by Frazer Lee
Flustered, he turned and got the crash axe momentarily entangled in the dividing curtain. Cursing some more, he unravelled the axe from the curtain and stomped into the main cabin.
Gwen was slumped red-eyed and silent in her seat. Teetering on the edge of nervous exhaustion, she barely noticed him as he passed by.
Jo was sipping champagne from a flute glass, staring at the floor. Max could almost feel the tension in her body as he walked through the cabin carrying the axe. He looked at the nape of her neck as he passed her - the tender spot where her hairline met her back exposed. Could he do it after all; kill someone in cold blood? Swing the axe down, severing her head from her shoulders? The thought dried his mouth and made his head throb.
No. He didn’t have it in him. Not now, not never.
Max walked to the bar and put the axe down on the counter. Three glasses of champagne were laid out there in front of him, bubbling gently along with the droning rhythm of the jet engines. He took a glass and downed it in one, then gulped down a second. Helping himself to the third and final glass, he turned and raised it to Jo in a toast.
“To getting out of this alive,” he said, and knocked back the last of the champagne.
Jo watched him in grim silence, then raised her own glass and drained it dry.
Alligator’s voiced boomed in Dave’s ears.
“You have shown aptitude for your assignment, but that’s hardly a surprise - deception is your forte, after all.”
Dave swallowed. It was a guilty sound.
“So you’re... going to let her go, right?”
“I’m sorry Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that. I have an additional task for you.”
Dave shifted his weight on the closed toilet seat, trying to regain his composure, dreading to hear what the bastard wanted from him this time. He swallowed again in nervous anticipation, listening through the headphones intently.
“I want you to kill one of your fellow passengers...”
The image of Sarah on the TV screen flickered for a moment as the cameraman moved closer, stroking her cheek with the index finger of his gloved hand. She recoiled, terrified, almost losing her footing on the stool again. The noose hung heavy and deadly as an anaconda around her neck.
“She hasn’t got much time.” Alligator continued, “I’m going to give you three minutes.”
“No, wait, I...”
On the screen, some urgent red numerals appeared, superimposed over the image of Sarah’s terrified face:
‘03:00’, ‘02:59’, ‘02:58’...
The countdown had begun.
“Tick-tock...” Alligator preened.
Dave’s face was a mask of pure panic.
He watched the numbers counting down, and saw his fiancée, helpless and twitching, strength failing her.
With a pang of remorse, he recalled the photo Alligator had shown him and the others during the game. Dave had felt bad about sleeping with Aimée, the French girl, as even the most seasoned player would - but only briefly. She had made it so easy for him to do with her as he pleased; escorting him to his secret needs like a hollow doll desperate to be filled with his lust. She must have wanted it as much as he did. It was a transaction between two consenting adults dancing to their darkest tunes - that was all. A quick shower, then he had blocked her account on All2gethr, all done and forgotten about. She didn’t have his mobile number or anything, so no worries. Sarah need never know. His dalliance changed nothing and so, in a way was proof that he was ready to commit to her, that he really loved her. Sure, he had deceived her, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care about her.
He knew why he behaved as he did, in his secret heart-of-hearts, painfully aware of the childhood traumas that informed his adult activities. Dave had been the ‘fat kid’ at school, always trying to fight back through wave after wave of adolescent tears as the others had bullied him. His body had been weak and flabby as a child, but his mind resolute. Dave had taken the beatings and swallowed the taunts, absorbing the bitter frustration of the others until it had festered and bloomed into something rotten. No sooner than he was old enough, big enough, to use his vitriol against others he had done so, over and over. Bullies always begat bullies, it was the way of the world. All the feelings of revenge surging within him focused into his weapon in a war on the fairer sex; the weaker sex. Every charm offensive and subsequent conquest rebalancing the equation little by little, until he was the victim no longer.
When he met Sarah, everything had clicked into place for Dave. She’d been bullied at school too, she knew exactly how it felt and had even drawn Dave’s story out of him like poison sucked from a bite. Until Sarah, he’d never confided in anyone about just how humiliating his school years had been; he’d never felt that he could. She was his rock. And now Sarah needed a protector. She needed him. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t to do for her - and only one chance to prove it. No way could he let this bastard win, no way could he allow him to hurt Sarah.
Dave glanced at his reflection in the mirror and steeled himself.
“Okay,” he said, “Who do you want me to kill?”
Thirteen
Gwen, slumped on her seat, drifted into a fitful sleep. Her body was dehydrated from the several glasses of champagne she’d consumed and her limbs were wracked with nerves. Gwen’s eyeballs jittered beneath their lids as her mind descended into a psychosomatic fugue state. She breathed uneasily, deep in the throes of a dream.
