The Fire

by Robert White

  I gave him a moment and he came back to Earth.

  "I've got something to tell you, pal," I said.

  He lifted his sleeve and checked his Hublot.

  I covered the face with my gloved hand.

  "We've got time for this, trust me."

  Rick knew me well enough. We were going to slot the four boys in the van, nothing surer. A few seconds wouldn't change that.

  That said, there was no time for flowery stories.

  "I killed Anne," I said.

  He turned down the corners of his mouth.

  "That's why she called you?"

  I nodded. The wind whipped up the fallen snow and blew it into my face and I had to raise my voice slightly. "Probably...yeah...she...she was fucked, Rick...she couldn't take anymore...you know? The cancer...it...it well, you know."

  Rick pulled on his balaclava, more out of something to do than necessity. I could see the subject matter made him uncomfortable.

  "What about Donald?" he asked.

  "She posed the question to him before I got there, but he couldn't...wouldn't...against his fuckin' religion apparently."

  "So he left it to you?"

  I nodded.

  Rick leaned back against the wall of the gully. He closed his eyes briefly and thought for a moment.

  "It's a fair one," he said. "I'd have done the same."

  "You would?"

  He opened his eyes and looked me straight in the face. "I would."

  I held his stare. The wind howled and I braced myself against it.

  "Thanks," I said before pushing past my oldest friend and taking the point myself.

  "Let's get Lauren back, eh?"

  Lauren North's Story:

  Declan had minced out of the barn, leaving me with Seamus and Dougie.

  The two seemed suddenly unsure what to do. Even these two disgusting specimens appeared unused to your everyday gang rape scenario. So, if in doubt, have a beer first eh? Seamus got on his mobile and, minutes later, a goon appeared with a six pack of Guinness.

  I was feeling dog shit. My wrists and arms were competing pretty well with my knee in the pain stakes. Dougie had hit me so hard that my left eye was closed. I was black and blue and I'd been sick all down my boobs. If this was a male fantasy, I was sure I was not the sight they'd dreamt up.

  Both men popped their cans and circled me like a lions with an injured deer, making lewd comments and bragging about what each would do with me.

  Personally, I was past caring who was going to do what to who and in what order. As they pointed and jeered, a dark blanket was draped over me. The end was close. My internal organs were starting to shut down one by one as each fought for its share of my ever dwindling supply of precious blood.

  I was dying and I knew it.

  Strangely, I wasn't scared. Once again I was falling into unconsciousness. I said a little prayer, and it all went dark.

  I was jolted back to reality by a needle. A big black guy was administering what I presumed to be adrenalin into my groin. My heart raced, my throat was dry. I looked down to see a pressure dressing had been expertly applied to my knee.

  The guy stepped back, dropped the syringe into a yellow sharps box, pulled off his surgical gloves, and turned to Seamus and Dougie. He was calm and confident and not at all concerned by treating a half dead naked woman chained to a post in a freezing barn. He was obviously the NIRA's pet doctor.

  "The bullet is lodged under her patella." he began. "It will need to be removed sooner rather than later. Right now, she needs a drip to get some fluids into her or she'll just fade again."

  Whilst I'd been out for the count, the men of the year 2007 had acquired a couple of plastic chairs and a small table. I noticed all six cans of Guinness had been consumed and a bottle of whisky was all but finished.

  In the centre of the table was a substantial bag of white powder, a small mirror, a razorblade and a rolled up banknote. It was a full on party and I was the entertainment.

  Dougie pointed at me. He was flying. "We're not needing a fuckin' prognosis, son! What we need to know is..." he took a gulp of scotch. "... Will she last an hour or so...so we can fuck her like?"

  Even the doc winced at that little gem.

  "Erm...well, maybe, hard to say, she's lost a lot of blood."

  Dougie leaned over to Seamus and in a drunken stage whisper said, "That's the trouble with these niggers...they know fuck all, eh?"

  Seamus laughed and looked to the doc.

  "Hey, Sid! Don't pay no heed to Dougie here when he's pissed. He don't mean nothin'. You done a good job there now."

