‘Where do you want me, doctor?’ she smiled nervously. The initial shock was wearing off and she was lightening-up a bit.
‘I think the conservatory’s best,’ he replied. ‘It’s warm in there and you can lie on the sofa. This is going to hurt like hell, and I’m afraid I haven’t got any anaesthetic, apart from the old-fashioned kind,’ he said, pointing at the Scotch.
She nodded. He poured her another good measure, which she picked up and drank, before moving through into the conservatory and lying face-down on the sofa. He occupied himself in the kitchen for a few minutes; she could see him in there checking the water and looked at him. He was around six feet tall, with a medium build and looked in good shape. He had longish dark hair flecked with grey and a beard to match, with friendly blue eyes and an open face.
‘You’re not the man-in-the-hat any more,’ she said.
‘Eh? I’m not with you,’ he replied, turning towards her.
‘Well, I’ve seen you several times over the last month or more, though you’ve only seen me the once; that time on the beach when I ran off. In my mind I called you the man-in-the-hat.’ She giggled; the whisky had gone straight to her head and she was feeling slightly tipsy already. He smiled in understanding and she continued: ‘And now you’re not: the man-in-the-hat, I mean. You’re just Jamie.’
He came in carrying a bowl of hot water. ‘Well, I’ve been called worse things in my life, so man-in-the-hat’s not bad,’ he smiled. ‘Right, let’s take a look at the damage.’
He put on a pair of latex gloves, knelt down and examined her leg. It was smeared with blood, which he washed off with hot water to get a better look. There were six puncture wounds in a small group, between the top of her calf and the back of her knee. He pressed gently next to one; she winced and blood oozed out. There were also several large red areas from where the man had kicked her.
‘You’re lucky they were only loaded with small bird-shot. If it had been bigger shot, like BB for instance, you’d have been in real trouble. I’m going to have to root around with some forceps to get the pellets out. Tweezers are smaller, but I’m worried they won’t grip the pellets enough for me to pull them out, so it’s really going to hurt. Do you want something to bite on?’
She shook her head. ‘No thanks; just get on with it and let’s get it over with.’
He dipped the forceps’ jaws first into surgical spirit, then put his fingers either side of the first wound, stretching the skin to widen the hole. She squirmed and then held her leg as still as she could, gritting her teeth while he probed with the forceps. He felt the pellet, maybe half an inch below the surface, and opened the jaws wide enough to go around it. He got a firm hold on the piece of lead and pulled it out, examining it. He was relieved to see that it was intact, as he’d been worried that some might have broken off, especially if it had been from a ricochet off the ground.
He wiped the blood away, then put a jeweller’s loupe into his eye and bent down for a closer look. He opened the wound as wide as he could and examined it closely. Just inside, he could see some fibres from her jeans that had been punched into the wound, which he pulled out with tweezers. He then put a few drops of iodine tincture from an eye-dropper into and around the wound, and she jumped and winced, then relaxed and let out a deep breath.
‘One down; five to go!’ he said.
She reached for her whisky and took a long gulp. ‘Bugger me, that hurt!’
It took him over forty minutes to remove all six pellets and more fibres from the wounds. He was as sure as he could be that there was nothing left in any of them, and all the pellets had been intact. He cleaned the remaining blood from her leg, dried it with cotton wool and put plasters over the wounds, before helping her to sit up. By now, Jane was feeling rather groggy from the pain and the whisky, so he went into the kitchen to make some coffee.
‘Thank you, Jamie. I don’t know what I would have done without you.’
‘Don’t mention it. I don’t think they need bandaging, so I’ve just put plasters on them to stop the bleeding. We can have a look later to see if any need changing. You’ve got some nasty bruises forming as well. Have you checked the rest of your body for more?’
‘No, not yet, but it hurts in several places. Have you done anything like this before?’
‘Never: you’re my first, and I hope my last, surgical patient!’ he smiled. ‘Why don’t you go into the bathroom and check yourself, and put some of this on them.’ He handed her a bottle of witch hazel and some cotton wool balls. ‘It will help with the bruises.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ she said, getting up stiffly and making her way to the bathroom.