She was still on the plane, staring out the window at a bright blue sky. Dave, impeccably dressed in a smart pilot’s uniform, brought over a silver tray filled with flute glasses of champagne. She drank deeply, enjoying the sweet taste of the alcohol as it shimmied across her taste buds. Dave’s twinkling eyes smiled down at her as she took another glass and drank her fill. He took hold of her hand and pulled her gently to her feet. Together, they danced drunkenly in the aisle, laughing as they swayed and whirled. Jo and Max applauded and cheered them on from their seats where they sat, stiff and still as automatons. Then, Dave extended his arm and Gwen span round and around, giddy and laughing as the jet cabin became a passing blur of colours and faces.
Suddenly, dream logic found Gwen sitting on Dave’s lap in her seat. He was nuzzling her neck with his lips, loosening her scarf. The air in the cabin felt hot and close. She looked over at Jo and Max, both using All2gethr at their touch screens. They both sensed her looking at them and regarded her casually before returning to the glow of their monitors. Dave was unbuttoning Gwen’s blouse now, his rough hands caressing her neckline. He moved his lips from her neck to her face and she felt his stubble brushing against her cheek. She liked it. Gwen glanced at the others, to see if they were watching. They were - and Gwen no longer cared. Christ, but it was hot in the cabin - maybe the air conditioning was malfunctioning. Dave’s hands were on her legs now, his fingers exploring the smooth surface of her legs beneath her skirt. Her mind said no, but her physical being was awash with a hot rush of pleasure. She trembled under Dave’s caresses and grabbed hold of his arms, pulling him closer to her, anchoring herself to his frame. He kissed her, long and hard, and she reciprocated, but something was wrong.
She could feel the blood beginning to boil in her veins she was so hot. With Dave’s mouth clamped tightly over hers she struggled to breathe, the burning sensation in her veins coursing through her body like napalm. She gasped for air but found none, Dave’s hot cloying tongue in her mouth making it impossible for her to draw breath. The fire in her veins flooded into her organs, roasting her heart as it pounded a drumbeat in her flaming chest, penetrating her lungs like hot needles. She kicked and struggled but Dave held onto her fast as, hotter and hotter, her flesh ignited and her body burst into flames...
She woke up, gasping for air.
And saw Dave, axe in hand, towering over her.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Panting, Gwen sprang to her feet and backed away from Dave.
A disturbing blend of childlike
confusion and murderous intent was carved into his face like the design on a Halloween pumpkin.
Gwen backed up into Jo and Max, who were standing by the seats nearest the curtain at the front of the cabin.
All around them, angry red numbers flashed:
‘02:25’. ‘02:24’...
Their computer touch screens were active again, counting down - but to what?
“Dave...” Jo said.
“What are you doing man?” Max asked, easing forward.
“What ever I have to...” Dave growled.
“Look whatever he’s told you, you still have a choice.”
Jo inched forward too, followed by Gwen. Strength in numbers, but Dave had other ideas.
“Back the fuck off!” He brandished the axe, threatening all of them.
Gwen held her hands out in a calming gesture. “Listen to Max, he’s right, we’ll work this out together...”
Dave laughed madly. “That’s not even his real name! Don’t try your counselling bullshit on me! Stay back!”
He swung the axe at Gwen’s torso, narrowly missing her. She yelped in surprise and stepped back out of range of the blade.
Glancing over his shoulder, Dave saw the countdown:
‘02:00’.
He swung the axe sharply at Jo.
She ducked as the axe blade sliced through the space where her face had been and embedded itself in Max’s shoulder.
Max screamed in agony and collapsed to his knees, his flesh tearing from the end of the blade. Blood pooled just below his shoulder, little red lines running down his arm. Dave raised the axe blade again, clearly intent on finishing Max.
As he took a step forward, Jo grabbed Dave’s arm, trying to halt his progress. He shoved her aside roughly and she banged her head against the cabin wall painfully.
Dave swung the axe at Max again. More by accident than design, Max stumbled out of the path of the blade, which continued its trajectory into a conduit of cables and pipes. Sparks showered over the combatants as the sharp metal bit into the wiring. The overhead lights flickered madly, and then died.
The main cabin was plunged into darkness, Dave’s frantic eyes searching out Max in the gloom.
Seconds later, emergency lighting clicked on, bathing them in the same menacing red glow as the LED light at the cockpit door.
