The terrorists’ cars turning and reversing is the only movement on the bridge.
Finally, a semblance of order is achieved and a car rolls forward. Another joins it and then a third. Across the two lanes of the bridge’s northbound road the cars sit and their passengers glower, their engines thrumming as the drivers rev their engines.
“Somebody’s watched ‘Fast and Furious’ too many times,” a Protector, voice muffled and face squashed by his helmet, comments.
Another laughs, axe resting on his shoulder. Jessie takes a defiant step between the cars and the barrier. Let them try to intimidate her. She raises her crossbow, bolt ready.
“Careful, Jessie,” Bill chides as engines rev in a fierce and hysterical rage. Alert, Jessie watches for movement, her focus undaunted by the noise. The muzzle of a rifle appears through an open window.
“Passenger side, front. Last car to the left.” Bill shouts his warning.
Jessie’s bolt flies through the air and straight to the man’s forearm. The rifle drops with a clatter to the tarmac.
A door slams open, smashing against its neighbour and a man jumps out. He screams, teeth bared, his words taken by the wind, and points the muzzle of his rifle at the barricade, the passenger door his shield.
“Get down!” Bill shouts as he takes aim.
Gunshot sprays into the cars. Glass breaks. Bullets slice through metal.
A single shot fires. A perfect hole through the passenger door’s window. The glass spatters with blood and the rifle clats as it hits the floor. Jessie waits. Engines thrum and the wind howls. Lightning brightens the sky to purple and thunder rumbles.
A stand-off.
No one moves.
A shot pierces the air and a Protector thuds against the car then slumps next to Jessie. The leather of his jacket ripped at the shoulder, he groans as he leans against a tyre. Jessie tracks the trajectory of the bullet. The car at the end. Door open, a face peers through the window. The door slams shut. The engine revs. With a squeal of tyres, the car speeds forward.
“Get back!” Bill shouts as another car joins the first. Within a second, all five cars are heading for the barricade. Leather clad figures jump back and run between the gap made by the two lorries, others run down each side.
Slam!
The air reverberates with the sound of crunching metal as the cars slam into the barricade. A Ford Capri, its gleaming paintwork shining in the light, shunts towards the lorry’s grille as its side buckles beneath the impact. The cars reverse. Again they rev their engines and steam forward with a screech of tyres. Again the bank of cars shunts closer to the lorries.
“What now?” Jessie asks as she watches the cars ram the barricade.
Horns blast. Bill nods at the trucks parked behind the cars. “That,” he replies as they roll forward closing the gap, shortening the space the cars have, stopping only a few feet behind the terrorists. As they come to a halt Jessie notices figures fill the gaps between the trucks and the sides of the carriageway—more of Sam’s men.
Trapped, the terrorists have no room to manoeuvre or escape. Jessie marvels at the Protectors’ courage as they stand next to the lorries. It was one thing to go into a fight trained, armed and ready, it was quite another to face an enemy full of hate with only fear to motivate you and improvised weapons to defend yourself with.
A Protector moves from the back, a wooden bat in hand. Another steps forward with a thick chain. A car door slams open and a terrorist jumps out, long blade in hand. Two more appear, both are armed with knives, whilst another holds a baseball bat covered in barbed wire.
Bill shouts from behind his visor, his voice drowned out by the roll of thunder roaring across the sky.
“What?” Jessie shouts back lifting her visor. Bill follows suit. “That bloke—he thinks it’s a zombie apocalypse.”
Jessie can’t help a chuckle at his reference as the man jumps to the car’s bonnet baseball bat held high.
“It’s an apocalypse alright,” Baz shouts above the crashing thunder, a long-handled lump hammer grasped in his hand. “But we’ll be the survivors, not them.”
Another door slams shut and suddenly the road is filled with men, silhouettes in the headlights as the storm reaches the bridge and rain spatters down.
Tang! Tang! Tang!
The sound reverberates as a crowbar knocks against a lorry’s wheel. Behind Jessie, Baz taps his crowbar against a car’s wheel and the air fills with the drumbeats of battle.
Tang! Tang! Tang!
