Ashes Of America

by Fergus McNeill

  It was hard work, and it seemed to take forever, but eventually he was able to press the hub cap back into place. Gripping the wrench, he made a dash across the gravel and disappeared into the shadows of the forest.

  ‘Frank?’

  Faye’s voice startled him, and he whirled around to see her standing with her back to a large tree.

  ‘Damn it!’ he hissed, lowering the wrench as the shock slowly ebbed from him. He’d been wound up so tight, waiting for a noise, and then just as he started to relax… ‘I thought I told you to stay put.’

  ‘I couldn’t see what you were doing,’ she whispered. ‘What were you doing?’

  Frank beckoned her to follow him. Together they made their way back up the slope and dropped down on the sheltered far side, out of sight of the house.

  ‘Well?’ Faye asked.

  Frank caught his breath, then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the lug nuts to show her.

  ‘I loosened one of the wheels,’ he explained, with grim satisfaction. ‘It’ll come off when he tries to take that winding trail back to the road, hopefully a good distance from the house.’

  Faye nodded in understanding.

  ‘So you can get him on his own,’ she said.

  Frank managed a grim smile.

  ‘Ellis isn’t going anywhere far.’

  ‘Okay.’ Faye considered this. ‘But what do we do for now? And what if he doesn’t leave until late, or stays till the morning?’

  Frank gave her a weary look, then sighed.

  ‘We didn’t want him to drive away, and now he won’t drive away,’ he said, with as much patience as he could muster. ‘For the moment, we’re going to wait.’

  ‘Wait for what?’ Faye asked.

  Frank settled down and leaned back against the base of a tree, dropping the wrench on the ground beside him.

  They needed an edge, something that would let them get close to the house and keep their advantage.

  ‘Darkness,’ he told her.

  Dusk was closing in and it was getting colder. Frank had offered Faye his jacket once already, but she’d refused, assuring him she didn’t need it. Now she was pacing back and forth a little way down the sheltered side of the rise, trying to keep warm.

  A voice, indistinct and distant, made him sit up suddenly. He raised a hand to warn Faye, then rolled onto his knees and snatched up the wrench. Keeping his head low, he crawled to the top of the slope, and peered down at the house. A shaft of light spilled out, cutting a bright path across the gravel while a lean figure stood talking in the doorway. It was impossible to make out what was said, but there was no mistaking who it was.

  Ellis.

  The thin man turned and walked across the gravel. Behind him, someone shut a door and the light was suddenly gone. Backing away, Frank crawled down below the crest of the rise, then got stiffly to his feet.

  ‘It’s Ellis,’ he whispered to Faye as she came up to stand beside him. From the other side of the ridge, they heard something that might have been a car door slamming, then the waking roar of an engine. ‘Come on, he’s leaving.’

  Turning he started to move along the slope, keeping far enough down to be out of sight from the trail. The exact direction of each sound was confused among the trees, but they could hear that the car was moving quickly and a moment later they saw the glow of its headlights illuminating the forest ahead of them.

  Frank ran, almost stumbling over fallen branches and tangled undergrowth but desperate not to let Ellis get too far ahead. He saw the reflection of the lights raking around to the left as the car began to turn… then there was a sudden awful scraping noise, like stony ground being gouged under metal, and a final grinding crunch.

  Frank hurried on, angling directly towards the sound as he rounded the shoulder of the rise and saw the car ahead of him. The engine was still running, revving fast like it had got itself stuck, and the headlights glared out, illuminating the trees at the side of the trail where the car had finally come to rest. It lay at a slight angle, stooped down on one corner as though it was lame.

  As Frank closed the distance between them, the engine abruptly switched off. Tensing, he skidded to an immediate halt, his crashing footsteps suddenly way too loud against the silence. He twisted around, gesturing to Faye, motioning her to be careful, then turned back towards the lights.

  A door squeaked open, metal scraping against metal, and they heard Ellis’ voice, cursing and swearing as he forced his way out of the car.

