Time Is Running Out

by Michael Wood

  Rory and Scott stood nose to nose. They could feel each other’s breath on their faces and hear the sound of the other’s heartbeat.

  A trickle of blood flowed down the corridor and towards the doorway. Rory closed his eyes tight. They were trapped.

  ‘We can’t stay here,’ Scott mouthed.

  ‘He could still be out there,’ Rory mouthed back.

  ‘Chris,’ Scott said. If there had been any volume behind the word, it would have been a yell, he said it so forcefully.

  Rory shook his head. ‘If we go out there now, we’ll be shot.’

  ‘I don’t care anymore,’ Scott whispered.

  ‘Well, I do,’ he said, gripping his best friend harder. ‘Stay here. I’ll have a look.’

  Rory took a deep breath. He edged himself out of the doorway slowly, turned and looked down the length of the corridor. There was nobody there.

  ‘He’s gone,’ Rory whispered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s not here.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. I’m sure.’

  ‘He saw us, though, right?’ Scott asked.

  ‘I assume so.’

  They both stepped out from the doorway. Looking down at the floor, they saw a female student seriously injured but still alive. She was crawling along the ground towards them and Rory dropped to his knees to help her.

  Scott moved forward and then stopped, stock still. His eyes were fixed on Chris. His back was riddled with bullet holes. His white shirt was saturated with blood. There was no saving him. He dropped to his knees, held Chris’s head in his hands and stroked his hair.

  ‘I’ve got you. Come on. You’re going to be all right,’ Rory said to the girl. Slowly, he began to lift her to her feet. ‘What’s your name, love?’

  ‘Rebecca,’ she said, quietly. It was clear that she was in a great deal of pain.

  ‘Ok, Rebecca. We’re going to—’

  A single gunshot rang out, and the girl dropped.

  Rory was still holding her in his arms, but she was slumped dead. He looked down at her young face. There was nothing he could do. He looked up and saw Jake standing about five feet in front of him, and Scott, a distant expression on his face. Rory looked back down at Rebecca. He splashed her face with his tears.

  ‘I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you,’ he said with a catch in his throat, gently placing her back on the floor.

  ‘You bastard,’ Scott said with venom, standing up to his full height. ‘Why the fuck are you doing all this?’

  Rory reached forward, grabbed Scott by the top of his flak jacket and pulled him back so they were stood side by side. He didn’t want his friend and colleague doing anything stupid and risking his own life.

  ‘I know you two,’ Jake said stepping slowly forward.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Rory replied.

  ‘I do. I’ve studied everyone on Matilda’s team. Detective Constables Rory Fleming and Scott Andrews. Now, which one is which? Steve told me all about you both. Two more who don’t deserve to be on such a prestigious team. “Not bad to look at, but thick as pig shit, the pair of them.” That’s how Steve described you both. From where I’m standing, he was spot on. What kind of idiots stare down the barrel of a gun?’

  ‘I may be an idiot, but I’m not scared of you,’ Rory said firmly.

  ‘No? You should be.’

  ‘Why? Because you have a gun in your hand? Am I supposed to feel threatened by a little man with a gun? Sorry, you don’t frighten me because I know who you are. I know what you are, and you’re a pathetic little man, a nobody who wants to be a somebody. Just like your dick of a brother.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Jake asked, tightening his grip on the Glock, his knuckles whitening. ‘If I’m such a pathetic nobody, then why don’t you come and disarm me? There’s two of you and only one of me. Surely two hotshot detectives can overpower little, insignificant me.’

  ‘You’re a mad man with a gun,’ Scott said, fighting to hold back tears. ‘You’re volatile. Reckless. You should be fucking destroyed for what you’ve done today.’

  ‘Oh, the other one is capable of speech. Sorry, you’re going to have to help me out here. Which one is Rory, and which one is Scott? I’m staring at two cardboard-cut-out detectives and although Steve told me all about you, I’m having trouble telling you apart.’

