Gripping Thrillers

by Iain Rob Wright

  “Stay back or I’ll drop you, John. I ain’t messing around.”

  What Cheryl found difficult to believe was that nobody else moved. They just stood there and watched while their boss stalked their colleague with a meat cleaver. Behind her, the flame continued rising, just six-inches from the dangling scarf now. The petrol canister would soon ignite and destroy the supplies. “We have to think of a way around this,” she yelled at the others. “Think!”

  “We know how to put the fire out,” said Alfie, pale as a bed sheet. “Monty needs to lose a hand so we can squirt his blood through the bars.”

  “I’m sorry,” said John, still stalking Monty. “If I don’t do this, everybody dies.”

  Monty seemed to realise he was about to get hacked up by a meat cleaver, and his coffee-coloured skin grew pale. “Are you crazy? Boss, t-think about what you’re doing. If this turns out to be a game…”

  “Then I’ll blame Retribution Ltd for putting me in this situation.” He spoke without a hint of emotion and it made Cheryl shudder. Surely he wasn’t about to go through with this? It was a joke.

  Monty looked left and right, searching for solutions to his dilemma. “Take Alfie’s hand! Yeah, it’s fucking useless anyway.”

  Alfie slipped his deformed hand under his scarf, embarrassed by it, but then his face contorted into an angry scowl. “You’re the one that’s useless, you thieving prick!”

  “This isn’t a game,” said Leo, pacing back and forth and shaking his head. “This is past the point any sane person would go to have fun. Someone is playing with our lives. This is actually happening.”

  “Is it?” Happy stared at him. “I mean, are we sure this isn’t just part of a game designed to scare us? Have you jumped to ghoulish conclusions? We should stop and think.”

  “That meat cleaver doesn’t look like a prop to me,” said Alfie. “It’s real.”

  Monty backed up to where the ladder had been, his safety running out. His heel struck a piece of steel rung still lying on the ground and he yelped in fright. “C-Come on, John. Stop this. Please, stop it.”

  John lifted the cleaver, his expression impassive. “You brought this on yourself, Monty. I don’t want to do it, but I have no choice. If you volunteer, we can do it quick and easy.”

  “You can’t cut someone’s hand off quick and easy,” said Cheryl, stomach acid rising into her throat.

  Happy was shaking his head. “Take a second, John. Think this through. Don’t do anything you can’t undo.”

  John glanced back and seemed to hesitate, possibly coming to his senses, but before he had a chance to rethink, Monty rushed him, ducking down and picking up a discarded steel rung. He brought it up and around, and whacked his boss right in the side of the head. John staggered sideways into the wall, dropping the cleaver and water pistol as he put both hands against the side of his head.

  Cheryl cried out, but she remained rooted to the spot — forced to watch.

  With madness and fear in his eyes, Monty retrieved the fallen meat cleaver and then grabbed John by his wrist. Still dazed from the blow to the head, John offered no resistance, even as Monty yanked his hand out in front of him with the palm facing upwards.

  Happy cried out for him to stop.

  Leo sprinted as fast as he could. “Monty, don’t!”

  Monty slashed the cleaver through the air.

  Thunk!

  John collapsed backwards into a heap on the ground. He didn’t cry out in pain, only panted like he was out of breath. His eyes were wide and disbelieving.

  Cheryl doubled over and vomited, sickened by the sound alone — soft meat being brutalised. Despite her horror though, she couldn’t help but glance over at the result of what had just happened.

  John’s hand had not completely come away from the wrist. It hung by a loose bundle of nerves and sinewy blood vessels. Blood spurted into the air, covering Monty who stood staring at the bloody cleaver in his hand like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. He slumped against the container’s wall and stared at John on the ground. “I-I’m sorry. Boss, I’m so sorry.”

  Cheryl vomited again, bile stinging the back of her throat. Happy turned away and wept. Maggie became a statue, sickly pale except for the darkness beneath her eyes. Only Alfie and Leo were in control enough to try to help John. Leo propped him up while Alfie grabbed his bleeding wrist and held it aloft. Cheryl remembered their First Aid certificates hanging on the cafeteria wall at the office and felt a pang of hope that they would know what to do.