Bill catches Jessie’s eyes and mutual understanding passes between them; the terrorists are about to get a kicking they won’t forget.
Tang! Tang! Tang!
A door slams into the neighbouring car and another man steps out. The ones left inside quickly push down the locks. Cowards!
The tension is unbearable as Jessie watches the men group together, their weapons held high. Behind her Bill shouts instructions; the terrorists inside the cars are to be forced to stay there. As for the rest—no mercy.
The call to battle thuds rhythmically in the night as rain begins to pour in earnest. Lightning flashes. Jessie counts: one … Thunder roars.
“Allahuakbar!” the man with the zombie apocalypse bat screams into the storm and runs down the windshield of the car.
“Here they go again, bothering him upstairs!”
Sam’s protectors step out of the shadows as lightening breaks across the sky, jagged bolts of brightest white jump in a jagged spectacle, zig-zagging across purpled skies.
As the man lands on the tarmac, a flash of white breaks overhead and a bolt catches the weapon. He stands frozen to the spot, jerking as the lightning rips through bone and muscle. In the next second he falls to the ground. Smoke rises in a twirl from his jacket then disappears as the rain damps it down and spatters against his face.
Stepping over the twitching body, Jessie strides forward with Bill and the others, closing in around the terrorists. The rhythmic thud of weapons striking metal, beats with primal tension.
Chaos erupts as the terrorists lose their composure and run, swinging their weapons wildly at the Protectors. A machete bears down on Jessie as she pulls for another bolt. Her arm where the stitches hold the gash together aches, but she grits her teeth and angles the bolt towards the terrorist. He’s too close! The rain bounces from cars to tarmac, and splashes against her jeans. Driven by the wind, it blows in her face, obscuring her vision, and the bolt slips from her fingers. Pain sears along her arm as she grabs for the steel rod. The machete runs at her, teeth bared in animalistic fury. Jessie springs up but there’s no time to load the bow. She lunges to the left as the blade slices towards her and then he’s gone; the massive frame of Uri stands in the terrorist’s place. With the full force of Uri’s weight against his body, the man is thrown to the railings. His arms flail and then he topples over and disappears to the path below. In one smooth movement, Uri vaults down after him.
The rain pelts down, blown at an angle by the wind, and lightning brightens the sky, highlighting the huge concrete pillars holding the massive cables of the suspension bridge.
Thunder roars.
A terrorist springs up from behind a car, knife in hand, and rushes at a Protector. As he lurches forward, another Protector rises to his left. He turns and stabs at the man’s leather jacket. The blade pierces the leather but is stopped by the protective armour. He pulls the knife back and stabs at the Protector again, aiming at his visor. Jessie loads the slippery bolt as the pointed blade catches the helmet. With the terrorist in her sights, she aims and fires. Staying true, the bolt pierces the terrorist’s neck, puncturing his jugular. He staggers and drops to the floor. His knife clatters and bounces to the edge of the road then drops through the barrier and slides down to the pedestrian walkway.
Movement catches Jessie’s attention and, as she reaches for the bolt, a blade arcs overhead. As its metal glints in the lorry’s lights, an iron bar swipes in from the side and smashes against the ter
rorist’s head. He staggers then falls to the tarmac, blood gleaming against his skin, pooling in the new depression at his temple. Uri steps next to her.
“Forget the bolts, Jessie. Get them afterwards,” he berates. “You are not invincible.”
Although irked at his reprimand, she knows he’s right. From her crouched position, she takes stock of the battle. A Protector, broad shoulders filling his black leather jacket, sidesteps the arcing machete of a terrorist. As the machete misses its mark, the Protector twists and swings his lump hammer. It catches the terrorist in the back of the head. He jerks forward, his arms flailing as he catches against the barrier. His body bounces, appears to fall forward, then slides to the road. Another Protector runs to the body, pushing a pronged and long-handled garden fork onto his chest, the pointed tines sink into his flesh.
