by Les Wood
As they climbed, the cable thrummed and sang like a plucked guitar string, a deep low drone, the sound amplified by the hollow chamber of the shaft, such that Campbell felt he was playing the world’s largest musical instrument. Concerto for shaky man and fucking enormous arrow.
Kyle was like bloody Spiderman. He’d hooked himself on at the bottom, gave McKinnon a brief smirk and started up the Arrow as if he’d been doing it all his life, pulling himself, metre by metre, along the length of the shaft. Within a matter of minutes, they’d climbed to the height of the second floor, and Campbell had to call for Kyle to ease up a bit, take a breather. Christ, his thigh muscles were burning like buggery, struggling to keep up with the pace Kyle had set. Kyle had looked at him over his shoulder, snorted his contempt, but waited till Campbell got the blood flowing back into his legs and signalled to go on.
Above them they could see more clearly the inspection hatch McKinnon had pointed out earlier. It was obvious now they knew what to look for. From the top of the Arrow, where it met the wall, to the ceiling looked a good five, maybe six, feet. It would be a bit of a stretch to reach the hatch and undo the bolts holding it in place. Awkward at the best of times, but a fucking liability when balancing on a smooth, shiny cylinder seventy feet above the floor. A smooth, shiny cylinder at a forty-five degree slope. With nothing to hold onto.
Which turned out to be not exactly true. When they finally got to the top they saw that the shaft had a small level platform, again recessed, perhaps eight or ten inches across. It made enough of a ledge to stand on. The wall above the shaft had two white rungs, blended into the paintwork so that they would never be visible from the ground. Campbell waited a few feet below and held tightly to the handle of the ascender as Kyle unclipped his carabiner and reattached it to the lower of the two white rungs. Campbell noticed Kyle’s legs were trembling, whether from fatigue or sheer terror he couldn’t tell. He felt vaguely reassured by this – at least he wasn’t the only one who might have the skittering shits. Kyle turned his head slightly, directed his voice over his shoulder. ‘If Ah slip here, you be bloody well ready, okay? Just in case, right?’
Campbell licked his lips. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Ah’ll be on my toes.’ Like hell he would. If Kyle slipped, Campbell would be making damn sure he was out the way of any falling or flailing that might be going on. Kyle would just have to fend for himself.
Kyle let go of the rung and reached upwards to grasp the handles of the hatch above. Campbell was horrified to see him lean back, away from the wall (away!), letting the harness take his weight and support him as he released the latches and swung the door down on its hinges. The opening gaped like a black, toothless mouth. Kyle switched on his head torch and looked up. The rungs continued upwards for a few feet on the other side, ending at a metal catwalk which stretched off to the right.
Kyle looked down at him. ‘So far, so good,’ he said, a grin spreading across his face. ‘The next bit’s gonnae be the hard bit.’
The hard bit? The climb up hadn’t exactly been straight out of the really easy book of easy things to do on a Friday night. If that wasn’t hard, then what…?
The last vestige of strength was sucked from Campbell’s legs as the reality dawned on him. Kyle’s next move only confirmed the awful truth. Dread and panic swept over Campbell as he watched Kyle unclip the carabiner from the rung, letting it dangle from the harness, and climb up into the hatch unfettered.
Kyle scrambled onto the edge of the hatch and sat down, his legs swinging in the void. ‘Piece of piss,’ he said. He held out his hand. ‘Come on. You next.’
Campbell shook his head. ‘Nup,’ he said. ‘Ah can’t.’
‘What do ye mean ye can’t?’ Kyle called down, his voice small and echoless in the confined space of the hatchway. ‘Get your arse in gear. We’ve not got all night.’
Campbell tried to slow his heartbeat, contain his panic. A voice in his head repeated: Don’t Look Down… Don’t Look Down… Don’t Look Down… Don’t Look…
He looked down.
The Arrow’s shaft dropped away beneath him, tapering to a bright thread as it reached the floor. Boag and McKinnon were staring up at him, one of them – Christ, he couldn’t even tell which one it was from this height – pointing and gesturing. His calf muscles started to tremble, a knotting pain building in them like little balls of hot lead.
