by Les Wood
He was going to die here. Stuck in this fucking shaft, hooked like a side of meat in a butcher’s freezer. The stench of his own vomit filled his nostrils and he could feel the sticky wetness of it on his forehead and in his hair.
He fumbled to find one of the rungs behind him, seeking some sort of purchase by which he could lift himself and relieve the weight on his injured leg. It was too awkward – any movement he made seemed only to serve to redistribute his centre of gravity without releasing the tension on his leg. He slumped, exhausted by his efforts.
Prentice had been right after all. They’d risked everything for Boddice’s stupid adventure, and what sacrifices had that fat bastard made? Not a single fucking thing. Campbell and John had even given up Two’s Tattoos, a genuine legitimate business they’d spent years perfecting. And for what? Just so he could end his days trapped like a ferret in a stovepipe? Boddice could go fuck himself if he thought Campbell was as expendable as that. Prentice was the only one amongst them with guts enough to walk out on the whole thing. Even Kyle was a coward – Campbell knew that now, only too well – too scared to think for himself. Did Campbell really want to bracket himself with the likes of that?
Did he, fuck.
That bastard, Boddice.
Anger boiled up inside him. He could do this, by Christ. He could get himself out of this mess. A few moments ago he’d been ready to give in, roll over, play dead. But now, with the image of Boddice lording it up in his big mansion swimming through his head, Campbell found an unexpected well of hatred in his heart and he took a grim satisfaction in sinking a borehole to extract every last drop of venom. He’d be damned if he was going to let the cunt get away with it.
He steadied himself as best he could and took in a huge breath. He let it out again in an immense shriek of defiance. As he did so, he barelled all his energy into his stomach muscles and forced himself to sit up, curling his body up towards his knees. The pain in his leg spiked and spiralled to new heights but he yelled all the harder and ignored it. He brought his hands up to grab the spars of the ladder above and in the same movement hauled his body upwards, releasing his leg at the same time. It scraped up and out of the tight space behind the rungs.
He’d done it. He was free.
He held onto the ladder and rested his weight on his good leg, breathless and spent. In the deep dark of the shaft, he wept.
After a while Campbell pulled himself together. He wiped the tears and vomit from his face and managed a smile. His shattered leg felt numb and weightless. In a way, he was glad of the darkness. He didn’t feel ready to see for himself the damage that had been done. His priority was to get out of here.
Gently, Campbell eased himself down the ladder, taking his time, making sure he didn’t jar his injured leg. He didn’t enjoy total success, and a couple of times searing jolts of pain were sent whipping through his leg.
Sooner than he expected, he touched down on the access platform at the foot of the riser. My God, he’d made it. He was down. This time he broke out laughing.
His joy dissolved as it slowly dawned on him that he’d only negotiated the easy part. There was still the Arrow to contend with. How in Christ’s name was he going to manage that?
He felt around his waist. He was still wearing the harness and carabiner. That was something at least. He searched for the railing at the side of the platform and used it to support himself as he hobbled along the walkway towards the hatch above the Arrow. In the distance Campbell could see a faint orange glow and black fingers of smoke drifting along the gantry. The sound of the alarms came up from below, sounding like the very voices of the damned. He hurried as best he could, hirpling and shuffling towards the opening, shielding his broken leg from any contact with the spars and struts of the walkway.
At last he reached the hatch and looked down from his high vantage point onto a vast space filled with roaring red flames and dense shrouds of smoke; a vision of Hell.
A vision of Hell, with his own face looming up at him.
***
On the whole, Leggett didn’t believe in God. Life was life, and that was all there was to it. However shitty or fucked-up things were, that was the way of the world, and you just had to get on with it; no divine intervention was ever going to change things.
But there were times when even he thought he felt the presence of something greater than mere humanity. Something guiding their lives, placing obstacles in the way, providing unexpected opportunities. Now and again all of these things happened at more or less the same time and Leggett was almost convinced of the reality of a deity.
Times like tonight.
After he left the Boagster lying in a heap of splintered cartilage on the floor (and how easy had that been, by the way?), Leggett had spent the best part of half an hour wandering amongst the deserted shop displays and counters, picking up the odd trinket and gadget (knick-knacks-for-dickheads he called them). He stopped once to grab a double handful of TAG Heuer watches and stuff them into his jacket pockets – he could make a tidy wee profit on those down the pub later.
