by Dan Fletcher
Nwake came back in with the medical equipment. A complete battlefield med-kit it included a scalpel, syringe, scissors, antibiotics, multiple bandages, and a clotting agent called QuickClot. Nwake tended to Alan first. A trained medic who served time during the Niger conflict, he could tell that he was in worse shape.
As a temporary measure he took some of the clay-like substance, and slapped it onto the entry and exit wounds on Alan’s calf. To Nwake’s relief, the bullet had passed straight through the muscle. Alan groaned in protest, but the agent would suck the liquid from the blood trying to leave his body, stemming the flow. Nwake bound the leg as tightly as he could, checking with his finger to make sure there was still room for circulation.
Taking the hypodermic he pierced the rubber seal on the vial of antibiotics and filled it. He didn’t bother searching for a vein in Alan’s arm. Nwake stuck the needle straight into the carotid artery, emptying the contents into his neck in a rapid stabbing motion.
Turning to John, he took the scissors from the kit and cut back his sleeve to the shoulder, exposing the full extent of the damage.
John’s arm was badly torn from the shoulder to the elbow. In one patch the bone was exposed. Nwake cleaned the wounds as best he could with antiseptic, spreading the QuickClot over them when he was done. After dressing the arm he put it in a sling and gave John a shot of antibiotics, finally covering him with the blanket. John moaned a few times but barely seemed conscious.
‘Get me a glass of water,’ he said, quietly to Patience, who had been admiring his handiwork.
Patience found a dirty glass next to the sink in the bathroom, and came back with the water. ‘Here you go,’ handing it to Nwake he took a step back, to allow more light from the corridor. The bulb in the room was missing, the flex hanging from the ceiling where it should be.
Nwake lifted John’s head up, not unkindly, and forced him to drink, using his finger to open his mouth. He then made Alan do the same, trying to help them rehydrate after the loss of blood. Satisfied he had done all he could, Nwake scraped the contents off the bed, back into the med-kit, and stood up.
Taking one last look at them both lying prostrate, he turned away, walking into the corridor. Patience locked the door behind him, and stood beside it, he wasn’t about to let them get past him again. Not that they looked like they were going anywhere.
‘John?’ whispered Alan feebly, opening his eyes when the door had shut. There was no reply, ‘John? Wake up! Are you OK?’ Again there was nothing.
Alan’s mind was spinning as he drifted into unconsciousness. The last thing he saw was Lucy’s face, staring at him, and then the clouds swallowed him up.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Caitlyn didn’t think to call a cab, or bother to wait for a bus. She simply ran as fast as she could, with her daughter in her arms, needing to put as much distance between her and the house as possible. The others were struggling to keep up with her, even though she was carrying Lucy. A primeval instinct of self-preservation took over, and she found reserves of stamina she never knew existed. After over five minutes, and unable to run with her any longer, she slowed to a walk and held Lucy’s hand, dragging her forwards.
‘Mummy how much further?’ said Lucy, who had only ever been to her Aunt’s on the bus or in her Dad’s van.
‘Where over half way now Lucy, just keep up with Mummy ok? You’re doing really well,’ she replied.
Not wanting to stay on the main road, she got them off Bruce Grove as quickly as possible, and cut through Elsden Road. They had flown past the Marmalade Cafe, just skipping Bruce Castle Park, and carried on through the back streets, keeping parallel with the railway line heading due north.
They had just skirted White Hart Lane Tube station, again staying away from the main street, fearful of being seen, when Caitlyn had tired. The others were equally out of breath.
They continued at a brisk walk up Pretoria Road, staying parallel with the tracks, ending up next to North Middlesex Hospital on the North Circular. Instead of using the flyover, which would have cost them time, Caitlyn kept heading as the crow flies. They sprinted across the dual carriageway, and Vanessa climbed over the meter high fence in the middle, catching the hem of her skirt and tearing it. She didn’t even notice, she reached back to take Lucy from Caitlyn’s outstretched arms.
A car beeped angrily, as it swerved to avoid them. Rachel managed herself, and was already over, followed by Caitlyn. They waited for another car to pass, flashing its lights as it did, and then ran together to the other side.
