by Mark Ayre
“I forgot all about you.” She threw her head into her hands. “Most frustrating.”
Turning to Omi, she sighed. He tried not to look at the statuette he had come so close weaponising.
“This is gutting,” she said. “But we don’t know when the twins will arrive, and I haven’t finished preparing. Maybe, once I’m done, I can see Delilah. What do you think?”
Omi could not speak. Luckily, Lucy needed no response. She went to the sofa and dragged the bag headed girl to her feet.
“One question,” she said. “Which room is best for torturing?”
Neither Carter’s incompetent escape attempt nor her cowering compliance to their interrogation tallied with Adam’s previous experiences with the agent. During their search, he had heard a ringing phone but dismissed it as auditory illusion. Now, he suspected a trap.
Always the daredevil, Eve would have demanded they proceed as planned. Let the bastards try trap us. Were they together, Adam would have been the voice of reason.
They weren’t together. If Adam hoped to reunite with his sister, he needed to play daredevil. If there was a trap, he had no choice but to set it.
“Think that’s it.”
Doc pointed over the wheel. In the distance, a farmhouse. For miles in all directions were empty fields, upon which sat no signs of farm work. Absent were the animals, barns, and hay bales. Anything which might suggest the houses’ occupants lived off the land or relied upon it for their living.
Carter claimed to know only their desired location. Nothing about the building’s defences or layout. Doc suggested torture. Sensing he sought revenge rather than information, Adam vetoed. Time was of the essence. They would accept her word. If she proved to be lying, they would pursue alternatives.
A half-mile from the house they pulled off-road and parked in a gravel layby. There was no sign of where the farmhouse’s land ended, and a neighbouring plot began. Adam suspected the organisation had bought fields as far as the eye could see. Only the road might not belong to them. This did not mean parking here was safe.
“Stay with her,” Adam said to Doc. “If I’m not back in half an hour, leave.”
“You’re mental,” he said. “You think you just got to walk on up and they’ll hand over this whatever? They gunna put a bullet in your behind, second they see you.” He pointed into the back. “Take her. Gun to the head. Say they don’t give what you want, bitch loses her brains.”
Carter laughed. Adam gave her a look then returned to Doc.
“Wouldn’t work. They don’t care about their own.”
“So why we keeping her?”
“I’m a man of my word.”
Adam jumped from the car. At the boot, he added a shotgun and knife to his current one handgun arsenal. Closing the boot revealed Doc.
“She killed my uncle,” he said. “I can’t let that slide.”
Adam glanced into the back. Carter stared ahead, the doors were closed. Stepping closer to Doc, he lowered his voice.
“She might be lying,” he said. “If the locator isn’t here, I’ll need to make Carter tell the truth. Once I have my hands on the device and have confirmed it works, I promise you can kill her. I know you don’t owe me anything, but please, for now, let her live.”
Doc raised a hand. “Don’t need more convincing, bruv. And don’t go talking about owing nothing. You wanna protect your family. I respect that. I’ll keep her alive, and when you got what you need, I expect you to respect my need to avenge my family.”
“I will.”
Doc nodded. They shook hands.
“Good luck, man.”
“Thanks.”
Not quite sure what to expect, Adam checked his weapons were secure and approached the farmhouse.
Carter watched him go. For the team, she had done her part. For herself, she had to survive.
Doc wanted revenge for Francis’ murder. Carter didn’t care why. Fearing she had lied about the locator’s location, Adam would have forestalled Doc. If Adam escaped the farmhouse, he would give the nod, and Doc would kill her. Doc would kill her in half an hour anyway if, as she expected, Adam failed to return.
Once more, her wrists and ankles were bound. Doc’s knot-tying skills had not improved. Unlike then, there would be no alone time to escape. Every couple of minutes, he checked the binds. Adam gone, if he found them loose, he would forget tightening and jump straight to murder. At the least, he would blow off a kneecap.