Meanwhile, he got a fire going in the log-burner to warm up the kitchen for her and poured some coffee for them both. She came out smelling of witch hazel, still in his bath robe, and sat at the table to drink her coffee.
‘Oh God, that tastes good! I’ve missed real coffee; thanks.’
He smiled at her and she smiled back over the rim of her mug.
‘I was just about to make some breakfast earlier, but I seem to have got distracted! Do you want some? I’m cooking pancetta with baked beans and some flatbread I made. I’ve also got one carton of orange juice left. It’s a bit past its use-by date, but it’ll be fine.’
‘I’d love some, but do you mind if I have it later? I’m feeling a bit groggy and think I need to lie down for a while.’
‘Of course you can; no problem.’
He helped her through into the conservatory, where she lay down again on the sofa. He walked through to the lounge to fetch a blanket for her and by the time he came back she was fast asleep. He laid the blanket gently over her and then went back to the kitchen to make breakfast, feeling pleased to have her there and also relieved that things had turned out as they had; it could have been a lot worse.
Eight
He was about to start cooking breakfast when he realised there was something that needed doing: out in the street were three bodies, an abandoned truck and a shotgun. Whilst he knew that the police wouldn’t be coming to call anytime soon, he felt he had to dispose of the bodies and the truck, rather than just leaving them where they were. He sighed and put down the saucepan that was in his hand. As he walked to the hall, the bathroom door was open and he saw Jane’s blood-stained jeans on the floor, so he picked them up and went outside. With a bucket of seawater, a scrubbing-brush and some detergent he cleaned off as much blood as he could. He went back inside and hung them next to the log-burner to dry.
He put a few things into his rucksack, along with the sawn-off, put on his hat and coat and prepared to leave. He turned at the door and went back into the conservatory; Jane was still sleeping soundly. He didn’t want her waking up to find him gone, so he wrote on a piece of paper; Just popped out to dispose of the bodies. Back soon. Help yourself to anything you fancy. Jamie. He propped it on the coffee table by the sofa and then left, taking with him two large water containers to fill while he was out.
He walked down the road to the scene of the carnage and stood there, shaking his head in disbelief. Never in his life had he imagined that this might happen to him. He sighed and dragged the three bodies to the Toyota’s rear, then opened the tail-gate. Something niggled at the back of his mind and then he remembered what it was; the second guy he’d shot reaching for his pocket. He turned him over and looked in his jacket pocket, to find a revolver. It was large, old and well-worn, with a blued-steel finish and chequered walnut grip. The barrel was about four inches long and on the left side it said Smith and Wesson. He turned it over and on the other side it said .357 Highway Patrolman.
He didn’t know it, but it was a Model 28; made by Smith and Wesson for around thirty years until the late ‘80s. It was a stripped-down and cheaper version of a previous model, produced especially for law-enforcement officers and manufactured in huge quantities. It had also been the first revolver designed to fire the .357 Magnum round. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly; if the guy h
ad been carrying this in his hand when he’d shot the first man, then things might not have worked out as well for him and Jane as they had done. He smiled, shrugged and put it in his rucksack.
He decided to have a look around the truck. In the load area was a tarp covering some items and he pulled it off them. There was a jerrycan filled with diesel for the Toyota and another filled with petrol, presumably for another vehicle of theirs. There was also a toolbox, a socket set, a felling axe, a small hatchet and various other assorted tools and hardware. He climbed down and went round to the cab, which had discarded food wrappers littering the floor. In the glove-box he found an almost-full box of cartridges for the shotgun, plus a box of fifty shells for the revolver, labelled “.38 Special”, with six rounds missing. This confused him, as the gun was clearly stamped with “.357”. His limited knowledge of guns came only from films, TV and novels, and he obviously had heard of .357 and .44 Magnums.