  ‘Dannazione, you useless piece of crap…’

  He stomped around to the near side of the car, bending down to stare at the empty wheel arch, muttering angrily to himself.

  Frank stepped quietly out from the trees, his gun leveled at the thin man’s back, the wrench gripped tightly in his other hand.

  ‘Don’t fucking move,’ he said, in a tone that froze Ellis where he stood. ‘Hands above your head, where I can see them.’

  Slowly, Ellis raised his hands.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ he demanded gruffly, but there was a note of fear in his voice. ‘I just lost a wheel and damn near killed myself, so ain’t in the mood for no…’

  He trailed off as Frank walked around into his line of sight, illuminated by the glow of the headlights.

  ‘Surprised to see me?’ Frank asked.

  A flicker of shocked recognition passed briefly over Ellis’ face, but he managed to regain his composure.

  ‘I… I don’t know what you mean,’ he said, stiffly.

  ‘But you’ve been looking for me,’ Frank reminded him. ‘Looking quite hard.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Frank paused and smiled down the gun barrel.

  ‘You just didn’t know why you were looking for me,’ he continued. ‘Isn’t that right, Ellis?’

  The thin man frowned, then his eyes widened.

  ‘That was you on the phone!’ he gasped.

  ‘That’s right,’ Frank replied. ‘Now, get down on your knees.’

  He glanced over as Faye stepped out from the shadow of the trees. Ellis caught his look, twisting around to see Faye, then turned back with an expression of bewilderment on his face.

  ‘On your knees!’ Frank growled.

  Hands still raised, Ellis sank to his knees, staring up in mounting panic.

  ‘Hey look,’ he stammered. ‘You wanted money, right? Well, I got your money. I got it right here…’

  He began to lower one hand, reaching towards his jacket, but Frank jerked the gun at him.

  ‘STOP!’

  Ellis’ face fell and he raised his hands again.

  ‘It’s in my jacket pocket,’ he insisted. ‘I swear!’

  Frank took a step closer, aiming directly at his head now.

  ‘First, I want to see the gun,’ he said. ‘Take it out carefully, thumb and forefinger only.’

  Watching him, Ellis nodded and pulled open his jacket to reveal a shoulder holster. Very slowly, he used his finger and thumb to take out a Beretta, then tossed it over. It landed in the dirt with a dull thud.

  ‘Good,’ Frank said, without enthusiasm. ‘Now, the money.’

  Ellis reached to his inside jacket pocket and drew out a thick manila envelope.

  ‘Come on,’ Frank barked.

  Flinching, Ellis threw the envelope over and raised his hands again.

  ‘There, see?’ He licked his lips, nervously. ‘I did what you asked.’

  Ignoring the money, Frank scowled down at him.

  ‘I’m not done asking yet,’ he hissed.

  ‘But…’ Ellis stole a fearful glance at Faye, then turned back again. ‘What else do you want?’

  Frank stared down at him.

  ‘I want to know who sent you,’ he demanded. ‘Who wants me dead?’

  Ellis’ eyes flickered briefly towards the house.

  ‘Some out-of-towner, calls himself Spree.’ He looked up fearfully. ‘I never heard a first name.’

  Frank began to pace ar
ound him, watching him, keeping the gun trained on his head.

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘I don’t know, but he ain’t one of us.’ Ellis gave a shudder. ‘Some big-shot from back east, I guess.’

  ‘You weren’t curious about him?’ Frank said, moving round to his side.

  Ellis shook his head emphatically.

  ‘When my boss tells me to go help someone out, I don’t ask questions.’

  Frank considered this as he walked around behind the kneeling figure.

  ‘How many people are in the house?’ he demanded.

  ‘There’s three,’ Ellis replied, without any hesitation. ‘Spree, some little whore we got for him, and the cook.’

  Frank lifted his head and glanced over at Faye.

  Whoever this big-shot was, he was unguarded.

  ‘And how did you leave things with Spree?’ he asked.

