The Last Weekend

by Julie Morrigan

  ‘Where are the others?’ he asked, when they got back to the barn. George was the only one there.

  ‘Dead. Killed in the hunt. We’re expecting fresh prey soon, so we’ll put you out again next time, see if you can survive two hunts. If you can get through three, we might let you go.’

  ‘Is there any food?’

  ‘Food and coffee coming up in a few. Then you’d best get some rest, eh.’

  Shaking, George lay down in the pile of blankets in the corner of the pen and waited for his supper.

  Chapter 11

  In the afternoon of the last Friday in January, a cold but bright day, Jimmy strolled out from the terminal building at Aberdeen airport. He had a small rucksack slung over one shoulder. He didn’t need much; just enough for a day or two. He glanced around and spotted a minibus with a sign in the window: ‘The Last Weekend’. He climbed on to the bus and looked around. Three people were already seated: two men and a woman.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, as he sat down in one of the front seats.

  ‘We’re to sit where our names are,’ said the woman. ‘Look for your name. They’re on the back of the seat in front.’

  Jimmy stood up and looked at the back of the seat he’d been sitting in; he saw a neatly handwritten card that read ‘SpeedKing’. He remembered that was one of the rules – they would only know each other by nicknames this weekend. He had to start thinking of himself as ‘Indigo’; that was the name he would be answering to, after all. He wouldn’t be ‘Jimmy’ again until he was dead. He kept looking until he found the right seat, then sat himself down again. He was in the window seat, three rows back on the left. He nodded at the woman, who was staring at him. She was seated across the way, in the aisle seat.

  ‘I’m JunkieScum,’ she said. She tucked a strand of fine blonde hair behind her ear. She was painfully thin, translucent skin stretched across her skull, jawline a razor edge.

  ‘Indigo,’ said Jimmy, leaning over and offering his hand. The woman’s hand felt like a glove full of bones. Indigo held it gently; it felt awfully fragile and he didn’t want to break anything.

  The young man directly in front of Indigo turned in his seat. ‘Technogeek,’ he said, by way of introduction. He resembled a depressed Albert Einstein, wild-haired and yet deeply unhappy. His eyes were the most amazing shade of green, large and luminous. Indigo shook his hand, then turned to the man seated in front of JunkieScum. He looked to be in his sixties and he wore a scowl that might have been permanent.

  ‘I suppose you want me to be all nice and friendly as well, do you?’ he said. ‘Well, I don’t see the point. It’s not like we’re going to have a long-term relationship, now, is it?’

  ‘Even so—’ Indigo began.

  ‘Don’t waste your breath,’ advised JunkieScum. ‘He’s called “DeadManWalking”. I checked his card. He’s a right miserable old git.’

  The man humphed and threw himself back in his seat, then went back to ignoring everyone.

  ‘Morning!’ A man with shoulder-length blonde hair, wearing jeans, a leather bike jacket and a T-shirt emblazoned with the Triumph logo, clattered on to the bus.

  ‘You need to look for your name, it’s on the back of the seat in front,’ JunkieScum told him.

  He flashed her a big smile. ‘Okay, thanks, doll.’ He scanned the cards and slipped into the seat in front of Technogeek.

  ‘What’s your name?’ JunkieScum asked him.

  ‘SpeedKing.’

  Monkeyboy was next to arrive. He was a short pale man who walked with a stoop, and he took the seat next to JunkieScum. DeadManWalking muttered grumpily as BlackWidow, a middle-aged woman with a sweet face and deep, brown eyes, squeezed past him to take the window seat, then a striking young woman with auburn hair stepped aboard. Indigo’s heart rate picked up; if she sat in the aisle seat in front of him, then she was Mayfly. He was sure it was her; she looked right, he felt he knew her from speaking to her so often.

  When she saw him, she smiled. ‘Indigo, is that you?’

  He smiled back. ‘Guilty as charged. Hi, Mayfly.’ He stepped into the aisle, held his hand out, then felt that was too formal and put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheek. She hugged him.

  ‘Finally, we meet.’ She smiled into his eyes, then looked down, awkward to be meeting in such circumstances in front of a group of strangers.

