Highlander

by Garry Douglas Kilworth

  Then she saw him, trying to hide his face in a newspaper, behind the wheel of his car. She crossed the street in an angry mood, and rapped on the side window. A face appeared from behind the paper. The window was lowered.

  ‘Wait! Are you following me?’

  ‘No, Brenda. That is, yes. I thought. . .’

  ‘Walter, I do not need protection. Just leave me alone. I want some privacy.’

  He flushed bright scarlet. She could have warmed her hands on his face.

  ‘Yeah - uh - sure, Brenda. I’m sorry. I just. . . well, goodnight. ‘

  ‘Goodnight, Walt.’

  She watched him drive away, before unlocking the door to her apartment. Stepping inside, she suddenly paused and sniffed the air. There was a peculiar odour: like damp leather. Her cleaning woman had been in that day so she supposed it was something that had been sprayed on the furniture. She went into the bathroom to wash her face. She put the water into the basin, wet her skin and then washed herself with the soap. She rinsed off and towelled. As she opened her eyes, she looked straight into the cabinet mirror - and saw a face.

  ‘Hello, pretty,’ said the Kurgan.

  She screamed and whirled to confront him.

  ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

  ‘Don’t you recognize me, my pretty? We met on the construction site - you stopped me from taking MacLeod’s head.’

  Brenda felt as though she had just swallowed her own heart. She tried to edge through the doorway, but he caught her wrist.

  ‘MacLeod usually shares his women with me,’ laughed the Kurgan. She remembered that MacLeod had told her of the Kurgan’s rape of Heather. She felt a sick feeling in her stomach.

  ‘Is that what you want? Then will you go?’

  ‘Ah - a submissive one. I usually like them to fight. If you don’t struggle, it’s no fun.’

  ‘I’m not interested in silly games. Will you please leave my apartment?’

  The Kurgan drew himself up and said, ‘I think I will. That’s a fine way to treat a visitor.’ Then he laughed and picked her up, carrying her beneath one arm. He left the apartment with her screaming and struggling under his arm.

  A young man in one of the other apartments, came out onto the landing and tried to wrestle with the Kurgan. The Kurgan gripped his face and squeezed so that the young man’s eyes bulged and his jaw came off its hinge.

  ‘Don’t bother me,’ said the Kurgan, throwing him against a wall.

  Brenda remained silent after that. She allowed herself to be carried down to the car into which she was tossed and then she waited, thinking that once he began driving she could watch for a chance to get away. He would have to stop at traffic lights. No one man could hold a person prisoner in a car, unless he had a gun - which he did not appear to possess.

  The car was started and the Kurgan swung out immediately into the fast stream of traffic. He seemed careless of any accident, even though it might involve him. Then she remembered: this man was immortal. He didn’t give a damn whether they crashed or not. She could die, but not him.

  ‘Take it easy,’ she said, quietly, so as not to arouse the man’s anger.

  ‘Don’t you like my driving? Here,’ he swung into the centre of the road, narrowly missing a truck. ‘This is how I get my kicks - a little game of chicken.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’

  ‘Oh, come on. Don’t hide down there...’ He gripped her by the hair and pulled her upright in the seat. ‘Sit up and watch the fun.’

  He began weaving in and out of the oncoming traffic while Brenda’s heart was racing. She tried to appear calm, as if his crazy driving did not bother her in the least. The lights of the city flashed by: red, blue, green, purple. For the moment they became part of a fairground scene, with everything spinning, turning, twisting, whipping, making her feel giddy and sick, as he skated the car along wet patches, throwing it into complete circles at times.

  There was a bedlam of noise as other vehicles tried to get out of their way and ended up on the sidewalk, or blocking a lane of traffic. Horns were blaring, people were shouting and screaming: the punks and hookers on the sidewalk were enjoying the chaos, adding their own shrieks and yells to the noise. Sirens began to sound in the distance and Brenda hoped that they would come their way, arrest this maniac on the seat beside her.

