All or Nothing

by Stuart Keane

  Iain stopped walking. He looked at Kathryn and smiled. “I would love that.”

  Kathryn returned his smile as they continued walking. “Good. So just coffee, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  They were halfway across the roof now. The neon lights of the theatre seemed to get bigger as they approached. They were close to their destination. They passed several more generators, which Kathryn could hear making a whirring noise, creating a general hum all around.

  “Kathryn,” Iain asked, “what are you going to do when you get out of here? Apart from buying a coffee for a sad old git?”

  “Well, apart from having coffee with the person who saved my life, I always wanted to go to France. It’s been my dream, and I’ve been saving for many years to do so. After this experience,” Kathryn paused to look around as she remembered the chaos of the last few hours, “I think I’ll quit my job. I couldn’t go back to my office after this. Yes, I think I will just pack up and go.”

  “I have a house in Paris, if you need somewhere to stay.”

  Kathryn laughed disbelievingly. “Yeah, right.”

  Iain said nothing and he wasn’t smiling as he waited for Kathryn to stop laughing.

  “Really, are you serious?” she asked. “No, I couldn’t do that, you don’t even know me, that’s too generous, you’re pulling my leg, right?”

  “I wasn’t the only one who saved a life today. Think of it as a gift. Stay as long as you want.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you? A house in—”

  Something heavy slammed into Kathryn’s head. The impact sent her reeling into the low parapet wall at the edge of the roof, and her head collided with the brickwork. Stunned, she tried to make sense of what had just happened. In front of her, Iain was struggling with a man. They were tangled in a knot of arms and elbows. Iain threw a punch and missed, the man kneed him in the ribs, knocking him senseless and off balance, so that Iain fell to the floor. Kathryn’s eyes took in all of it. The man who was standing above Iain wore a spiked metal mask and a red bandana. His left arm was heavily bandaged, blood soaking through the white material, dripping to the floor. His arms were tattooed and he looked scrawny and undernourished.

  The driver!

  The fourth man!

  The one who had nearly killed her in the lift, when his arm reached through the closing doors and grabbed her by the hair.

  Where on earth had he come from!

  The man seemed to be laughing beneath his mask. The sound was hollow, manic, reverberating off the metal mask itself.

  “Do you fuckers seriously think you got away with this?” he asked. “After shooting me in the arm, I don’t fuckin’ think so!”

  The newcomer grabbed Iain by the arm, digging his fingers into the wound. A sickening squelch of muscle and fluid filled the night air. Blood immediately oozed from the gap in the bandaging as poor Iain yelled in agony, unable to react, pain wracking and paralysing his body. The enemy manhandled Iain to the edge of the roof, then kicked him in the chest and punched him with his good arm. Iain remained standing, unsteady on his feet.

  “I should kill you,” the guy went on, “but that would be too quick. No, I’m going to make you suffer.” He pulled out a knife. The neon lights from the nearby theatre shone off its blade, creating pink flares.

  Kathryn took control of herself, looking around for the shotgun. She found it was at her side, about a foot away, and scrabbled her fingers along the floor to get it, the sound drawing the attention of the fourth man.

  He turned towards her. “Where do you think you’re going, bitch?” He stepped over to Kathryn and placed a foot on her hand, pressing down. Kathryn grunted in pain. Her tormentor smiled. “I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Kinzy.”

  Kinzy looked into the sky. “Viewers of The Game, you may remember me from highlights such as ‘pulling Kathryn’s fucking hair out in a lift’ or, more recently, ‘slamming a shotgun into her skull’. All recommended viewing.” He kicked Kathryn in the ribs, causing her to curl up like a foetus on the dusty floor, the breath driven out of her. “Don’t go anywhere, will you? HAHAHA.”

  Kinzy turned and went back to Iain, who was doubled over in pain. “Get the fuck up, you shit!” Kinzy yanked Iain up by the hair and kicked him in the stomach. Iain retched in pain. Kinzy dragged Iain over to the edge of the roof’s low parapet wall, forcing him to sit on it. Iain was semi-conscious, so Kinzy slapped his face until his eyes opened.