  “We have to stop the bleeding,” said Alfie. “Shit, what do we do?”

  Leo was trembling, already spattered in John’s blood. “W-We need to make a tourniquet.”

  “I’m sorry,” Monty murmured. “So sorry.”

  “Just back up,” Alfie shouted at him. “What the hell, man?”

  Cheryl wanted to carry on puking, but she couldn’t stand by while someone bled to death. She hurried over and yanked at Alfie’s scarf. “Take it off,” she said. “Take it off and use it to wrap his wrist.”

  Alfie looked at her for a second like he didn’t understand, but then he nodded and began unravelling his scarf. He pulled it free and went to wrap it around John’s wrist, but then paused and went for the water pistol instead. It had been lying on the ground nearby.

  Cheryl frowned. “What are you doing? You need to help John.”

  Alfie propped the funnel of the water pistol beneath John’s gushing wrist, catching the thick, cascading blood. “We need to put out the fire.”

  “We need to stop John from bleeding to death!” Cheryl snatched at the scarf. “You’re sick!”

  Leo grabbed her arm and stared at her with his deep brown eyes that were nothing except serious. “Alfie’s right. Give him two-seconds.”

  “Two-seconds and John might die.”

  John moaned. “D-Do it. It’s… okay.”

  Cheryl looked at John and then at Leo. She hated herself for it, but she nodded. “Do it quickly.”

  Alfie positioned the funnel beneath John’s bleeding stump and it filled up fast. The chamber inside the water pistol darkened even as blood spilled everywhere. It was warm, which somehow made it worse. Cheryl had to put a hand against her mouth to keep from gagging. John’s eyes fluttered like he was having a dream, except he was awake.

  “Hurry,” said Happy from over by the bars. “You need to hurry.”

  Alfie’s hands were shaking. The pistol’s chamber was half-full. John had no more time.

  “Go,” Cheryl urged. “Alfie, that’s enough.”

  Alfie leapt up with the blood-filled water pistol and raced towards the supplies. Cheryl watched him over her shoulder, wondering if he would be able to put out the fire in time to—

  Light exploded, searing her eyes.

  A monstrous boom obliterated her hearing.

  Hot air blanketed Cheryl from head to toe and she saw Happy and Alfie’s silhouettes knocked from their feet and flying backwards through the air. The lights overhead swung back and forth wildly causing Shadows to dance over everything.

  Then Cheryl’s head filled with screams.

  Cheryl screamed along with everybody else, although the noise came out distorted. Sound took on a tinny quality and her vision blurred. The heat in the tunnel faded quickly, but it was still enough to make her sweat.

  She realised she was lying on her side.

  Mum. I want mum.

  Leo appeared at the edge of her swirling vision and he grabbed her. He shouted but his words were garbled. Too bewildered to understand, she turned her focus to John lying next to her. Her boss still lived. His bulging eyes darted in every direction. His wrist still spurted blood. He might have been crying out in pain. She couldn’t be sure.

  Too confused.

  She felt something wet, realised John was bleeding on her.

  More movement alerted her. Leo was offering his belt. She took the leather strap and retrieved Alfie’s scarf, then secured both around John’s wrist, pull
ing them as tight as she could get them. The bleeding slowed to a seeping trickle. John slumped back against the wall, breathing steadily. With Leo’s help, she eased him into a sitting position against the wall and hoped he wouldn’t die.

  Please dad, don’t be dead. Just wake up!

  This can’t be happening. I don’t want to be here.

  Leo was in her face again, mouthing words she couldn’t understand. His dark brown eyes lit up every time the swaying bulbs overhead shone down on them. She felt safe in those eyes, and she dared not look away. But what was he trying to tell her?

  Suddenly her ears popped. Sound came rushing back in cacophonous, horrific glory. Leo’s words finally formed in her head and she realised he was asking if she was okay. For a moment, she could only stare at him in response. “W-What happened?”

  “The petrol exploded.”

  Cheryl peered down the steel tunnel and saw billowing black smoke coming from one of the side rooms. Her eyes itched and she quickly had to look away. Alfie and Happy lay on the ground, unmoving. Maggie was on her hands and knees, spluttering and moaning. The only one standing was Monty, far enough away from the blast to remain a spectator. He was silent and staring.