  ‘Fucking marvellous!’ DeadManWalking exploded. ‘So now we’ve got love’s young dream on board, have we? And what have you two got in mind? The Reduced Shakespeare Company’s Romeo and Juliet experience, emphasis on the last act? Pah!’

  ‘Shut up!’ said JunkieScum. ‘Shut the fuck up, you miserable old twat! It’s none of your damn business!’

  As Indigo and Mayfly took their seats a skinny guy in black jeans and a Led Zeppelin T-shirt climbed on board. He had a small bag, like everyone else, and a hard guitar case.

  ‘And who are you? Alan-a-fucking-Dale?’

  The man grinned. ‘Nah, man,’ he said, unmoved by DeadManWalking’s tone. ‘I’m JacktheRiffer.’ He slipped into the window seat on the other side of the aisle to SpeedKing.

  ‘Ignore him,’ advised JunkieScum, then went through the introductions.

  ‘One more to go,’ observed Technogeek. They hadn’t long to wait. A young woman dressed in sludgy, shapeless clothing climbed on board. Her mousey hair was long and loose and she peered out from it just long enough to glance round at everyone, then with a deft flick of her head closed the curtain once more.

  ‘Over here,’ Indigo said. ‘This is your seat, next to me.’ It was the only one left with a name card in front of it. Scaredycat nodded, then slipped into the seat like a shadow.

  ‘Well, the gang’s all here.’ DeadManWalking injected sarcasm into every syllable.

  ‘Can’t you shut up?’ JunkieScum asked him.

  ‘Why don’t you, you skinny bitch?’

  ‘Fuck you!’

  ‘Good afternoon, everyone!’ The squabbling was interrupted by Reaperman as he, too, stepped on to the bus, accompanied by Helmand. ‘Are we all ready? Good. Let’s go.’

  Reaperman took a seat in the vacant row at the back of the minibus and Helmand occupied the driver’s seat, started the engine and closed the doors.

  As they drove out of the airport and got on the road, Mayfly twisted in her seat to talk to Indigo and they chatted comfortably. They tried to involve Scaredycat, who was sitting next to Indigo, and Technogeek, next to Mayfly, but they each seemed lost in their own thoughts. JunkieScum and DeadManWalking bickered, while JacktheRiffer and SpeedKing discovered a mutual love of heavy rock. Snippets of conversation drifted across Indigo’s radar.

  JacktheRiffer to SpeedKing: ‘What? You were there too? I can’t believe it! It was an awesome gig, man, truly awesome.’

  DeadManWalking to JunkieScum: ‘I don’t see why you even need to be here. Wouldn’t a dirty needle do the trick? Or just put a bit more of that shit in your arm than usual, that should do it. How can you afford it anyway? Fucking scuzzy bitch.’

  JunkieScum to DeadManWalking: ‘Fuck off, shitebag.’

  BlackWidow to them both, in a lazy drawl: ‘Will you two cut it out? For heaven’s sake, what is it with the both of you? Enough, already!’

  After about an hour and a half, Reaperman called for their attention. ‘Okay, people, listen up. If you look in the seat pocket in front of you, you’ll find an eye mask. I want each of you to put them on and to keep them on until I tell you otherwise.’

  ‘What’s this all about, man?’ asked JacktheRiffer, as he rummaged in the seat pocket.

  ‘I don’t want you to know exactly where we’re going. I need to keep the location secret.’

  ‘Okay, but it’s not like we’re coming back to tell anyone.’

  ‘Even so. I’d appreciate it.’

  ‘Okay, you’re the boss.’ He put the mask on. It made an effective blindfold.

  The bus was silent after that: something about not being able to see acted as a brake o
n people’s tongues. Mayfly wished she were sitting next to Indigo, or at least across the aisle – a seat from where she could easily reach out and take his hand. The contact would have been welcome. The bus twisted and turned as if negotiating a country road, the movement different after the faster roads they had travelled prior to being blindfolded. Time was difficult to gauge in their unseeing state. It wasn’t just that they couldn’t check their wristwatches, it was some intrinsic alteration of perception. Mayfly couldn’t have said with confidence whether it was twenty minutes or an hour before they heard Reaperman tell them they could remove their blindfolds. They did as he said. Even though the light had dimmed during the course of their journey, it was still brighter than they’d been used to and they blinked as their eyes became accustomed to it. The driver indicated and turned off the narrow road. They passed through a pair of brick pillars set within a high brick wall, imposing metal gates open in readiness for their arrival, then proceeded up a long, curving, tree-lined driveway. The minibus finally came to a halt in front of the house.