  Sid managed a fake smile as he put his instruments back into his bag. He was a well-spoken guy, handsome, good suit. He somehow didn't belong with Seamus and his crew.

  "It's okay, Mr O'Donnell," he said. "But she needs proper attention, and soon."

  Dougie stood drunkenly, knocking over his chair, sending it clattering across the flagstones.

  "Oh, she's gonna get some fuckin' attention alright, eh, Seamus? Some proper fuckin' attention." He grabbed his crotch and leered at me. "She's gonna get some Irish cock in her, ain't ya, darlin'?"

  He staggered over to me; close enough that I could smell the whisky on him and see the residue of the cocaine in his nostrils.

  "I'm gonna fuck you good...both of us gonna do you." He turned, "Eh, Seamus...both of us eh?"

  Dougie's eyes widened. He'd had an idea.

  "Tell you what, Seamus. Why don't we invite Sidney here to the party?"

  He staggered over to the medic and put a massive arm around his shoulders. Sid looked scared.

  "You niggers all got massive dicks, eh? Do you no harm to have a bit of white woman. I reckon you'd like that, eh? Nice piece of white ass?"

  The coke was working overtime. Dougie positively bellowed.

  "What're you sayin', Seamus? Come on! Sid here can put on a bit of a show for us, eh? Get us in the mood."

  Seamus thought it was an excellent plan.

  Sid looked terrified. "I...I...don't think..."

  O'Donnell was having none of it. "Aw come on now, Sid, Don't be a party pooper." He waved his arm in my direction. "I mean, just look at the fine specimen of a woman we have here for our amusement."

  From somewhere, Sid found some courage. He stood straight and shrugged off Dougie's arm.

  Swallowing hard, he discovered his doctor's voice. "I'm not...not a rapist... Mr. O'Donnell."

  Dougie flew into an immediate rage.

  "Who you callin' a fuckin' rapist there, nigger boy?"

  Sid stepped away from the big Irishman.

  "I didn't call you a ra..."

  Dougie was fumbling with the back of his coat. "Aye, yer fuckin' did, yer black bastard yer."

  He turned to his equally drunken and outraged partner in crime. "Didn't he now, Seamus? Called us nonces that he did."

  Seamus held up a finger like some kind of inebriated umpire, eyes like piss holes in the snow. "He did so."

  Dougie pulled his gun from his belt and pointed it at Sid's head.

  "Now, listen to me, you fuckin' black cunt. You're gonna shag that bitch there, and we are gonna watch you!"

  My wrists were killing me. Blood seeped down my forearms and dripped from each elbow. With each passing minute, the metal cuffs dug deeper and deeper into my skin. The cuff on my left wrist was through to the bone. My heart pounded and my pulse thundered in my throat. I felt dreadfully tired and knew, despite Sidney's best efforts, it was definitely, my final moments.

  My eyes began to close. Rick's voice whispered in my ear.

  When you're really in the shit, use anything you have, or anyone you even remotely think may help you.

  Looking at Sid, cowering at Dougie's feet, I saw an ordinary guy who'd probably been a very decent junior doctor, working seventy hours a week, with no sleep and shit money; maybe a wife and kids at home...then ....Kristy McDonald turns up, pushes her assets in young affable Sidney's face and offers him four grand a w
eek to sit on his arse unless a problem occurs.

  Happy days, and all very well...until one does.

  I figured that when the poor guy took this gig, he hadn't factored in that his bosses were crazy.

  Was the good doctor going to save me?

  It was a dangerous ploy, but I was at the point where I didn't think I could take any more pain.

  That night in the car with O'Donnell, the night I blew the top of his head off, I was as scared as I'd ever been in my life, but I got through.

  And I could get through this.

  I took a breath and used all my strength to shout over the drama. "We can't put on a show with me tied to a fuckin' post."

  There was instant silence.

  Even Sidney looked shocked.

  McGinnis holstered his pistol and turned to me, eyes like saucers.