  Cheryl felt tears in her eyes and didn’t know if the smoke had caused them. “W-We need to do something. Help! Somebody, please help us! HELP!”

  Mum, help! Dad’s fallen down.

  Leo grabbed her and pulled her into an embrace. He spoke directly into her ear. “We have to put out the fire, Cher. The smoke alone is enough to kill us trapped down here.”

  “W-What about the others? They need help.”

  “There’ll be no help for any of us if we suffocate. Come on!”

  Leo released her and rushed to deal with the smoke. Cheryl got up and went after him so that they discovered the destruction together. She reached out and grabbed his hand almost without realising it.

  The petrol canister still hung from the ceiling, but it was a blackened hunk of plastic now. The supplies were ablaze, but the flames were struggling for life. The plastic sheeting melted and curled in on itself, and only the wooden pallet at the bottom truly burned. The melting plastic, however, was the cause of the noxious black smoke.

  “Some of the water is okay,” said Leo, pointing to one of several large bottles still intact. “We need to get it away from the fire.”

  Cheryl moved back while Leo stepped inside the cell. He covered his mouth and nose with a forearm but coughed and spluttered anyway. He groped half-blind at the burning pallet, and several times he hissed as he burned himself, but he kept battling until he got his fingers beneath a blue plastic loop attached to the lid of one of the five-litre bottles of water. He yanked it, but the heated plastic wrapping had constricted around it. “Damn it, come on!”

  Cheryl realised he needed help. She hurried forward and yanked at the edge of the plastic wrapping, trying to pull it free. It was hot and viscous, melting against the skin of her fingertips, but she ignored the pain and tugged even harder. They worked the bottle free together. It was heavy, and as Leo lifted it, it pulled him off balance. The flames licked at his forearm and caught on his shirtsleeve. He wheeled backwards out of the cell, dragging the water bottle with him, but also taking part of the fire. Frantically, he batted at the flame spreading along his forearm, but it was a losing battle. He was about to go up like Guy Fawkes.

  He’s going to burn right in front of me.

  Cheryl yanked off her denim jacket and threw it over Leo’s elbow, patting him down as quickly as she could.

  The fire went out.

  The panic drained from Leo’s eyes, but he gritted his teeth in pain when she lifted her jacket away from his arm. The back of his hand was red and blistered. “I’m okay,” he said, obviously seeing the concern on her face. “Just a little singed. We still need to deal with those flames.” He nodded at the large bottle of water on the ground between them. It was better than a water pistol full of blood, and he quickly unscrewed the lid. With both arms, he then heaved the bottle upwards and upended it over the flaming pallet. The flames choked, generating more black smoke, but then Leo tilted the bottle even more and doused the melting plastic. The black smoke turned grey and white, then eventually gave off little more than a few wispy tendrils. The whole time, the spilled water turned to vapour with an angry hiiiissssssssssss.

  Both Cheryl and Leo broke into coughing fits. They turned their back on the poisonous air and covered their mouths. “Christ on a bike,” said Leo. “I think I just wrecked a lung.”

  “Are you okay? Your hand!”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks. We should help the others.”

  “Leo, this is really happening, isn’t it?”

  He stared at her for a moment as though he didn’t know what to say, then hugged her tightly. “We’ll get through this, Cher. I promise.”

  Happy let out a groan from the floor. Cheryl broke away from Leo to go and help the old office manager. She rolled him onto his back, and he blinked his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. His right cheek was swollen and beaded with blood. Otherwise he seemed okay. His thick, sheepskin coat probably acted like armour. The badge on his lapel caught the light. NEVER GIVE UP. “Ch-Cheryl? What happened?”

  Cheryl took his wrinkled hand and held it. He was trembling. “The petrol ignited, but you’re going to be okay, Happy.”

  “Is help coming?”

  “I don’t think so. We’ll have to figure this out on our own.”

  Happy tried to sit up, but she pushed him back down. He started to panic. “Is-Is everyone okay?”

