That’s why it took my breath away when Danny suddenly dumped his rifle into my arms. It was solid and smooth, and still warm from Danny’s touch. It had a wooden stock. And it was loaded. With bullets.
When I raised it to aim at the wall, I was almost tempted to pull the trigger.
‘See?’ Danny said. ‘You got the hang of it already. You’re a natural. Just make sure the safety’s off, and you’re all set.’ Watching me adjust my grip on the thing, he declared, ‘You’ll be as safe as houses behind a cocked .22, as long as you know how to use it. And that goes for any other gun you might pick up.’
As an afterthought, Danny suggested that if I did pick up Lincoln’s shotgun, I should probably swap it for the rifle. Because a shotgun, he said, needed careful handling.
‘Anyway, whatever they bring down, just make sure you get ahold of it quick smart,’ he finished, relieving me of his weapon. Without it, I felt strangely exposed. That might be why I joined him so promptly when he took up his position near the door.
‘Do you think Sergio’s gunna be okay?’ I asked, keeping my voice down. Danny glanced at his watch and said, ‘He’ll be fine. Psycho’s in there too.’
By this he probably meant that Sergio was being guarded. ‘Yeah, but . . . what if he freaks out?’ I pressed.
‘Psycho never freaks out.’
‘No, I mean Sergio. What if Sergio freaks out?’
‘Not while Psycho’s there,’ he said quietly, as if Psycho was a trained counsellor. It really got up my nose. How could a dog be the answer to everything? Unless he was supposed to scare Sergio into a tranquil frame of mind.
‘But what if it’s Psycho who freaks him out?’ I whispered, at which point Danny turned his pale, empty gaze on me.
‘You wanna shut the hell up?’ he rasped. ‘Because those bastards could be down here any minute. And if they hear you talking, they’re gunna wonder who you’re talking to. And you know what’ll happen then?’
I could only assume that he was asking a rhetorical question. But I answered it anyway. ‘We won’t take them by surprise?’ I hazarded.
Danny shook his head. ‘What’ll happen then is, you won’t live long enough to die in the pit,’ he growled. ‘Since I’ll bloody well kill ya meself.’
And that was where the conversation ended.
We waited for nearly four hours.
At first I was frightened. Then the edge wore off my fear, until I was merely anxious. After that I became impatient, then bored, then insanely restless. It was like being stuck on a station platform, only worse. At least when your train is delayed you can read a newspaper, or make a call on your mobile. Sometimes you can even buy a snack from the nearest vending machine.
Down in the tanks, however, there were no phones, no newspapers, and no vending machines. There was a toilet, but no booth. When Mutt took a piss, he did it in a corner. When I took a piss (just once), I had to do it in front of Danny. Not that he paid any attention, thank God; he seemed to have slipped into a kind of trance, leaning against the wall with his eyes half-shut. Occasionally he’d mutter under his breath. Occasionally he’d scratch himself, or shift his weight, or adjust his grip on the gun. But apart from that, he was like a hibernating bear. The only time he said a word was when Sergio appeared, at about five o’clock. Poor Sergio had fallen asleep for an hour or two – and upon waking up, had immediately panicked. ‘I thought you must have left!’ he whimpered, through the bars of the gate. ‘I thought you’d gone off and left me here!’ With his puffy eyes, heaving chest and trembling hands, he cut a pretty pathetic figure. Even I felt sorry for him. And I wasn’t looking too good myself, right then.
Danny, however, was unmoved. ‘Get back to bed,’ he snarled, ‘or I’ll sic the bloody dogs on ya!’ I don’t think he was serious. For one thing, a dog attack would have made too much noise. But his tone was so menacing that Sergio scampered off without a word of protest.
About half an hour later, I heard a sharp bang.
Danny stiffened beside me. His knees cracked as he straightened up, pushing away from the wall. I followed his example. It felt as if I’d stopped breathing. The dogs squirmed slightly, but froze at the nearly inaudible hiss that Danny made by pushing air through his teeth.
Footsteps sounded on a wooden staircase outside the cell door. I could tell that it was a staircase because the feet were descending – and I could tell that the staircase was made of wood because of the way the treads squeaked. Thump-squeak-thump-squeak. There was a jingle that had to be keys, and a muttered curse from someone with an American accent.
