by Gary Locke
“Fifty Five minutes game time remaining”
The PA system had crackled and a tinny, Scottish voice had indicated the amount of time left that they had to endure.
Clive raised himself to a squatting position, wondering whether it was another of Jeremy’s wonderful accents drifting through the air.
“Come on. We can do this!” he said, focussing on their predicament.
Gayle looked at him strangely; her Eddie the Eagle magnified eyes, quite clearly, saying: I don’t want to.
“Come on” started Clive again. “We’re here; we said we’d go through with it. Let’s make the most of it. Try and enjoy it. It could be fun!”
The look on Gayle’s face changed slightly but only because she wanted to add more emphasis to the “don’t want” part of the sentence she was emitting. She continued to stare at Clive, as he once again said “Come on”, before having to smile a little as she couldn’t look at him without the Benny Hill theme tune playing in her head.
Derrrr-der-der-der-de-de-de-der-der-de-de-de-der-de-de….
(Sorry, you can’t really write the Benny Hill theme tune in words.)
Gayle watched as Clive, once more, slowly raised his head and looked out of the wooden shack. She then couldn’t quite believe it as her legs also moved themselves into a squat position, blindly following Clive’s orders. Was she really going to do this?
“Ok, no sign of anyone..... think they’re either dug in around the flag or are trying some kind of stealthy flanking manoeuvre to attack us. Either way, we need to try and move to the next cabin, about ten metres across no man’s land.” Clive said, lowering his head back down.
Dug in? Flanking manoeuvre? No man’s land?
Gayle mystifyingly looked at Clive as he used these detailed, technical war terms, half wondering how he knew them and half wondering whether he was actually enjoying this now.
“Are you ready?” he asked. “Stay low and follow me!”
Gayle found herself nodding her head somehow even though, inside that head, a voice was screaming no, no, no, NOOOOOOOOO!
Clive slowly raised himself to his feet, while keeping himself slouched down, and then carefully walked towards the open doorway of the wooden shack, where they had entered a few minutes earlier. He leaned his head out in a deliberate and measured manner, once again scanning around the area for potential cold-blooded killer wannabes. Again he saw no one.
He looked around at Gayle and whispered: “After three?”
She nodded.
“One, two…”
“Wait” snapped Gayle, in her own whisper. “What after three?”
“We run to the next building” whispered Clive pointing to the other shack in front of them.
Great, more running thought Gayle.
“One, two, three!” whispered Clive again, only on three he headed out of the shack. Gayle quickly followed him and soon, side by side, they were running the short distance between one wooden shack and the other. Just before they got there an outbreak of multiple gun shots could clearly be heard, accompanied by the flurry of paintballs splatting against the wooden walls of the shack they were entering.
Duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh.
As they made it to the relative safety of the second wooden hut, Gayle took a hit to her right upper arm.
“JESUS!” she screamed out in pain as the paint ball struck her. It felt a little like a mosquito landing on her and gently biting – before someone attempted to squash it by smacking her with a sledge hammer!
She instinctively rubbed her arm vigorously while saying.
“Oh my God, that hurts like hell!”
Clive pushed her gently against the wall and slid her down to a sitting position rubbing her upper arm, that was now covered in green paint, as he did.
“It’s not bad” he said. “It could have been worse. I think you’ll live.”
“Not fucking bad?” said Gayle, tears streaming down her cheeks “It hurts like fucking hell!..... Just how could it have been worse?”
Clive paused, thinking.
“Well, it could have been me.” He said smiling.
From out of a frown an unauthorised grin spread on Gayle’s face.
“You stupid fucking..... cock drawer!” she said beginning to laugh before Clive joined in as well.
“It was a rocket!” he said with fake disgust as they both continued to laugh.
They sat down with their backs against the wall for about a minute, both smiling and breathing heavily after their short, semi-successful sprint. Clive continued to rub Gayle’s arm with his left hand as he put his right arm around her shoulder and held her close to him.
“Does that feel any better?” he asked.
“Not really” said Gayle. “It feels like someone’s squashing my arm in a clamp. There’s going to be a hell of a bruise there. I thought you said being hit just stung a little?”
“Yeah, I may have slightly understated how it hurts.”
Gayle pushed him away a little and aimed an aggressive look at him.
“But it was a long time ago that I did it and..... I think the upper arm is a particularly bad place to get hit..... anywhere really fleshy is bound to hurt..... and.....”
Gayle interrupted him.
“Anywhere really fleshy? What do you mean about my arms?”
“Well they’re not really fleshy. I mean, everyone’s upper arms are fleshy. You’ve got normal arms..... well, beautiful arms..... and.....”
Thankfully, for Clive, the tinny Scottish accent spoke through the PA system again, interrupting his get-out-of-the-hole-you-dug-yourself attempts.
“Fifty minutes game time remaining.”
Clive and Gayle looked at each other.
“Fifty minutes?” said Gayle “I’m not sure that..... Wait a minute! I’m out aren’t I? Oh thank God for that! Now where’s that yellow gate?”