  “Now I am not such a bad guy,” the fourth man said. “You get to choose how I kill you. Will it be by my knife? Or the shotgun? Or my fists? Hell, I could maybe fuck you to death, it’s not like this show is for kids or anything – HAHAHA.” The mask enhanced his maniacal laughter, accentuating its evil tones. “What will it be?”

  Iain looked at Kinzy. He said nothing. Then he spat in the other man’s face. The spittle hit the mask with a small DING. “Go fuck yourself,” he yelled.

  Kinzy again gave his evil maniacal laugh. “Fuck myself? Trust me, if my dick was long enough, I would do so on every possible occasion. Who needs pussy when you can do it to yourself? Your manners however, are abysmal.” Kinzy punched Iain in the face. Iain felt the bone in his nose crack and blood streamed down his face. “Don’t ever swear at me again.”

  Iain gathered a mouthful of blood and spat it in his enemy’s face. “Arsehole! Cunt! Fuck!”

  Kinzy punched Iain again. This time, it hit Iain in the side of the head. He nearly fell over the edge of the roof.

  “You think that’s funny, huh?” Kinzy yelled at him. “Are you some kind of pervert? Get off on pain, do ya? Let’s see if you are still laughing once I cut your dick off and shove it up—”

  “—Hey! Arsehole! Over here!” came the shout.

  Kinzy stopped talking and turned around. Kathryn was standing a few feet away. Her shotgun was aimed at his head. “Back away from him,” she told him. “Do it now.”

  Kinzy threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Sheeet. I forgot about you, girly. I’m not sure how, those titties are mighty fine. Boyd might have been a retard, but he knew a good pair of tits when he saw them.”

  Kathryn moved the shotgun. “I said get away from him. I won’t ask again.”

  Kinzy didn’t move. He reached over to his mask. His hand paused above it. “Mind if I take this off?”

  Kathryn didn’t say anything.

  The man remained in position. “Suit yourself.” Kinzy deftly reached for his belt. In one fluent motion he snatched the knife from its sheath, flipped it in the air and threw it straight at Iain. The knife hit Iain square in the chest, the blade apparently embedded into his sternum. As Iain looked down at the blade he gave a dull groan.

  Kinzy looked back at Kathryn. “Your manners are abysmal. You should answer when spoken to like a good little girl who—”

  Kathryn fired the shotgun. The bullet hit Kinzy just below the chin. The skin and muscle on his chest seemed to evaporate in a red mist. The impact was so severe that the pellets tore through his torso just before the body racked over with the momentum of the blast. Skin and viscera filled the air for a few slow seconds before everything settled. Kinzy had flown back a few feet and crashed to the floor, his body sliding on the smooth surface. He was dead before he came to a stop against one of the generators.

  Kathryn threw the gun down and ran to Iain. As she did, she noticed Iain was falling backwards over the edge of the drop. Past the point of no return, he couldn’t regain his balance and toppled out of sight.

  “Iain, noooo!” she yelled.

  Kathryn raced to the edge of the low wall. Just in time, she managed to grab his good arm. She grunted, his weight driving her downwards.

  Iain was hanging onto her, swinging from side to side. Kathryn had both hands gripping his arm, struggling and fighting to hold him there, suspended in mid-air, four storeys above the concrete road. The road stretched in front of the office building. Kathryn saw the jeep from earlier was now parked on top of the dead body, that
of the man whose card she’d stolen to gain access. It was the jeep that had forced her to seek sanctuary all those hours ago, some way off in the distance. The theatre building was now opposite her. The pink neon lights were illuminating the front of the building whose roof she was on.

  Iain was motionless now. A dead weight. The knife was sticking out of his chest. His bad arm hung beside him like an afterthought, its damaged bandage flapping in the night air. He was looking down. With a growing sense of dread, she knew that his weight would only become heavier and he seemed to be losing consciousness. “Iain,” she shouted. “Iain! Wake up!”

  Iain stirred. At first, he looked straight ahead. Then he realised where he was and started to thrash around. Kathryn grimaced in pain, her chest was leaning against the low wall’s brickwork. Every movement Iain made vibrated through her. “Iain, don’t move. I’ve got you!”

  Iain looked up at Kathryn. His eyes were hollow, empty, as if devoid of life. As if he’d resigned himself to death the moment the knife had found its mark. He smiled weakly. “Kathryn? What are you doing?”