‘Hurry the fuck up!’ Kyle yelled, making Campbell jump and white-knuckle his grip even further on the handle of the ascender. You can do this, he told himself. A wee bit at a time. He brought his other hand across and slowly unclipped the carabiner. As soon as it slipped free from the ascender, before he had time to think, he closed his eyes, let go and lunged forward, scrabbling for the rung in front of him like a first-time swimmer thrashing his way to the side of the pool. His hand made contact with the cool metal and his fingers locked around it.
Kyle gave a low whistle. ‘Man, you nearly went over the edge there,’ he said. ‘That was pretty close.’
Campbell blinked up at him, catching his breath. ‘Was it?’ What a stupid bloody thing to do. He could have been a pile of red jelly on the floor. ‘Was it really?’
‘Nah, Ah’m only yanking your chain. You were fine. A bit undignified, maybe, but fine.’
‘Don’t fuck about with me,’ said Campbell. ‘Ah’m shitin myself as it is.’
‘Aye, well just get on with it. Ah’m beginning to lose patience.’
Campbell drew a deep breath and exhaled sharply, a quivery, horsey sound. He made to let go of the rung, but it was as if his hands had taken on a life of their own, some primal hard-wired instinct shouting out it was plain crazy to release his grip. Wasn’t it obvious this was what was keeping him from plunging to his doom? His hands refused to budge. He felt his gullet begin to heave and contract. Oh Christ, he was going to puke. He tried to hold it back, his eyes and nose watering, but to no avail. He felt the acidic onrushing liquid rise to the back of his throat and he could contain it no longer. He spewed a spluttered spray of bright yellow vomit, sending it tumbling, disintegrating, to spatter on the floor far below. A faint yell, Boag’s voice – Hey ya tosser! – rose from the depths.
Campbell spat the remaining vomit from his mouth. This was ridiculous. Kyle was waiting above him, the expression on his face a mixture of contempt and twisted merriment. He was enjoying the sideshow. Come on, just do it! Campbell told himself. He thinks you’re no more than a fucking wank-stain. Show him different.
He sucked air in through his clenched teeth and forced his fingers to open. The voice in his head started up its little chant again – Don’t Look Down… Don’t…
He made himself stare at the wall in front of him. He tried to convince himself it was no different from climbing a ladder to get into the loft at home. It’s exactly the same, he thought, just higher. Aye, seventy feet higher.
He moved his hand up, grasped the next rung and pulled himself upwards. Gingerly, he lifted his right leg and placed his foot on the rung. He felt like some daring high wire act in the circus, the people below tense with the possibility, the anticipation, of seeing him fall. Left hand, left leg, up again. He breathed a sigh of relief, it was working. Right hand up, and he felt Kyle grab his wrist, haul him towards the lip of the hatch. Campbell slithered into the opening on his belly, his legs kicking in mid-air, seeking purchase on something, anything, that would propel him onto a solid surface. Kyle seized his belt, yanked him onto the hard metal frame of the catwalk.
Campbell got to his feet and grabbed a railing to steady himself, careful not to step backwards towards the open hatch.
‘Don’t say thanks or anything,’ said Kyle.
‘Maybe if ye hadn’t dragged my kegs up the crack of my arse Ah might be more grateful,’ replied Campbell, adjusting his trousers.
‘Right, head torch on, and let’s get moving,’ Kyle said. ‘And watch you don’t bang yer head on any of these stanchions.’
‘Aye,’ Campbell sighed. ‘Onw
ards and upwards.’
***
Boag watched Campbell’s flailing legs disappear into the space in the ceiling above, the glow from the head torches fading into the gloom as the two men moved deeper into the access corridor.
Beside him, McKinnon shook her head. ‘Amateurs…’
Boag looked around the room, unexpectedly shy and nervous in the presence of this woman who had appeared from nowhere and now seemed to be in charge of the whole affair. He felt his old army indoctrination begin to kick in; the almost automatic deference to figures of authority. He couldn’t decide whether he should tell her he hadn’t finished planting his devices, that there was one more to go; that he should be getting back to work, get the job finished. He cleared his throat. ‘Eh, Ah was just—’
She held up her hand, cutting him off. She glanced at her watch. ‘Not just now,’ she said. ‘I need to go.’
‘Go?’ Boag said.
