Her response is almost an exact repetition of my question, as if she’s afraid to elaborate any more for fear of saying something she shouldn’t.
I look to Jo for some sort of guidance and it’s clear to see from her bewildered expression the odd nature of the conversation isn’t lost on her either. She looks as confused and uncomfortable as I feel.
Paul seems to have no compulsion to be involved in the conversation at all, but he does seem as focused on Meg’s responses as he is on anything I say. I get the feeling they desperately want me to just leave them be. That’s not going to happen.
I decide on one last attempt at civilized conversation.
“I hear you had a close one out on the road yesterday.”
That wasn’t the most tactful line ever but at this stage I just want to get a reaction of some kind.
With a slightly more confused look on her face, Meg questions, “The road? What are you talking...”
Before she can finish her thought, Paul adjusts his stare towards her in a very quick, subtle movement that has the instant effect of stopping Meg mid sentence. She steps back, moving in closer to Paul’s side. Looks like I got my reaction.
I’ve had enough of this.
“Right, what’s going on around here?” I demand.
Before they have time to answer, if they were going to at all, the door next to them opens up. From what I saw during our spin around the house earlier, it’s the door that leads out to the back yard and I can tell from the voice coming from the other side that it’s Fred.
The opening door obscures his view of Jo and me, and upon seeing the old pair standing in the same spot they were in when they had their last conversation; he begins to talk as he enters.
He’s excited and his voice is filled with urgency, fear but above all, anger.
“What were you thinking? We’ve got to get rid of those two and fast. If neither of you can do it, I will!”
As he enters my field of vision, I see he’s loading rounds into a rifle. You motherfucker! As he looks up from his gun and begins to turn around to see what the old pair are looking at, every fibre of my being screeches at me to act right now or die.
Before I know it, I’m sprinting straight at him, pumping my legs for all they’re worth, with no plan other than to hit him as hard as I possibly can with my body before he can raise that gun to finish the job he started earlier. He barely had time to see me coming before I make contact, flesh shuddering contact.
The collision lands us both on the hard tiled surface of the kitchen floor, making sure he takes the brunt of the impact.
I start to give into the red mist of self preservation as I kneel on top of him and hit him, again and again. I don’t just want to stop him, I want to punish him. This fucker was gonna kill me, probably Emma and Tom too.
I grab fistfuls of his hair in both my hands and raise his head in preparation for a blow against the kitchen floor, his dazed eyes trying to focus on me.
All of a sudden I’m struck from behind. The sharp impact of a shattering dinner plate on the back of my already pounding head is more than I can take, and any bit of bloodlust that I was feeling is well and truly knocked out of me. I slump to one side and fall to the floor, rolling off Fred and onto my back.
Lying face up I see it was Jo who clobbered me. I can see her lovingly attend to Fred with horror on her face as she helps him to his feet and she sees how much blood he’s covered in.
I’m getting tunnel vision in my one eye and feel like I could black out. Despite the fact that the bandages slightly cushioned the blow, the indescribable pain in my head is stopping me from focusing my thoughts on any rational plan of action. I’m not sure how much more of this crap my head can take.
I’m lucid enough to see that with Fred is back on his feet. Jo is still holding him, and as he winces in pain trying to stand up straight, I feel like I might let slip a slight smile with the thought that at least I gave as good as I got.
I’m in no state to judge their intent, are they all in on this? I fucked up, and now Emma and Tom could end up paying the price, maybe even Matt, if he actually makes it here.
Wait. Despite the splitting pain in my head, I feel something sticking into my back. The rifle! I must have landed on it when Jo knocked me off him.
I awkwardly shift my weight whilst trying to pull it from behind my back with my left hand. I shuffle backwards until my back hits some kitchen presses for me to partially prop myself up against, into a slumped sitting position.
Each of them takes a step back as the gun is revealed. It looks like the clumsy manner in which I’m brandishing the weapon is more unnerving to them than if I was fully in control of it.
What are my options? Do I try and shoot them? They might not all be in on it. Do I just try and shoot Fred? He’s got it coming, but am I willing to actually murder someone who’s not a spook? Although, in hindsight that probably would’ve been the result if Jo hadn’t just stopped me.
I’m sitting here in pain, trying my best to appear cognitive but sooner or later they’re gonna figure out that I can barely see straight right now, let alone shoot straight and that they could probably just walk up to me and take the gun right out of my hands.