  Kathryn started to struggle to hang on to him. “Saving your life. What does it look like I’m doing?”

  Iain looked down and then back at Kathryn. “What’s the point? I won’t survive this knife wound. I’ll die before we find a hospital.”

  Although she didn’t want to face it, Kathryn knew Iain was right, but she didn’t say so. “That’s bullshit and you know it. If I can get you back on the roof we can do something about your wounds. First we have to get you up here, you aren’t getting any lighter.” Her chest was starting to hurt with the strain.

  Tears welled up in his eyes. “I don’t want to do it. Kathryn, do me a favour and let me go? I have no life outside of this place. I lost my wife. I just want to see her one more time.”

  Kathryn didn’t like what she was hearing. “You can’t see her again! For heaven’s sake, she’s dead!”

  Iain nodded. Although no words escaped his lips, Kathryn could read the resignation on his face. “Iain, don’t do this, we can talk about this. We can talk over coffee, remember?”

  “Kathryn, please, let go. You know it’s the right thing to do. Just let me go.”

  Kathryn found she was crying uncontrollably. Her muscles were burning with the struggle to keep hanging onto Iain’s arm. She just had to swing him up onto the roof now or she would lose her grip. “Iain, no! I can’t! I won’t let you go!”

  He smiled. “Goodbye, Kathryn. It was a pleasure meeting you.” Iain managed to use his injured arm to reach up and pluck Kathryn’s right hand fingers from his wrist. Her left arm was all that remained between Iain and certain death. “Iain, don’t! Grab my hand. Grab it!” Tears ran down her face.

  No more words were exchanged. Kathryn knew what he wanted, but she couldn’t let him go. She was losing her grip. Without Iain’s cooperation, there was no hope of saving him.

  Iain whispered, “Do it now.”

  Their eyes connected. Kathryn felt immense sympathy for Iain. They’d been through a lot together, but she knew to respect his wishes.

  After several seconds, Kathryn released her grip. Her arm had begun to shake from the exertion. For moments, Iain seemed to float in mid-air, a smile of peace on his lips, as she heard him say: “Honey. I’m home.”

  He fell to the concrete road, four floors below. Kathryn moved back onto the roof, not wanting to see what had happened to him. She vomited on the floor. She couldn’t stop thinking about the sickening thud she’d heard as Iain’s body collided with the concrete.

  Iain was reunited with his wife Jeanette now. Kathryn knew he would be happy.

  She wasn’t a religious person, but she believed that on some kind of plane or in some dimension, they would be reunited.

  Kathryn moved her back to the edge of the roof.

  “Goodbye, Iain,” she said to herself. “Thanks for saving my life.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Rupert was hoping that he hadn’t made the wrong decision.

  Despite the merits of hiding in the tree, it left him a sitting duck. His foes had just come through the gate, accompanied by John. They’d fanned out through his backyard in a triangular formation: swift, silent and deadly. They were taking an infinite amount of time to reach their destinations, something he assumed to be standard military training. Unknown territory was never taken lightly. However, their slow speed was an advantage to him.

  It was also a hindrance. The wait was becoming tiresome. The painkillers were making him drowsy, an unfortunate side effect. In fact, the time he had spent in the tree had given him second thoughts about his entire plan.

  But it was too late now.

  One of the men was approaching his destination. He’d overheard John’s instructions, and Rupert was doing his best to remain dead still. Trained soldiers only needed a hint of noise to alert them to the enemy’s presence. This guy was heading towards the shed, just below where he was hiding in the tree.

  Step, pause. Step, step, pause.

  The man’s gun was held out in front of him. He disappeared behind the shed for a moment and then reappeared beside it.

  Step, pause. Step, step, pause.

  Rupert’s hunter stopped when he saw the shed door, now standing directly below his quarry. If Rupert had reached out, he could have touched the shed’s roof. The branches and leaves were camouflaging him. He remained still. The man stared, transfixed, at the door. He wasn’t talking to anyone else. His concentration was focused on the door alone. He slowly moved towards it.

  Step, pause. Step, step, pause.