  Out on the highway, the Kurgan really began to enjoy himself. Two articulated trucks were coming towards them, one abreast the other, overtaking. The Kurgan put his foot down on the gas and headed right for the middle of the pair of them. Brenda’s scream was lost in the sound of the horns on the trucks as they tried to warn the oncoming car that there was no extra road. Brenda watched, terrified, as their headlights got bigger and rounder, rapidly. The Kurgan was laughing. The trucks began to part, slowly - too slowly - their offsides scraping against the walls of the flyover. The Kurgan kept his course, right for the centre of the two great juggernauts. The gap between them widened, but not enough to let the smaller vehicle through. It went into the opening between the trucks and ripped down the sides, tearing slits along the aluminium panelling. Somehow they managed to crush their way through at the other end, coming out onto open road like a cork from a shaken lemonade bottle.

  ‘How was that, my pretty?’ laughed the Kurgan.

  ‘I nearly died, didn’t you?’ Brenda felt so frightened she could have vomited without any trouble at all. She gripped the handle of the door, wondering whether to risk throwing herself out. Anything would be better than what she was going through at the moment.

  They went straight through a red light, leaving chaos and confusion behind them. Brenda had been hoping he would slow down for it so that she could jump and run, but it was almost as if he could read her mind.

  ‘You’re not going anywhere,’ he cried.

  ‘You bastard,’ she shouted, trying to claw his face as he drove along. He fought her off, laughing the whole while. When she still persisted, he punched her in the stomach, sending a wave of nausea through her pain racked body.

  ‘Keep still you bitch, or I’ll tear your head off.’ At that point he had to turn a corner with one hand and the car skidded across the road, striking the kerb. Brenda threw the handle of the car and fell out into the road as the vehicle went on a few more yards. She scrambled to her feet and ran across the road to a group of men standing outside a pool room, drinking cans of beer.

  ‘Help me,’ she said. ‘That man is trying to kill me.’ They looked bemused and one of them said, stubbing out a cigarette, ‘Is he your old man?’

  By this time the Kurgan was out of the car and running back.

  ‘Oh God,’ cried Brenda. ‘Won’t someone help me?’

  One of the men stepped in the Kurgan’s path and said, ‘Just a minute buddy...’

  He had hardly got the last word out before a fist smashed into his face, knocking him to the ground. The Kurgan hardly paused in his run. He swept two more men aside, sending one of them spinning into the road where he was almost hit by an oncoming car. Brenda ran down the street, pleading with passers-by, who merely looked shocked. The Kurgan just waded through them, a set look on his face.

  At the corner of the street stood a policeman and relief swept through Brenda. She ran up to him and breathlessly told him she was being chased. The cop looked down the street and saw the Kurgan running towards them.

  ‘Hey!’ he called. ‘Just hold it right there.’

  When the Kurgan did not stop, the policeman’s hand went to his revolver and closed around the butt. That was as far as he got. The Kurgan picked up a garbage can, while in mid-flight, and brought it crashing down on the cop’s skull. The officer fell stunned to the ground. People were screaming and running in all directions, but there did not seem to be any way of stopping this man.

  Brenda was frantic. If a policeman could not protect her, then who the hell could?

  She ran into the open doorway of a sleazy hotel and down the corridor. She tried the doors to the rooms, as she passed
, one after another. They were all locked. Finally, she reached one that opened. She stepped inside and found the key in the lock, she turned it, locking herself in. Surely he would not find her now? There were too many rooms. She underestimated the Kurgan, who recognized no barriers whatsoever. One by one he smashed down the doors with his fists. He entered three rooms by this method. Finally, he reached the room in which Brenda was hiding. The first fist came crashing through a panel in the door, sending splintered wood flying into the room. Brenda tried to stifle a scream, but it came out, loud and shrill.

  Boots shattered what remained of the door and the Kurgan stepped inside.

  ‘Come on you,’ he said, grabbing her wrist and dragging her through the doorway. She went limp and allowed herself to be pulled along. She had done her best to escape and it had been just a game to him, nothing more. He was unstoppable. Even guns were useless against him, as she well knew. There was only one man who might be able to face this giant, and he was not there.

  When they got back to the car and on the road once more, leaving behind them pandemonium in the shape of police cars and crowds of people, none of whom knew what was going on, incredibly the Kurgan started singing.