Gun in hand, he returned to the driver’s seat, rolling down the window. Glancing in the mirror, he smiled at Carter.
“Not long now.”
The situation was hopeless. Bound and trapped in the back of Doc’s van, Carter wished something would distract him from watching her like a hawk.
Be careful what you wish for had been a saying of which Carter’s mother was particularly fond. At its use, Carter rolled her eyes. What a stupid thing to say.
It didn’t seem so stupid now.
Doc kept his eyes on the mirror. In less than a minute, he would be too distracted for such relentless observation, as she had wished.
That she would be killed before she could make use of his distraction was most unfortunate.
With bound wrists, she grabbed the door handle, knowing the car was unlocked. Rolling his eyes, Doc pointed the gun at her chest.
“Really, you going to try that?”
“Adam told you not to kill me,” she said. In a few seconds, his gun would not be an issue. She needed those seconds.
“He might need to speak with you,” said Doc. “Can’t do that if you’re gone, can he? If you try escape, I’ll aim for your legs but, to be honest, I’m not a good—”
The windscreen shattered. Monstrous hands grabbed the back of Doc’s jacket and tore him from the car before he had the chance to scream.
As the hands grabbed Doc, Carter leaned in, snatching the gun. As he flew across the tarmac, she grabbed the door handle and, gun clutched to her chest, rolled from the car, hitting the ground hard and wriggling free her bound legs.
Once out, she kicked shut the door. Legs raised, she shifted each forward and back, fast as possible. The gun she aimed for the car bonnet, where she expected Grendel to appear once he had devoured Doc. If he came from behind, she would be dead. Best not to consider that.
As expected, the binds around her feet began to loosen with the repeated bicycle motion. It was tiring, like running with weights strapped to your thighs, but she continued as the knot started to slip, praying it would come loose before she passed out or Grendel arrived.
At last, the rope fell. Breathing heavily, Carter dropped her legs to the tarmac and saw Grendel. When her eyes met those black orbs, he growled.
Pulling the trigger, hearing the bang like a hammer to her ears, she watched him recoil as the bullet hit his chest. Not waiting to see what he did next, she rolled and barged to her feet.
Gun clasped between still bound wrists, afraid she would feel Grendel’s hands on her shoulders at any second, knowing she had almost no chance of reaching the house before he tore her apart, she ran flat out towards her only hope of survival.
Eve watched her go. At her feet, the stranger lay bruised and bleeding. His cuts were superficial. Luckily for him, Eve had managed to restrain Graham from his natural impulse to kill and devour on sight. If the stranger pissed her off, his luck would fast change.
First, she went to Graham. Upon being shot, he had staggered but still stood. Touching his arm, she turned him to face her. Where the bullet had hit, a nasty bruise already welled. There was no sign of broken skin, nor so much as a trickle of blood.
“Wow,” said Eve. “You’re pretty much bulletproof, huh?”
Graham nodded. Eve touched the wound. “You okay?”
He nodded again. Eve turned to the stranger, approaching with Graham at her shoulder. The heat of his breath warmed her neck; a reminder of his need to kill. Though he wanted to please her, she doubted his impulse control.
; To the stranger, she said, “You have five words to convince me not to kill you.”
“I’m Doc,” he said. “I saved your life.”
“That’s six words,” she said. “Pretty compelling, though. Continue.”
Quickly, trying not to glance at Graham, he explained his Francis connection, how he’d patched up Eve and had, after his uncle died, formed a partnership with Adam.
“He left minutes ago. Told me to watch Carter while he was gone, case she lied about the location.”
“She didn’t,” said Eve. “Which is lucky cause you did a crap job watching her.”
Doc glowered. As a peace offering, Eve pulled him to his feet and checked he wasn’t too damaged. He would need replacement clothes, his face was bruised, and he might walk with a limp a while. Considering he had tussled with Grendel, he had come off far better than could be expected. His expression suggested he did not share this opinion.
