On the subject of things people shouldn’t have, he found a small single-use syrette of morphine.
Torn between wanting to reduce the suffering his friend was experiencing and feeling the fear of the unknown as he held the narcotic in the palm of his hand, he wondered whether he should take it away from him. Mitch still possessed enough of his faculties to snatch it from him and, before he could protest, removed the cap and jabbed the short needle into his thigh and squeezed.
With a sigh, his eyes closed and his breathing became more steady and no longer sounded ragged. A serene bliss overcame Mitch as he drifted into painless unconsciousness. Neil reached over and gently removed the used analgesic from his leg, carefully restoring the plastic cap over the needle and climbing down from the bed of the truck stiffly.
Glancing over at where the desperate fight for Jack’s life was playing out, he noticed a distinct flurry of activity which made his heart sink.
~
Pip watched on in tearful horror as Marie told Kate she had lost Jack’s pulse. She reinforced the statement by making sure Kate understood that the loss wasn’t her fault; it was no longer there.
“Defibrillator,” Kate called aloud to nobody in particular as she pushed people aside to begin chest compressions. Sera moved in to keep pressure on the bullet wounds as Kate nodded for her to step in.
“Defibrillator!” she snapped again, angry that nobody had fetched it yet.
“It got left behind,” Sera told her after taking a breath to prepare for the onslaught she expected in return. Kate gave the briefest of pauses before resuming the chest compressions, but with every artificial pump of the heart, she forced a weaker and lesser amount of blood from the three ragged holes at the old man’s side. No matter how much pressure she kept on the area, she could not hope to prevent the precious red liquid escaping.
“Kate,” Sera said softly, and she was resolutely ignored. “Kate,” she tried again, louder this time.
“Get another IV bag!” Kate screamed at nobody in particular as she carried on pumping the pale and lifeless chest.
“There aren’t any,” Emma answered timidly from behind her.
“Kate, he’s gone,” tried Marie, resting a gentle hand on her blood-covered arms.
“NO!” she said angrily with tears in her eyes. “We keep him going until Leah gets back with more fluids.” With that, she pushed Marie aside and gave two breaths into his mouth to inflate his lungs.
Watching as the air hissed lifelessly from his throat, Kate resumed compressions. Sera took her hands away from the wounds and watched as barely a trickle of blood ran out with each pump. One by one, they inched away and left Kate still giving pointless CPR to their friend. The floor around where she worked was slick with blood. They were all covered in so much red that Sera realised there was little wonder nothing was coming from his body any more.
It was already out.
The people watching from the fringes of the area started to melt further into the shadows, unsure how they could help as Kate’s actions went from an attempt at life-saving to beating a dead body with growing intensity.
Kate sobbed aloud now and repeated no to herself over and over. Finally, when she shifted her footing to gain better purchase to continue the chest compressions, her foot slipped in the great puddle of blood and took away her balance. Falling heavily to the floor, she tried once to get up but slipped again, landing further down where she lay her head down and cried aloud. Slowly, others moved back in to comfort her, until a blood-covered pile of women sobbed together as one on the wet ground.
~
Climbing down from the bed of the truck, Neil looked on in horror as he saw Jack’s grey, lifeless body lying untouched on the table and those who had tried so hard to save him sitting on the floor in tears. An involuntary sob escaped his own mouth as the realisation of another death hit him in the gut like a train. Walking over to the table in a trance, he heard Kate’s shocked statement above the crying.
“I could’ve saved him,” she repeated over and over to herself.
Frozen to the spot for minutes, Neil just stared at the scene in front of him. Just as he wondered what he should say and do, a loud knock on the metal door snapped him out of his hypnotic state.
FINAL WORDS
Returning at a faster pace than their careful progress towards the hospital saw both Leah and Henry breathing hard while Ash stayed at her side with effortless physical ability.
Leah moved as fast as her standards would allow while still maintaining sufficient cover of the most exposed areas, but even so, she felt reckless. Henry was struggling under the weight of the heavily laden rucksack stuffed with the supplies they needed to replace what was lost in their escape. The supplies Kate needed immediately to save Jack’s life.
Rounding the last corner before their temporary refuge came into sight, Leah checked the angles covering their path as best she could but found the same story as before: too many windows of taller buildings overlooking them offered safety to anyone watching them and posed a threat to them. Making the executive decision, she opted for the “fuck it” approach and ran for the door they had left less than two hours previously. Reaching it, she banged hard on the metal twice for it to be opened from the inside. Just as Henry caught up with her, the door creaked open and they spilled through and into the gloom from the failing light outside.
Snatching the bag from Henry, she ran towards the shaft of light bearing down on the worktop being used as a surgical bed and stopped.
Frozen to the spot with her mouth wide, she took in the abattoir scene before her.
Henry piled in behind and almost careered into her. Following her gaze, he froze as his worst fears were realised.
Jack was dead, Leah had failed to bring back the much-needed supplies in time, and it was Henry’s fault.