He took the gun from his rucksack, opened the cylinder and removed one of the six shells; it matched those in the box. It obviously must work with them, so he shrugged again and put the revolver and the bullets in his pack. If he’d had more interest in guns- or access to the internet- he would have discovered that a revolver chambered for the .357 Magnum round could also fire the .38 Special round (which was much cheaper and more widely available), but not vice versa.
He went to the back of the truck and, with some difficulty, managed to lift them all into the load-bed and closed the tail-gate. He found the shotgun in the road on the far side of the vehicle, picked it up and put it in the cab then looked around; there was a lot of blood on the road, which he couldn’t do much about, so he left.
He drove to the industrial area on Beeching Road, which wasn’t far away, looking for something specific. It didn’t take long to find what he wanted: in a yard next to an industrial unit he saw a skip and drove up to it to look inside. It was nearly empty; perfect. He reversed the truck up to the skip and it was almost at the same level as the load-bed. Looking around, he saw many discarded wooden pallets, so he dragged four over to the skip. He put two in the bottom, then climbed up and pushed the bodies in on top of them. He then threw the other two pallets on top and sloshed some petrol from the jerrycan over them.
After moving the truck away a few yards, he picked up a stone and wrapped some food wrappers from the cab around it, to give them some weight. He stood back several yards, lit the wrappers and tossed the bundle into the skip. The petrol ignited with a wumph sound and he felt the air displacement from where he stood. He got back into the cab and drove the short distance to Egerton Park at the Wickham Avenue entrance, where he filled the two water containers from the ornamental lake. After putting them in the truck, an idea occurred to him.
He got the revolver from his rucksack and a plastic bag- he always carried a few for collecting plant samples- and went back into the park. There were many ducks on the lake or by the side of it and they were used to being close to humans and being fed by them. He selected a nice fat mallard on the bank and moved slowly to within a few yards of it. Crouching down, he cocked the hammer, took careful aim and pulled the trigger, blowing the duck’s head off. The rest of the birds erupted into the air and flew off. He picked up the duck, put it into the plastic bag and walked back to the truck. Roast duck tonight- nice!
While he was out in the truck, he decided to go to Halfords on the retail park and pick up two of the portable generators he’d seen when he was last there. It was only two miles away and didn’t take long to get there on the empty roads. Driving well over the speed limit, straight through dead traffic lights and junctions without even slowing, he felt reckless and had a slight feeling of euphoria as if he’d taken some kind of drug; a reaction to shooting the thugs, rescuing Jane and surviving unscathed. Despite the awful events that had happened and the terrible situation that he and the country were in, he was living an adventure and felt more alive than he had ever done before.
The retail park was just as he had last seen it, although there was a Ford estate car there that he didn’t remember seeing before. Maybe his memory was wrong, but he didn’t want to take any chances; he’d learned already that he needed to be cautious. He took the sawn-off from his pack, checked it was loaded and put a few extra cartridges in his left pocket. After a second’s thought he also took out the revolver, replaced the spent round with a new one from the box and put it into his coat pocket, then got out of the truck. He stood outside the door to Halfords listening for a minute, looking around the parking area and at the other stores. He heard nothing to alert him so he went in, walked straight to the shelf and picked up two generators- one diesel and one petrol- then took them out to the truck. Walking past the till he saw that his £10 note was still there next to it. As he drove home, he decided that he liked the Toyota and would keep it. He didn’t see the point in abandoning it when it was a perfectly good vehicle and seemed to be well-maintained. Two vehicles were better than one! Besides, it could be something for Jane to drive if she wanted to.
Back at the bungalow, he parked on the drive and went inside. Jane was up and heard him enter; she came to the kitchen door, walking stiffly and looking concerned.
‘I heard a shot some time ago; was that you? Are you okay?’
‘Yes, it was me and I’m fine.’ He held up the plastic bag and smiled. ‘Roast duck for dinner tonight! Ever prepared a fresh one?’
She smiled in return. ‘Oh, wow! That would be great. And yes, I have. My dad showed me how when I was young, bless him. He was a country man and was always bringing something back for the pot.’