Lincoln.
To say that I was terrified is an understatement. I was so tense that I was vibrating. Sweat poured off me, but my mouth was bone dry. Blood pounded into my head. You can do it, I kept telling myself. You can do it you can do it you can do it.
There was a funny little snap, which must have been the door’s spy-hole cover flicking open (or shut). Then, unmistakably, came the squeal and clank of a bolt being pulled.
‘I’ve got a gun here, kid, so don’t try anything,’ Lincoln announced. I nearly jumped out of my skin, but Danny didn’t move. He was already in position, every muscle fully engaged. I cut a quick glance at his clenched jaw and staring eyes, before the door suddenly swung towards us.
Lincoln was carrying a shotgun. That was the first thing I noticed, because its barrel entered the room ahead of him. He wasn’t far behind, though; I saw the outline of his shoulder, a slice of cheekbone and the back of his ear. It was just a momentary glimpse before Danny’s hulking form blocked my view.
‘Freeze!’ he rapped out.
God, but his voice was scary! It didn’t sound human. Or maybe I’m mixing it up with the dogs’ snarls, since everything happened so fast. The barrel of Danny’s gun had only just made contact with Lincoln’s shoulder blades when the dogs jumped up like a two-headed jack-in-the-box, all yellow fangs and mad, glaring eyes. As Lincoln recoiled, I lunged for his weapon.
‘Drop it!’ Danny snapped – even though he didn’t need to. Shocked by the dogs, Lincoln had slackened his grip; I was able to whisk his shotgun away quite easily.
‘Hands behind your head,’ Danny growled, prodding Lincoln with the rifle. ‘Kneel down. That’s the way. Toby? Don’t point that thing at me.’
‘What? Oh. Sorry . . .’
‘I want you to unload it,’ Danny continued. Before I could open my mouth to protest, he added, ‘The safety’s already on. You just gotta press that little release button near the trigger guard. See that?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Now slide back the action bar until the first round pops outta the chamber . . .’
Though my hands were slippery with sweat, I managed to remove three shells from both the chamber and magazine tube of Lincoln’s shotgun. Meanwhile, Lincoln himself remained silent and motionless. He didn’t even turn his head.
I had a nasty feeling that he was biding his time.
‘Okay,’ said Danny, pocketing the shells – which were so huge they looked like coin-rolls wrapped in brown paper. ‘See those keys?’
I saw them, all right. They were hanging from a clip on Lincoln’s belt, which was holding up a pair of neatly ironed trousers. He was still dressed like a policeman, in a white shirt, striped tie and shiny shoes. His haircut was immaculate and he smelled strongly of aftershave. Only his drooping jowls looked untidy.
‘I want you to get those keys and unlock the other door,’ Danny instructed, talking to me without taking his eyes off Lincoln. ‘Then come straight back here with your mate. Don’t be too noisy, all right? And don’t forget that shotgun. If anything happens, you can pretend it’s still loaded.’
If anything happens. It took me a while to figure out what he meant by this. At first I was too busy unhooking the keys from Lincoln’s belt – a manoeuvre that seemed risky enough, since Lincoln could easily have grabbed me in a headlock if I’d leaned in too close. But once I had the keys, I realised that step number two was even more
dangerous. Beyond the cell door, I could see a brick-lined stairwell containing several other doors and the flight of wooden stairs. There was no way of telling what might lie in wait behind those doors, or at the top of those stairs.
Basically, Danny was asking me to walk into a possible ambush with nothing but an unloaded gun as protection.
I guess I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t been so scared of him. By that time, I knew, Danny was on a knife edge. I could smell it, somehow. I could hear it in his voice as he pressed the barrel of his gun into Lincoln’s back, pushing Lincoln further and further towards the ground.
‘Who else is up there?’ Danny rumbled. Then, when he received no answer, he gave Lincoln a kick. ‘Who else is up there, you scumbag?’
Lincoln gasped. I got out. I didn’t want to see Danny beat up an unarmed man, no matter how big a scumbag that man might be.
So I charged into the stairwell and made straight for the nearest door.
‘Sergio?’ I muttered. ‘Where are you?’
‘Toby?’
He must have been standing right there, behind the door I’d chosen; when I flicked open the spy-hole, his bloodshot eyes nearly gave me a heart attack.