Crouching next to a car, Jessie tries again to load her crossbow. As she picks up the bolt from the tarmac, a dull ache passes through her arm, and her fingers slip. Come on, Jessie! She grips the bolt in her hand and loads it just as a terrorist bears down on another Protector. A long blade stabs down at the woman’s back. Jessie takes aim. Another Protector runs behind the pair. If she shoots now he could end up with the bolt instead of the terrorist. She waits for a second then squeezes at the trigger. Bill strides out into the road. She eases the trigger as he swings the stolen rifle at the terrorist and cracks it against the back of his head. Staggering, the man twists to face Bill, and stabs his knife at him. Jessie releases the bolt. It shoots straight and pierces his temple.
The bridge fills with the rumble of thunder and screams of rage.
A terrorist, machete held high disappears as an arm locks around his neck and pulls him down into the dark.
A Protector, her blonde hair bright against her jacket as it protrudes beneath her helmet, jumps on a terrorist’s back. Her fingers clenched through his hair, he turns left, right, screams at the pain and bats at her. He staggers backwards, pinning her against a lorry. A fist punches his jaw, spattering blood against the white metal of the cab’s bonnet.
As the minutes pass the noise becomes less and movement on the bridge slows until a ring of men and women surround the remaining terrorists. They stand as a shambling mass spitting their hate and jostling one another like cornered rats. Bodies lay bloodied across the tarmac. Jessie counts two of theirs on the ground. Neither move.
Uri steps forward and aims his gun at the men. It’s a gamble. Jessie knows the gun isn’t working.
“Drop your weapons.”
A shuffle. Men shout. A body writhes on the road, blood spreading from its belly.
“I said drop your weapons,” Uri repeats.
“Drop yours first,” a voice, thick with anger, shouts back.
The group shifts and from the centre a man, eyes scowling as he stares at Uri, appears. In front of him he holds a figure, one of Sam’s Protectors. Smaller than the man, leather jacket filled at the chest, and long hair hanging below the helmet it’s obviously a woman. The terrorist holds a knife to her throat and, as he pushes her forward, pulls down the zipper of her jacket.
“Let us see what we have,” he shouts.
A muffled shout sounds as she struggles against the terrorist and rises to a scream of pain as he pushes the knife’s point into her jugular. She quiets and stands still. Another man grabs the helmet and tugs. It remains stuck on her head. He fumbles beneath her chin, undoes the clasp, then yanks. The helmet clatters to the tarmac and bounces on the road as the muffled scream of anger grows loud and clear.
“Martha!” Sam hisses as he steps next to Jessie.
“Shut it!” the terrorists spits and pulls at her hair. Head yanked back Jessie watches as Martha’s face contorts to a grimace of pain.
“Don’t let them know you care,” Jessie hisses at Sam.
“I thought she was back at the pub.”
“Oh, hell!” Bill grunts.
Uri takes a step forward.
“Put down your weapons,” the terrorist shouts. “Or I rip out her guts.” A hand tugs at her protective leather jacket, pulling it off.
Sam lurches, his back knocking against the car.
“I deal with this,” Uri says taking another step forward.
“What the hell is he doing?”
“Uri, get-”
Uri, his broad shoulders squared, head held high, takes another step forward. Martha screams as the blade is raised, ready to plunge into her belly.
“Get back or I gut this bitch.”
Uri slips his hand into his pocket.
The terrorists crowd behind the leader and Martha, her hair running wet with rain, flinches as her captor shouts. “You have three seconds. Three …”
Uri takes another step forward.
“Two …”
Martha’s head is yanked back to expose the soft flesh of her neck, and the knife is poised ready to slice.
The terrorist opens his mouth to count ‘one’ and Uri’s blade pierces the back of his throat. Without breaking his stride, and as Jessie’s bolt spears the breast bone of the man still holding her arm, Uri grabs Martha, pulls her back, then pushes her towards Sam.
“I said drop your weapons,” Uri repeats as Sam takes Martha. Both move back to the protective barrier of cars.
Metal clanks against tarmac.
“Hands up!”
A ring of leather-clad men and women tightens around the terrorists, and two Protectors reappear, coils of thick rope hooked onto their arms.