But he couldn’t find the others. No sign of them anywhere. Hurrying along one of the upper galleries, he could see the extent of the fires below – they had certainly taken hold and were spreading quickly. He would have to be quick if he was going to witness those bastards getting their comeuppance, catch the looks on their stupid faces when they saw it was him, Leggett, who had been instrumental in bringing about the downfall of their precious plan. Weehoo, Boddice or no Boddice, they would see he was his own man, he would show them just what he was made of.
Leggett gave up searching the main area of the shop and snuck into the back room area of the upper floors – the storage spaces, the offices and cleaners’ cupboards. Even here the sprinklers sprayed cold water relentlessly, and the corridors were partly flooded. This part of the shop was just as extensive as the sales areas and Leggett soon found himself disoriented in the intricate passageways, repeatedly covering the same ground, passing the same rooms and doorways.
It was luck (or was it God?) that made him decide to try one of the anonymous-looking doors at the end of the corridor. Yee-haa! It opened onto another stairway which led up to a series of open-plan offices and a large area filled with tables and chairs and kitchen counters – what he guessed must have been the staff restaurant.
He exited into yet another identical featureless corridor. Jesus Christ, the wankers who worked here must need a bloody map to let them know where the fuck they were. Everywhere looked the bloody same.
He had just about given up hope of ever finding the others when God came knocking again. Leggett had passed an ordinary-looking door and was carrying on down the corridor when he heard a frantic thumping coming from behind him, accompanied by pleas for help.
His heart flipped over in his chest.
It was a voice he recognised. A voice that was going to pay. Oh yes indeed.
He stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes. A shudder ran through his body.
He turned and walked back to the door. He saw Kyle’s eyes behind the little window in the door, dancing in fear and panic. He saw the flutter of recognition and puzzlement cross Kyle’s face and Leggett smiled.
‘Oh mama, mama,’ he whispered.
He felt God standing at his right-hand side.
***
‘What the hell are you doing here? More to the point, how did you get here?’ asked Campbell.
‘Nice to see you as well,’ John replied. He looped one arm round a rung on the wall, pulled himself onto the platform under the hatch. ‘You look terrible by the way.’
Campbell grimaced. ‘It’s my leg.’
‘Show me,’ John said.
Campbell couldn’t bear to look at it himself, but hopped closer to the opening to let John have a look at his injured limb.
John winced and sucked a breath into his lungs. Campbell’s shin bone had completely snapped; the bottom half had sliced through the skin and ripped through his
trousers and was now freely sticking into the air in a crag of sharp white splinters. His lower leg dangled lifeless and loose.
‘Man, no wonder ye look like shite. What the fuck happened?’
Campbell shook his head. ‘No time.’ He grabbed the handrail behind him and leaned over the edge of the hatch, surveying the scene below. ‘We have to get down off here.’
John gave a wry smile and cleared his throat. ‘Aye, well there’s the thing.’
‘What?’
‘Well, Ah got up here no problem, but now that Ah’m here Ah’m no sure how Ah’m gonnae get down.’ He threw a glance over his shoulder at the Arrow sweeping down to the floor. ‘Ah’ve… em, Ah’ve just discovered Ah don’t like heights.’
Campbell rolled his eyes and groaned. ‘So, let me get this straight. You’ve come up here on some sort of rescue mission and ye’ve got no idea how to actually do the rescuing?’
‘Oh, aye,’ said John, bristling. ‘There’s a whole queue of idiots down there just waitin their turn to climb up here and give ye a hand. It’s just your bad luck ye got me first isn’t it?’ ‘Sorry, ye’re right,’ said Campbell, softening. ‘It’s just Ah’m no feeling too good. Ah’m cold, clammy and Ah keep feelin Ah’m gonnae puke.’
‘Puke again ye mean. Have ye seen yer hair? What is it? Spew-dio Line? For that extra hold.’
Campbell managed a laugh. ‘Anyway, sorry. Ah’m glad ye’re here.’
‘Fair do’s,’ John said, squinting up at Campbell. ‘But first things first, let’s get ye down from up there. Ah can hear bangin and stuff below. Fire brigade’s here Ah think.’ He steadied himself on the platform below the hatch. ‘Ye think ye can do this with one leg?’