‘Hang on,’ I croaked, tucking the shotgun under my arm. ‘Let me just find the key . . .’
‘Hurry! Quick!’
The bolt on his cell door was padlocked – and there were an awful lot of padlock keys hanging from Lincoln’s key ring. I had to try at least three before I found the right one. Meanwhile, Sergio was whimpering, Psycho was snuffling, and floorboards were creaking rhythmically overhead.
‘D’you hear that?’ asked Sergio, in a strangled whisper. ‘Someone’s upstairs!’
‘I know.’
‘You’ve gotta hurry!’
‘I know, I know.’
Luckily my fourth key turned in the lock, or I think he would have tried to crawl through the spy-hole. As it was, he nearly knocked me over when he burst out of his cell and made a grab for Lincoln’s shotgun.
‘Gimme that!’ he said with a gasp.
‘No—’
‘Let go!’
‘It’s not even loaded!’ I hissed. But he’d already yanked the thing off me. As he headed towards my cell, Psycho and I were right behind him. The instant we crossed the threshold, however, Sergio broke away. He suddenly darted forward, waving the shotgun like a club.
If it hadn’t been for my quick reflexes, I don’t know what would have happened to Lincoln. He was lying on his stomach at the far end of the room, with both hands clasped behind his head and one leg manacled to the floor. So there was nothing he could have done to defend himself if Sergio had started pounding a gun-butt into his ribs.
I guess you could say that I was Lincoln’s guardian angel. When Sergio swung the shotgun, I caught it before it could hit anything. And I hung off it grimly, even though Sergio aimed a few kicks at my ankles.
‘Let go!’ he exclaimed, tugging and twisting. Don’t ask me why I held on. It wasn’t as if Lincoln would have done the same for me. Maybe it’s just that I had a bad feeling. Only later did it cross my mind that if Sergio had ended up leaving bits of Lincoln’s brain all over the wall, I would have become an accessory to murder.
‘Shh!’ said Danny. ‘Shut up!’ He was so angry, he even trained his rifle in our direction. But it was too late.
From somewhere off in the distance, high above us, a muffled voice cried, ‘Link? What’s up?’
Everyone froze. Even Sergio stopped moving. For a split second there was absolute silence.
Then Danny broke the spell.
‘Say one single word, and my dogs’ll rip your throat out,’ he spat. I thought that he was talking to me, until I realised that he was actually addressing Lincoln – who by now was being guarded by Tagger and Mutt. They were stationed on either side of Lincoln’s head, so close that he must have been able to smell them.
‘Get behind that door,’ Danny told me. ‘Don’t come out unless I call ya.’
He ducked into the stairwell, with Psycho at his heels, as I cut a glance at Sergio. But I needn’t have worried. Sergio had snapped out of his blind rage. He was shaking all over, so frightened that he could barely keep a grip on the shotgun.
Before he had a chance to drop the thing, I plucked it from his hand. Then I hustled him into the shadow cast by the open door.
From there, of course, I couldn’t see anything much – except for Lincoln’s motionless shape, which was flanked by Mutt and Tagger.
Mutt was drooling onto the floor.
‘Oh God,’ breathed Sergio. ‘Oh God oh God oh God . . .’
‘Shh.’ I was trying to work out what I should do if Danny got shot. Run for the pool? Use the dogs? Set up an ambush?
‘Lincoln?’ It was Gary. ‘What are you doing?’
I heard him hurrying downstairs – thumpa-thumpa-thumpa. Then all hell broke loose. There was a shriek and a yelp, followed by a quick cascade of crashes and cracks and thuds and grunts.
But no gunshots. Definitely no gunshots.
‘Toby!’ Danny roared. ‘Get in here!’
And I went. Just like that. Without a second thought.
In the next room, I found a scene that stopped me in my tracks. Gary was sprawled at the bottom of the stairs in a tangle of bent limbs and blood-spotted clothing. Danny was near him, stooping to retrieve a pistol from the floor. Psycho was sniffing around Gary’s outstretched hand, which was moving feebly.
‘Bloody idiot just came rushing down,’ said Danny, with obvious satisfaction. ‘All I had to do was stick me gun between the treads and – whoomp! He tripped over it. Wasn’t watching his feet, goddamn fool.’