  "Well, well, well...so finally the real fuckin' slut comes out, eh?"

  My throat was dry, even speaking was an issue. The two space cadets who were looking to rape and murder me hadn't noticed I was close to death.

  "I've never had a black ma...." I started, but an uncontrollable coughing fit clipped the end of my sentence. I thought I would be sick.

  Seamus and Dougie didn't see my demise, they were only interested in one thing, and that thing involved getting me off the pillar and Doctor Sidney interested.

  Seamus made a brave attempt at standing up. "I'll get her down..." he slurred, then fumbled in his pockets "Who's got the fuckin' key fer the cuffs, man?"

  He came up empty-handed, staggered backward and fell back on his seat burping loudly.

  Dougie was a little more capable. He found a small key in his coat pocket and tossed it onto the table.

  "There you go, Seamus. I'll lift her up, you undo the cuffs."

  Both men approached me.

  Seamus dragged his chair along with him and placed it on the plastic sheeting. He groped me as he clambered upward and attempted to get the tiny key into my cuffs.

  Dougie grabbed me around my thighs and lifted me up.

  He wore a big smile as he squeezed my arse in the process. .

  "Go on there, Seamus, undo her."

  I felt the cuffs release. Dougie let me drop and I fell to the floor unable to stand.

  Both men looked down at me as I rolled about the floor in agony, gasping for breath.

  Despite my pain, I managed to get myself into a sitting position with my back against the pillar.

  "There you go now," said Dougie, turning to the good doctor. "She's all yours, boy."

  He pulled his gun and cocked it to reinforce his point. "Now...come on, get on and fuck her."

  McGinnis was the town drunk no one wanted to get stuck with. Lumbering over to the table, he took his seat next to Seamus before chopping out another line of charlie and snorting loudly.

  He sat back, crossed his legs and waved his .38 at Sidney.

  "Come on, son...you...you heard the slag...she wants a nigger like you, boy... so fuck her, eh? Get your shit together and do the business!"

  I hadn't got a plan as such. I just wanted to be free from the cuffs and hoped the doc had a conscience and may help me get some more treatment.

  I'd got my first wish, but Sid was in meltdown. He shook as he spoke. He wasn't going to help me, he was too scared.

  "Please, Dougie, please, Mr O'Donnell, I...I can't."

  McGinnis leapt from his chair and screamed into Sid's face, "Get yer fuckin trousers off....now!"

  Sid looked to Seamus for support but none was forthcoming. The barrel of Dougie's gun was to his head. He had no choice.

  Slowly, he found his belt buckle. His hands shook as he undid his button and zipper. Finally his trousers fell to the floor.

  "And yer fuckin' skiddies n'all!" bellowed McGinnis.

  Sid pulled down his boxers and stood shamefully in front of his abusers.

  He caught my eye and I felt a pang of guilt.

  Dougie bent down and inspected Sid's penis, lifting it with the tip of his gun.

  "What the fuck...look at this fuckin maggot of a thing...fuck me...mine's bigger. That's no good to us, eh, Seamus?"

  Seamus was just finishing his own line of coke. He rubbed his nose as he spoke.

  "No fuckin' use at all, Dougie."

  Sid looked me in the eye again, tears streamed down his face.

  McGinnis took a step backwards.

  "Ah fuck it," he muttered, and shot Sid in the head.

  Rick Fuller's Story:

  Four guys, two dead bodies and a van.

  We needed the van, the bodies were going nowhere, it was simply a question of... did we kill all four guards quick and clean, or did we try to overpower them whilst they were busy digging a fucking big hole in the snow, tie them up, and worry about them later?

  Despite what some may think of me, I had never been one for slotting someone just for the sake of it.

  Des and I were close enough for us to hear the guys bitching amongst themselves. We were no more than twenty feet away, hidden from view by the sheer depth of the gully and the fallen snow.

  The four were complaining bitterly that they had been given the burial detail. Two were using spades to little effect, whilst the other pair leaned on the van and lit cigarettes. The smokers both had G36's slung over their shoulders.