She took a silver oblong cylinder from her pocket. ‘Yes,’ she said, turning the object over in her hand. To Boag it looked like some kind of miniature torch. ‘I need to do the security check.’ She tapped the end of the cylinder. ‘This is a portable electronic sensor. A data logger. The guards dock it with the security points around the store, at least once every ninety minutes. That sends a signal to the central computer, telling it that everything’s fine, the guards are doing their rounds as they should be. You must have noticed these sorts of things before?’
Boag shook his head, mystified, embarrassed he didn’t know about it.
‘Whatever,’ she said. ‘But if the computer doesn’t get a signal during each inspection period it sets off the alarms.’ She put the cylinder back in her pocket. ‘With our bunch of merry men tied up in the front office, if I don’t make the rounds we’ll be in trouble.’ She moved off towards the grand staircase. ‘So, if you don’t mind, I’ll just get on with it.’ She cast a look over her shoulder. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
Boag watched her go, climbing the stairs to the darkness of the second floor and disappearing through the door to the electrical goods department.
He did mind actually. Why was he the one who was left behind? Everyone else had gone off to do something important and here he was, left alone to kick his heels. Johnny-no-mates.
He sighed. He might as well make himself useful. He could always do something about the last detonator, find somewhere to set it up.
If he could be arsed that was.
***
The cables which came up through the Arrow shaft passed over a series of massive pulleys and gears, greased and oiled with a foul-smelling yellow gunk which coated their spiralled cords like some alien secretion. They creaked and groaned, adjusting the weight and tension as the Bubble swung and bounced imperceptibly in the night air. Campbell briefly marvelled at the scale of it all, the forces and balances involved in keeping the whole structure in place.
‘C’mon doughhead,’ Kyle called from up ahead. ‘No time to admire the scenery.’
‘Aye, aye,’ Campbell muttered. ‘Don’t pish yer pants.’
‘What was that?’
‘Ah’m comin.’
They eased slowly along the narrow catwalk, the beams from their head torches sending pale cones of light ahead of them. After a short distance the walls on either side changed from the smooth white panels of the hatchway to rougher brick with crumbling mortar. The air had a dry, dusty odour: the smell of spiders and dried paper.
‘This must be the old part of the building,’ Kyle said. ‘It can’t be long now.’ They could see the passageway stretch twenty feet or so until it narrowed to a dark, thin slit where the metal gangway of the catwalk ended. ‘What do you think?’ asked Kyle. ‘That looks like it, eh?’
They crept towards the black fissure, the walls and ceiling closing in on them until they were moving through little more than a tunnel. They halted where the catwalk ended abruptly at a small parapet in front of the narrow gap in the wall. Kyle leaned over, stuck his head into the space and looked up. Campbell gripped the rail of the catwalk and joined him, their torches showing a black iron pipe which rose up into the dark where it disappeared from sight in the shadows above. The cavity housing the pipe was perhaps three feet by four, and God knew how high or deep. Thankfully, whoever had built it all those years ago had seen fit to include a set of rungs running beside the pipe. At least they wouldn’t have to shimmy up the pipe itself.
‘You okay with this?’ Kyle asked. ‘You’re no gonnae have another flakey are you?’
‘No, Ah’m alright,’ Campbell said. ‘Ah feel better, this’ll be fine. Ah can’t see the drop. And if Ah don’t think about it Ah’ll be—’
‘Good,’ Kyle interrupted. ‘But Ah’m going first anyway. If you fall off Ah don’t want ye comin down on top of me.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ Campbell said.
Kyle swung into the gap in the wall and grabbed one of the rungs. ‘No offence intended, by the way,’ he said. Campbell grunted. ‘We’ll go slow,’ Kyle went on, ‘This’ll be hard work Campbell.’
Campbell. That was the first time he’d ever heard Kyle use his name, that he’d ever addressed him directly, as a person. Wonders will never cease, he thought. He wasn’t daft enough to think this constituted their being new best buddies, but it was a surprise nonetheless. He edged himself into the crack, reaching out to find the nearest rung. Rust stains bled from the iron hoops onto the bricks like the trails of some peculiar red slug. A draft of warm air rose from the depths below, ruffling his hair. He looked up to see the soles of Kyle’s boots a few feet above and started climbing to catch up. ‘Why did you not go with him?’ he asked.
‘What?’ Kyle replied. ‘Go with who?’
‘Prentice,’ Campbell said. ‘When he left. Why did you not go as well? You two do everythin together. Why split up now?’
