brains of fucking Britain,” he told his reflection. “I’m destined to be fucking rich. To have all the wonga in the world and to be able to spoil my children and give them the life I never had.”
Jason pulled the cuff of his black jumper back to check his watch and noticed it was almost midday. “Time’s kicking on!” He’d arranged to meet the gang at an abandoned airstrip outside the city by one o’clock. Once gathered, they would go through the plan a final time before putting it into action.
Before heading out the door, Jason checked his gear, which was located in a bag by his side: balaclava, flashlight, sawn-off shotgun, tape, rope, explosives, ammo, passport, spare clothes, and a few other bits and pieces.
He zipped the sports bag up, flung it over his shoulder, and headed out the door.
At precisely five-to-one, Jason was at the meet zone. Big Bobby Briggs, explosives expert and getaway driver, was leaning against his Transit van smoking a fag. He kindly informed Jason that the others were in the back, ready to rock-and-roll.
The ‘Big’ part of Bobby’s name was a slight faux-pas on one of the other gang members’ behalf. He’d been told Bobby was a giant of a man when enlisting a fresh face into the team. When Bobby turned up for his ‘interview’, Jason had told him that he was not applying for a job as a Christmas elf. Bobby had seen the funny side and was called Big Bob from that moment on.
Jason entered the back of the van and greeted his boys—it had been a while. There was Juice: all-round scout, weapons merchant and safe-cracker. His job would be to get Jason’s children to the airport. A car was awaiting him across the street from the jewellers.
Harry ‘Wires’ Peterson was the man to knock out electrics. He would be taking care of the cameras and whatnot within Hopkins from the safety of the sewer system, which he possessed the blueprints to. Before Jason stepped foot out of the van, Wires would be sent under the street to kill everything before returning, enabling the gang to simply march into the shop.
Bosco, hard man of the crew, was not much of a thief but was a cracking streetfighter who’d rolled with Jason and his team for years. His body and fists had come in handy many a time when they’d been looking to make a quick buck. He would be Jason’s support on the inside, along with Wires, while Bobby waited in the van.
After greeting his lads, Jason told Bobby to get behind the wheel and wait for his command. Jason laid out photos, plans and blueprints on the van floor for them all to see.
“Bosco, as soon as we get inside make sure you take all the guards down. Without panic buttons, cameras, and silent alarms to worry about, we should be fine. Once they’re taken care of, and we have the keys to the vault, I’ll take Hopkins down there and clean the place out. The scarab is the most important piece! Do we all know what we’re doing?” The crew nodded and murmured amongst themselves. “Good. I don’t want fuck-ups. We pull this off, we’re set for life. Bobby, get this piece of shit rolling!”
By twenty-to-three, the Transit was parked opposite the Hopkins and Sons jewellery store. The street was bustling with shoppers, which was perfect—the throng of people would provide the perfect cover. Jason and his boys would be lost faces in a sea of consumers.
“Right, Wires, off you go, there’s a good lad! We’re slightly behind schedule, so don’t go pissing about down there, playing with the rats. Get your job done and your arse back here pronto. Capiche?”
The bespectacled fella nodded, grabbed his bag, and exited the van without a word.
Jason poked his head between the driver and passenger seats and watched as Wires jogged across the road before slipping down an alley. He looked at his watch and gave his man thirty minutes, even though it had only taken between eighteen and twenty-two on their trial runs.
He turned back to his boys and looked at Juice. “Okay, Juicy. Your turn!”
“I’m ready, boss man.”
“Come here,” Jason said, leaning between the front seats again. “See that Ford Fiesta over there?”
“The black one?”
“That’s it. Here’s the keys.” He placed them in Juice’s hand. “Take good care of my children, and make sure you get them to the airport in one piece. Got it?”
“Of course, boss. You can trust me. We’re like brothers.”
“I know,” Jason said, throwing his arms around the man and pulling him close to his chest. “When this is over, we’re going to be stinking rich!” The others cheered. “Now, off you go.”
Just like he’d done with Wires, Jason watched his man through the window before sitting beside Bosco. He looked at his watch—eight minutes had passed. A tightness knotted Jason’s guts as he listened to the seconds thunder down. Not much longer, he thought. He always got tense before a raid.
Jason closed his eyes and willed his stomach to stop flip-flopping. Bosco and Bobby were talking, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. Everything seemed muffled, distorted almost.
“Looks like he’s on his way back, boss!” Bosco said, giving Jason’s arm a tap.
Jason opened his eyes and stood. He saw Wires running across the street. “Open the doors for him, Bos.” The muscleman did as instructed, allowing Wires entry to the van. He jumped in. “Everything run smooth?”
“Yeah…” Wires gasped. “Fucking simple! Nobody suspected a thing.”
“Right, let’s fucking roll!” Jason said, removing his balaclava from the holdall and placing it on his head, so that it looked like a woolly hat. He zipped the bag back up and put it over his shoulder. The others did the same.
Jason moved across the street with Bosco breathing down his neck. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw Wires was a few steps behind. In the van, Bobby nodded at him. Jason returned it.