  Indigo got off the bus and stood and stared at the building, which loomed over him, dark and imposing. He couldn’t make out details in the gloaming, but he could see tall chimneys and a pitched roof, under which large windows like eyes reflected the red glow of the setting sun. A large overgrown garden filled with the dark, crouching shapes of bushes and tall, skeletal deciduous trees surrounded the house. The high brick wall penned everything in. Birds and small creatures skittered in the undergrowth, hiding from a chill wind that carried the threat of snow. As Indigo turned to Mayfly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark shadow pass an upstairs window. He turned back quickly and shivered.

  ‘What is it?’ said Mayfly.

  ‘Trick of the light. Hell of a house, isn’t it?’

  ‘Certainly is.’

  ‘Come, come,’ said Reaperman, as he bustled past them and headed for the front door. He took the key out of his pocket and let himself in, then started flicking switches to turn lights on and dispel the late afternoon gloom. They followed his lead into the oak-panelled hall, where they all gathered, a poor assortment of human detritus, the flotsam and jetsam of unsatisfactory lives. Most were quiet, shuffling and checking out the pattern on the quarry tiled floor. Partly this was a follow-on from the disorientation of being blindfolded, partly the fact that now they were actually there, the reason for their attendance was starting to hit home. They might have just walked in, but none of them would be walking out. Mayfly stepped up to Indigo’s side and slipped her hand into his. He squeezed it gently, taking comfort from the connection. Scaredycat clutched a handkerchief, JacktheRiffer, his guitar case. Someone sniffed wetly.

  Reaperman climbed the first few stairs to address the group from a higher vantage point. He raised a hand clutching a bunch of envelopes and waved them to get their attention. He dropped his hand as they turned in his direction. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, in his usual even, measured tones, ‘we need to be sure we all understand the ground rules.’ No one looked at him. This wasn’t the sort of group that would snap to attention when their leader called them to order. ‘I have all your declarations, so thank you for that.’ He saluted the group with the envelopes. ‘These declarations are the only place this weekend where your actual names will be revealed. While here, you should address each other only by your chosen nickname and you should not reveal your true identity to anyone else. Agreed?’

  They shuffled. Someone coughed.

  ‘Are we agreed?’ His voice was more forceful. ‘This is important. I need to hear you say that you agree, or else you may leave now and attempt to live the rest of your life in peace.’

  That was a terrifying thought. A chorus of agreement rippled through the group.

  ‘Good. Thank you.’ Reaperman tucked the envelopes away in his inside jacket pocket. They made an unsightly bulge, causing the fabric to hang awkwardly. ‘You have each selected the way in which you wish to die. If anyone has had second thoughts about that method and wishes to change his or her mind, then you should tell me before dinner.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s just coming up to half past four, now. Dinner is at seven thirty. You have three hours to settle in and to let me know of any change of plan you might require.’ He put his hands behind his back and regarded the group solemnly. A couple of people glanced up at him, but most were content to observe their shoes. ‘Which leaves us with one final matter to resolve before you each head off to your room, that being your order of departure.’

  At last, he truly had their attention. Reaperman continued. ‘Someone has to be first, someone has to be last, and the rest must depart in their prescribed order in between.’ He paused. ‘But don’t worry. No one goes before dinner, so if you’ve changed your mind about the method of your departure, your wishes will be respected.’

  ‘What if we change our mind altogether?’ Scaredycat asked.

  ‘What?’ DeadManWalking exploded. ‘Are you kidding?’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘For fuck’s sake!’

  ‘I haven’t changed my mind,’ Scaredycat said. ‘I just wondered what if …’ Her voice trailed off and she started picking at the skin on her fingers. Her nails were bitten down to the quick; there wasn’t enough left to shave even with the sharpest teeth.

  ‘People, people,’ said Reaperman, ‘please, be calm. If any one of you should change your mind, you must let me know at once. It’s fine to do so, but you must speak up and you will still need to stay for the weekend.’

