by J M Hemmings
Well, almost nothing else. Behind the toilet sat a plunger, the wooden handle of which was about two feet long. It wasn’t ideal as a weapon, but it would have to do, and besides, Adriana had never done anything violent in her entire life. Even if she had had access to an actual weapon, she wouldn’t have had the slightest clue about how to use it effectively.
With a boost of dogged determination, she retrieved the plunger from behind the toilet. She stood on the rubber part and then twisted and tugged at it, grunting and groaning with effort until the handle was torn free from the rubber plunger head, which she kicked behind the toilet. As she gripped the shaft in her hands, she noticed that the wood was a dense and heavy type, and it seemed quite solid. She wasn’t physically strong by any means, but she was sure that desperation would inject some sort of power into whatever blow she was able to strike with this makeshift weapon.
But where should she try to hit Tippawan? The head, of course, was the obvious choice. Adriana knew, though, that television and movies, and their scenes of one-blow knockouts, were a far cry from reality. It could take multiple solid blows to fell an opponent, and the human skull was far tougher than Hollywood made it out to be.
I’ve only got one shot … I have to make it count.
With these thoughts running through her mind, she had a clearer idea of what to do now. After hurrying back into the room to retrieve the watch and the key, she returned to the bathroom and shut the door behind her. There was nothing she could do now but wait; should Tippawan arrive before the appointed time, she would be forced to deal with him. If he didn’t, she would be free to break out without a fight and complete her task.
Tippawan, however, did show up. With just two minutes to go until the time of the mission, Adriana had begun to cling to a blossoming sense of optimism, in which it really seemed that he wouldn’t come back. These hopes, however, were dashed when an angry banging rattled the room door.
‘Storm! Storm you stupid whore, I’m coming in, and I’m going to find out exactly what the fuck you’ve been trying to hide from me! You’re about to enter a world of pain, you slut, a world of fucking pain!’
Adriana’s heart hammered violently in her ribcage, and her breath began to come to her in sharp, heaving gasps as adrenalin started pumping its nerve-tingling electricity through the entirety of her body. In a moment of quick desperation, she reached over and squeezed out a handful of shampoo into the palm of her left hand, gripping the plunger handle in her right. The shampoo was a cheap brand, and it burned a lot if it got into one’s eyes – which was not particularly nice when taking a shower, but ideal for what she was about to do. The moment she heard Tippawan opening the door and coming into the room, she turned on the faucet to allow a splash of water to dilute the lump of shampoo in her palm a little. That would make sure the liquid got exactly where she wanted it to go.
‘Oh, so you’re trying to hide in the bathroom, are you?’ Tippawan sneered from outside the bathroom door. ‘Just like the pathetic coward you are. Fuck you Storm, you’re really fucked now! I’m coming in and there’s nothing you can do about it! And all the better if your dirty little panties are already around your ankles…’
Stepping swiftly and breathing fast, Adriana pressed herself up against the wall next to the door, holding her breath and waiting in panicked anticipation for it to open. Such was the degree of her fear that it seemed as if the world was swimming around her, and she had to concentrate hard on forcing air into her lungs to keep from passing out.
‘Heeere’s Johnny!’ Tippawan shouted with sadistic glee as he kicked open the door and stomped into the bathroom with his sleeves rolled up and his hands balled into fists.
Adriana did not hesitate. She swung her cupped palm, with its load of sloshy shampoo, straight at Tippawan’s face, slapping the stinging liquid into his eyes. He yelped with surprise and shock, but Adriana didn’t give him a second to react; she followed up her first attack with a soccer-style punt, kicking him in the testicles with as much force as she could muster.
He grunted as her foot slammed into his groin, and the force of the kick lifted him completely off the ground, but with the impact came a muted crack, and a jolt of pain rocketed up Adriana’s leg a second or two after her foot connected with Tippawan’s crotch. He howled hoarsely and stumbled back, clawing with one hand at his burning eyes and gripping his groin with the other.