‘That’s good news, because I’ve never done it, though I’m okay with cutting up joints of meat.’
‘I’ve not long been up. I was just preparing a late breakfast as it was obvious you hadn’t eaten before you went out. I got your note.’
‘Yes; I thought I’d better get rid of the bodies first.’
‘What did you do with them?’
‘I put them in a skip along Beeching Road and burned them.’
Her face clouded over slightly. ‘Thank you for that… again.’
‘Don’t mention it; no problem. Well, I’ll just get the truck unloaded while you carry on with breakfast.’
He turned and walked back outside and brought the things in. He carried the water containers through to the porch out back, then the tools and jerrycans into the garage, and the shotgun he brought indoors and left in the hall. He emptied his rucksack onto the worktop and held up the Smith and Wesson.
‘Look what else I found on one of them.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Bloody hell!’
‘That’s just what I thought! We were lucky he didn’t have it in his hand when I came along, rather than in his pocket. I guess he thought Butthead with the shotgun had it covered.’
‘I suppose so. Where did you get your shotgun- or did you always have it?’
‘No, I found them last week in a house down the road, while I was looking for this place.’
‘Oh- so you’ve just moved in here? I did wonder. I had a quick look around after I woke up and it looks like you’ve been busy on some improvements.’
‘Yes. I’ll show you after we’ve eaten and tell you my thoughts.’ He picked up his sawn-off and showed her. ‘This was one of the three I found. I cut the barrels down to make a sawn-off, so it would be easier to carry around for protection. I’ll leave the two over and unders as they are as they’ll be better for hunting. That makes four shotguns and a revolver I now have; I’m getting quite a collection!’
She gave a wry smile. ‘You’re becoming a regular Rambo!’
He gave a short laugh. ‘Well, that’s funny, because before last week I’d never even held a gun before! How does the leg feel, and the bruises?’
‘The leg feels painful and kind of stiff, and the bruises are very sore.’
‘They will be for a few days, I’m sure. Maybe you should keep moving around as much as possible.’ She agreed with him.
By then, the food was ready so they sat at the table to eat. They were both hungry and ate in silence until they had finished. It was nearer lunch than breakfast, so he opened a tin of peaches and a small tin of custard as well.
‘Wow, that was fab- thanks,’ said Jane afterwards, wiping her mouth. ‘And thanks also for washing my jeans.’
‘No problem. Coffee?’
‘Yes, please.’
He ground some beans and put the kettle on, then washed the dishes in a bowl of seawater with some detergent and dried them. ‘I find that if I wash up as soon as I’ve eaten, the seawater and detergent works well enough; then I use the dirty water to flush the loo.’
He made coffee and they went outside, where he showed her the new porch area with the water butt, and the two smokers he’d made from the rubbish bins. He pointed inside the conservatory at the drying racks hanging from the rafters and said they were for drying fruit and herbs.
She was impressed. ‘You’ve done all this since Monday?’ He nodded. ‘You’ve done really well; great work, Jamie.’ He blushed slightly and said ‘Thanks.’
He crooked a finger at her, saying ‘Follow me,’ then walked off down the garden. He let her follow at her own pace and didn’t offer to help her. He was conscious of not wanting to crowd her or seem over-protective, as men can sometimes be towards women. She was obviously a strong woman; she’d showed that in the way she’d stood up to the thugs that morning. When she caught up he opened the back gate and started down the steps. She hesitated and looked at them with uncertainty, so he asked if she wanted a hand coming down, to which she agreed. He came back up and gave her his arm to negotiate the steps, then pointed to the boat; she leaned on the railing while he climbed down and removed the tarp to show her the new rowlocks and oars.
‘I got it from the angling club by Galley Hill, along with some fishing tackle, then brought it back here and fitted the rowlocks. It seemed a bit of a priority to me to start catching fish for protein. Once I’ve caught some I can experiment with smoking and drying them in the bins I modified.’
The Hoffmann Plague Page 7