Walking forwards as though in a trance, she dropped her rifle to the floor. With each zombie-like pace, she shed another piece of her heavy equipment, stopping only to lift the heavy vest from her slim shoulders until she stood in the glistening puddle of oily blood by the table Jack was lying on. Reaching out a tentative hand to touch his chest before pulling it away sharply, she turned and fixed her eyes on Henry.
Sensing he was now the target of not only the malevolent gazes of everyone present but also of Leah’s fury, he turned to flee. Quite what he intended to do when he burst through the door into the harsh outside world he did not know, but he was prevented from ever finding out by Neil who blocked the door; not out of any sense of helping Leah, but to prevent one of them from running scared into the unknown.
He turned in terror to seek another refuge, finding only that Leah had reached him in a few easy strides. Holding his hands up in front of his face and babbling incoherently, he felt the wind driven out of his chest by Leah as she brought her knee brutally up into his abdomen. Grabbing him roughly by the collar as he doubled over in pain gasping for air, she half-dragged him to the table where Jack’s body lay. Sobs of fear, pain and guilt tore from his mouth as he tried pathetically to fight against his impending contact with the pool of blood. Leah was forced to switch her hold on him and bend his wrist painfully behind his back as she drove him forwards with the threat of a dislocated elbow.
Stopping before the table, she dragged him up to force him to look at the lifeless body of the man who had died for his stupidity, and then she let him go abruptly.
As he dropped to his knees and nursed the pain in his wrist, he heard the words she said to him: “You did this.”
And then she was gone, and he was alone in front of a dead man.
“We rest until first light, bury Jack, then get to the ERV to find Dan,” he heard Leah announce loudly to the group. He stayed where he was, the cooling blood soaking through his trousers and tainting his skin at the knees. He stayed there and cried out his shame and his guilt until his eyes ran dry.
~
Sitting around in whatever comfort they could find, the group ate and ta
lked softly among themselves. Jack had been carefully cocooned in his sleeping bag and the sea of blood around the table was beginning to dry. Footprints led in every direction from the table, making cleaning the floor an impossible and irrelevant task. Henry sat alone in a dark corner of the dusty building.
Mitch had regained consciousness and was given far more mainstream painkillers than he had administered to himself earlier, although the pain was evident on his face with every breath. Marie broke the silence.
“I promised never to divulge any information that anyone ever told me in confidence,” she said, hesitating over her next words, “but I think I need to share some of Jack’s story with you.”
Heads perked up at the prospect of learning a person’s secrets; no matter what the terrible circumstances, human nature dictated a love of gossip.
“He was from the outskirts of Belfast, and where he grew up saw regular clashes with the Army. He told me about bombings, shootings, violence among members of the community over their allegiances, and how he was put to work as a young boy to act as a lookout. He progressed from there to become part of an organisation and” – she hesitated again before continuing – “and he told me of some of the things he did as a young man.”
Of all the people present, Mitch’s eyes burned into her the most. He had served in Northern Ireland, had lost friends there and had his own life endangered many times by the political and terrorist groups who thrived in the underground societies to fight against the occupation of their country by British troops.
“He was not proud of the things he had done, more that he was caught up in a guerrilla war that was being forced onto the younger generations. My guess is that was how he came to have that grenade,” she said, turning her eyes to meet Mitch’s before continuing. “He left his home after seeing his brother killed and vowed never to go back to that life, so he moved to England.” She smiled to herself as she looked down, one unconscious hand rubbing her belly. “He called it ‘The land of my enemy’, but he lived the rest of his life in peace. I’m sure he would have put himself at risk for any one of us, and I hope that his sacrifice gives him the peace he wanted.”
Silence hung over them. The revelation that their own Jack had been a terrorist in his youth was a shock to some, a painful and cruel joke to others, but on the whole, it made no difference. He was dead, and he died saving one of their own.
Hauling herself to her feet, Leah put an end to the reverie.
“We move in a few hours. Get some rest if you can.” With that, she climbed into the truck and found somewhere to lay her head.
THE FEAR OF LONELINESS
Dan pushed on hard, ignoring potential risks in his heightened state of anxiety. He reckoned he could easily make the rendezvous point well before dark and played the scene where he was reunited with the others over and over in his head. Hours before, he had sped past the exit where a sign indicated a nearby hospital, oblivious to the terrible things being played out only a few miles away.
In his desperation, he had twice reached for the radio to try and raise the others, but both times logic took over and stayed his hand; if the group who had attacked them knew they were still in the area, it could end badly for them all.
It was a last-ditch card to play, but he convinced himself he wouldn’t need to use it as he assured himself they would be waiting for him and they would all have a good-natured laugh at his red-faced panic.
Staying as positive as he could as he drove almost blind with the fear of being alone, he began to consider the worst-case scenario.
He would have to follow the plan if they didn’t arrive by the third dawn and move to the second rendezvous point, but after that, he couldn’t bear the thought of abandoning them. He would insist that they gave up all hope for him if the roles were reversed, but should they fail to arrive, it would become his life’s mission to find them. Recognising that this course of action would likely reduce his life expectancy considerably made no difference to him; without them, he had no life.