‘Is he . . .?’ I couldn’t say it. But I didn’t need to. Danny knew what I was talking about.
‘He’s fine,’ Danny muttered. By now Sergio was right behind me, wielding Danny’s boltcutters. There was such a nasty look in his eye that I moved instinctively to block his path, just in case he tried to stomp on Gary’s head. Luckily, Danny stepped forward with the pistol.
‘Here,’ he said, thrusting it into Sergio’s free hand. ‘Hold this.’
Sergio was speechless. He gazed down at the little black gun, his expression a mixture of awe and delight.
I was speechless too, but not with delight.
‘Gimme that.’ Danny grabbed the shotgun, passing me his rifle instead. Then he fished around in his pocket for the shotgun shells. ‘You can chain this guy to the floor,’ he rasped. ‘In Sergio’s room. The keys’ll be on that key ring.’
‘But—’
He didn’t let me finish. ‘I’m gunna check the house,’ he announced quietly, his gaze fixed on a patchwork of green cupboards and yellow ceiling that was visible at the top of the stairs. When he stepped over Gary, it was as if he were stepping over a discarded sweatshirt. ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’
‘But Danny—’ I began.
‘Shhh!’
I was worried about Sergio. I was very worried about Sergio. So I did the only thing I could; I whirled around to confront him before he even had a chance to aim his gun. ‘If you shoot either of them,’ I warned, ‘then you’re no better than they are.’
Sergio scowled. From close up, he looked pretty scary.
His pistol looked even scarier.
‘You’ll go to gaol,’ I added, under my breath. ‘You wanna get locked up for another ten years?’
That sure worked. It had some impact, at least – I could see it in his eyes. All of a sudden he was thinking like a human being instead of a werewolf.
‘You owe me, Sergio. I got you out. You owe me big,’ I continued. Then I adjusted my grip on the rifle. It wasn’t a threat, exactly; it was just a reminder that I was also armed. ‘Is that how you wanna pay me back?’ I finished. ‘By making me an accessory? Gee, thanks.’
Psycho had followed Danny up the stairs. I could hear the dog’s toenails clicking away overhead, as the floor creaked under his master’s weight.
Then Gary moaned. He was rolling his head around.
‘Quick!’ I whispered. ‘We have to get him chained up before he comes to!’
‘Yeah, but—’
‘Come on, Sergio!’
Urgent action was all it took. By keeping Sergio busy, I stopped him from wreaking his revenge. He was so shocked and disoriented that he couldn’t focus on more than one thing at a time.
‘You take his feet,’ I softly suggested, slinging the rifle over my shoulder. Sergio blinked. He glanced down at his pistol as I seized Gary under the armpits.
‘Is the safety catch on?’ I said, in a further attempt to distract and confuse. ‘You’d better put it on before you stick that thing in your pants.’
‘I – I dunno,’ Sergio mumbled. ‘Where’s the safety catch?’
‘Don’t ask me.’
Gary moaned again. His eyelids fluttered.
‘We probably shouldn’t be moving him,’ I remarked. Being so close to Gary made my skin crawl. ‘He might have broken his back.’
‘God, yes! Wouldn’t that be good?’ Sergio exclaimed, just a bit too loudly. Then he laid down the pistol and boltcutters, picking up Gary’s ankles instead.
Grunting and heaving, I shuffled backwards through the door to Sergio’s cell. For a small guy, Gary weighed an awful lot; I was gasping for breath by the time I reached the manacle and chain. As for Gary, he was groping around vaguely with one hand. When I let him slide to the floor, he said ‘Ow!’ and opened his bleary eyes.
‘Quick! Put that thing on him!’ I was fumbling with my rifle. Sergio let go of one leg, which landed on the concrete with a lifeless kind of thump. He then manacled Gary’s other leg, locking it into a thick band of steel.
‘What the hell . . .?’ Gary slurred. He gave me such a fright, I nearly dropped my gun.
‘Shut up!’ I yelped, waving it at him. ‘Don’t move!’
‘Wha . . .?’
‘I’ll get the other gun,’ Sergio offered, before retreating into the stairwell. I backed right away from Gary, so that he couldn’t make a grab for me. I still hadn’t figured out where the safety catch was.
The Abused Werewolf Rescue Group Page 20