Occupation

by Dave Lacey

  They moved smoothly along the tunnel now. The sounds they had heard earlier became clearer and louder. Somebody was having fun. Jack’s stomach tightened at the thought, and he could feel that oily sensation below his beltline, fear. His mind started to drift into the possibilities, before he wrenched it back from the brink. It served no purpose to start down that road.

  But he didn’t have a great deal of time to think on it anyway. They had reached the mouth of the tunnel, where it opened out into a large high ceilinged room. It was vaulted, and it may once have been a library or something similar. The torchlight licked and moved across the walls and ceiling, casting large strange shadows.

  They were on a balcony, one of three that ran around the top of the room. And there was a man in front of them, leaning on the balustrade, watching the events down below. Jack crept quickly past Smithy and was about to pass Millie, when a hand reached out and caught hold of his jacket.

  Jack had turned to glare at his sister, and as he did so he noticed another guard on the balcony. They had come so close to being discovered that Jack swallowed and swayed with a dizzied rush. Millie pulled him back slowly, stood up level with him, and gave him some more hand signals. These ones were less helpful, more insulting. Jack stared back at her. Finally, her face softened, and she pointed Jack to the guard to the right, and to her own chest before indicating the guard on the left. She finally pointed at Smithy, and gave a sort of ‘back us up’ gesture. Smithy nodded and gave the ‘move forward’ signal.

  Millie counted down with her fingers, three, two, one, then nodded. They moved forward, low and silent, like a killer fog, covering the short space before rising up to take out the two men.

  They should have checked before doing so that no one had spotted them. They should have, but they didn’t. But, they were lucky; nobody in the writhing, weaving pit of humanity below them even glanced skyward. They were too intent on what they were doing to see the two guards drop from view. With no fuss and minimal sound, the brother and sister team dragged their targets to the ground and administered the coup de grace.

  A quick sawing of the hunting knife and the job, though messy, was done. Millie stood back, panting at her work. She leaned forward and laid a hand on the balcony, the back of her free hand rising to her mouth to cover it. She closed her eyes and waited for the nausea to pass. Jack, on the other hand, gave no outward sign at being sickened by what he had just done. He merely looked down at his kill, breathing through his nose and gripping the knife too tightly in his right fist.

  Smithy reached out and touched Jack’s shoulder. Jack jumped a little and turned to look at him, nodding once. Smithy went to Millie to check she was okay. It seemed strange that, after all the killing, these two deaths would have the effect that they had. But there was no accounting for the human psyche. Their luck had held. The kills had taken place far enough back from the edge of the balcony that they still had not been detected. But the tiredness had caught up with them.

  The last forty-eight hours had taken its toll. But they had no time to rest now, they must go on. Smithy took Millie by the shoulders and led her back from the edge. Jack crept forward and peered over. Then wished he hadn’t.

  There were at least twenty men down there. They were strewn around the central area, some more upright and aware than others. And from the quick scan, there were three cages, each holding a minor. At the moment, only one of the cages was receiving any attention. Jack looked hard, and figured it was a young girl. And though he sickened himself, he was relieved it was not his son. He swallowed again and took another look.

  He considered standing up and feigning being one of the guards they had taken out. But there was too much torchlight flickering around the room from down below. They would quickly know he was not one of them. And then Jack and his team would lose the upper hand. He scanned from left to right, his eyes at last coming to rest upon the cage farthest from the main group of men. There was a small figure in there, unmoving and drenched in shadow.

  Jack licked his lips as he stared, willing it to be his son. As if in answer, one of the half-awake morons below decided to terrify whoever was in the cage. The fuck took a sharpened stave and drove it into the curled figure, causing it to cry out in pain and surprise. It wasn’t Junior; it wasn’t his son. It was a small boy, a little older than Junior, with blonde hair and dirty clothes. Jack heard the fuck speak to the boy then.

