by Raven, James
*
Angus stepped back from the body, leaving the fork embedded in the bloody mess that was the man’s throat. The handle dropped when he let go, causing the prong-end to flick up and wrench the dead man's chin on to his chest. He looked like he was trying to stare at his own feet over his mound of gut.
Two of the group turned away in horror, one old timer vomited all over himself, and three of them actually smiled. Angus stood there with a blank expression. He did not feel guilty. The villain had deserved it, he reasoned with himself. After all, he was no better than a savage beast. A ruthless killer. He deserved to die like a rat.
Lechy, one of Angus's two sons, tapped him on the shoulder. “Are you all right, father?” he said.
Angus turned to him and nodded.
“Aye, laddie, I'm fine.”
“So what do we do now?” the boy asked.
Angus turned from his son to the faces of the men around him. Faces glowing with a new awareness, but still showing signs of having been through a shattering experience.
He said slowly, “There are three more that deserve to die. And I say we show them no mercy. Do you all agree?”
A cheer went up and as Angus turned and walked towards the main street the crowd followed.
FIFTEEN
When they left the village, Maclean turned on to the road which took them up the hill past the battered telephone exchange. Just beyond Ross Mor's place the road descended towards a long beach, revealed by a lacework of phosphorescence. Then it swung inland again to skirt a wind-ruffled lochan.
“Where the hell are we going?” Hodge said from the back.
They were the first words spoken since the mad dash from the pier and they brought home to all three the awful truth of their predicament. The fact was there was nowhere to go except around in circles.
Parker turned slowly in his seat to face Hodge. His expression was cold, hostile.
“That crazy stunt you pulled back there has fucked us,” he accused through tight lips.
Hodge merely shrugged. “I thought it would scare them.”
“Well, it didn't work, did it? And you can take it from me, you slimy rat, that if these island people don't get you, then I will. You're more dangerous than bloody cancer.”
Hodge crawled across the floor, placed his back against the side of the van, and laughed, an obscene, braying sound. His teeth were almost as bright as his eyes in the gloom.
They drove on another half mile in silence and then Maclean braked and switched off the engine. Immediately the wind began to kick the side of the van as it swept around the hill on their right. They were surrounded again by moorland. Bleak and desolate stretches of treeless terrain dissected by a run-down network of dykes. Cotton grass swayed mournfully at the edges of the road and holes in the cloud threw down weird shadows that danced around them like ghosts playing hide and seek.
Maclean tapped his fingers nervously on the wheel and bit into his bottom lip.
“This is ridiculous,” he said. “We can't go on driving around forever.”
“As I see it, we have no choice,” Parker said, matter-of-factly.
So they thought about it. A minute. Two minutes. But it got them nowhere. They were marooned on an island being hunted by a bunch of wild men and their only avenue of escape lay across miles of treacherous sea.
“Look, there’s a chance Bella can help us,” Maclean said. “She knows the island like the back of her hand. I need to go to her. She doesn’t live in the village so she won’t know yet what’s happened.”
“Then let’s go there,” Hodge said. “Find out what the fuck she can do.”
Maclean’s eyes grew hooded. “I’ll go alone,” he said. “I don’t trust you to keep your cool.”
“Bollocks to that,” Hodge fumed.
But Maclean stood firm. “I know a place where you two can hold up. Soon as I sort something I’ll come and fetch you.”
Hodge shook his head. “Forget it. We stick together.”
“Not on your life,” Maclean said. “You’re hyped up and dangerous. I’m not taking a chance that you’ll do something stupid. I’ll handle it. You just have to fucking trust me.”
Hodge backed down and expelled a breath. “So where’s this place you know?”
“It’s an old derelict house up there on the hill,” he said. “It's as good a spot as any and better than most. I’m pretty sure you’ll be safe there, at least for a while. You'll have a bird's eye view of the surroundings in daylight.”
“Does this road go up there?”
“No. This only goes around the island. A circular route. You have to walk if you want to go inland.”
“So how can we find the house from here?” Parker asked.
Maclean pointed. “There's an old dry-stone wall over there to the left a little. Follow that up the hill and it takes you right to the house.”
Hodge leaned forward, frowning. “What about the treasure? We might as well hang on to it as long as we can. We might still be able to take it with us.”
Maclean nodded. “You're right.” He glanced out the window again. “Let’s hide it in the ditch over there.” The ditch ran parallel to the road and long failing grass reared up from its gloomy depths. “We all know where it is so if we can come back for it we will.”
With a sense of urgency, they clambered out of the van and unloaded the cases and crates.
“Get back to us as soon as you can,” Parker said to Maclean.
“I will,” Maclean promised.
As the van moved off, Parker and Hodge started walking up the hill in the dark.
SIXTEEN
Bella’s house was on the other side of the island from the village. It was a single-storey brick affair and had been converted from a traditional crofter's cottage.