‘Fuck’s sake,’ said Kyle. ‘You’ve picked a funny time to strike up a conversation.’
‘Sorry,’ Campbell said. ‘But, you know, it should be Prentice that’s climbing up here with you, not me. That’s the usual way of things. You two are partners, are ye not?’
‘Don’t read too much into that,’ said Kyle. ‘He does his thing and Ah do mine. We’re not married or anything.’
‘You still haven’t answered my question though. Why did ye not go as well?’
‘Why? Ah’ll tell ye why. Because Boddice said so, that’s why. Same reason as you’re here, is it not?’
‘Not really. Ah’m here out of fear. John too. But it’s different for you. You don’t have to worry about things like that.’
Kyle stopped and looked down, breathing hard from the exertion of the climb. Campbell blinked against the glare of the head torch. ‘You believe that?’ asked Kyle.
‘What?’
‘That it’s any different for me?’ Kyle wiped the dust from his nose. ‘Listen, pal, it’s fear for me too, don’t think otherwise. Ah do as Ah’m told, end of story. No arguments, no complaints. Prentice thinks there’s a way out of this. But he’s wrong. He made a mistake tonight. A big one.’ He turned, resumed his climbing.
Campbell started after him. ‘Maybe so,’ he said. ‘But it doesn’t change the fact it’s you that punishes the mistakes. You and Prentice.’
‘Aye, well Prentice will see soon enough who’s gonnae be on the receiving end.’
They climbed in silence for a while, and then a new thought came into Campbell’s head. ‘What’s the worst thing you’ve done?’
‘Eh?’
‘The most grisly thing you’ve had to do for Boddice. Ye know, as punishment.’
Kyle laughed. ‘Fuckin hell, you’re in a talkative mood all of a sudden. What do ye want to know that for?’
‘No reason really, just… ye know… curiosity. Ah’m interested.’
‘Ah get ye,’ Kyle said. ‘Ye want to know what might lie in store for ye if ye step out of line?’
‘No, not even that, though now that ye’ve mentioned it…�
��
‘Alright, ‘ Kyle said. ‘Ah’ll tell ye. Ah’ve done plenty of horrible things, gruesome things, but the worst thing wasn’t somethin Ah did for Boddice. It was for Prentice.’
‘Prentice?’
‘Aye. Years ago. Prentice used to have this auld Alsation dug. Thor it was called. Bad-tempered bastard it was. Take the hand off ye if ye looked at it the wrong way. Well, one day it was tied to a table in the pub and some eejit took a kick at it for no reason other than the guy didn’t like the look of it. Nuthin much, but enough for the dog to let out a yelp.’ Kyle stopped climbing for a second. Wiped sweat from his eyes. ‘Ye might imagine how Prentice would have reacted, kicked the guy’s head in there and then, put him in hospital for a month. But no. He waited. Bided his time.’ Kyle grabbed the next rung and began climbing again. ‘Me and Prentice got a hold of this guy when he came out his work one night, bundled him into the back of the motor and drove out to this remote car park at the Gleniffer Braes outside Paisley. High up, great view of the city. Not that we paid much attention that night. We gave the guy a right good pasting, and then Prentice went into the boot of the car and brought out this big bucket of paint.’
‘What, emulsion? For doing up yer house?’
‘Exactly, yellow paint. A big industrial-sized bucket of the stuff. Prentice opened it and picked the guy up off the ground.’ Kyle was puffing now, breathless from the climb. ‘The guy was still conscious. He looked from Prentice to me and then to the bucket of paint. Prentice was calm and cool. He knelt down and lifted the guy’s chin. ‘This is for Thor, pal.’ The guy just looked at us. ‘Remember my dug? The one ye kicked?’ It was clear the guy didn’t have a clue, but it didn’t matter. Prentice signalled to me. Prentice held the guy’s arms behind his back, while Ah took his head and plunged it into the bucket.’ Kyle halted his ascent again, stared at the decaying bricks in front of him. Remembering. ‘The guy struggled like fuck. You could tell he was tryin not to breathe in, not to get that paint into his lungs, but it made no difference. Ah just held him down until he could hold it back no longer and he sucked it in, through his nostrils, through his mouth, that yellow paint gurgling deep into his lungs.