Caitlyn led them through Pymmes Park, to her sister’s house in Sweet Briar Walk, on the other side. She didn’t bother to knock or ring the bell, and burst through the front door. It was always unlocked, her sister believing in the common decency of people.
A few years older than Caitlyn, and a few pounds heavier, Mary-Anne was almost as pretty. They turned a few heads together in their youth. Her husband, Tony, jumped up from the sofa, spilling his tea. ‘What the...,’ seeing the look of panic on Caitlyn’s face, and how out of breath she was, he realised something was terribly wrong.
Vanessa and the children came wheezing through the door, the girls ran to their Aunt on the sofa, throwing themselves on her. Her familiar perfume and welcoming arms comforted them against their ordeal.
‘They came and took Daddy! Those bad men took him,’ blurted Rachel, starting to sob uncontrollably, as finally the damns burst.
‘Took Daddy?’ said her Aunt disbelievingly, but seeing no reaction from Caitlyn, ‘Who took Daddy? What bad men? What the hell is going on here?’ Had everyone lost their senses?
‘We don’t know.........they just burst in........with balaclavas on........and started hurting us,’ Caitlyn replied, in between deep breathes, tying to feed her starving lungs.
‘Who would do a thing like that?’ Then remembering his chequered past, her sister said, ‘Has this got something to do with Alan? I told you he was bad news!’
She repeatedly warned Caitlyn not to marry Alan. From day one she could tell that he was bad news. Caitlyn always protested his innocence, and reminded her how he hadn’t been in trouble with the police in over ten years, since before Rachel was born. Mary-Anne knew better, a leopard never changed its spots.
Caitlyn collapsed into the armchair she was holding on to, too tired to argue. ‘Yes, I think it has,’ she said, ‘something to do with stealing cocaine. Him and that bloody friend of his, John!’
‘That’s it I’m calling the police,’ declared Mary-Anne, brushing the girls to one side and standing up.
‘No! You can’t do that!’ screamed Rachel.
‘Why ever not?’ said her Aunt, heading for the telephone in the hallway.
‘Because they said they’d kill him, and then us!’ shouted her niece, stopping her dead in her tracks. Mary-Anne turned back to Caitlyn, who realised there was obviously no point trying to hide anything from the girls.
‘Is this true?’ she said, her tone more sympathetic. Vanessa was sitting on the bottom step of the staircase and finally regained control of her breathing.
‘Yes. They took him........John as well. They said they would kill them both if we call the police, and then come for us,’ she said quietly, not daring to look at the girls.
‘The police will know what to do, it’s their best chance,’ Tony said, not wanting any of this dreadful business coming into his home. ‘We should call them right now Mary,’ he said, using her shortened name.
‘No, you didn’t see them Tony, they meant it! We don’t know who they are, or where they’ve taken him. What are the police going to be able to do? We’re just risking everything calling them. Do you want to be responsible for his death, or ours,’ she asked, looking at her brother-in-law, hoping he would see sense. He was stubborn, and a ‘by-the-book kind’ of person. He had never mixed well with Alan, finding his brash humour offensive.
‘Well what do you want to do then?’ Law-abiding as he was, Tony didn’t want to be res
ponsible for anyone’s death, especially not his nieces.
‘I don’t know,’ Caitlyn replied, ‘we’ll just have to sit tight for now and wait to see what happens. He’ll probably be phoning up soon to see if you know where we are.’
‘We can’t just stay here. We have to go and try to find them at least. Alan must have some friends who can help us. Doesn’t he?’ said Vanessa, desperate to do something, anything.
‘It’s too dangerous, besides Alan doesn’t know people like that anymore,’ then thinking about recent events Caitlyn said, ‘well if he did he wouldn’t tell me, so I don’t bloody know!’
‘Mummy you swore!’ Lucy said, shocked. Considering their dilemma Caitlyn thought she might be entitled to the odd ‘bloody’, but no, chastised by a two year old.
‘I’m sorry darling. Mummy’s just a bit upset at the moment,’ she replied, diplomatically.
‘I know Mummy, so am I,’ said Lucy, coming over to give her a hug. The physical contact made them both burst into fits of tears.
‘There! There,’ said Mary-Anne, ‘everything is going to be just fine, you’ll see. I bet your Dad’s on his way home all ready!’