  ‘New York, New York...’

  ‘Shut up!’ screamed Brenda.

  He clipped the end of a motorcyclist, sending the machine skating on its side in a stream of sparks. ‘I love to wake up - in the city. . .’

  ‘Shut up!’

  ‘I love...’ He crossed another red light and two vehicles slammed into each other, trying to avoid him.

  ‘Shut up!’ she shrieked at him.

  He laughed into her face. Eventually, they reached a tall building with a SILVERCUP sign on the roof. The Kurgan dragged Brenda from the car to a public phone booth and pulled her inside with him. He put in a coin and dialled a number, still grinning into her face.

  ‘Hello? Is that my buddy MacLeod? I’ve got someone here...’ He put the phone next to her mouth.

  ‘Don’t say anything. Just scream, bitch.’ He squeezed her arm and she did what he asked. He put the phone back to his own mouth.

  ‘Your girlfriend is a real screamer. It’s very entertaining. Listen here’s the location...’ He rapidly gave MacLeod directions to the Silver Cup bakery.

  ‘We’ll be waiting here for you,’ he finished. ‘Don’t be too long or I might have to take another one of your women. I wouldn’t want it to become a habit.’

  He put the phone down. ‘Now, my pretty, let’s go up on the roof.’

  He threw her over his shoulder and went up to the fire escape and began climbing. When they reached the top, Brenda could see that the SILVERCUP sign was giant sized, each letter three times the height of a man. The whole thing was fixed to some scaffolding, about forty feet high. The Kurgan began to climb this with Brenda still slung over his shoulder. She looked down to the street, many storeys below, where the traffic moved like toys, and her stomach cramped in fright. She was past screaming now though. She felt him lift her up, against the scaffolding, by the huge letter S and there he tied her wrists to the metal framework. Below her the city stretched out like a fairyland of lights. It was strange to think that those streets were full of people - people who were just going about their everyday business, unaware of any drama unfolding high above them. Would they even believe it? Two immortals were about to battle to the death in order to obtain some indefinable prize. It was like a nightmare.

  The wind tugged at her skirt and the scaffolding swayed and creaked beneath her. It seemed so flimsy, way up there - held together by a few bolts and nuts - and she felt very insecure. How long would MacLeod take? Would he even come? Oh God, what if he did not come?

  Chapter 32

  MACLEOD PUT THE phone down and stared across the room at Rachel.

  ‘Was that him?’ she said.

  ‘He wants to meet me - he’s got Brenda with him. Says he’ll start cutting pieces from her if I don’t get there soon.’

  MacLeod slammed a fist down on the coffee table. ‘What the hell did he have to involve her for? He knows I would have met him, without all this.’

  Rachel replied, ‘It gives him an edge. A psychological edge. How can you concentrate fully on the fight, when you have her to worry about too? The Kurgan does nothing without a purpose, it seems to me. He’s taking a chance. You’re all that stands between him and the prize.’

  MacLeod nodded. That was it. The last battle. Perhaps he would be joining Heather and Ramirez before the night was over. That did not seem so bad. He was tired very tired. He had lived too long. His whole being felt weary and dissipated. He picked up his Samurai sword and strapped it to his back. Rachel watched him with dark eyes. What was she thinking?

  ‘You’re looking critical,’ he said. ‘Does my hair need combing, or something?’

  ‘Don’t joke. I was just thinking that perhaps this was not the right time for you to meet him. Maybe you should choose your own time and place.’

  He took out the gleaming blade and inspected it. Under the strong light of the apartment he could see few blemishes to the metal. Two and a half thousand years of service that blade had given to two men - now it had one last job to do. He ran his fingers down the pattern of the dragon on the handle. Beautiful workmanship. The blade itself had a pattern too: a set of Japanese characters. MacLeod knew what they said: No one lives forever. Typical of Ramirez’s humour.

  ‘Did you hear what I said?’ asked Rachel.

  ‘Yes, I did. I know you have my best interests at heart, but there’s a woman out there. He’ll kill her just like that. I have to go. His ground, his time, but I have to go, just the same.’