Despite the stabbing pain in her ankle, Adriana did not let up in the ferocity of her attack, for to do so would be to relinquish whatever flimsy advantage she now held; she surged forward with a primal scream and smashed the wooden handle in a windmilling blow across the side of Tippawan’s head as he flailed and stumbled in pain. The blow connected with the side of his skull with a jarring impact that sent a shock wave up Adriana’s arm, but if it did anything to Tippawan he didn’t show it. With drool and spittle flying from his mouth, and his eyes reddened with the burn of the shampoo, he roared and flew into a counterattack, charging at Adriana with his hands outstretched.
She dodged his grabbing fingers and hit him again with the plunger handle, this time delivering a backhand blow and smashing the solid wooden handle across the bridge of his nose. That stopped him. He stumbled forward, raising both of his hands up to his blood-gushing, now-broken nose and screamed with pain. Adriana stepped swiftly to the side and crunched the plunger into the back of his head, hitting him as hard as she could. Then, as he crumpled to his knees, she prepared to hit him again. This time she gripped the plunger handle with both hands, raising it high above her head, and she brought it down in a wood-chopping blow that caught Tippawan right on the top of his skull.
The impact of the blow snapped the plunger handle clean in two and sent a numbing shock wave ripping up both of Adriana’s arms, causing her to drop the weapon. Tippawan grunted and shuddered, but there was still fight left in him despite the damage done. He had fallen to his knees right next to the toilet, and he gripped the edge of the bowl to try to get onto his feet again.
In spite of the pain that was blasting waves of fire through her ankle, Adriana aimed another soccer-style kick at Tippawan, this time punting him in the side of his face. The blow connected solidly, and the impact rocketed his head out to the side, causing it to smack against the rim of the sink with a sharp thud that cracked a big chunk of porcelain off.
That was it; all the fight seemed to slip out of Tippawan’s body, and he slumped to the ground, groaning, bleeding and gasping for breath.
Adriana, however, was not done yet. She needed to finish this now, before he recuperated, because if he did, he would surely kill her; she had seen it in those reddened eyes of his: murder. Murder.
Tippawan was on his back now, groaning and flailing feebly with his arms like an overturned tortoise. Adriana had one shot to end this, so she took it. She jumped up into the air and came down with both feet right onto Tippawan’s throat. She felt the sickening sensation of something living and organic being crushed beneath her feet, but she immediately slipped and fell, coming down hard on her side on the bathroom floor. She ignored the shooting pain that blasted through her ribs and backpedalled hastily, getting herself as far away from the man as she could.
Tippawan turned his head to the side to glare at her, and sheer hatred remained in his gaze, but something else was starting to enter his eyes now: terror. A strange gurgling sound came from his mouth as he opened it to say something, but no words came out, only a wash of frothy blood. He struggled to his knees and tried a feeble half-lunge towards Adriana but crashed face-first onto the floor instead. With a gargling groan he rolled onto his back, clutching at his throat with both hands. He began to make garbled retching and choking sounds and writhed in agony on the floor. He looked up at her again, but now the murder had fled from his bloodshot eyes and all that remained was a plea, childlike in its rawness and sheer desperation.
‘Adriana,’ Tippawan rasped through the froth of blood coming out of his mouth, his reedy words almost unintelligible. ‘Adriana … p
lease … he- … help…’
She got up on shaky feet, avoided making eye contact, and started limping out of the bathroom, leaning on the wall for support until she was out.
‘No,’ Tippawan gurgled behind her, desperate and terrified as death approached. ‘No … please … help…’
She shut the door quietly behind her, blocking out Tippawan’s weak, strangled pleas. As her pulse thudded with all the force of a thundering metal drummer in her temples and ears she fell to her knees, breathing heavily, her conscious mind swamped by the overwhelming surreality of this moment.
All of a sudden, a gush of nausea blasted its crippling wrath through her body, and the realisation of what she had just done came crashing to the fore. As much as she had loathed Tippawan, and as much of a monster as he had been, she could not help but feel pity for him. She could still hear his muffled groans and rattling gasps coming through the door, and as she tried to right herself black spots started to swirl and swim around the edges of her vision. Vomit surged up her throat, and she emptied her guts all over the floor, the burn of stomach acid scalding the back of her throat as she lurched and swayed on all fours.