  Right hand holding his weapon, the left gripped the edge of the door and swung it towards him. It made no sound. After a second, he stepped into the shed and vanished from Rupert’s sight. He could hear groaning sounds as the wooden boards were trodden on.

  Rupert used this opportunity to ready his weapon, pulling the silenced pistol from his belt. He closed his eyes. He realised that, once he had fired, his cover would be blown. They would find him swiftly and most likely kill him. He could only wait and hope that his plan would work.

  The man emerged from the shed, still deep in concentration. His head came into view. Aiming the gun downwards, Rupert breathed out slowly. Calming his nerves, he prepared himself.

  The man heard a sound from above. He looked up, then raised his weapon.

  Rupert shot him in the eye. A single shot that he’d lined up perfectly by judging the perfect firing position. The shot was not a long one, a few feet at most. Even at close quarters, Rupert knew he wasn’t a good marksman, but the odds were in his favour. The bullet emerged from the back of the man’s head, spraying blood onto the open shed door. He fell slowly, his body collapsing against the door and pushing it against its hinges. Creaks rang out as the door buckled and broke away from the door frame. The dead body and the door crashed down onto the wet grass. It wasn’t a loud noise. More of a wet thud.

  But it was enough to alert the others.

  They turned towards the source of the noise.

  “There!”

  “Where is he?”

  “The tree, he’s in the fucking tree!”

  Rupert rolled off the branch.

  Seconds later, the branch was obliterated by automatic gunfire. Bark and wood sprayed into the air. Branches and leaves were shredded into pieces. Rupert landed on his feet and then hit the deck. He covered his head as the tree’s remnants rained down on him. He dared to glance upwards, though his vision was partially blocked by the shed.

  Which was all part of the plan.

  He rolled over to the shed’s wooden exterior and leant against it. Cautious footsteps approached. They stopped, probably for time to gauge the risk. For a moment, Rupert heard nothing. Then a series of metallic clicks indicated that his pursuers were reloading their weapons. He heard empty magazines hit the wet grass.

  “Rupert, my old friend, is that you?” called a voice from somewhere.

  Rupert said nothing. He was try
ing to locate John by sound alone. He heard the two men, who seemed to be located further to the right hand side.

  “Where is he?”

  “Not sure. Be alert.”

  John addressed Rupert again. “Rupert, listen. This doesn’t have to get violent. We just want to talk.”

  Rupert said nothing. If he gave himself away now, he wouldn’t last two minutes: he was seriously outgunned. He reached into his belt and pulled out the screwdriver. He gripped it in his fist, waiting.

  “Rupert. I begin to tire of your arrogance. Just come out and we can discuss this.”

  The two other men were whispering to one another. Rupert risked a glance around the shed. First, he saw the fallen man’s feet. He was lying sprawled on top of the broken door. The two guys were standing behind the body, talking to each other and making hand gestures. Neither of them looked in his direction. From the looks of it, one of them was going to try to outflank him from the other side of the shed. He would be surrounded.

  Rupert swallowed. He knew what he had to do.

  He moved back to the other side of the shed. “John?” he called out.

  Silence. Rupert heard hurried voices. John had joined his men, probably to plan a setup.

  John responded: “Rupert! Finally. I’m glad you’re okay.”

  Rupert smiled. Unbelieveable. “I’m fine. Can’t say the same for your man, though. How much did he cost you?”

  John laughed. “Money isn’t important, what is important is that you’re alive. As I said, we need to talk.”

  The hidden man waited. He gave it twenty seconds. “Okay, we can talk. But your men have to throw their guns away first, though. Now, put them next to their dead buddy. I can’t be held responsible for what I will do otherwise. You saw how I handled Gunnar.”

  And there it was: Rupert’s bargaining chip.

  Rupert knew that, regardless of armies and backup, soldiers and fire power, he’d slain John’s golden boy with a knitting needle. Live, on his own private subscription film show. Which counted for something. If he hadn’t been upset about it, John wouldn’t have come with his men, he would simply have waited in his comfortable hideaway for his dirty business to be concluded. Killing the cameras had been a ploy which wouldn’t have worked if John’s ego was intact. Which it wasn’t. He had hired one of the most dangerous men he knew and things had gone wrong. It had earned Rupert the fear factor. So far, things seemed to be working.