  ‘Just a cop out, if you ask me.’ DeadManWalking was still muttering to himself.

  ‘To the matter in hand. Does anyone have a particular desire to be the first to go?’ People shuffled, keeping their eyes down. ‘Or the last?’

  ‘For fuck’s sake!’ DeadManWalking exploded again, as angry at the thought of the death he claimed to welcome as at the life he claimed to wish to leave. ‘None of you wants to go first! None of you wants to go last! Do any of you really want to go at all?’

  ‘Why don’t y’all go first, then?’ asked BlackWidow, in her slow drawl. ‘Show us poor, pathetic creatures how it’s done.’

  ‘What, and deprive you of the privilege?’

  ‘I’ll kill the fucker myself,’ muttered JunkieScum, ‘and I won’t take care that it’s done humanely, either.’

  Reaperman held up his hand. ‘Stop!’ he commanded. ‘Stop this at once!’ They shut up. ‘Since we can’t agree, we’ll draw lots later. Dinner will be in the dining room.’ He indicated a large carved wooden door to the right of the main entrance. ‘Your rooms are upstairs on the first floor. You will each find your name on the appropriate door.’ With that he turned and swept up the staircase, his jacket flapping awkwardly, the result of the declarations of intent to die that his inside pocket contained.

  Chapter 12

  The people in the hall looked at one another, somewhat bemused. ‘What now?’ asked Technogeek.

  ‘Now we go and check out our rooms and kill some time before dinner,’ said DeadManWalking. He sneered. ‘And if you’ve changed your mind about anything, you go find Reaperman and spill your chickenshit guts to him.’

  ‘Shut the fuck up, you freak,’ said JunkieScum.

  ‘Fuck you, you skinny, skanky bitch.’

  ‘Oh, not this again!’ BlackWidow exclaimed. ‘Y’all do what you like. I’m going to find my room and get some peace and quiet.’ She picked up her bag and headed on up the stairs.

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ said Indigo. ‘Coming?’ Mayfly nodded and they moved off together. The others drifted up after them in ones and twos, each seeking out their final resting place.

  Room number 1, which had Reaperman’s name on it, was right at the top of the stairs. To the right of that room was a lift and to the left a staircase, which led up to the floor above. Indigo headed left, past the staircase and then room 2, which was on the other side of it. He turned left again, and walked past rooms 3 and 4. Another turn took him past 5, 6, 7 and 8, and a further turn to r
oom 9, which had his name on the door, and room 10, which had Mayfly’s. Room 11, back round the last corner and next to the lift, was Scaredycat’s.

  ‘Trust me to take the long way round,’ he said to Mayfly. ‘We’ve just walked round in a big square.’

  ‘Well, we got here in the end,’ she said. She turned as she heard the lift door open and saw DeadManWalking peering inside. She and Indigo went to look, and saw that it contained a trolley and lifting gear.

  ‘What’s that for?’ asked Mayfly.

  ‘It works like a block and tackle. It’s to allow one person to lift another onto the trolley, if they’re unable to climb up themselves,’ said DeadManWalking.

  Mayfly looked at it for a moment. ‘I guess that explains how we leave here, then,’ she said.

  DeadManWalking pressed the button to close the lift doors, then gave her a grim look and turned away.

  ‘Let’s check the rooms out, shall we?’ Indigo walked back along the corridor to his room. The key was in the lock; he turned it and pushed open the door.

  ‘Wow,’ said Mayfly, peering over his shoulder. ‘Not bad at all!’

  ‘There’s certainly enough space,’ said Indigo. The room was large, a high ceiling adding to the sense of space. The bedroom area was L-shaped. Opposite the room door, about six feet in, was another door which led into a bathroom. At the far end of the bedroom was a large window. The furniture was old and solid, the wood shining softly in the dim light, and the skirting boards and mouldings were deep and carved.

  Indigo dumped his bag on the bed then went next door with Mayfly. Her room was every bit as impressive as his, spacious and well-appointed, and a mirror image of his own. Mayfly went over to the window. There was little to be seen in the darkness, but she suspected there would be little to see even in full daylight. There were no shapes or identifying features in the landscape, no clues as to where they might be. Not that it mattered: this was a one-way trip, after all. She opened the window to let some air into the room.