  As I'd suspected, they were a real mix; one Aussie, one South African, two Southern Irish, one with a definite American lilt.

  These guys were not terrorists or even members of the NIRA, they were mercenaries out to make a buck...just like us.

  They were definitely all ex-military, switched on, fit and well drilled. Even with little or no perceived threat, both smokers held their weapons in the safe position, ready to flick the safety and bring them to the aim. Taking them alive would not be easy.

  I didn't like the thought of a slaughter, but we couldn't risk them taking us on.

  Des was crouched to my left. He stood, took a quick peek over the ridge, dropped silently back in position and indicated that one smoker had moved position.

  He watched me like a hawk, as I carefully clicked my MP7 to fully auto and tucked the stock into my shoulder.

  Negotiating the gully would be difficult and getting any kind of sight picture as we slipped in the snow was going to be near impossible. It was going to be messy and expensive on ammunition, but there was no other way. If we fell on our arses, we were dead. Sometimes it comes down to tiny measures.

  I caught the Scot's eye, nodded and held up three fingers.

  The moment we pushed upward, a muffled shot rang out from the direction of the farm. All four guards turned away from us, and scanned the horizon toward the unmistakable sound of a revolver being fired.

  That split second was just what we needed; with their concentration disturbed, they were like fish in a barrel.

  I was sliding around like Bambi on ice so I dropped my weapon down to my hip. It meant I was able to steady the MP7; less movement and stomach height was always a winner up close. As it always had, once the shooting started, everything else in the world became secondary. All I could see was my enemy.

  A millisecond later I squeezed the trigger and almost silently cut the two men in front of me to pieces.

  I heard Des fire two short bursts. His victims' cries were louder than the report of his weapon. Seconds later there were two further single shots some ten seconds apart as he ensured his job was done.

  The Scot strode over to me, pulled out his awful pipe and took a deep drag. He exhaled slowly.

  "That shot came from the farm," he said flatly.

  I felt instantly sick. Inside my head Lauren was cold pale and dead in that freezing barn.

  We had failed.

  My head spun with such terrible loathing for my enemy. The same hatred I had suffered when Cathy was murdered. It was history repeating itself. I was losing it.

  Des rubbed his face with his gloves to sort his head.

  I knew he was thinking exactly the same thought
s, but he was doing better than me. He always was the strongest.

  He cricked his neck and looked down at the two men lying dead in the snow in front of me. They were riddled with holes, their cigarettes still smouldering in their fingers.

  He pulled the G36's from their grasp and stripped them of their black puffa jackets and woollen hats.

  We split the booty between us.

  As Des pulled on his jacket, he caught my eye.

  "She isnae gone 'till we see her...right?"

  "Right," I managed.

  As we'd done a thousand times before, we checked our kit. Routine was everything and it gave you something to think about when the shit was really against you.

  Des again pointed at the amount of holes in my victims.

  "You're getting sloppy." he said. "Wasted some ammo there, pal."

  You gotta love him eh?

  The Scot pulled open the V Dub's driver's door and fired up the engine.

  Within seconds we were speeding along a rutted track with Kristy and Ewan's stiff corpses bouncing around in the back. Rigor mortis had set in, the stiffening of the limbs caused by chemical changes in the muscles after death. Looking at their injuries and wounds, both had suffered violent ends and it hadn't been a pleasant experience. If Lauren had done that to both of them, I was impressed...the fuckers deserved it.

  I depressed my comms button.

  "J.J., come in over."

  Within a second the Turk was back to me. "J.J. receiving."

  "We're headed to the farm, be ready to lay down some rounds, keep the fuckers' heads down as soon as we hit the gate."

  J.J. double clicked his pretzel. There was no need for talk. He was already preparing his first shot, identifying his first victim.

  What remained of the security team was running about the compound. The shot from the barn had set everyone on edge.

  As the van slewed left and right in the deep snow, I noticed a mobile attached to the dash in a holder.

  I knew I shouldn't, but couldn't stop myself. Scrolling through the contacts list, I found the name I was looking for.