  Rachel said softly, ‘Are you in love with her?’

  He sheathed the sword. ‘I think so.’

  ‘That may be bad for you. It would be better if you had no emotional stake in this.’

  He smiled. ‘Not much I can do about it now, is there? You can stop yourself falling in love with someone, but once it’s happened, you can’t just shrug it off and forget about it.’

  ‘Can’t you?’

  ‘No. You should have fallen in love, Rachel. There’s still plenty of time.’

  ‘Maybe I will.’

  There were tears in her eyes now and he went to her and put his arms around her.

  ‘Hey, come on. I’ll be back.’

  She hugged him to her. ‘I don’t know. . .’

  ‘I’m telling you. I’ll be back.’

  ‘But you seem so . . . dispirited, as if you’re going out there with the wrong attitude to begin with. Do you want to die?’

  He thought about that. ‘Not now,’ he said. ‘I have been - low. When you were a little girl, you gave me a sense of purpose for a while. I had someone to take care of - someone who needed me to look after them. Never having had children before, it was a unique experience for me. I enjoyed it. We had great fun together, didn’t we?’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes,’ she sobbed against his shoulder.

  ‘Lately, I’ve been feeling that I’ve had my time. But now - now I’m in love again, for the first time for four centuries. Now someone else needs me. It’s worth trying to live...’

  She smiled through her tears at him. ‘Just keep it in mind!’

  He left her then, taking the elevator to the street below. The Porsche was parked around the back. He climbed in, started the engine, and pulled away from the kerb. Someone else did so at the same time.

  MacLeod looked in his rear view mirror and saw that Bedsoe was tailing him.

  ‘Shit!’ He slammed the Porsche into third and took off.

  Bedsoe was slow to respond and MacLeod managed to put at least three cars between himself and the cop before they reached the next turnoff.

  He gunned the Porsche down a side alley, hoping Bedsoe’s Chevy was too wide to follow. It was, and it wasn’t. The cop’s vehicle touched the walls of the alley, but that did not stop him from going in. He crushed a few garbage cans in his efforts, too. MacLeod pressed his speed
advantage and managed to get to the next red light before Bedsoe who, being the man he was, had to stop and watch his victim get frustratingly far ahead. By the time MacLeod turned the next bend, Bedsoe was way behind and falling back further all the time.

  MacLeod turned into a scrap yard and waited. Eventually Bedsoe’s vehicle went screaming past and disappeared. MacLeod waited for a few more minutes then turned out and in the opposite direction.

  He reached the SILVERCUP building about fifteen minutes later. Except for the sign the whole place was in darkness. The windows, blackly reflecting the street lights, glared at him balefully. Shadows filled every deep pocket of the building’s recesses, anyone of which could be harbouring the Kurgan’s form. Somewhere up there that double-edged broadsword was waiting to take MacLeod’s head.

  He left the car and drew his sword. The Kurgan had mentioned the roof, but that did not mean he was up there. He could be anywhere on the way. The most likely route was up the fire escape.

  MacLeod began to climb the rusty ironwork, trying to keep his footfalls soft. At each platform he stopped to listen. The Kurgan would have heard the arrival of the car, so Brenda was no longer in danger. It was best to travel cautiously, than not arrive at all.

  Just before the top, about fifteen storeys up, MacLeod put his coat against a window and broke it with as little noise as possible, using the handle of his sword. Somewhere, in the depths of the building below, a dog barked for a while. Then all was silent again. MacLeod reached inside, through the hole in the glass, and opened the window. Then he climbed into the darkness inside. Glass cracked underfoot. He moved towards the wall and felt his way round until he came to a door. It was not locked. He opened it and crept along the passage, until he came to a stairway leading to the final storey. He went up, slowly. At the top of the stairs he found himself in an enormous, empty studio with walls of glass and a glass roof, presumably for the light it afforded cameramen. The moonlight shone through the windows - hundreds of them - and onto to the empty floor. It was an eerie place, but at least MacLeod could see into all its corners and ascertain that the Kurgan was not lurking there, ready to decapitate him.