‘Do you think so?’ Lucy said, looking up from the folds of her mother’s coat.
‘I hope so darling,’ replied her Aunt. ‘Now why don’t you go and put the kettle on Tony and I’ll make us a nice pot of tea. Is anybody hungry?’ Surprisingly Lucy’s appetite overcame her fears, and she paused in her crying.
‘Have you got any Marmite?’ Lucy loved the stuff and her Dad wouldn’t let her have it in the house, because he hated the smell.
‘Yes darling. Would you like some?’ Mary-Anne replied kindly, heading towards the kitchen with Tony.
‘Please,’ Lucy said, following her into the kitchen, ‘can I have a cup of tea too?’ That was what adults drank when there was something to talk about.
‘Of course you can dear,’ her Aunt replied, giving her an involuntary smile. ‘Caitlyn you can go and make the two beds up in the spare room. Your friend...sorry what’s your name pet?’ she said, looking in her direction.
‘Vanessa. It’s Vanessa,’ replied her surprise visitor.
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to sleep on the sofa love, is that Ok?’ said Mary-Anne.
Vanessa was too worried to think about where she was sleeping, so she simply shrugged her shoulders. There were more important things on her mind, like where John was, and what were those savages doing to him?
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Alan woke up feeling completely disorientated, what was he doing back in here? Then he remembered, like waking up and realising it’s not a dream, but the other way round. His reality had become a terrible living nightmare. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was so dry that his tongue stuck to the roof of it. Fighting the urge to panic, Alan slowly worked the muscle, managing to get his saliva glands to release some fluid. He parted his lips and licked them. Cracked and swollen, they begged for moisture.
There was a deep throbbing pain in his leg, that seemed to be in tune with his pulse. Trying to ignore it as best he could, he turned to his side and looked at John. His friend’s complexion was ghostly white, with an almost green tinge to his face. Blood had wept through the bandage on his arm, and he hardly seemed to be moving, so shallow was his breathing.
‘John?’ Alan mouthed, but nothing came out apart from a strangely guttural sound. He made an effort to wet his lips and tried again.
‘John?’ he said, this time a hoarse whisper escaped. Making what felt like an enormous effort he sat up in the squeaking bed. Peeling the blanket back, he slowly and painfully swung his legs over the edge. He noticed a glass of water on the floor, which must have been left there by Nwake the night before. It was like finding the Holy Grail. Alan managed to reach over and pick it up, reverently bringing it to his lips. It may have been the dirtiest, most brackish water that had ever passed his lips, but to Alan it tasted like the sweetest. He gulped it down too quickly and almost choked, coughing and spluttering water down his raw chin. Forgetting about his injury, Alan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His wedding ring caught the newly formed scab, tearing it off.
‘Fuck!’ he exclaimed, to no one but himself, as John was definitely out for the count. Slowly he pushed himself to his feet, and hopped once, over to John’s bed. Swivelling around, Alan dropped down, onto the edge of the steel frame.
‘John?’ he said, finally able to speak normally. There was no movement from his friend. ‘John,’ he repeated, ‘wake up! Are you OK mate?’ John still didn’t stir. ‘John!’ he said, quite loudly this time, shaking John’s good shoulder gently.
‘Huugh?’ was John’s moaned response. But a response nonetheless, Alan felt slightly relieved.
‘Mate, wake up,’ he said, shaking John a little harder, ‘wake up!’
‘Mmm...?’ John drifted back off into unconsciousness, much to Alan’s dismay. He wanted to hear John speak, to make sure he was really alright. Deciding that letting him rest was the best thing he could do for him right now, he pulled the blanket up over John’s shoulders, and put his hand on his friend’s cheek for a brief moment. In the same way he would for Caitlyn or the girls.
Caitlyn and the girls? Where were they? Were they alright? If he got the chance he was going to kill every one of these arseholes for what they had put them through. Alan wasn’t very good at self-blame.
It remained deadly quiet outside the room, Alan heard voices when he first woke up, but that was about fifteen minutes ago. Then he heard a telephone ringing in the distance, coming from somewhere beyond the plastic sheet at the end of the corridor. A few minutes later he heard someone come into the hall.