Nobody seemed to notice the darkly-dressed, slightly conspicuous men. People were too busy rushing around; shoppers mixed with business types, who were eating on the go.
Just after they entered the jewellers, they dropped their balaclavas and removed their sawn-offs from their bags.
“Everybody get down on the fucking ground! Now!” Jason yelled, firing a warning shot into the ceiling. Glass and plaster exploded and cascaded down around him. Customers yelled and screamed. Before anyone could escape, Wires had the main door locked, the blinds drawn, with Bosco manhandling the guard on the top floor. When Bosco had the man to ground and cuffed, he went and sought out the others.
Within ten minutes, Jason and his boys had everything under control: all the guards were on the floor, cuffed and rendered useless, with the customers lined up against the window. Bosco and Wires had their guns on them.
“Anyone fucking cracks a fart, let alone moves, gets a cunting round to the back of their skull!” Bosco said. He had one sole foot placed on top of the guard at his feet. The women wept and grizzled, but the men tried to look tough by keeping their shit together.
“Now, Mr. Hopkins,” Jason said, walking around the counter and grabbing the old, frail-looking man by the collars of his jacket and yanking him close to his face. “This nastiness can be over and done with in the next few minutes, if you’d be so kind to give us what we want!”
“Yea… Yeah, anything! Just don’t hurt anyone…”
“Give me the keys to your vaults downstairs!” Hopkins shot his son a nervous glance, who shook his head in return. Sweat broke across the old man’s forehead. “Are you telling me no?” Jason asked, stuffing the barrel of his sawn-off und
er the father’s chin. “I’ll blow your fucking brains out all over your fucking ceiling, cunt!”
“Nothing from below can be taken…” the son said.
Jason looked at him. “Oh, is that so?”
The boy nodded. He couldn’t have been much older than thirty.
“It’s true, sir,” the father said. “Many sacred items. They can’t be tampered with. Please, take everything from up here!”
“That’s very kind of you, but I want what’s in your basement. The rare, priceless stuff. Now, give me the fucking keys… I won’t ask again.”
“I… I can’t…” Hopkins said.
Jason pushed the old man away from him and cracked him across the bridge of his nose with his sawn-off. Bone cracked; blood squirted up Jason’s balaclava and splashed across one of the glass display cabinets.
“Now, motherfucker!”
“Dad!”
“Back the fuck off, junior!” Jason said, levelling his gun at the younger man’s chest.
“Here, take the keys!” He removed them from around his neck and tossed them at Jason.
“Thanks.” Jason snatched the keys from out of the air and grabbed Hopkins. “Come on, son. You’re coming with me. Boys, keep an eye on the lad.”
“Will do, boss,” Wires said.
“Up!” Jason told the old man, helping him to his feet by yanking him unceremoniously up off the floor. He then pushed him towards the entry leading to the back room, where Jason knew there was a set of steps leading to the vaults. “Move!” he bellowed, giving Hopkins another push.
The man rushed forward, tripped, and fell headlong down the stairs. He yelped and screamed as he tumbled with a crash. When his body hit the wall at the bottom, Jason laughed, especially as he could see the man had not seriously hurt himself—he was still moving.
Jason casually walked down the steps and clutched Hopkins by his jacket. He then dragged him along the floor behind him. When he got to the room with the vault he was looking for, he forced Hopkins to open the door. Once inside, Jason demanded the vault be opened, much to Hopkins’ protests.
Upstairs, he could hear his boys clearing the glass cabinets of their goodies. A smile stretched across his face.
“I beg you, don’t take these possessions!” Hopkins pleaded.
Jason didn’t have time for this. He had a schedule to keep and a plane to catch. He snatched the keys out of the man’s hand, levelled his sawn-off, and pulled both triggers. But only one barrel roared with gunfire.
Because of the shortness of range, the cartridge ploughed through the man’s chest, and the ferocity of impact took Hopkins off his feet and propelled him backwards. His back hit the vault, and he slid down, leaving behind a bloody, slug-like trail. The spray of ball bearings peppered the walls and floor and burst certain objects within the room, such as framed photos and glassware. A thick, cloying smoke filled with the stench of gun oil permeated the air.
Jason coughed and looked at Hopkins. The man’s mouth was flapping like he was a fish out of water. Blood trails snaked down either side of his mouth; bubbles of crimson burst as he tried to speak. Jason was shocked the man was still breathing, because Hopkins had a crater the size of a fist in his chest.
“Get out of my fucking way!” Jason raged, grabbing Hopkins’ ankles and dragging him to one side.
It took Jason a little longer to gain access to the vault because he had to sort through the keys until he found the ones he needed to ‘open sesame’. Once he gained access, he drained the secure safes and dumped everything into his bag.
Before leaving the room, he removed the precious scarab and pocketed it. He then made his way upstairs, reloading his sawn-off as he went. He thought he might start feeling guilty about blowing the old cunt away, but no. It was rather pleasing, actually! It was the first time he had killed anyone, even though he had been offered hits for jobs before. I’ve hurt enough people in my time, so who knows—one or two of them may have died on a hospital gurney somewhere.
He shrugged and continued walking. When he got upstairs, he turned right and walked the length of the corridor until he was back in the main room. Wires was standing over a woman with a bleeding mouth.