Maclean drove halfway there in the van before dumping it on the moor. He walked the rest of the way — about a mile and a half—across smelly peat bogs and fields made rough by tufts of grass. He was beginning to feel the cold himself now. That damn perpetual wind he remembered from his childhood had still not ceased.
He cupped his bare hands and blew warm air into his palms. Then he zipped his anorak all the way up to his chin and as he walked on he began to wonder detachedly what had happened to Stewart.
Had he been killed or taken hostage? If he was still alive would he talk and identify his accomplices? Maclean still could not fully grasp what had happened. What a fucking mess.
First that stupid prick Hodge had beaten the girl to death. Then the frigging wind had smashed up the boat. Followed by another bout of madness from The Cowboy.
Jesus.
It was meant to be a doddle. A raid that even a bunch of amateurs could have pulled off. But instead it had all gone horribly wrong and God only knew how it was going to play out.
He halted fifty yards from the croft and climbed onto a low wall. The lights were on in the house and he knew that Bella would be waiting for him. He had told her they would pick her up on their way back to the boat with the treasure. And he had assured her that nothing could go wrong and nobody would get hurt.
He thought about Hodge again, and immediately wished it had been that bastard who'd been left behind on the pier instead of Stewart. Hodge was a crazy man. A bloody psycho, and he, Maclean, should have known better than to have recruited him for the blag.
He pushed from his mind thoughts about what had happened and why it had happened and jumped down off the wall. He had a job to do and there wasn't much time left in which to do it. He guessed that someone would shortly be arriving with news from the village.
He trudged across the next field, plodded through a potato patch and across the back-yard.
Bella heard him enter the kitchen and appeared from the bedroom. She was wearing a coat and shoes and there was a suitcase on the floor next to her. As soon as she saw his face she realized that something was wrong. Her facial muscles tightened
Without preamble, he said, “Things didn’t work out. We have
the treasure but some people have been killed.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my God!”
He crossed the room and took hold of her hands. They were cold and trembling.
“I wasn't to blame,” he said in a shaky voice. “It was one of the others. It was a fucking mess. And to top it all we’ve lost the boat. It came away from the jetty and was smashed up on the rocks.”
Before he was through telling her the whole story she was crying her heart out, her body racked with sobs. He pulled her to him, held her tight and felt a sense of shame so deep it made him sweat.
“This is awful,” Bella said through a cascade of tears. “Anna was a friend. And her father was a good man. They didn’t deserve to die. My God I can’t believe it.”
“Neither can I,” Maclean said. “And I saw it with my own fucking eyes.”
Bella managed to stop crying after about a minute. She took out a hanky and wiped away the tears. Her eyes were red and swollen. She pushed out her lower lip and said, “Where are the others?”
Maclean passed a hand over his face, pressed his own eyes shut. “They’re hiding out in a derelict house. They want me to find a way off the island. And to do that I need your help.”
She swallowed hard and wiped an arm across her mouth. “What can I do?”
“We need a boat. Any boat. So long as it’s got an engine or an outboard. So think carefully. Where can we lay our hands on something?”
At that moment, Bella's face was struck by the lights of a vehicle showing through the window. It had turned on to the track leading to the front of the house.
“Now, keep calm,” Maclean told her. “Take off your coat and hide the case. Tell them I’ve been with you here all evening. They can’t know that I was involved. I’m pretty sure they didn’t see me in the van.”
“But what if the man who was left behind has told them?”
“Then I’m fucked. So we just have to hope he hasn’t.”
“But…”
“Look, you can’t let me down, Bella. My life depends on it. And for that matter so does yours.”
SEVENTEEN
Robert McNeil and Johnny Thompson were at the door when Bella answered it. They were both in their late fifties and they looked scared. Bella let them in and they did not seem surprised to see Maclean sitting in an armchair.
“We need you, Andrew,” Thompson said. “Something has happened.”
Maclean hauled himself to his feet. He had already removed his coat and shoes and wiped the sweat from his face with a towel.
“What is it?” he said.
There followed a verbal encounter between the two islanders as to who could tell the story quickest. Maclean tried not to flinch when they revealed Stewart’s fate. He had been stabbed and beaten and finally killed with a pitchfork. In truth Maclean was relieved. At least Stewart hadn’t talked.
“We’ve got to find those bastards, Andrew,” Thompson said. “Can we count on your help?”
“Of course,” Maclean said. “I’ll get dressed. Wait outside and I’ll get myself sorted.”
“Okay
“We have weapons in the car,” Thompson said. “We’re getting together in the village to work out a plan of action.”
The two men went back outside. As soon as they were gone Maclean took Bella in his arms. She was shaking again and her sallow face felt cold against his.
“You were terrific,” he said. “But you have to stay strong, and calm. If I don’t go with them they’ll get suspicious.”
“But what if something happens to you?”
“It won’t. I’ll come back as soon as I can. Meanwhile, get ready to leave the island. I’ll find a way off. I promise.”
She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face.
“You must be careful, Andrew. Don’t underestimate the men of Stack. They’re stubborn and resourceful. They’re also unforgiving.”