  “Later, little boy. You’ll keep for later. And then I’ll be shoving this stick up your arse.” The depraved figure cackled and swigged from a canister of whatever it was he was drinking.

  Before anybody could react, Jack snapped. He spun and darted for the staircase that fell away from the balcony they’d been standing on. Millie reacted first, but couldn’t lay a hand on him. He was taking the stairs three or four at a time, until finally somebody noticed the commotion. One of the more alert members of the group of twenty or so turned to see who was coming down the stairs in such a hurry. As he turned and frowned, he was rewarded with a bullet through the face. Jack had fired from the hip, and the single shot rang out from the walls with devastating effect. The back of the man’s head exploded, and rained brain, blood, hair and bone chips down on those behind him.

  The effect was useful. Those men who had turned to see what their friend was looking at were forced to close their eyes at the airborne debris comprising their colleague’s brain matter. As they did so, they also were shot, one at a time. Five of the rotten cabal were dead, or close to it. It had taken around three or four seconds from the beginning of the assault.

  Jack reached the bottom and for the first time halted his progress. He looked from left to right at the gathered host, giving them vital seconds to react and bring their weapons to bear. But almost immediately he was off again. He ran round the back of the cage the boy was in, careful to come out the other side before some careless shots were loosed.

  He didn’t want more innocent blood spilled, even through the red mist. But the bullets came. A hail of gunfire sprang up, not all of it accurate. Ricochets pinged off the ornate marble walls of the circular room as Jack sought cover. He paused behind a column, returning fire and pinning down two men who had attempted to follow him, their drunken or drug induced haze slowing their reactions. That was lucky. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, Jack was wondering what the fuck he’d been thinking when he’d set off down the staircase. He glanced up at the balcony above him and saw his sister and friend above him.

  He asked himself why they hadn’t followed. Then he realized why. He leaned forward and cracked off another burst of automatic fire, ensuring it didn’t go near any of the three cages. This had the desired effect. The scumbags that were obvious from the platform were drawn from their hideaways. They strolled confident and cocksure towards the middle of the room, their long overcoats swaying about them as they moved.

  Bandoliers of ammunition were strapped across most of their bodies. Their long unruly hair moved with the same rhythm as their coats. But in their arrogance, they’d exposed themselves. As they moved forward, Jack’s two companions stood up on the balcony.

  Nobody saw them because they were all focussed on the only interloper they had seen to that point. So when Smithy and Millie opened fire, it was devastating. Another six of the enemy were downed in the first volley of gunfire. Some of the others came to the realization that there were more of the enemy above, but even they took some fire of their own. Their knees, thighs and upper bodies all took bullets. Jack was half cowered behind his pillar, when he noticed a breakaway group to his right.

  Six men had stumbled out of the line of fire and were gathered around another figure who was staring at Jack as they backed out of the main hall. They were heading for an offshoot tunnel and making a break for it.

  Jack moved to follow, but as he moved out of cover another hail of gunfire erupted around him. A piece of shrapnel or marble flew from the wall and laid open his cheek to the bone. The impact felt slight, adrenaline and th
e sharp edge of the shrapnel combining to deaden his nerve endings. But when he raised his hand to his face, it came away slick with blood. He could feel the flap of skin on the end of his fingers.

  He ignored it and poked his head from its hiding place to see who’d fired. There were still a few of the enemy on their feet and fighting. Millie and Smithy were still trying to pick them off. Jack feinted as if to move again, but dove straight back into his niche.

  The two men who had been firing stepped out to change their angle of attack, and Smithy and Millie picked them off. Jack checked, then came out of his hiding place, wary and tense. There were more of them left, but they were too far gone and a little gun shy. They stayed where they were. He ran in a crouch towards the mouth of the tunnel the smaller group had taken. He took a second to check on the occupants of the three cages.

