crouching and running. ‘They’ll probably shoot me in the arse and blow my fucking bollocks off,’ he muttered. But he made the shelter of the cars and hunkered down between a Mondeo and a Shogun. Jeb was flitting between the rows of vehicles, pointing one electronic key after another.
The Mondeo next to Magnus flashed its sidelights and gave an electronic chirrup.
‘Fuck.’ His voice was all breath.
Jeb jogged over, opened the driver’s door and slid inside.
‘Sure you don’t want to come along for the ride?’
‘I can think of pleasanter ways to commit suicide.’
‘Don’t jinx me.’ For the first time since they had sheltered in the art room Jeb looked nervous. He adjusted the rear-view mirror and fitted the key in the ignition. ‘You sit on your arse if you want. I’d rather take a chance than end up back inside.’
Magnus did not bother to contradict him. ‘Look.’ He pointed across the car park. ‘That’s our way out.’
The prison van was skewed across three spaces at the far end of the car park. It was long, with three small, high windows on either side, more like a large horsebox than a vehicle designed for ferrying men. Jeb complained that he didn’t have keys for it, that Magnus was making him lose time and that the van was ‘fucking impregnable’, but Magnus suspected that he was secretly relieved not to be facing a cordon of armed soldiers through the Mondeo’s wide windscreen.
Magnus pulled at the back door to the van, but it was locked tight. He skirted round to the front passenger side and Jeb took the driver’s door. Magnus tried opening his side.
‘Fuck, it’s locked.’
Even as Magnus said the words he heard the door on the other side click open and the horror in Jeb’s voice.
‘Jesus Christ.’
It was impossible to know how long the prison guard had been slumped in the well of the driver’s seat. But these were the hottest days of summer and it had been long enough to bloat the man’s stomach and putrefy his flesh. Jeb held his bloodstained sleeve against his nose and mouth.
‘No way, man, I am not getting in there.’
Magnus thought he saw something moving on the guard’s swollen belly. He turned and retched, holding a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. Bile stung the back of his throat. He breathed deeply, his hands on his knees bracing himself, and then straightened up, took off the brown hoodie and grabbed the dead man’s arm, using the cloth as a barrier between his flesh and the corpse’s.
The smell was worse than that of the Minke whale that had been beached when he was fourteen. A group of volunteers had tried for hours to get it back into the water but the beast’s radar was faulty, or perhaps it had been ill and wanted to die. Their efforts had failed. The next day he and Hugh had dared each other to climb up on its black mountain of a body. In the end they had done it together, the pair of them slipping and sliding until they reached its peak, standing triumphant until the gases in the whale had suddenly shifted, and they had tumbled off, laughing and swearing, sure that the creature had come back to life.
‘Worse than a whale’s fart,’ he muttered. The dead guard flopped to the ground and Magnus saw the white stuff wriggling in the rotting flesh more clearly. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ Swearing helped. He dragged the man to one side, wiped the seat with the brown hoodie and dropped it on to the man’s face. ‘Rest in Peace.’ The van’s keys were resting in the ignition. Magnus turned to where his cellmate was crouched. ‘Do you want to drive?’
Jeb’s face was pale, but his voice had regained its edge. ‘Think you’ll go fast enough?’
Magnus nodded. ‘If there’s one thing island boys can do, it’s drive fast.’
He would have preferred to have been dressed in a prison guard’s uniform, but going back into the building to find one would take too much time and stripping the screw’s decaying body was out of the
The Mondeo next to Magnus flashed its sidelights and gave an electronic chirrup.
‘Fuck.’ His voice was all breath.
Jeb jogged over, opened the driver’s door and slid inside.
‘Sure you don’t want to come along for the ride?’
‘I can think of pleasanter ways to commit suicide.’
‘Don’t jinx me.’ For the first time since they had sheltered in the art room Jeb looked nervous. He adjusted the rear-view mirror and fitted the key in the ignition. ‘You sit on your arse if you want. I’d rather take a chance than end up back inside.’
Magnus did not bother to contradict him. ‘Look.’ He pointed across the car park. ‘That’s our way out.’
The prison van was skewed across three spaces at the far end of the car park. It was long, with three small, high windows on either side, more like a large horsebox than a vehicle designed for ferrying men. Jeb complained that he didn’t have keys for it, that Magnus was making him lose time and that the van was ‘fucking impregnable’, but Magnus suspected that he was secretly relieved not to be facing a cordon of armed soldiers through the Mondeo’s wide windscreen.
Magnus pulled at the back door to the van, but it was locked tight. He skirted round to the front passenger side and Jeb took the driver’s door. Magnus tried opening his side.
‘Fuck, it’s locked.’
Even as Magnus said the words he heard the door on the other side click open and the horror in Jeb’s voice.
‘Jesus Christ.’
It was impossible to know how long the prison guard had been slumped in the well of the driver’s seat. But these were the hottest days of summer and it had been long enough to bloat the man’s stomach and putrefy his flesh. Jeb held his bloodstained sleeve against his nose and mouth.
‘No way, man, I am not getting in there.’
Magnus thought he saw something moving on the guard’s swollen belly. He turned and retched, holding a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. Bile stung the back of his throat. He breathed deeply, his hands on his knees bracing himself, and then straightened up, took off the brown hoodie and grabbed the dead man’s arm, using the cloth as a barrier between his flesh and the corpse’s.
The smell was worse than that of the Minke whale that had been beached when he was fourteen. A group of volunteers had tried for hours to get it back into the water but the beast’s radar was faulty, or perhaps it had been ill and wanted to die. Their efforts had failed. The next day he and Hugh had dared each other to climb up on its black mountain of a body. In the end they had done it together, the pair of them slipping and sliding until they reached its peak, standing triumphant until the gases in the whale had suddenly shifted, and they had tumbled off, laughing and swearing, sure that the creature had come back to life.
‘Worse than a whale’s fart,’ he muttered. The dead guard flopped to the ground and Magnus saw the white stuff wriggling in the rotting flesh more clearly. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ Swearing helped. He dragged the man to one side, wiped the seat with the brown hoodie and dropped it on to the man’s face. ‘Rest in Peace.’ The van’s keys were resting in the ignition. Magnus turned to where his cellmate was crouched. ‘Do you want to drive?’
Jeb’s face was pale, but his voice had regained its edge. ‘Think you’ll go fast enough?’
Magnus nodded. ‘If there’s one thing island boys can do, it’s drive fast.’
He would have preferred to have been dressed in a prison guard’s uniform, but going back into the building to find one would take too much time and stripping the screw’s decaying body was out of the
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