In the distance, the farmhouse waited. Carter was already a spec on the endless fields. Adam was inside, potentially fighting for his life. Beside Eve, Graham growled. Though they had spent little time together, she knew he was asking permission.
“You know what Adam looks like?”
Graham nodded.
“Please protect him.”
Another growl. Again, intuitively Eve understood Graham’s request.
“Anyone you come across other than Adam,” she said. “Kill.”
Growling approval, Graham sprinted towards the house.
Lucy returned to the living room, her smile suggesting she found torture as joyful as most found ice cream, sex or both. Though Omi had heard plenty of screaming, and Lucy had in her possession a selection of glinting blades, her clothes and skin were pristine. She might only five minutes before have jumped from the shower and dressed for the day.
“You called?”
Omi pointed at the TV, which was patched into the CCTV. Cameras surrounded the house; the chosen shot showed Adam’s approach. In a couple of minutes, he’d arrive.
“He’s so brazen,” said Lucy. “And handsome. I’m glad we don’t have to kill him. His sister, on the other hand… when I catch her it’ll be a struggle not to rip free her throat.”
She turned her wide smile on Omi. Moving to the sofa side table, she collected the statuette, lifting it for examination. Omi’s heart raced as he recalled for what he had almost used the naked ornament.
“Ugly thing,” Lucy observed. Its head she used as a pointer, directing it at Omi. “What’s your job?”
This had the trappings of a trick question. Omi answered as though it were not.
“Protect Hattie and Delilah. Protect the tracker.”
“Right,” she said. “Do that. Don’t get in my way. And don’t tell Adam who I am.”
Replacing the statuette on the table, Lucy left. Omi held his position a few seconds, watching Adam move ever closer, then rose and moved into the kitchen where Hattie stared into an empty wine bottle. In emptying, it had let her down. Her eyes spoke of the hurt this betrayal had caused.
“We’ve got enemy incoming,” Omi said. “Come with me.”
To peel her eyes from the bottle, she needed time, which Omi begrudgingly afforded her. Upon succeeding, she staggered from her seat but went for the fridge, rather than Omi.
“We need to move. Now.”
Hattie pulled free a fresh Pinot.
“Last one,” she said. “I need to make a call.”
“Not now.”
He grabbed her arm, dragged her and the bottle into the hallway, towards the stairs.
“What are you doing? Get off me. I need to make a call. There’s the phone. Let go, let go, let go.”
Before ascending, Omi glanced to the front door. Through frosted glass, he saw an approaching shape: Adam. Seeing the same, Hattie, at last, understood the danger.
“Delilah,” she whispered, sober fear rushing into her eyes.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Whatever happens, I’ll keep her safe.”
“Promise?”
“If he tries to get her, I’ll end his life,” he said. “You have my word.”
They rushed up the stairs, away from danger, to prepare for their final stand.
Adam saw no one on his approach to the house. No landmines detonated beneath his feet, no sniper took shots at his exposed chest.
By design, there was no way to arrive by means of stealth. Had Adam refrained from turning invisible the past six weeks, he could not have made the journey from car to door unseen. Given a couple of days heavy use, he would have collapsed before quartering the distance. Night would have offered some cover. Not enough to make it worth waiting for darkness when Eve might be in danger.
Lacking alternatives, Adam strolled towards the building as though his enemies would welcome his arrival. Hidden cameras would track his movements. They could prepare for his coming, but that did not mean they could stop him.
Perhaps centuries ago, the building had been built from wood. Each plank looked its age. At any second, the entire structure might collapse; the extended roof over the porch seemed particularly vulnerable. The front door was a mess of chipped and flaking blue paint. To its right sat a rocking chair in which Adam would have hesitated to sit, fearing it would collapse beneath his bum before the porch roof fell upon his head.
At the porch’s bottom step, Adam hesitated. Through frosted glass, he spied no moving shapes; beyond his beating heart, heard no signs of life. Like the set up for a surprise party, a raft of agents might wait inside, prepared to reveal themselves the second he entered.