  Ellis hesitated.

  ‘The truth,’ Frank snapped. ‘Or I’ll shoot you in the spine.’

  ‘Okay, okay!’ Ellis jerked his hands even higher, then drew a breath. ‘He said to give you the money…’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And then…’ His head dropped slightly. ‘Then I was supposed to kill you.’

  Directly behind him, Frank stopped pacing.

  ‘Hey, come on,’ Ellis cried, panicking now. ‘You said you wanted the truth, and that’s what he told me, I swear.’

  Frank tightened his grip on the gun, then looked across at Faye. Her face was like stone.

  ‘Don’t shoot me!’ Ellis begged. ‘C’mon, I did what you asked!’

  Staring down the barrel at the back of his head, Frank swallowed, one finger tight against the trigger.

  Don’t shoot…

  In his mind, he saw them again.

  The lifeless body, propped up against the tree in that dark alpine clearing… the German soldier in France who’d suddenly stopped firing back…

  His shoulders were taut, and he was rhythmically beating the wrench against the side of his leg as he slowly lowered the gun.

  ‘I won’t shoot you,’ he murmured.

  Ellis’ upstretched arms sagged a little in relief.

  And then he remembered the firefighter collapsing on the sidewalk, the woman screaming for her husband… Pete’s broken body sprawled across the floor… the bitter promise he’d made to Beth…

  Everything tightened as he raised his arm high, guilt and pain and anger bursting through his muscles as he brought the wrench down hard on Ellis’ head. He heard the sickly wet cracking of bone, saw the skull deforming horribly under the blow, but he couldn’t get a hold of the rage inside him, lifting the length of steel once more, bringing it down again and again as the useless limbs twitched in the dirt beneath him…

  When he came to himself, stooping over the ruined corpse, he jerked his head away, fearing he would vomit.

  Oh God, no!

  He turned anxiously towards Faye, expecting her to be hysterical, but she was staring down at the body, her expression eerily calm. Dimly aware that he was still gripping the wrench, he tried to drop it, but for some reason his hand wouldn’t let go. Glancing down, he saw the bloody mass of hair and brain matter on it, and felt his stomach lurch. Staggering to the nearest tree, he bent over, his hand pressed against the cold bark, retching until he had nothing left to bring up.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Faye had come over and was standing by his side.

  ‘No,’ Frank gasped. He spat, trying to get rid of the acid taste, then slowly looked round at her.

  Faye stepped forward and held out her hand, offering him the manila envelope. Frank took it, feeling the weight of the cash as he jammed it down into his jacket pocket, nodding in acknowledgement.

  She stared at him thoughtfully, then glanced over her shoulder, back towards the road.

  ‘You wanna get out of here?’ she said quietly. ‘Go back to the car?’

  Frank sighed.

  Yes. That was what he wanted, what he’d always wanted: to get far away, to leave it all behind.

  He looked down the trail towards the house, then slowly shook his head. Standing up, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

  ‘We’re not finished here yet.’

  46

  They made their way back towards the house, staying in the shadow of the trees for as long as possible. As they approached the corner of the building, Frank turned to Faye and beckoned her close.

  ‘Step on the dirt, not the gravel,’ he whispered. ‘Less noise.’

  Her large eyes glittered in the dim light.

  ‘Okay.’

  He gave her an encouraging nod, then turned and gazed up at the house. Most of the place seemed to be in darkness, but there was a warm glow from a small window at the far corner.

  Someone was in there. Spree maybe? Or perhaps the cook…

  Gripping the .45 tightly, he moved across to the front wall and waited for Faye to follow him. Then he sidled forward, hugging the wall and ducking low under each window. His shoes sank into the soft ground, but he made it over to the entrance porch without any noise to give them away, and paused for a moment, listening.

  Music again, but muffled, distant.

  Glancing back at Faye, he held up a hand for her to wait, then turned and crept round to the front step. Normally he wouldn’t have entertained an entry via the front door, but this place was built to look out across the lake, and he figured that whoever was inside would be enjoying the view at the back.