She began to stand up but Clive pulled her down again.
“You’re not out. You’re only out if you get shot five times.” Clive said, shaking his head, wondering how Gayle ever had the nerve to accuse him of not listening to things.
“Five times? I’ve got to get shot five times? There’s no way I’m going through pain like that another four times..... no way!”
Gayle closed her eyes and wondered whether she would cope with this pain once more, let alone four more times. Then again, it’s not like this was the first time she’d had to endure extreme pain. She was a mother after all.
Chapter Forty Five: All I Ever Needed.
Gayle began rubbing her own arm and, although it hurt like hell, she decided that this obviously wasn’t the worst pain and discomfort she’d had in her life. For one, she’d sat in the dental hygienists chair on a couple of occasions whilst an evil woman, with a pain-inflicting fetish, had squirted, scraped and flossed at her teeth and gums until they severely bled while, at the same time, spraying enough water down her throat to make sure that breathing was near-on impossible. Do all dental hygienists also have to pass an exam in extreme water-boarding before they are fully qualified?
And then of course she’d had a baby for God’s sake. And nothing could ever remotely come close to that pain. The thing about having a baby though is that, even though the pain and discomfort is worse than anything you could ever imagine (even two hygienists having a go at you at once), when it’s all over every single second of it was totally worth it.
Because you have a baby.
And an instant bond and feeling of love and attachment that is greater than anything you could ever imagine possible.
What would she have following this particular paintball-inflicted intense pain? Nothing. Well, apart from a bruise that would, quite probably, be around forever. It would certainly be one of those “deep” bruises that takes it’s time to change into each colour of the rainbow before turning yellow for a few weeks and then (possibly) disappearing after several months.
Gayle smiled to herself as she ignored the
thoughts that she would have to wear long sleeves for the next couple of months and, instead, focussed on the day she gave birth to Jack. It was painful, but it was also pretty quick. Not quick in the traditional sense of the word, but quick in relative, baby-delivering, terms. She’d heard tales of women being in labour for days; ordeals that must leave severe psychological scars. For Gayle though, she’d been “in and out” of delivery within three and a half hours and always remembered one of the mid-wife’s telling her that she’d been faster giving birth than an average man takes running a marathon. She’d given birth to an actual, real, living baby quicker than it takes a man to run a few miles. That had always felt like pretty good going.
She smiled as she remembered being handed Jack for the very first time. Just holding him close to her and looking at him was definitely one of the best moments of her life, and even though he was “out of her” she couldn’t help that feeling of knowing that he would always be a part of her.
Gayle continued to smile as she then remembered another image that would stay with her forever. As she was required to receive “a couple of stitches” in her “sensitive” area (thankfully not feeling a thing – but feeling woozy just thinking about it to this day), Clive took Jack and walked him around the room trying to stop him crying. He spoke quietly to him and sang a few soothing songs and Jack soon settled and looked so serene and comfortable.
And there they were: her new, little man in the arms of her other, bigger man.
Father and son.
Bonding.
The two men in her life; her family. And she felt so happy. Before that moment she’d not felt like part of a family for so long. Obviously her parents splitting had changed everything and, after that, she could count the number of times she’d seen her father on one hand. Her relationship with her mother had also changed, and become broken and strained, following the split. And then it fell apart completely when she told her she was pregnant with Jack.
Gayle could feel the tears forming in her eyes as she remembered that conversation with her mum. She wanted to stop her mind thinking about it and not give her mum the satisfaction of upsetting her once again but she couldn’t. Instead she forced her memory to show fragments of it; just the images and raw emotions.
Her Mum just staring at her with no particular reaction. No joy, no happiness, no delight, no empathy; not even any shock, or surprise, or any level of being upset.
Not even any disgust.
It was like she did not care, in the slightest, about anything that was being said to her. The conversation ended with Gayle’s mum announcing that she should leave home as soon as she could. And that was almost a relief. It was over. She didn’t need her mum anymore. She had a baby coming and she had Clive; and Clive was the only thing that she ever needed anyway.
Chapter Forty Six: Run For It.
Gayle’s thoughts came back to the present and she couldn’t help but look at Clive and smile at him. It felt good to be back with him and not thinking about her mum and that most unpleasant moment. Although the sound of the rain, and the feeling of the wind, reminded her very quickly just where she had come back to. She was paintballing and people were shooting at one another. She needed to find a way to put an end to it before one of those people began shooting at her – again.
Clive put his arm back around her.
“I know” said Gayle, sitting upright, a moment of inspiration striking her. “We can just surrender, can’t we? That’ll put an end to it. We can surrender, can’t we?”
“No” said Clive “.....we’re not French.”
Gayle ignored the question in her mind: was Clive’s comment racist or just harmless, albeit lazy, traditional English humour; that had made her smirk a little? She had more pressing things to worry about it so, instead, took a deep breath and thought hard.
“I don’t want to go through that again. It was awful. Do you think we can just run for the green gate that we came in through?”