‘Do Ah have an option?’
John raised an eyebrow. ‘No,’ he said.
‘Okay, let’s do it.’ Campbell settled his backside onto the edge of the hatch and, still refusing to look at it, gingerly manoeuvred the wreckage of his right leg out over the abyss, shuddering with the pain.
He stopped, slapped his hand to his forehead. ‘Christ,
Ah nearly forgot.’
‘What?’
Campbell put his hand into his pocket and brought out the diamond. He held it up for John to see. ‘This,’ he said. ‘This pathetic wee thing. This is what has brought us here. It’s that important Ah plain forgot Ah had it.’
‘You’ve got it?’ John asked. ‘How the fuck did you…?’
Campbell held up a hand. ‘Later.’ He turned the diamond over, rotating it and holding it up to the flickering half-light that shone up from below. It seemed blacker than ever, almost a sculpted lump of polished coal. ‘Think on it. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for this. We would be safe and happy doing tattoos for bikers and punks.’
‘Ah liked the tattoos,’ John said dreamily.
‘Aye, so did Ah,’ said Campbell. ‘And if Boddice hadn’t stuck his oar in, we’d still be there, doing our own thing.’ He tossed the diamond in the air carelessly and caught it in his other hand. ‘And just so he can get his grubby paws on this.’ He inspected the stone in his palm. ‘Ye know somethin? Ah don’t actually give a fuck about this any more. As far as Ah’m concerned, Boddice can cover it in butter and shove it up his arse.’ Campbell looked past John to the shop floor far below. ‘Who’s down there?’ he asked. ‘Is Boag still on patrol, or has he fucked off?’
John thought better of telling Campbell about Boag and Leggett and the rearrangement of Boag’s features; things were complicated enough as they were. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Ah think he might still be there. Though not for much longer, if they fires get much worse, or the firemen manage to get in.’
‘Hey! Boag!’ Campbell shouted down.
‘He’ll not be able to hear ye,’ said John. ‘The alarms—’
‘Boag!’ Campbell yelled again, his voice cracking. ‘Are ye watchin? Do ye see this?’
‘Ah told ye, he’ll no… Campbell! No! What are ye doing?’
Campbell extended his hand over the drop and slowly turned his palm downwards, letting the Dark Side of the Moon fall like a black teardrop into the flames beneath.
John’s mouth hung open, struggling to take in what Campbell had just done. ‘What the fuck have ye… do ye realise…?’
‘Of course Ah realise,’ Campbell said. ‘And do ye know? Ah feel a million times better.’ His face broke into a bitter grin. ‘It’s a weight off my shoulders. Boddice’ll never ask us to do anything for him again. Not after this.’
‘Aye, but…’
‘No ‘buts’. What’s done is done. Now, let’s get ourselves to fuck out of here.’
The first of the two rungs in the wall which led to the platform was about three feet below. Campbell took a deep breath. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Ah’m gonnae lower myself slowly. You be ready to support me.’
John tightened his grip and nodded.
Campbell turned onto his stomach and shuffled to work his torso over the lip of the hatch, balancing his upper body on the edge. John held out his free arm, hesitating to make any sort of movement that might upset either his own or Campbell’s balance.
Campbell’s left foot blindly searched for contact with the first rung.
‘You’re too high,’ John called. ‘Ye need to lower yourself a bit more.’
Campbell cursed but wormed further down, cautiously adjusting his handhold on the spars of the walkway above. It wasn’t the best of grips, but if he could just… He took a deep breath and released his right hand, taking his full weight with his left.
His foot came within an inch or two of the ladder.
‘Here, let me help,’ John said, reaching out to guide Campbell’s foot to the rung.
Campbell shouted, ‘No! Wait, Ah’m not…’ He felt himself begin to overbalance. His left hand slipped from its grip and he desperately sought some purchase as his body slithered over the edge and into the void. Campbell screamed as he plunged towards the shaft of the Arrow, his body twisting and wheeling in the air.