  All children. They looked shaken but alive. Jack grimaced and moved on. He knew Smithy and Millie would catch up with him. And he knew they’d be pissed at his recklessness too. Right now, he didn’t care. He reached the tunnel and stopped. It was pitch dark. Not even a pinprick of light. Reckless as he was, he was not totally without caution. Heading in there without thinking was a death sentence. Jack stood rooted to the spot.

  From behind came the occasional gunshot as Smithy and Millie administered death sentences to the stragglers. He also heard them opening the cages containing the children. He gripped and re-gripped his rifle. Licked his lips. Shifted his weight from foot to foot. It was now or never. His son was here somewhere, he could feel it. Smithy appeared at his side.

  “What now?” Smithy asked. His anger was on the back burner. For now.

  “No idea. Suggestions?” Jack asked.

  “We take three torches from the walls.” It sounded obvious, but was not without flaw.

  “Yup. But that also makes us a target. They just shoot at the light,” Jack said, not taking his eyes from the dark maw.

  “What else can we do?” said Smithy. “The minute they hear us, all they have to do is fire straight down the tunnel and they hit us anyway.”

  “Yup,” Jack agreed. “So I go alone.” His expression was dead and lifeless. Smithy snorted with laughter.

  “Yeah, right. We still need to have a chat about your last dash for glory, you dick.”

  “Your choice, but it’s a death sentence.” Jack said it casually, but his tight lipped stony expression told otherwise. He knew Smithy wasn’t for turning.

  “You stay here, sis,” he called. “Stay with the kids. Your boyfriend and me have work to do.” Unusually, Millie had no comeback or argument. Jack turned to look at her, and she just nodded. They shared the look for a couple of seconds longer, before she turned her head to look at Smithy. He winked and called to her.

  “See you later, toots.” She smiled in response and pouted her lips in an air kiss. The two men turned back to face the tunnel. Millie watched as the two men she loved most in the world walked away from her, into the darkness.

  Chapter 14

  After fifty yards, their eyes adjusted to the darkness. Not taking the torches had its pros and cons, but not being able to see was a big con. They crept along, their progress slow and agonizing; one hand out in front, the other on the wall, helping to maintain perspective and balance. It was slow work. Even though the darkness wasn’t complete, the two men could only see a ghostly outline of their hands in front of their faces.

  After another twenty yards, Jack stopped. Smithy bumped into him, but he stayed quiet – even a whisper would carry in this space. They stood still, trying hard to keep their breathing inaudible. Jack was listening for something, anything that would tell him what was happening.

  His ears strained for any sound, and his body was taut like a piano string, waiting for action. Then it came. There was a soft scuffling sound up ahead. The question was whether it was the sound of men lying in wait, or the sound of men making their escape. A bead of sweat trickled from Jack’s hairline and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. Smithy’s hand gripped his shoulder, a silent question about whether to move on.

  In response, Jack moved forward. Each step was an eternity. After ten more steps, his body began to shake. It started as a slight tremor, then got progressively worse. It was the constant flow of adrenaline and the lack of any form of food fuel for nearly fifteen hours.

  Impatience got the better of him. Jack reached for the Zippo lighter in his hip pocket, flipped it open, lit the fuel and threw the lighter in a flat arc as far as he could manage. While it was still in the air, he grabbed Smithy’s jacket and dragged him to the ground. The lighter hit the floor and skipped forward. It threw wild shadows on the curved walls of the tunnel. Miraculously, it stayed lit. And for a few seconds, Jack looked up and saw the group of men at the other end of the tunnel. It was brief, but they were there. And they turned and fired. They fired without care, firing where they thought somebody might be standing.

  That was enough for Jack. He aimed low and let loose with a long burst of automatic fire. It was almost impossible for him to miss. The men had stopped, half turned and bunched together. In the confined space, it would have been almost impossible for Jack’s bullets to miss their intended marks. The screams followed quickly, and random bursts of gunfire clattered dangerously into the walls and ceiling, as the men tumbled heavily to the ground. The light from the Zippo went out. The tunnel was fully dark again. Night vision compromised. Jack was about to get up, but Smithy felt him move and held him down.