“I suppose we could” said Clive. “But they would probably just shoot us again. We could just wait here for the game time to run down and hope that they just want to protect that flag. Of course, they could just wait until a couple of minutes before the end and then just charge us anyway.”
He stroked his chin as he thought. As he did, he noticed that Gayle’s eyes had begun to moisten and the look on her face was one of dread; any traces of the earlier laughter had long gone. She really wasn’t enjoying this and she was obviously scared of being hit again; and she was in this position because he had insisted on it. Although she was displaying a distinct lack of backbone about a bit of a sore arm he did feel guilty.
“Ok, I’ve got a plan” he said, trying desperately, but failing, to not use the usual Hannibal Smith impression he did whenever he spoke about any kind of plan.
“I will go for the flag. You stay here and hopefully you won’t get shot again. I will try my best to raise that flag; if I do, it will be over.”
Gayle smiled at him through her glazed eyes.
“This is important. If I get stuck somewhere, I will wait until there are twenty minutes to go – I’m pretty sure that they won’t leave where they are until there’s just a few minutes left. So, when you hear the announcement that says twenty minutes remaining then you run for the green gate as fast as you can. I will make sure that, at that point, I completely have their attention and so you will be able to make it out without any of them noticing. You understand?”
Gayle nodded and gave Clive a hug, feeling a little better about things straight away. But then another thought entered her head; a much clearer and more important one.
“No!” she said, trying to sound as resolute as possible. “We need a different plan. Because we should do this together. We are team You and Me for a reason. This is our chance to prove it. Let’s do it together.”
Clive smiled as a warm glow grew inside him. He felt good, and knew that was because Gayle’s words made him feel like they really were together. But he felt like he needed to prove something.
“Let’s stick to my plan.” he began, talking quickly so that Gayle didn’t feel like he was dismissing her plan lightly.
“This is something I want to do. For you; for us. I always vowed that I’d always protect you and keep you safe, something I now know I haven’t always done. I need to do this now. Please.”
Gayle could see the genuine warmth shining through Clive’s eyes and, despite the wind and rain, felt the same warmth growing inside of her. Maybe it was nice, possibly even important, to feel like someone is going to save you every now and again.
“Ok” she said quietly, giving Clive another hug. “Thank you.”
It felt nice that Clive “needed” to do something noble, almost heroic and selfless; and all for her. As he began to stand up, she pulled his face down and kissed him on the cheek.
“Good luck!” she said.
“Remember,” said Clive “On the twenty minute announcement, run for it. I’ll make sure that everyone else is too busy to shoot you!”
With that he slowly looked around the wall of the shack and quickly ran across to a big tree that was just a couple of metres away. There was no sound of shooting guns, so it seemed that he had sneaked out unnoticed.
Gayle watched him as he passed out of sight and sighed heavily. She had a strange mix of emotions; happy that Clive was going out to fight for her and yet worried and regretting that she had agreed to let him do it. Perhaps she should have insisted even more that she went out with him, and that they should have fought together. She also regretted now just giving him the little “good luck” Princess Leia-esque kiss on the cheek; the least he deserved was a real kiss before he had left.
Clive carefully looked around the tree; feeling buoyed on by Gayle’s rather cute kiss and “good luck” combination, and straight away his attention was caught by one of the enemy slowly crawling towards the wooden shack. Those leafy jackets really did blend in well with the leaves on the floor, but were a d
ead giveaway when someone was crawling; you don’t see many patches of ground for which some leaves stayed still as others, that were also considerably higher, moved at a slow but purposeful pace. He gripped his gun tight and took a deep breath.
Wow, he felt like the character in the Stan Ridgway song Camouflage, as the enemy were “moving in close outside”. What he’d give right now for his own mystical, heroic, ghost-marine to help him out of this situation. He resigned himself to the fact that one probably wouldn’t show up to help him and so he had to handle things himself. As quick as a flash, in his mind anyway, he stepped away from the tree, aimed his gun at the moving leaves and pulled the trigger. Unfortunately the moving leaves were slightly quicker and a man emerged and fired a faster shot at Clive that, ironically, also struck him on the upper arm. He flinched in pain and quickly spun back behind the tree.
“Shit!”
Clive glanced back around the tree to see the man standing upright; clearly sporting the red paint of Clive’s shot across his right shoulder.
Clive had got one!
The man slammed his gun to the floor in disgust with himself and turned around to make the walk to the side of the game arena and his yellow gate of shame. Clive then manically grabbed hold of his upper arm and began rubbing it intensely.
Damn, it did hurt like hell. Maybe he’d been a little hasty and harsh in his diagnosis that Gayle was missing that all important backbone. The crackle of an imminent PA announcement could be heard before a long, tinny blow of the fog horn sounded making Clive chuckle to himself once again.
PAARRRRRRP
Gayle’s attention was grabbed by the sound also. She though resisted the temptation of laughing and, instead, waited to hear if there would be a second blast. After a few seconds of silence, she realised that there wouldn’t be another, long fart sound, and one blast meant: Clive had got one!