“I know how to look after myself,” he said, forcing a half-hearted smile. “Try not to worry.”
She shook her head. “How can I not worry? This is a disaster. You said nobody would get hurt. You said it would be easy.”
“I know what I said, Bella, and I’m truly sorry for what’s happened. But I’ll make it up to you. I promise you that.”
He gave her a long, lingering kiss on the mouth and put his coat and shoes back on. The two men were waiting for him outside next to a battered VW. He climbed in the back and they drove Maclean to the pier. On the way they described in more detail what had happened to Stewart. He couldn’t help thinking that he was a whisker away from meeting the same gruesome fate himself. He said nothing, just prayed that by some miracle a means of escape would present itself.
They went to the village hall. Inside, all the menfolk had gathered, at least forty of them, mostly old men. They each carried a weapon of some kind.
Angus Campbell came bounding over, shotgun cradled at his hip. “Andrew,” he said. “Have you been told what’s happened?”
Maclean nodded. “Who are they?” he asked.
Angus shook his head. “We don’t know. But they came here for the treasure.”
Maclean gestured towards the gun Angus was carrying. “What are you planning to do with that?” he said.
“Exact revenge, of course. These men are killers. We have to stop them before they claim more lives.”
“What about the cops?”
Angus shook his head. “We don’t need the police. We’ll handle this ourselves in our own way and deal with the consequences afterwards.”
Maclean cleared his throat. “Then count me in,” he said. “I’m with you all the way. But how did they find out about the treasure?”
Angus narrowed his eyes. “I wondered if you might have let word slip yourself, laddie.”
Maclean tried to appear shocked. “I can assure you I didn't give the name of the island to anyone.”
“What about your dealer friends?”
“I lied to them. I told them the treasure was from a wreck off the Shetlands.”
Angus studied him carefully for a long moment and then shrugged. “It’s something we’ll worry about after we find them.”
“So where are they?”
“We don’t know. But it won't take us long to sniff them out. They're strangers here and they know nothing about the island.”
Angus went to the front of the hall where he stood on the platform next to the pulpit. He raised his shotgun to bring order to the gathering and placed the butt-end on the floor.
“We need to coordinate the search,” he said. “But we should hold off until dawn. Hunting them down in the dark will be too dangerous. Meanwhile everyone on the island has to be alerted. We need to make sure they’re all safe.”
There was a brief discussion before everyone started to file out.
As Angus was leaving he said to Maclean, “You come with me, Andrew. We’ll visit homes on the north side of the island. Most of those people won’t know what’s happened yet.”
Maclean felt his heart sink. He followed Angus outside.
“You need a weapon,” Angus told him. “I have a spare rifle. Will you know how to use it?”
“I’m sure it won’t be that hard to learn,” Maclean said.
EIGHTEEN
In the morning there was a mist. At first, in the dawn light, it was eerily translucent, creeping over the shadowy landscape like a clear, sticky fluid, consuming everything in its path.
Its density increased along with its size as the morning wore on and very soon the whole island was wrapped in a damp, yellowish blanket. It stirred only gently, indeed almost imperceptibly, in the absence of any wind. A great quietness prevailed, disturbed only by the distant cry of a gull and the amplified activities of insects in the tall, still grass.
The two men sat amongst the depressing ruins of the old Hebridean 'black house', their ears extra-sensitive to the slightest sound, their bodies cold and weary from their long ordeal. Their breathing stirred the gr
eyness around them and their voices — on the few occasions they spoke — seemed unnaturally loud.
The six-foot thick walls, made from large boulders and with rounded corners, stared down at them mockingly through the swirling mist. They were inside the shell of what would once have been the home of a large, hard-working crofting family. But the walls no longer echoed to the sounds of laughter or of children. Now they were merely a refuge for a multitude of climbing weeds and industrious insects.
Naturally, the roof was gone, the thatching having been blown into oblivion over the years, and the inner sanctums of the place were laid naked to the sky.
The two men were sitting with their backs against the wall opposite the narrow opening that had been the door through which generations of a family had passed. Just above their heads was the small shapeless hole that had been the only window. The room itself was about eighteen feet long by fifteen feet wide with a side door leading into the adjoining byre.
Throughout the long night, and despite the cold which had early on worked its way inside his clothing, Parker had been conscious of an almost palpable air of foreboding about the place. It seemed almost as if the old house resented their very presence there. He hadn't let it play on his mind, though, as there were more pressing problems bearing down on him.
Maclean hadn’t yet returned and he knew that time was running out. He suspected that the islanders had decided to wait for daylight before mounting a full search. And when that did get under way it would not take them long to locate the hideout.
They had little choice but to sit and wait and pray that Maclean wouldn’t let them down.
Neither Parker nor Hodge had slept. Both sat with their backs to the wall and their knees tucked up in front of them. The silence between them had been a strained one, taut with tension.
The arrival of the mist had been welcome. Maybe it would make things difficult for the hunters for one thing and give Maclean an opportunity to find a way out.