  Scott’s eyes were darting all over the place. He kept looking down at Chris, hoping against hope that he wasn’t really dead, that, by some miracle, he was still clinging to life.

  ‘Hang on a minute, you’re Scott, aren’t you?’ Jake said, pointing the gun directly at him. ‘You’re the gay one going out with the teacher. Is that him? He nodded towards Chris. ‘Have I just killed your boyfriend?’ he asked with a smile.

  ‘Don’t answer him,’ Rory said out of the corner of his mouth. ‘He’s trying to make you angry. Don’t let him.’

  ‘I have, haven’t I? I’ve just shot and killed your boyfriend in front of you? Wow. There’s a bonus I wasn’t expecting.’

  ‘You’re sick,’ Scott said through gritted teeth.

  ‘So that means you must be Rory, the one with the roving eye, a different girl each month, strutting around the station thinking he’d God’s gift to women,’ he said, turning his gun back on Rory. ‘The thing is, I’ve got a list of people who I’m supposed to kill should I come across them on my journey today. It’s all stored up here.’ He tapped the side of his head with his gun.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ Scott growled. He was struggling to hold on to his emotions. ‘Why are you killing these innocent people?’

  ‘Innocent? Is that what you think?’

  ‘These are kids, for crying out loud. They’ve come to school to learn. Whatever’s going on in that fucked-up head of yours has nothing to do with them or anyone else.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ he said, stepping forward, the gun held out firm. ‘Every single person needs a wake-up call. You’re all so selfish in your sad, pathetic lives. You think you’re safe and indestructible in your little bubbles. Well, you’re not. Life without fear, pain and anarchy is a life wasted.’

  ‘You seriously believe that?’ Rory asked. ‘Do you think you’re some kind of mastermind terrorist? You’re nothing. You’re a conduit for your brother. You won’t be remembered for starting some kind of revolution. If you’re doing this for fame or notoriety, then I’m afraid you’ve failed. Nobody will remember you.’

  ‘Now, that’s where you’re wrong. I will be remembered. Your mother and father will remember my name every single time they look at your photograph. They’ll remember me as the man who killed their son.’

  Rory swallowed hard. Despite trying to appear brave, he was scared stiff.

  ‘No. My parents will remember me, and the good life I’ve led and the people I’ve helped and loved. They’ll remember me with a smile,’ he said, a tear rolling down his cheek.

  ‘It’s a shame we’ll not be able to find out. Still, let’s see which one of us is right.’

  Jake aimed the Heckler & Koch rifle at Rory’s chest and looked him straight in the eye.

  Rory licked his lips and braced himself. This was it. The end. If his life was a film, then a troop of armed police officers would burst through the doors, shoot Jake in the head and save Rory’s life in the nick of time. He’d be relieved and come up with a corny quip before the final credits rolled.

  But life isn’t like it is in the movies. There is no such thing as a happy ending. He looked down at Chris’s bullet-riddled body. He thought of Natasha as he’d cradled her in the car park of the police station. He pictured Matilda as she was stretchered into the back of an ambulance with half of her head missing.

  Rory always knew he’d die in the line of duty. He’d hoped it would have been while doing something heroic. If only we could pick and choose our ending.

  He could sense Scott by his side. If he could die knowing he’d saved the life of his best friend, it would be wo
rth it.

  Jake squeezed the trigger. A hail of bullets hit Rory in the chest. He fell backwards and was dead before he hit the floor.

  Scott froze to the spot. He felt the explosion ricochet through him, and the splatter of blood and brain matter hit his face. He closed his eyes tightly. When he eventually opened them, Jake had turned the gun onto him.

  Scott took a deep breath and prepared himself.

  ‘You can relax. Steve gave me both your names, but told me to only kill one of you, whichever I saw first. He said he thought it would be fun for one to try and survive without the other.’

  ‘What?’ Scott said quietly through the tears. He looked down and saw the dead bodies of his best mate and the man he loved.

  ‘I’d buy a ticket for tonight’s lottery if I were you. It’s obviously your lucky day.’