If so, they had messed up. The door was locked; only by an inhabitant’s grace or brute force might he enter. Choosing the former, he made to knock, hearing as he did pounding feet, heading his way.
Panting like a dog, ready to collapse, on the point of delirium, Carter approached. Having escaped Doc, she must have run from the car to Adam without letting up. He could not imagine what might have possessed her to sprint such a distance.
In her hand, Doc’s gun. Already burdened with a mountain of guilt, Adam could handle the pain of Doc’s demise. That did not mean he wanted to.
Stepping to the porch’s edge, above the steps, he fingered the shotgun before grabbing Francis’ gun and aiming for Carter’s chest.
Shock widened her eyes. Sensing the danger, she wanted to take evasive action but had not the energy to dive one way or the other; only to collapse. Because she appeared unable to rise, Adam adjusted his aim. A pull of the trigger would send a bullet into her calf. No signs indicated the organisation had ever owned the farmhouse, let alone that it was an active outpost within which they guarded their most valuable asset. If Carter had lied, intending to corner and shoot Adam, he needed her alive. A bullet to the calf would keep her immobile while he searched the building.
Behind him, the farmhouse door flew open, revealing an armed woman. Simultaneously, she began screaming and firing.
Despite his focus on Carter, Adam spun the moment the door opened. Those first few shots sedated the grass but not their target.
As his attacker adjusted, he threw himself over the porch railing, landing on his back in the grass before rolling into a crouch. Holstering the handgun, he swung the shotgun forward as his attacker rushed down the steps and spun to meet him.
She screamed, “Got you now,” a second before he pulled the trigger, shredding her stomach with the shotgun’s spray, tossing her into the grass.
Rising, he switched shotgun for handgun and approached, aiming at his attacker.
On the floor, she spasmed, gurgled. Her eyes were wide, the pupils unfocused. Almost certainly, she in agony. Knowing it might take several minutes for blood loss or trauma to kill her, Adam considered ending her suffering. Not feeling charitable and knowing he might need all his bullets, he left her to die, turning to find Carter.
During his brief battle, she had fled, leaving only empty fields, Doc’s car in the distance.
And the monster Gr
endel, approaching at what seemed to be the speed of a race car. A bloodthirsty, hungry race car.
Where had rational, exceptional, Carter gone? The haggard, drained woman, who scurried around the farmhouse while Adam faced the oncoming storm of Grendel, wasn’t her. This shadow Carter even considered fleeing. Disappearing for good.
The consideration lasted seconds, passing when a barrage of self-loathing tore it up and tossed it aside, as a hurricane will uproot and displace a tree. Shadow Carter would become Carter again. Or die trying.
There were only two doors into the farmhouse. Coming around the back of the building, Carter saw the second, nestled atop a porch and beneath an extended roof much as was the front door. This entrance, someone had boarded over. A pitiful defence against a prepared foe but more than Carter, in her present state, could handle.
To one side of the door was a garage, to the other, a window. This latter proved a more surmountable hurdle. The latch was ancient. Carter’s hands alone could not break it. A single shot from Doc’s gun did the job.
Through the window lay a laundry room. The only door led into a long corridor which ran the length of the house, front door to back. The foot of the stairs to the first floor lay mere feet away.
Behind the front door, a shape. As Carter watched, it kicked. Both frame and wall shook. The kicker’s height, plus inability to destroy the door, indicated this was not Grendel but Adam.
A second kick cracked the lock. Carter raised her gun.
With the third kick, the door flew open and in stepped Adam. Carter fired three times.
Adam dived aside, dodging each bullet. Carter took a step his way before seeing Grendel, still sprinting across the field. In ten seconds, he would reach the porch, enter the house.
Abandoning her pursuit of Adam and her promise she would die before giving up, Carter fled up the stairs, onto a landing off which were five doors.
Downstairs, a growling Grendel entered the house.
Only one door stood open. This leading into a small bathroom. Carter decided, whatever she had said, she would not die today.
