there is a red discharge in the dressing, a rusty ooze of blood. Damn, no time to change it.
Tom turns – painfully – and talks to the two local men on the back seat. Both look like little more than kids wearing policeman dress-up. ‘Tell me just before we get to visual range of the cabin. We need to go in quick and quiet. Okay.’
‘Sir, yes sir.’ They say simultaneously – which is unnerving.
Ten minutes later one of them says, ‘Just around the next bend and we can see it. There’s a half-mile dirt road leading to it. We can drive it or walk.’
‘If we walk, we’ll be sitting ducks if he starts shooting. Is there any cover close to the cabin?’
‘There’s a woodshed about twenty yards from the main building. Quite big,’ one of the locals tells him. They round the corner and Patterson slows to a stop. They can see the cabin and …
‘Smoke, there’s some smoke, look he’s in there.’ One of the policemen does a little jig on the backseat – like a toddler needing to pee.
‘This is serious.’ Tom tells him – though it doesn’t feel real. He understands why soldiers in war pretend it’s a game, safer to think you can just regenerate if you get hurt. But the pain that has started to build in his stomach wound is the antidote to that. Wincing, Tom gets out of the car and walks to the second, parked just behind them.
‘On my signal we are going to get to the cabin as fast as we can. If nothing happens – we head straight there and go in as a team. If he fires on us, then there is an outbuilding we head to and regroup. Okay?’ They nod.
Tom gets back into the lead car, next to Paterson. ‘Drive like the wind.’ Patterson floors the accelerator and they squeal forward. Tom imagines he hears ‘The Ride of the Valkyries’ swelling around them. His head is filled with: Kill da wabbit, kill da wabbit …
… a shot explodes the windscreen of the second car.
‘Jesus!’ Patterson shouts.
‘The wood shed,’ yells Tom through the side window.
No one needs to be told a second time. Patterson swerves into cover behind it and the second car crashes into the back of them. ‘Fucking morons!’ Patterson screams.
‘On the radio you two,’ Tom yells to the backseat. ‘Call in a swat team, now.’ Tom gets out and walks to the edge of the shed and looks at the cabin. His skin covered in a sheen of sweat, his stomach is killing him.
‘This is exciting, isn’t it?’ Dani-in-his-head says.
‘No,’ Tom tells her – but he lies. It really is.
‘Swat team won’t be here for at least an hour,’ one of the locals tells him.
Tom looks at the sky. Clouds skirmish above them, it is almost impossible to see where heaven and earth meet. It is all just grey and ugly. He sighs, the afternoon is already ebbing away; it will be dark long before anyone else gets here. George will escape, he knows it. Shit. He slips out of his jacket, then his jumper and shirt until he is topless. It reminds him of something from a long time ago when he last entered into the lair of a criminal to make a deal with the devil.
‘No, Guv,’ Patterson spits.
‘Christ, it’s cold.’ He whispers to himself and then holds On The Road up as high as he can, and he walks out from behind the shed – towards the cabin.
He shouts loud as he can. ‘George. George Larkshead, I have something you want. The book and the photo of Jennifer. Let me come in alone. I’m unarmed. Look, you can see.’ You can see the dressing where you stabbed me. Have another go , Tom thinks.
‘Fuck, Guv!’ shouts Patterson.
‘Don’t be stupid, Tom. Please don’t get hurt,’ Dani-in-his head pleads.
There is no reply from the cabin but Tom walks slowly towards it, holding the book aloft. When he gets close, the front door opens.
A voice from inside calls out. ‘Throw the book inside and then run back to your boys in blue.’
‘No.’ Tom calls back – his voice level. ‘I have questions. Let me come in.’
‘Questions?’
Tom turns – painfully – and talks to the two local men on the back seat. Both look like little more than kids wearing policeman dress-up. ‘Tell me just before we get to visual range of the cabin. We need to go in quick and quiet. Okay.’
‘Sir, yes sir.’ They say simultaneously – which is unnerving.
Ten minutes later one of them says, ‘Just around the next bend and we can see it. There’s a half-mile dirt road leading to it. We can drive it or walk.’
‘If we walk, we’ll be sitting ducks if he starts shooting. Is there any cover close to the cabin?’
‘There’s a woodshed about twenty yards from the main building. Quite big,’ one of the locals tells him. They round the corner and Patterson slows to a stop. They can see the cabin and …
‘Smoke, there’s some smoke, look he’s in there.’ One of the policemen does a little jig on the backseat – like a toddler needing to pee.
‘This is serious.’ Tom tells him – though it doesn’t feel real. He understands why soldiers in war pretend it’s a game, safer to think you can just regenerate if you get hurt. But the pain that has started to build in his stomach wound is the antidote to that. Wincing, Tom gets out of the car and walks to the second, parked just behind them.
‘On my signal we are going to get to the cabin as fast as we can. If nothing happens – we head straight there and go in as a team. If he fires on us, then there is an outbuilding we head to and regroup. Okay?’ They nod.
Tom gets back into the lead car, next to Paterson. ‘Drive like the wind.’ Patterson floors the accelerator and they squeal forward. Tom imagines he hears ‘The Ride of the Valkyries’ swelling around them. His head is filled with: Kill da wabbit, kill da wabbit …
… a shot explodes the windscreen of the second car.
‘Jesus!’ Patterson shouts.
‘The wood shed,’ yells Tom through the side window.
No one needs to be told a second time. Patterson swerves into cover behind it and the second car crashes into the back of them. ‘Fucking morons!’ Patterson screams.
‘On the radio you two,’ Tom yells to the backseat. ‘Call in a swat team, now.’ Tom gets out and walks to the edge of the shed and looks at the cabin. His skin covered in a sheen of sweat, his stomach is killing him.
‘This is exciting, isn’t it?’ Dani-in-his-head says.
‘No,’ Tom tells her – but he lies. It really is.
‘Swat team won’t be here for at least an hour,’ one of the locals tells him.
Tom looks at the sky. Clouds skirmish above them, it is almost impossible to see where heaven and earth meet. It is all just grey and ugly. He sighs, the afternoon is already ebbing away; it will be dark long before anyone else gets here. George will escape, he knows it. Shit. He slips out of his jacket, then his jumper and shirt until he is topless. It reminds him of something from a long time ago when he last entered into the lair of a criminal to make a deal with the devil.
‘No, Guv,’ Patterson spits.
‘Christ, it’s cold.’ He whispers to himself and then holds On The Road up as high as he can, and he walks out from behind the shed – towards the cabin.
He shouts loud as he can. ‘George. George Larkshead, I have something you want. The book and the photo of Jennifer. Let me come in alone. I’m unarmed. Look, you can see.’ You can see the dressing where you stabbed me. Have another go , Tom thinks.
‘Fuck, Guv!’ shouts Patterson.
‘Don’t be stupid, Tom. Please don’t get hurt,’ Dani-in-his head pleads.
There is no reply from the cabin but Tom walks slowly towards it, holding the book aloft. When he gets close, the front door opens.
A voice from inside calls out. ‘Throw the book inside and then run back to your boys in blue.’
‘No.’ Tom calls back – his voice level. ‘I have questions. Let me come in.’
‘Questions?’
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