Fred takes a staggered step forward, and in response I direct the gun in his general direction. I could fire a warning shot but I only actually saw him put one bullet in the chamber as he walked in.
What I wouldn’t give to see Matt kick the door next to me off its hinges and make his entrance, armed to the teeth. I hold my breath for a second as if it might actually happen, but no. Why can’t life be more like corny action films every now and again?
Fred takes another step, a bit steadier on his feet saying, “Take it easy guy, you got the wrong end of the stick about all this.”
I think he’s picked up on my current compromised state of awareness. I can’t really focus too well but it looks like he’s trying to conceal a carving knife or something behind his right forearm but he might be genuine.
It’s a risk I can’t take; my options have just reduced to one. I raise the gun, ready to fire. My chances of hitting him are slim, but hopefully Emma will hear the shot from the other side of the house and she’ll be able to get Tom out of here.
“Please stop,” Meg pleads to both of us from behind the kitchen island to my left.
She stands up out of cover as she says, “Shawn, Fred’s right. You don’t know the whole story. Please give us a chance to explain before someone gets killed.”
I look at her and pause. Jo stands up next to her.
“Shawn, I don’t understand exactly what’s happening but I trust Meg completely, please listen to her.”
She does sounds genuine, and Emma did say she was very concerned with our safety earlier on. The only wild card is this Fred. Shit! I took my eye of him like an idiot. He’s managed to get close enough to make a grab for the gun barrel. My reflexes are nonexistent and it’s all already happened before I know a thing about it.
Not only does he pull it from my hand, but for good measure he plunges the sole of his boot into the side of my face, knocking me to the ground again.
“Ughhh,” I let out a groan of pain.
That was a bit excessive, but who am I to talk.
I’ve done it now; I’ve relinquished the control of my fate. It’s time to find out if they’re on the level.
As I’m lying here on my side with bloody drool dripping from my cheek, the only thought going through my head is how I wish he had kicked me hard enough to knock me out, at least then I wouldn’t have to feel this shitty. I might even have scored some more morphine out of it if they don’t plan on killing me.
They must think I’m out cold because all four of them make a joint effort to lift and carry me to one of the nearby recliner chairs. I just let them without saying a word. I’m not sure I could manage it myself at the minute in any case.
Jo starts to jog towards the stairs saying, “I’ll get Emma to bring down h
er medical stuff.”
Paul, who hasn’t said a word yet, calls her back with authority in his voice, “No Jo! Come back here.”
“What? We can’t leave them like this.”
Meg adds in, with a bit more diplomacy in her voice, “Yes, come back and sit down Jo. We’ve got some matters to sort out first.”
Finally Fred, who has his rifle in hand and is looking at me with contempt, says to no one in particular, “You’ve got that right.”
It has all the feeling of an interrogation as Paul, Meg and Fred sit down on various bits of furniture right in front of me. Jo hangs back in the background, listening intently.
The only one of the three that I feel is slightly on my side is Meg; she’s got compassion in her eyes. The other two are cold and indifferent to the pain I’m obviously in.
Meg explains to me how I misinterpreted what I overheard and that Emma Matt and I were never in any danger from them at all. Before she offers anymore explanation, the topic of discussion shifts to Emma and how well I know her and her family.
They all pause and look at each other for a second when I reveal that I actually just met Emma yesterday and I have no idea who her family are, as well as having no relationship with her other than being a friend of a friend.
As the interrogation continues, the dynamic changes, it’s as if these revelations have somehow aligned me more with them and they begin to talk to me accordingly.
I’m not sure I like the direction we’re going in but I’m still recovering from a boot to the face, what choice do I have only to hear them out?
What have I landed myself in here? Three days ago I was your average paranoid insomniac, content in my slightly numb life, but like it or not, my choices don’t just affect me anymore. Emma, Tom and I, we’re all in this together now; some weird version of a surrogate family thrown together by the chaos of the world having a hissy fit.
Responsibility was never my strong point though. And where the fuck is Matt? He’s taking his bloody time! Despite how it looks, I know him too long to accept that he has just lain down and died while trying to get back to us. Plus I owe him a smack across the head for getting me into all of this.
To Be Continued...
The Hibernia Strain Page 11