  Jake turned on his heels and headed down the corridor for the exit.

  ‘What? No. No. You can’t just leave,’ Scott called out. Jake didn’t respond and continued walking away. ‘Come back here. For fuck’s sake, you can’t leave me like this. Come back!’ he screamed. He collapsed to his knees. Tears were rolling down his face. ‘Come back here. Kill me. Fucking kill me. Please. I’m begging you. Fucking kill me!’

  His words resounded off the walls. Jake opened the door at the end of the corridor and walked through without looking back.

  Scott was left alone surrounded by the dead bodies of complete strangers, his best friend and the only man he’d fallen in love with. He crawled towards Chris, bypassing the dead pupils, wading through the blood of the innocent. He grabbed Chris by the shoulders and tried to lift him up, but he was a dead weight.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he cried as he leaned down over him, stroking his hair with bloodstained hands. ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated as tears flowed.

  Scott sat back on his haunches and managed to pull Chris towards him so he had his head resting on his lap. They had lain in this position many times during the evenings after a hard day at work, both of them relaxing on the sofa, simply enjoying being together. Chris liked having his hair stroked. So for one last time, that’s what Scott did.

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,’ he whispered, choking on his own words.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Now it was dark, Steve Harrison only saw his own image reflected back at him when he looked through the window. He’d been enjoying the view of the landscape as the adapted car sped down the M1 to Sheffield.

  He sat in the back, handcuffed to Rupert Carter, a burly prison officer with laboured breathing, stubble on his many chins and rancid breath. He looked down at the cuffs. They were loose on him but seemed to be digging into Rupert’s fat wrists. Surely he wasn’t medically qualified to be a prison officer. He’d be useless in a riot. Driving was Shaun Cox. He was a vicious bastard. His steely looks were enough to strike the fear into anyone. His threats worked because you knew he meant every word. Even Steve was scared of him when he saw that vein throb in the side of his neck. In the front passenger seat, Zoe Cartwright sat staring straight ahead out of the windscreen. He’d flirted with her on many occasions. At first, she’d resisted his charms, but there were times when he thought he was winning her over to his side. She hadn’t been at Wakefield long. A few more months and she’d be putty in his hands.

  Zoe looked at her watch. She leaned forward and turned on the radio.

  ‘It’s four o’clock. We’re going over to the newsroom now for the main headlines with Peter Rouse,’ the Radio Four announcer said.

  ‘At least twenty people have been killed in two gun attacks in Sheffield. The gunman is currently held up in a school where shots have been fired. We can now go live to our North of England correspondent, Danny Hanson.’

  A smiled spread across Steve’s lips as he relaxed into his seat. The events in Sheffield were headline news. Tomorrow, it would be on the front pages of all the newspapers and coverage would fill many of the inside pages too. Gun attacks in the UK were rare. This story would travel the globe. And it was all down to him. He couldn’t help but feel proud.

  It was apt that Danny Hanson was reporting on these shootings, as he had been the principal journalist in covering his own crimes. In fact, if memory served him correctly, Danny won an award for a feature he wrote about a police constable turned murderer. Maybe he should contact him one day, offer him an exclusive.

  ‘I’m reporting live from Stannington Secondary School in Sheffield,’ Danny began, ‘where less than five minutes ago a huge explosion ripped through the building. Armed police are surrounding the school and several pupils and staff members have been seen running from the rear with their hands on their heads. A police source has told me armed police are now storming the building in order to confront and contain the gunman.’

  ‘Danny, this is the third gun attack in Sheffield today. Is this a lone gunman or part of a larger terrorist incident?’ the newsreader asked.

  ‘Police believe one man is responsible for all three attacks, though his motive remains unclear. A few hours ago police were called to a house in Worrall where the occupants, Malcolm and Vivian Harrison, were found shot dead. Malcolm and Vivian are parents to former Police Constable Steven Harrison, who is currently serving life in prison for six murders he committed in 2017.’