  Cheryl looked at Alfie, still unmoving on the ground. “I don’t know. Just take a second, okay?”

  Leo shuffled over to check on Alfie, shaking the lad and calling his name. A tense moment ensued while they waited to see if he responded. Then, like a loaded spring, Alfie sat up, gagging and coughing and rubbing at the back of his head. His gelled hair was all over the place like a modern art sculpture. “Shitting ‘ell, am I dead?”

  “No,” said Leo. “Nobody’s dead, and it’s going to stay that way. There’s a way out of this and we’ll find it.”

  Alfie clutched his head and moaned. A line of blood ran parallel to his left eyebrow and it looked like someone had taken a hammer to him. “I need a fag,” he mumbled.

  Maggie remained hunched on her hands and knees, still hacking and coughing. Cheryl crawled over and rubbed her on the back. “Mag? Maggie, are you okay?”

  She looked at Cheryl blankly. “I want to go home. I want to go see my Andrew.”

  “I know you do, Mag. We all want to get out of here.”

  “I’m so sorry, Cheryl. I… I would never have brought you here if I’d known. I wouldn’t have!”

  “I know, Mag. It’s not your fault.”

  Maggie shook her head, tears slicing streaks through the soot on her cheeks. “It is! I didn’t want to be the only woman here. There never were any theatre tickets, Cher. I lied.”

  “What? Maggie, what are you saying?”

  “Help! I need help here.” It was Monty calling. He was crouched over John, slapping his injured boss on the cheek and trying to rouse him. “I think he’s dead.”

  Cheryl rose on shaky legs and hurried over to John. She wished she’d chosen life as a nurse or doctor — not that she had the brains for it — because she suddenly found herself surrounded by injured people with no knowledge of how to help them.

  John’s eyes were closed and he was chalk-white, but not dead. She could see him breathing. “I think he’s passed out from shock,” she reassured Monty who looked utterly devastated. John’s blood covered his hands and face. How the hell had this happened?

  It’s a bad dream. I must have eaten a dodgy Pot Noodle and now I’m tripping.

  “I did this,” Monty said. “I chopped his hand off.”

  Cheryl nodded. “Yeah, you did, but to be fair he was trying to do the same to you. It’s done, either way. Let’s just help each other as best we can, oka
y? Monty, do you hear me?”

  “Is he going to be all right?”

  “I don’t know, Monty. Are you okay?”

  He blinked and a tear ran down his cheek. He was nothing like the confident salesman she knew and mildly despised. He was terrified. They all were. “I-I’m okay,” he eventually told her, although he didn’t look it. “Just tell me what to do.”

  Cheryl touched his shoulder softly. “Do nothing.”

  “I have what’s left of the water.” Leo called over to her. He was arranging the plastic bottles together in the tunnel’s centre. He opened one up and helped Alfie take a swig. Then he used some to wipe Happy’s burnt face.

  Happy waved him off. “Don’t fuss over me, boy. I’m fine.”

  “I don’t want you to get an infection, dude.”

  “The least of my worries. Thank you, Leo, but I’m better left alone.”

  Alfie got to his feet, but immediately collapsed against the wall. He gagged and spat on the ground but got ahold of himself a moment later. “W-Why is this happening, man?”

  “You tell me,” said Cheryl. “I was tricked into being here, apparently.” Maggie moaned at the comment, and attempted to apologise, but Cheryl spoke over her. “Somebody has one hell of a grudge against Alscon, that’s for sure. One of you must know why. To do all this…” She waved an arm around the steel tomb they were in. “This wasn’t done on a whim. Somebody planned this. Somebody wanted to punish you all. Why?”

  Leo shook his head. “I honestly have no idea, Cher.”

  “Bullshit! You’re not innocent, Leo. You can’t be. We already found out Monty is a thief, so what will be the next secret revealed? Wouldn’t you rather volunteer the information than have it used against you?”

  He looked wounded. “I don’t have any secrets, Cher, I promise.”

  “I’ve known Leo for several years,” said Happy, making it stiffly up onto his feet. “He’s a good lad. Obviously, there’s a reason for all this, but let’s not jump to conclusions, Cheryl. Not yet.”