The momentary darkness gave Max his chance and he took it, slamming his body into Dave’s. Knocking the big man to the floor, Max’s tackle also loosened Dave’s grip on the axe. It clattered and skidded across the gangway, coming to halt at the base of the bar. The two men wrestled in the aisle. Glasses and bottles tumbled and shattered in their wake. Max had a tight hold around Dave’s waist, preventing him from crawling for the axe. But Dave wrenched an arm free from under his body and brought his elbow down, sharp, on Max’s shoulder wound.
Max let go of Dave’s waist with a yelp and Dave punched him hard in the back of the head. As he fell, Max’s fingers fumbled for the edge of a metal drinks tray. Dave grabbed an empty champagne bottle and swung the business end at Max. He intercepted the blow with the metal tray and the bottle exploded in a fury of broken glass, cutting Dave’s hand. He recoiled, dropping the broken bottle and cradling his bleeding hand.
Max took the offensive and swung the tray again, smashing it into the side of Dave’s head. The blow seemed to snap Dave from his murderous rage. He let go of his bleeding hand and pawed at the wound on his head like a startled infant.
“One minute,” Alligator intoned.
The words were loaded with menace, and took Dave back down with them. His eyes darkened with grim intent and he struggled to his feet. Max was barely able to catch his breath before he too stood up.
Dave looked at Max, oozing the confidence borne of being the bigger man. He saw red at the corner of his eye and brushed at it, thinking it was blood from his head wound. Then Dave turned, realising the red blur was a small fire extinguisher mounted in a holder on the cabin wall. He tore it from its casing and lunged for Max. Swinging the heavy cylinder, he managed to clip Max’s forehead. With a sickening cracking sound, Max hit the deck. Dave towered over him like a Neanderthal beast over its prey.
Holding the fire extinguisher aloft, he paused for a second, teetering on the precipice of murder.
“Do it right or not at all, Dave,” Alligator said.
A nerve ending pulsed in Dave’s temple. He blinked it away like it was a fly buzzing around his head. A violent whining sound permeated Dave’s eardrums. He gritted his teeth, prepared to bring the extinguisher down on Max’s head.
Max’s fingers found the axe handle. He pivoted his body on the floor and brought the blade up sharply, straight into Dave’s groin. The big man gasped in shock and agony, dropping the extinguisher inches from where Max lay. Dave staggered backwards, screaming, as Max wrenched the axe blade free. Max hopped to his feet, his second chance spurring him on. Dave grabbed another champagne bottle with his ragged hand and staggered towards Max.
The two men swung their weapons simultaneously - the bottle clipping Max’s head as the axe blade landed full-force in Dave’s cranium.
Dazed, Max slumped to the floor. His vision lurched and tilted.
Dave lay flat on his back, dead. Blood leaked from his battered skull.
Somewhere behind him, Max heard the girls’ horrified gasps.
“What have you done?” Gwen said, shocked.
“He... wasn’t going to stop,” Max murmured.
He looked up at Gwen and Jo blankly. They didn’t look so sure.
Little white reading lights flickered into life, cutting through the red haze of the cabin. The speakers crackled gently, and Alligator addressed them once again.
“Thank you for a very enjoyable game. Do, or die. Now you’re getting it.”
Max’s eyes searched Jo’s and Gwen’s for some sign of support; receiving none. He’d done merely what he had to do, even though it meant playing into Alligator’s loathsome machinations.
Jo and Gwen both looked away, leaving Max right next to Dave’s ruined body.
He stood up carefully and navigated around the deep crimson pool of blood that had soaked into the aisle carpet.
“Unfortunately,” Alligator continued, “Dave failed his task - and so poor Sarah will have to go after all.”
Alligator’s words chilled each of them to the bone.
They froze in horror as the touch screen displays switched to a video window showing Dave’s fiancée in the dingy garage, the noose around her neck. Muffled cries of terror came from beneath the thick gaffer tape clamping her mouth shut as the killer-cameraman approached her. He kicked the high stool away from under her feet. Her body dropped violently, stopping just a few inches above the floor with a hideous crack. Her legs twitched in a macabre Saint Vitus Dance, then swung limply above the floor.
Jo removed her knuckles from her mouth; suddenly realising she was biting down on them so hard she was almost drawing blood.
“They killed her anyway!” she said, thinking of her poor daughter all alone in that dingy cell - all alone save for the camera eyes watching her.
Max looked at her, subdued, not knowing what to say.
“He died for nothing. For nothing...” Gwen muttered in disbelief.
Jo reached out to Gwen, placed her hand on her shoulder. They needed to stick together, to make sense of all the carnage. But Gwen brushed Jo’s hand away and retreated to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