  Steve was itching to cheer at the mention of his name and crimes from the back of the car, but he had to remember he was playing the role of a concerned brother and son. He lowered his head to show he was feeling remorseful, when he was really trying to hide his smile.

  ‘Are these attacks in any way linked to Steve Harrison?’ the newsreader asked.

  ‘This is a fast-moving investigation. We’ve been told a statement will be released at some point this evening. Until then, we don’t know.’

  ‘What can you tell us of casualties, Danny? We understand a number of police officers have lost their lives today.’

  ‘That’s right. Assistant Chief Constable Valerie Masterson was killed this morning at South Yorkshire Police Headquarters. ACC Masterson had led the force through some difficult times in recent years including the Hillsborough Inquiry and the inquiry into historical sexual abuse in Rotherham. She was a tough leader of the force and will be greatly missed. Another victim was Detective Chief Inspector Matilda Darke…’

  Steve looked up. He’d been waiting for this confirmation. He hoped that bitch suffered.

  ‘…DCI Darke was shot twice in the same incident as the Assistant Chief Constable. She is currently undergoing emergency surgery at the city’s Royal Hallamshire Hospital where she is in a serious and critical condition…’

  Steve tuned the rest of the broadcast out. She was still alive. How the fuck was that possible? Jake said he’d shot her in the head. He’d seen the back of her skull explode as she dropped to the ground. How can anyone survive that?

  Steve seethed. He could feel his blood boiling. All he’d wanted was to get payback for her stifling his career. She only got the job to be in charge of the prestigious Homicide and Major Enquiry Team because she was a woman and the force needed to show they weren’t sexist. She’d handpicked her rag-tag bunch of idiots to support her and none of them deserved to be there. He did. Steve knew he was wasted as a PC, but he had been prepared to work through the ranks. His sergeant had tried to stop him climbing the ladder. He’d sabotaged his chances of passing his sergeants’ exams and those bastards on HMET conspired to keep him in uniform.

  He clenched his fists hard, digging his nails into the palms of his hands. He was full of rage, anger, fury and vitriol. He could feel the hot blood racing through his body, coursing through his veins, and his heart pounding so loudly in his chest he thought everyone in the car could hear it.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ Rupert asked as he turned his fat neck to look at him.

  ‘Nothing. Why?’ Steve said through almost gritted teeth.

  ‘You’ve gone bright red. Not trying to fake a heart attack, are you?’ He tried to laugh, but it turned
into a cough.

  ‘Fuck off,’ Steve snarled.

  ‘Language!’ he chastised. ‘You know this Darke woman then, do you?’

  ‘Just keep out of it. Go back to thinking of cake and biscuits, you fat bastard.’

  ‘I won’t tell you again, you little shit.’ Rupert yanked hard on the cuffs, pulling Steve towards him.

  ‘What’s going on back there?’ Shaun asked, looking through the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Just trying to teach this shit some manners.’

  ‘Save your breath. He’s evil to the core, that one. Aren’t you, Steve?’

  ‘You’d know all about that, Mr Cox,’ Steve said, making eye contact with him through the mirror. He sat back in his seat and closed his eyes, blocking out all sounds and sights. He needed to know where to go from here. The plan was for Jake to kill Matilda, divert the police’s attention by shooting from a bridge over the Parkway, then for Jake to get his revenge on Ruth. He’d probably killed her, but how could he get a message to Jake to finish Matilda off? Steve had told Jake to consider every possible outcome and to always have a back-up, a contingency plan. Fingers crossed he had listened to him and he was putting that plan into action right now, providing he managed to get out of the school alive.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Armed police had stormed the building and were sweeping through it room by room, floor by floor. They shouted, ‘All clear!’ and officers and paramedics were allowed in to rescue those trapped inside and administer medical aid to the injured.

  Christian, Sian and Aaron stood at the main entrance to the school. They could see the ground floor littered with bodies. It was a sight that filled them all with horror. All three had young children. To be standing in a school surrounded by dead students was a nightmare scenario none of them wanted to be part of. However, their job was to investigate, to identify the dead and inform the parents and families.