  Time to see if he was right.

  He reached out and gripped the handle, twisting slowly; it turned and he felt the door come free in his hand. Grabbing a breath, he took a half-step back and raised his gun. Then, using the tip of his shoe, he eased the door open. As it swung slowly ajar, a wood-paneled entrance hall came into view, thankfully deserted. Directly in front of him, a broad flight of stairs ascended into the darkness of the upper level. On the left there was a passage that looked as though it led through towards the rear of the building, and a short corridor ran off to the right, where the lit window was.

  The music was louder now, a Dean Martin song, upbeat and cheerful.

  Frank leaned forward, twisting his body left and right to look down the gun barrel, but there was no sign of anyone.

  He stepped back and waved for Faye to come join him. Turning, he kept watch on the hallway until she was by his side, then cautiously stepped over the threshold. To his left, there was a small table with an antique chair beside it. All around him, the walls were hung with a selection of paintings that alternated between racehorses and naked women.

  ‘Maybe we should find the cook first,’ he whispered, peering down the corridor. ‘You know where the kitchen is?’

  Faye didn’t answer. Frank glanced round to see her standing pale and tense, her eyes staring up the dark stairs.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked her softly.

  She blinked at him, then raised her chin.

  ‘I’m okay,’ she said.

  ‘The kitchen?’ he prompted her.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said gazing past the stairs. ‘Down there, I think.’

  She indicated towards the right.

  ‘Stay behind me,’ he whispered.

  They edged down the corridor, placing each foot carefully to avoid any sound on the polished wooden floor. Behind them, the music had changed to a different song, with swooping strings and a light, airy feel.

  Frank approached the door at the end of the corridor, then turned to Faye.

  ‘Wait here,’ he mouthed to her. ‘Warn me if you hear anyone coming.’

  Faye turned around to look back towards the entrance hall.

  Frank raised his gun, then carefully twisted the door handle and pushed his way inside.

  It was a long kitchen, with a single window overlooking the gravel parking area, and a plain wooden door set in the far wall. The air that hit him was warm, heavy with cooking smells. A glass-topped table sat in the middle of the room with four modern chairs arou
nd it, and an impressive array of electrical appliances lined the wall on the right. Standing over by the sink, a fat man in his fifties was sluicing water around in a large steel pan, humming to himself. He looked up with mild interest, then took a stumbling step backwards as he saw the gun.

  ‘Shhh.’ Frank raised a finger to his lips, easing the door quietly closed behind him. ‘Not a sound, okay?’

  The man had a red face and gentle eyes, but he looked frightened. Perspiration shone on his balding head, and what hair remained was grey and wavy. Setting the pan down, he wiped his hands on a striped apron that was covered in stains and scorches.

  ‘You're the cook, right?’ Frank asked.

  The man nodded anxiously.

  ‘And what's your name?’

  ‘Carlo.’

  ‘Okay then, Carlo.’ Frank held up one hand in what he hoped was a calming gesture. ‘I need you to tell me who’s in the house. Spree and the girl, right?’

  ‘Right,’ the cook replied, staring at the gun.

  ‘Nobody else? You’re not expecting anyone?’

  ‘No. Nobody.’

  ‘Okay, good.’ Frank gave him a serious look. ‘Now, if you do as I say, you won’t get hurt, understand?’

  Carlo nodded eagerly.

  ‘All right then.’ Keeping the gun trained on him, Frank glanced around, his eye settling on the door in the far wall. ‘What’s through there?’

  Carlo turned to see where he was looking, then shook his head.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘It’s just a pantry.’

  Frank considered for a moment, then motioned him towards it.

  ‘Show me.’

  Carlo hesitated, then moved across to the far wall and pulled the door open. Beyond it was a small, dark storage area, with shelves of canned goods, jars and bottles. There was no window.

  ‘In you go,’ Frank said, pointing. ‘Get in there and keep quiet, okay?’