“We’re going to tie them up?” Bill asks. Jessie senses the disappointment in his voice.
“No! Hang them,” the taller of the two men replies.
“Throw them off the bridge!” one of the women shouts.
“These people are bloodthirsty,” Jessie exclaims as Bill steps beside her.
“Can you blame them?”
“No,” replies Sam as he joins them. Martha still clings to his side. “It would be easy to end their lives but we’ve caught them, they’re unarmed and harmless.”’
“They’ll never be harmless. They’re conditioned to hate us.”
“So, what are we going to do with them? Keep them prisoner?”
“We’ll have to.”
“Hell! How are we supposed to do that?”
“We can talk about that later. First let’s get them tied up and into the lorries.”
“Hell no! We need to talk about this now. There’s no way these men are coming back into town. We deal with them here.”
“We’ve got to secure them first. Get them tied up and-”
A grunt sounds from the trapped men. A punch is thrown and one leaps up, stabbing at Bill with a blade. Startled, Bill does a quick sidestep and the man lurches past then runs to the railings. Vaulting over, he disappears into the black.
“Get him!”
Without a second’s hesitation, Jessie follows. Ignoring the pain in her arm she vaults over the railings that separate the road from the pedestrian walkway and runs down the steep concrete side to the path below. Dark movement, and she catches a glimpse of the man disappearing along the walkway. Lightening brightens the sky to purple and the running man appears as a silhouette. A flashlight behind illuminates the walkway. She runs, forcing her thighs to push harder, her legs to run faster. She’s gaining on him. Raising her good arm, she makes a grab for his jacket but the tips of her fingers only slide against the cloth.
The pounding of footsteps sounds on the road above and a flashlight spotlights the runner. A dark figure launches from the road and blocks the man. He skids to a stop, darts left to the railing then right to the steep side. The dark figure follows each movement, blocking his efforts to escape. The terrorist stops for a second then lurches to the railings and, in one swift move, pulls himself up and throws his legs over to sit facing outwards. Jessie stops. Below the man, one hundred feet below, is the fast running and treacherous water of the Humber estuary.
“Stop!” she calls as the other man steps towards him. “If he f
alls he’ll die.”
“And?”
Jessie ponders the question. She doesn’t care if the man lives or dies but she won’t be the one who pushes him to his death.
“He can-”
The man shuffles towards Jessie as the Protector steps closer.
“We can keep him with the others,” she explains watching the terrorist rise to balance on the railing. “It’s one hundred feet to the water,” she calls out. “If you fall you won’t survive. It’ll be like hitting concrete.”
“I’m not going to fall,” he says in perfect English as he takes another side step, arms out for balance.
Jessie is taken aback. The other men had spoken pigeon English with a strong, guttural accent that bit at the words. “You will if you don’t come off there. Come down and you can be with your mates.”
He fumbles in his pocket and wobbles but takes another sidestep towards her.
“That’s right. Come to me.” Jessie sucks air between her teeth as he wobbles again. “Come down,” she chides, her toes curling at the thought of him falling. She holds out her hand.
“Stay where you are,” the Protector shouts. “Don’t get too close,” he calls to Jessie. “You can’t trust him.”
Ignoring the Protector, Jessie keeps her hand held out.
“He’s not a jumper for crying out loud!”
The terrorist sneers. “You English pigs all deserve to die!”
Jessie recoils from his hate, dropping her arm.
“What’d he say?”
“Kafirs,” the man spits. “You should all die. We won’t stop until you are all dead and rotting in your beds.” He pulls a knife from his pocket. “Death to the English!” he shouts and lunges forward. His foot slips as he raises the knife at Jessie. As she jumps back, his arms flail then wheel as he fights for balance on the wet railings. The knife clinks to the walkway, bounces and slips through. He steadies for a moment, crouches, then grabs for the rail. For a second, Jessie catches the fear in his eyes as his grip misses and the flat soles of his baseball boots slip. His eyes lock to hers as he cries for help. Jessie jumps forward, hand outstretched but he disappears into the dark, his screams becoming more distant with each second.
Land of Fire_An EMP Survival Thriller Page 6