Arriving at the marvellous expanse of the suspension bridge they had chosen to be the first emergency meeting point, he couldn’t help but stare in wonder at the size of the great feat of engineering. Seeing something on a map gave no impression of just how big it was in real life.
It was empty, completely devoid of life, which meant that the best-case scenario was now off the table.
Carefully driving the length of the bridge to ensure it was still intact, he found it to be free of any obstruction and remarkably untouched by the brief passage of time without human attention. Turning around in a lazy circle at the far end, he pointed the Land Rover back towards the direction his friends should be coming from.
“Any minute now,” he said to himself as he rolled the car to a gentle stop.
A few minutes later, he killed the engine to conserve his remaining fuel.
After two hours, his complaining stomach reminded him to undertake some personal admin: not that he felt hungry, his stress levels were too high to consider enjoying food, but more that his own tank was running too close to empty to make him efficient. Not bothering to go through the process of using the bags and water to heat the food, he ripped the top from a foil packet and ate the contents cold. He took no enjoyment from the slimy contents, merely used the process as a means to kill time.
His cramped muscles eventually forced him from behind the wheel and made him take a walk to ease his tense body. Opening the cigarette packet, he reached inside, feeling with his fingers to find nothing. Screwing the packet into a ball, he tossed it over the side of the bridge to see it snatched away by the wind. When he got back to the Land Rover, he rummaged inside his kit bag to find a replacement as he had done so many times before. His frustration and nervousness rose to a frightening crescendo as he found none. Tipping the whole bag out and scattering the contents, he sifted through desperately until he found his last packet.
Clutching it to his chest as though the life-shortening habit could sustain him, he ripped open the cellophane packaging like the addict he was and only relaxed when the first lungful of harsh chemicals burned into him. Closing his eyes and raising his face to the sky, he blew out a long stream of smoke, letting the worry disperse and a small sense of serenity return.
As the sun dipped below the far hill, he told himself that the others were being sensible; they would have hunkered down for the night in safety. Forcing himself to do the same, he climbed into the back of the truck and carefully repacked his equipment into his bag. Using the last of the daylight, he stripped and cleaned his weapons, taking such meticulous care that he had to rig up a light to finish the job. His concentration over the minute tasks helped him cope with the situation, and as all three guns were cleaned and oiled to keep them at peak performance, he glanced at the outside world to find it had grown dark.
With nothing else to do, he lay down his sleeping mat, unrolled his sleeping bag and nestled himself in relative comfort with his head on his pack. Keeping his boots on, he loosened his vest on one side as his only concession to comfort in the field. Being this exposed was something he would never do in his right mind, but the situation had driven him so close to despair that a part of him no longer cared for his own safety. Despite the agony of the loss he was starting to feel, he eventually drifted off into exhausted sleep.
~
Gasping awake after what felt like mere moments, he struggled to grasp the harsh reality of his situation. Calming his breathing and rubbing his eyes as though he could change the unwelcome truth by desperate will, he sucked in a sharp breath and held it. Letting it out slowly, he steeled himself for a stressful day of waiting and worrying. Climbing out of the chilly vehicle, he was surprised to see his breath misting slightly in front of his face. Trying to convince himself that a combination of the altitude and his exposed position was responsible for the lowering of the temperature, he couldn’t deny the fact that autumn was in full swing and soon they would have to contend with savage weather condi
tions.
“He” would, not “they”, he corrected himself depressingly.
Using the scope, he checked a full circle of his position to find, not to his surprise but to his dismay, that nothing had changed. Forcing himself to undertake the mundane and routine tasks, he set water to boil in the small shelter of one of the wheels of the Land Rover. Pulling open a ration pack again, he threw the first foil packet he laid his hands on into the water and checked his watch to give an indication of the required cooking time.
Bracing the cold weather, he stripped off to change his underwear and T-shirt before dressing again and fixing all his equipment snugly into place. Using a mouthful of water from a plastic bottle, he brushed his teeth and spat a long stream of minty liquid over the side of the bridge to see it atomised and scattered by the wind.
Checking his watch to see that only a few minutes had passed, he draped an extra layer over his shoulders against the cold breeze and sat on the bonnet of the vehicle to smoke away the remainder of the cooking time. Dragging out every process to kill as much time as possible and maintain his sanity with every passing minute, he poured the hot water into a tin mug with a sachet of instant coffee and opened the foil packet of breakfast to let the steam vent. Returning to his perch, he resolutely watched the far end of the bridge as he ate lukewarm meatballs and pasta and drank tepid coffee.
If he was even close to being in his right mind, he would condemn his actions as foolish; to be so exposed without escape routes went against everything he knew. He was reckless, but he was alone and it clouded his judgement in worry. Sitting on the bonnet of his Land Rover, he stared at the approach, willing his friends to come.
Sanctuary: After It Happened Book 5 Page 14