‘Campbell!’ John lunged to grab Campbell’s arm as he fell past him. He managed to catch his outstretched hand just as Campbell hit the Arrow, his shattered leg crashing against the metal cylinder with a sickening crunch. John felt the violent wrench as he suddenly took up Campbell’s weight and he was jerked from the platform above, falling headlong onto the Arrow himself. He began sliding over the curve of the shaft, pulled by Campbell’s swinging body. John threw out a hand, wildly clutching at the recessed handles on the Arrow. He missed, but his fingers closed around the cable running beside them.
His grip held.
Campbell dangled below him. ‘Don’t let me go!’ Campbell shouted. ‘Don’t let me… just… just hang on to me!’
John grunted, straining against Campbell’s weight and the razor sharpness of the cable which was slicing into his hand. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Ah won’t drop ye.’ He tried to pull himself up, his arm muscles trembling with the effort. It was no use; he couldn’t raise himself more than an inch. Blood trickled down his arm as his palm started to bleed, the flesh stripping away as the cable bit deeper. ‘Stop wriggling will ye?’ he shouted. The hand holding Campbell began to weaken, muscles cramping and trembling. He needed to take his mind off it, give himself a chance to gather his strength. A distraction was required. He looked down at Campbell suspended above the flames below, his brother’s eyes wide with fear and pain. ‘Ye know somethin?’ he said.
‘What?’ Campbell said through his gritted teeth.
‘Ah wouldn’t shag one of they lassies if ye paid me.’
‘What?’ said Campbell, straining.
‘They lassies in the posters, ye know the ones in the lingerie department, advertising knickers and bras and stuff. They’re no shaggable lassies like that.’
‘What the fuck are ye talkin about?’
‘Do ye not think if ye had the chance, ye know, to give them a jump, ye wouldn’t bother?’
Campbell shifted his weight, taking some of the press
ure off John’s grip. ‘Wouldn’t bother? They’re beautiful. They’re supermodels.’
‘No they’re not. Ah mean, aye, they’re good-looking lassies Ah suppose, but they’ve always got this kinda scowly look on their face. Ye know, greetin-faced.’
‘Aye maybe, but it’d be different if ye were shaggin them.’ ‘How would it? They’d just be lyin there with their face like fizz, as per normal, all disinterested. It’d be shite. They’re no worth shaggin, lassies like that.’
‘Oh aye,’ Campbell said, rolling his eyes. ‘And like you have them queueing up at the door, burds like that? Aye… ye’ve always been lucky that way haven’t ye?’
‘Well Ah might be, what point are ye tryin to make?’ John grunted, adjusting his position slightly.
Campbell smiled up at him. ‘No point,’ he said. ‘But Ah know what you’ve been doing. You and yer stupid conversations.’
John smiled back, the smoke from the fires stinging his eyes, bringing tears which flowed down his cheeks. ‘Campbell,’ he said. ‘Ah can’t hold it any longer. Ah’m slippin.’
Campbell nodded. ‘Ah know,’ he said, blinking back his own tears. ‘Ah know. Don’t let me go.’
John looked at Campbell and gave him a crooked smile. ‘Don’t worry brother,’ he said. ‘Ah’ll not let ye go. Just close your eyes.’
‘What?’
‘Close your eyes, it’ll be okay.’
Campbell closed his eyes.
John sighed and let his fingers slip from the cable.
***
‘Open the door. Let me out.’
Leggett laughed. ‘You’ve got a fucking short memory ya bastard. Open the door? Why the fuck would Ah entertain that idea?’
Kyle banged his fists against the door. ‘Open it!’ he yelled. ‘Open it ya wee shite or Ah’ll—’
‘Or ye’ll what? Stare at me? Cos that’s about all ye can do in your position.’ Leggett held his hands out, showed his open palms. ‘And anyway, how am Ah gonnae let you out, Ah don’t have any keys do Ah?’
‘Well, help me. Do somethin,’ Kyle urged.
‘Oh, don’t worry, Ah’m gonnae do somethin. Weehoo, aye.’ Leggett smirked and stood back from the door, folding his arms. ‘What Ah’m gonnae do is… man, oh man Ah can hardly believe it… Ah’m just gonnae stand here and watch you.’ He made a pistol of his fingers, pointed it at Kyle and cocked his thumb. ‘Watch you burn, ya fucker.’ He pulled his imaginary trigger. ‘Pow!’