There were three sharp knocks, ‘Wake up. Tunge is on his way, we have to get ready to go to the airport.’ So one of them was called Tunge, probably the leader if he wasn’t here. There was obviously no reply from the other room because the knocking was repeated. ‘Patience wake up!’ the voice was much louder now, and impatient. That must be a nickname.
This time there must have been a response that Alan didn’t hear, because the speaker said, ‘OK then,’ and went into the kitchen next door. Shortly afterwards he heard the door across the hall open, and ‘Patience’ head into the bathroom.
Another man entered the hallway and approached their door. The lock scratched open, the key catching for a moment as it was turned, Nwake pushed it open and entered the room. Alan stared at him, unmoving.
‘Go over there, so I can see to your friend,’ Nwake said, pointing to the other bed. Patience appeared behind him in the corridor and was holding his gun at the ready.
‘Alright, just hold on,’ Alan said, wanting treatment for John. He slowly made his way back to his bed, and lay down on his back submissively.
Nwake approached John, making sure he kept an eye on Alan at all times. He witnessed the result of what happened to Kayin when he let his guard down. He put the med-kit on the bed and knelt down next to John.
Slowly and carefully, he took the sling from John’s arm and gently unwound the bandages, trying to remove as little hair and skin as possible. It had stuck in one of the gashes in John’s arm. Nwake had to pull it out, causing the wound to bleed again. He stemmed the flow, first with some swabs and then with some more clotting agent, and redressed the wound. Finally putting the arm back in the sling he lifted John’s arm, the pain woke him and he opened his eyes, like a startled rabbit. The groan he made didn’t sound human, and then he closed his eyes and drifted off again.
‘Now stay still if you want me to help you,’ Nwake said, turning to Alan.
‘No problem, you carry on,’ he replied, seeing how he had treated John.
Nwake rapidly re-dressed Alan’s wound, checking for infection, there didn’t seem to be any, but he was more worried about the other one. He thought that he had spotted some puss weeping from the wound. He finished up by giving them both another round of antibiotics.
‘That’s the best I can do f
or you now,’ he said.
Alan didn’t reply, just stared into his eyes. He would still kill this one as well if he got the chance, even though he had helped them.
Nwake left the room and Patience re-locked the door. As Tunge’s arrival was imminent he decided to stay beside it. Nwake went into the warehouse, where Kayin was preparing the dogs food.
‘Will they still eat that?’ he said, looking at the dry biscuit.
‘What do you mean?’ said Kayin, of course they would eat it, it was dog food, said it right on the packet. What was wrong with his boss?
‘Well...now they’ve got a taste for humans they won’t eat that? Will they?’ said Nwake, seeing visions of man-eating lions. Kayin burst into hysterics.
‘You think...that...the...dogs...,’ it was no use he just couldn’t get the words out, he was laughing too hard. It took a while for the laughs to subside. ‘Are...you...stupid? They only did what they are trained to do,’ he couldn’t believe how irrational Nwake’s fear was.
‘Shut up! Don’t call me stupid, remember who’s in charge around here,’ Nwake said, losing what little respect Kayin had left for him. ‘Just make sure you lock them up, Tunge’s coming. While you’re out there, go and tell Ogun to open the damn gate!’ he barked.
Kayin waited to fill the dogs’ bowls, before going outside. He put them in the kennels and the dogs followed eagerly. Shutting the gate behind them, Kayin said softly, ‘Good dogs, well done you’ve got an extra treat today.’ He was proud of the way they carried out their work so fearlessly the night before.
He ambled over to the gatehouse, where Happy was deep in conversation with Ogun. He was the only one at the facility who seemed to have earned Happy’s respect.
They served under the Chief in the Niger Delta, in the early nineties. Together they raided the Ogoni villages, slaying the four main tribal chiefs, resulting in the Chief’s promotion to General, and Happy to Captain. It mattered nothing to him that they were committing genocide, uprooting people from their land so that the oil could be sold to the multi-nationals. Happy didn’t care either that the Ogoni 9 had been wrongly accused, and hung for his crimes. The Chief orchestrated the whole affair, growing grotesquely fat on the production and sale of oil.