No! No! You cannot give up now! What’s done is done! You cannot, you must not give up now! Come on Adriana, come on! Everything you’ve hoped for hinges on this moment! Be strong! Get up! Get up NOW!
She pushed into the edge of the bed with a trembling hand and levered herself up into a standing position. Still breathing hard, she took a tissue from a box next to the bed and used it to wipe the vomit from the corners of her mouth, and then she breathed in a long, calming breath and held it in as long as she could, trying to force herself to calm down. After she released the breath she felt a bit more collected, so she strapped the watch onto her wrist and then checked the time. The appointed hour had arrived.
She pressed the button on the side of the watch and read over the directions that came up on the watch face. It seemed like the grille she needed to get to wasn’t too far from her room. After taking one more deep breath she slipped the key into the lock and opened the door. With her heart pounding with a booming, primal fear, she peeked out of the open door, scanning the corridor up and down. It was empty.
This was it. Adriana stepped out, closed and locked the door behind her, and crept off into the gloom of the labyrinth.
A second later all the lights went out.
PART FOURTEEN
46
WILLIAM
25th October 1854. British Light Cavalry position, Balaclava Valley, The Crimea, Ukraine
‘What’s going on across the valley there?’ Paul asked, unable to see clearly due to his mild short-sightedness.
After making this enquiry he stared in suspense at William, who had just returned from a brief consultation with Captain Liversage. William craned his neck and raised a hand to shield his face from the low morning sun.
‘All I can see is the Russian army at the other end ay the plain, Pauly,’ he replied. ‘Looks tae be a big artillery brigade out front, wi’ cavalry behind ‘em. I’m no’ sure what’s going on there, or whether they’re going tae advance an’ attack us; I’d imagine that’d be their course ay action. What the captain’s just told me is tha’ the Russian forces ha’ taken the Turkish artillery redoubts on the valley sides, so they’ve got the advantage on us now. Tha’s what all the firing an’ battle noise was tha’ we been hearing since dawn.’
‘Things are no’ going well fir us then?’
William shook his head slowly, his face grim.
‘No’ according tae Captain Liversage. He’s worried, Pauly. I’ve ne’er seen him worried before, an’ tha’ worries me.’
Paul shifted in his saddle, his nervousness and apprehension blatantly apparent in his shifting eyes and excessively fidgety hands.
‘Aye, me too boyo. Me too,’ he muttered, a pallor slowly bleaching the colour from his usually ruddy cheeks. ‘Why’d he send you back here tae the lines? Does he no’ need your help right now?’
‘No’ now, no. He an’ the other officers are discussing what tae dae. They’re all arguin’, like. Most of ‘em are still sore about the fact tha’ we didnae see action at the battle ay the Alma last month.’
Paul’s frown deepened, and he leaned over to whisper to William.
‘Tae tell you the truth, brother, I’m no’ so sore about tha’. In fact I’m rather pleased, tae be perfectly honest. I was hopin’ we’d get by today wi’out seeing no action neither. I’m nervous, Will. Even … even, maybe … a bit scared. I dunnae think it’s really cowardly tae admit tha’, is it?’
William could plainly see the fear brimming in his friend’s eyes, and at once a crushing weight felt as if it was pressing down on his own shoulders. This fear was a giant squid from the ocean depths, wrapping its slimy, trunk-thick tentacles around him, pulling him down into dark, crushing water. All he wanted to do was to whisk himself and his friends away from here – away from these uniforms, these weapons, these sounds of cannons and muskets and steel ringing on steel, the hoarse roaring of orders, and the terrible screams of dying men and horses resounding across from the battlefield, and be back in the serene silence and pastoral beauty of the Scottish Highlands. He swallowed the rising sadness in his throat and reached over to squeeze his friend’s shoulder.