“She was giving cheek, so I shut her the fuck up!”
“Fair enough,” Jason said. “Have you two cleaned everything out?”
“Yeah,” Bosco and Wires said in unison.
“Where’s my father?!” Hopkins Jr. asked.
“Dead, motherfucker. Just like you will be if you don’t get down on your hands and fucking knees, cunt!” Jason spat. “Boys, get the door.”
He heard the locks clack. Outside, Bobby pulled up, the tyres of the Transit screeching to a halt. Slowly, Jason backed out the door, keeping his gun trained on Hopkins’ son, who was crying. When he got to the threshold, he noticed Bosco and Wires were holding the door for him.
When he stepped outside, the floor started to shake violently—car alarms blared, people ran off screaming and crying while others took cover in doorways, bus-shelters, and under parked cars. The concrete in the road split and widened by a good forty feet, revealing a blinding array of red and orange.
Jason watched as people fell into holes and crevices that were starting to appear—mothers, children, business people, the homeless. Mass hysteria kicked in as herds of people began stampeding. Buildings around them vibrated with such force that they collapsed into clouds of thick white dust and twisted metal.
Water pipes burst.
Telegraph poles snapped their wires—the live cables skipped across the pavements and roads like snakes from a sci-fi novel. People were either scorched, electrocuted, or blown off their feet as the downed lines cut destructive paths through the mobs.
The air filled with a dense smoke. From behind, Jason heard the customers inside the jewellery store screaming. Some of them fled, seemingly no longer caring if Jason and his gang shot them down.
“What the fuck?!” Bobby screamed out the driver’s side window. They were his last words, as the ground beneath the van burst apart and devoured the Transit.
“Jesus! Get back!” Jason told Bosco and Wires. Before heeding his own advice, he braved a look into the cavern. At the bottom of the ravine was a lake of molten lava. He watched as Bobby screamed his way down and plunged into the red-hot river. “This can’t be happening…” he muttered.
“Oh, but I’m afraid it is, sir!” Young Hopkins said. Jason turned to see a huge grin on the man’s face. “We’re all going to hell,” he bellowed.
“What the fuck is happening?” Bosco raged.
“We told you not to take artifacts from downstairs. They belong to the ever-powerful gods from worlds long forgotten.”
“Fuck you!” Jason screamed, lowering his gun and firing both barrels into Hopkins Jr.’s chest. The impact threw him through a glass case.
“What the hell did you do that for, boss?!” Wires said. “He was the only one who knows what’s going on here.”
“You don’t believe in all that mumbo-fucking-jumbo, do you? What we have here is an earthquake, gentlemen. As soon as it blows over, we’re out of here!”
“Try telling that to Bob…” Wires muttered.
“Do you want to fucking join him down that hole?!” Jason raised his voice to be heard over the screaming, charging people and blaring alarms. The gang had the entry to the shop completely blocked, as they stood huddled in the doorway.
“Like something out of a Spielberg film!” Bosco muttered.
All around them, concrete, mucky water, and earth were tossed into the air. Smoke belched out of storm drains. Jason could hear sirens somewhere in the distance. We need to make a move. The last thing we need is the boys in fucking blue turning up.
“Not like the UK to get an earthquake, especially one of this magnitude,” Wires thought aloud as the ground stopped shaking.
“See,” Jason said. “Right, let’s get—”
“What in all that’s holy?!” Bosco yelled. “Look!” He
pointed. “Over there! Are they what I think they are… No, surely not!”
Jason poked his head around the doorway to see what Bosco was pointing at. All the people in the street had stopped and were standing around, perhaps discussing the event and helping each other.
But they should have continued running.
In the near distance, not too far from the section of road Jason and his maintenance crew had been digging up a few years back, arms and heads started emerging from the ground. The limbs appeared to be rotten, the faces missing chunks of flesh.
“No. Fucking. Way!” Jason screamed.
“It’s whatever you took from downstairs. Maybe if you put it back, we can reverse this?” Bosco suggested.
Before Jason could answer, his attention was drawn back to the streets—the crowds were now running and screaming once more, as more limbs and heads pushed up from the ground, followed by decayed bodies. This new threat pounced upon the terrified populace and ripped the flesh from their bodies and drank their blood.
Jason witnessed one woman getting flanked by what could only be described as the walking dead. They pinned her to the floor and ripped her blouse open and tore her skirt from her body. The dead clawed her torso open and snacked on her innards, then chewed through her naked tits and face.
Children were easily picked off, as their parents left them behind to run for the hills. Soon, the avenue was overrun by the rotten, groaning dead; their stench wafted down the street.
“Inside!” Jason screamed. They backtracked and slammed the door behind them. Wires was quick to engage the locks.
“What’s going on out there?!” a nervous teenage girl asked.
“You fucks are responsible for this!” a suited and booted man snapped.
“Fuck you!” Jason bit back, stepping up to the man and upper-cutting him. The blow sent the scrawny businessman to his arse.
“Calm down,” the teen said. “Arguing and fighting amongst ourselves isn’t going to help.”
Trapped Within Page 14