  “Not yet,” Smithy whispered. Then it came. The downed men had waited. Waited until they thought Jack and Smithy would be coming for them. Then they had opened fire. Sneaky. It would have worked too, but for Smithy.

  “Let’s crawl,” Smithy murmured, right next to Jack’s ear.

  Jack couldn’t stop the thoughts from bouncing around his head. What if they throw a grenade? Where is Junior? What if we killed them, and never find him? What if none of us get out of here and it’s all my fault? The thoughts distracted him from what he should have been doing – concentrating on taking out the men on the ground, and finding his son. He kept going, elbows and knees again taking the brunt of the load.

  A few yards on, Jack found his lighter. He scooped it up and put it back in his pocket. Took the opportunity to pause for breath. He thought about scuttling a grenade along the ground so that it came to rest against the first man it found. But deep down he knew the concussion would kill him and Smithy too. The tunnel would prevent any of the blast from spreading and dissipating. Rather it would contain it and funnel it both ways down the space. He licked his lips and let his head drop forward a fraction. He closed his eyes tight, and willed himself to move forward once more. Then, as though somebody had been listening, a voice came from the darkness.

  “Please, no more. Let us go and we’ll let you pass?” It was a voice twisted with pain. Or a voice acting like it was twisted with pain.

  Jack stiffened. His pulse quickened and his eyes flew wide. He winced as a finger of pain bloomed in his side. He whispered to Smithy beside him. “What do you think?” Smithy took a deep breath and answered.

  “Let’s play it real careful,” replied Smithy, and he paused before speaking louder down the tunnel. “You have a torch down there?” His voice swirled up and around the circular space. The answer came back, small and tight.

  “Yes.” The voice huffed. He was either a really good actor, or in real pain.

  “Light it up and hold it so it shines on you and your friends,” Smithy said loud and clear. He whispered to Jack. “I have no idea why they would ditch their leader so easily. But we have to take this chance.”

  Jack nodded. “I agree.” From twenty yards away came a bright comet of light shining in the total dark of the tunnel. The torch was pointed away from Jack and Smithy, towards the far end of the tunnel. “Throw your guns behind you, towards the far end of the tunnel,” Jack managed, before another stab of pain made him wince.

  The clatter of metal on bare brick
came from farther down. “I have a grenade in my hand,” Jack said matter of factly. “The pin is pulled. If you’re silly, we all die.” The two men got to their feet. This was perhaps the most dangerous part of the whole enterprise.

  They waited for a few moments; after a nudge from Smithy, Jack started forward. He felt exposed, but, after five yards of slow going, it became apparent the injured men could not really do much of anything at all. The light, though weaker now they had adjusted, was enough to render their night vision useless. They covered the dead ground before them and stood over the men. There were four of them, and they were a mess.

  There was a lot of blood. Hands were slick with it as they sought to plug the wounds. But it was useless for two of them, they would die down here. “Your friends here are already dead, you know that?” Jack asked.

  The man who he guessed had done all the talking grimaced and nodded. He was holding his free hand over a wound in his gut. The other held the torch. “I know. And they know. We never wanted any of this.” He gestured with the hand holding the torch. The light flicked back and forth. Jack wasn't sure if the man meant the blood and death, or the whole enterprise. He didn't care. They had done it anyway, whichever he was referring to. “The world is different now. It’s survival of the fittest. And Coffey is the fittest.” The man coughed, his face a mask of agony.

  “Yeah, well, you tell yourself whatever you need to. Whatever floats your boat,” Smithy spat, before Jack could respond. The man's face turned away from them, though his eyes kept contact with Smithy's face. He was ashamed. That was a start.

  “You know what it’s like,” he said. “Do it or die. That's the world now. ‘Specially if you live with a psychopath.” He was doing his best to front it out.