‘You’re no coward, Pauly. No’ in the least. Every man fears death, whether he admits it or no’. I dunnae want tae die either, my friend, an’ I dunnae want tae see any ay yous die neither. We’ve got no family in this world but one another, us orphans from auld Goody-Goode’s flue faker days. Sir MacTaggart was the closest thing tae a father any ay us ha’ e’er known, an’ he’s gone now too. All we’ve got is each other, Pauly, an’ I dunnae want tae lose the only family I’ve got in this world.’
‘Promise me you’ll come out ay this alive,’ Paul said quietly to William. ‘Promise me tha’, brother.’
William gripped his friend’s shoulder tightly and swallowed the fear, dread and sadness that was threatening to overwhelm him completely.
‘I promise you Paul, my brother, tha’ I’ll – no, tha’ we’ll – survive this. Promise me the same, my friend.’
‘I’ll dae my best, Will. Aye, I’ll dae my best.’
William sifted with his eyes through the ranks of horses and men, seeking out the positions of his other two best friends, Michael and Andrew. Michael was in the vanguard, sitting on his horse in stony silence next to Private Watson, who sported a large wound across his cheek from his drunken duel with William the previous night. William’s gaze lingered for a few moments on the dark starkness of the scar against the man’s cheek, and the thought that he had put such an ugly thing there made his skin crawl with guilt. The cut was deep and the was gash long; Watson would be wearing it for the rest of his days.
William peered through the forest of troops, craning his neck and seeking out the familiar face of Andrew. Eventually William found him, positioned on the left edge of the square, a few rows behind himself and Paul. William waved and gesticulated, but Andrew was absorbed in a sketch he was doing in a little pocket notebook while perched atop his horse. William couldn’t help but grin despite the direness of their current circumstances; even while teetering on the precipice of battle, Andrew would not be distracted from his art.
William turned around to face the front again and saw Captain Liversage trotting up to the front of the squadron. He spotted William and called out to him.
‘Private Gisborne! To me, at once!’
William manoeuvred River King through the rows of men and horses, and hurried over to the captain.
‘Captain Liversage, sir!’ he barked, saluting.
He noticed immediately that the Captain’s face was bone-white, drained of blood, and that the man’s deep-set eyes were alive and pulsing with what could only be fear. To see such a look in his mentor’s eyes could only indicate that something was terribly, terribly wrong. A brew of dread began to churn with nauseating vileness in the pit of
William’s belly.
‘We are to charge the Russians,’ Captain Liversage said with quiet severity. ‘I want you next to me, my boy.’
William stared across the open valley at the massed Russian army, with their bristling steel hedge of artillery, lances and muskets stretched across the breadth of the horizon, and his blood ran as cold as a Highland stream at the sight of that solid wall of men and weapons.
‘Sir, forgive me fir askin’, but tha’ means, um, tha’ means that we’re gonnae be charging across tha’ valley? A full mile, across open ground, in full sight ay the Russian gunners? And have no’ the Russians captured the guns on the sides ay the valley too, sir?’
Captain Liversage nodded, his face haggard and tightly drawn.
‘That’s right, William. Guns to the front, guns to the left and guns to the right. We’re charging into the maw of hell itself, and it’ll be welcoming us with an open mouth of lion’s teeth, with raking claws on either side.’
William swallowed slowly, feeling a parching dryness sucking every last drop of moisture from his mouth and throat.
‘Sir, tha’s … tha’s…’
‘Suicidal!’ Liversage snapped. ‘Damned suicidal! Sheer madness, I know boy, I know!’
After this brief, vociferous outburst he tilted his face up to the sky, and released a long, slow breath, expelling every ounce of air from his lungs with his diaphragm.
‘I am sorry, William,’ he said gently, ‘I did not mean to be so curt with you. The order, however, has come directly from the head of the army, Lord Raglan, who is positioned up on the heights. Presumably he can see something, something that we down here on the valley floor cannot, that merits this act of insanity. Captain Nolan has just brought the order directly from Raglan himself, and it states that we are to attack immediately. We have been given a direct order, William, and as mad as it may seem to us, our task is not to question it. We must merely obey and carry it out to the best of our ability.’
