Gripping Thrillers

by Iain Rob Wright

  “Who decides who is beyond helping?” Tasha asked. “You?”

  Patrick tutted. “Yes, as it happens, the person who gets to decide on how I spend my time is me. You want to help people then you can decide how you want to do it.”

  Tasha shrugged. “Fair enough.”

  “What do you do anyway?” asked Adam. “Please tell me you’re a karate instructor or something useful.”

  “No, I’m an, um, student.”

  Adam frowned. “A student? Of what?”

  “I went back to school after my brother died. Life is too short, you know. I’m studying to become a writer.”

  John rolled his eyes. “That’s helpful. Perhaps we can get out of this situation with a poem.”

  “Hey, I didn’t know I was going to need survival skills to live through tonight.”

  “We create a diversion,” said Costa.

  Everyone looked at him. Adam frowned. “What?”

  “That’s what we would’ve done in the army. If we were pinned down inside a building, we would try to direct attention to one place while we exited in another.”

  “Okay,” said John. “How do we do that?”

  Costa shrugged. “That would usually be down to the officers and NCOs. I just followed orders.”

  “Oh great,” said John. “You obviously made quite the grunt.”

  Adam shot him a look. What’s your problem? Besides somebody trying to kill you, that is.

  Yeah, maybe he was right to be grumpy.

  Costa muttered something that might have been a curse. Then he shrugged again. “Look, we need to see what materials we have on hand and find a way to use them. If we can make our enemy think we’re leaving through the back door, we can leg it out the front and make it to the road.”

  A plan at last. Thank you. “Okay,” said Adam. “We can at least be clear that we’re not helping ourselves by standing in this stinking toilet. Let’s go back to the hall and see what we have. There are still things in the storeroom that we never checked out.”

  Maybe we missed a satellite phone or a rocket launcher. Wishful thinking?

  John grunted. “Maybe we can even figure out who’s responsible for all of this, because somebody is, I can assure you.”

  “Maybe,” said Adam, heading for the door.

  Prick.

  Costa’s phone died, which left them with only four working torch apps. Inside the storage room they were vital because there were no windows. The rain’s hammering was muted, drumming on the roof ten feet above their heads. They had about two hundred chairs and thirty tables, but there was no use for them. They wanted to create a distraction, so how could a bunch of cheap furniture help?

  Maybe we can build a fort.

  He used to love building forts with his blankets beneath his bed.

  Adam ran his hands over the dusty shelves, unable to see to the back without shining his torch directly. The things he found were eclectic to say the least – a cue ball and a square of chalk; a pair of grey mittens; a carrier bag full of old crisp packets; a screwdriver (which he pocketed); a stack of pamphlets advertising a model railway in a nearby village; and a packet of uninflated balloons. The last thing he spotted was a carrier bag stuffed right at the back of the final shelf. He tiptoed and stretched his arm, getting at it with his fingertips before managing to grab it. He pulled the bag out and looked inside.

  “Oh dear,” was all he could say.

  Oh yes!

  “What is it?” John asked.

  Adam reached into the plastic bag and pulled out a half-empty bottle of Scotch. Right now, the thought of breaking his sobriety was beyond temptation. If ever he had needed a drink it was now. How could it make things any worse?

  No. No way.

  No…

  John beamed. “Thank the heavens, my prayers are answered.” He reached for the bottle. “Give it.”

  Adam shied away. “You’re not drinking this, John. You’re an alcoholic.”

  “No, I am a man with a weak liver, and a few swigs on that isn’t going to make much difference.”

  “That’s why you’ve turned into an asshole. You’re desperate for a drink. You’re an alcoholic, same as the rest of us.”

  You just happen to be a successful one.

  John threw his head back and let out an irritated laugh. “I am no such thing. My drinking does not cause me to descend into a debauched stupor. I don’t cheat on my wife or start fights. I’m not like any of y—” He stopped himself and shook his head with a sigh. “Forget it.”

  Adam huffed. “Not like us, huh? Is that what you were going to say?”

  John lifted his head and faced Adam defiantly. “Yes, that’s exactly what I was going to say. You people need to avoid alcohol because it turns you into monsters. I don’t have that problem.”

  “Really? You’re fifty-first birthday is coming up, right, John?”

  “I don’t see what it matters, yes. It’s next month”

  Adam nodded. “So drinking yourself to death before you’re fifty and leaving your family alone isn’t monstrous? Your daughters having to bury you thirty years early isn’t monstrous?”

  John’s upper lip twitched like a snarling dog. “Be careful, Adam. If you want to talk about being a good father and husband, I believe I have you beat.”

  Adam recoiled, a flood of chemicals pumping through his veins and provoking anger, despair… remorse. Rather than act on any of those emotions, he turned away. He placed the bottle of Scotch on the shelf and said, “You want it, drink yourself stupid, but don’t kid yourself that you’re any different to the rest of us, John. You’re an addict.”

  There was a pregnant pause, a tense silence. Then John turned and walked away, leaving the Scotch sitting on the shelf. Despite wanting to punch the man in the face, Adam was glad he had talked him out of taking a swig. You couldn’t take what an alcoholic said too personally. Anger chose its own words.

  Costa appeared beside Adam. “You okay? That was uncalled for, what John said.”

  “I’m fine. He didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. The important thing is that he didn’t take a drink.”

  “If he had taken a swig, I think I would have too. This is an extreme situation.”

  “No understatement there. How’s your arm?”

  Costa raised his hand, showing off the bloodstained tights Betty had wrapped around his forearm. “It’s not so bad, long as I don’t knock it on anything.”

  “And your head?”

  Costa fingered the top of his scalp. “Not the first concussion I’ve had. I’ll live. How are you doing? Tasha said you kind of gave up outside.”

  “I think I hit my terror limit. Suddenly, it was like I just stopped caring. I froze.”

  Did I freeze? Or did I truly give up? Was I ready to die out there?

  “I saw that happen to a few guys,” said Costa. “Usually greens on their first engagements. There wasn’t a lot of fighting while I served but I did go on a peacekeeping tour in Afghanistan that got a little hairy. A bunch of ISIS pricks had set up in the hills and started taking potshots at us. None of us took a bullet, but I saw a young lad about nineteen just crawl into a ball behind a wall. His eyes were wide open like his mind had gone someplace else. We had to carry him out of there. He got a beating a few nights later, but I always thought it was unfair. Nobody knows how they’ll act in a life or death situation until it happens. That kid never intended to freeze.”

  Despite his age, Adam saw wisdom in Costa’s eyes. He was an intelligent young man – a thinker. “Did you ever have to shoot anybody?”

  Am I standing in front of a killer is what I want to know? No, Costa is the one standing in front of a killer. I had no right to ask.

  Costa frowned. “Shoot anybody?”

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “No, it’s okay. To answer your question, no, I never shot anybody. By the time I enlisted, we were pretty much out of the Middle East. Some guys might have left the army with psy
chological scars, but not me. I don’t know where my drinking came from, but I’m not trying to blot anything out from my army days. I just like the way booze feels. Problem is, I get angry. I fight. To be honest, I spent the last three months of service in a military prison cell because I beat up a local during a training weekend in Wales. When I got word of my mum’s cancer, they let me leave on short notice. I think it was a good excuse for them to get rid of me.”

  Adam grunted. “Wow, I never would have guessed that about you. You don’t seem—”

  “Like a violent nutcase? Isn’t that why we’re all here? To not be what we were before?”

  “Yes.” Adam didn’t say more because it was true. They were all there to put the past behind them. He had lied, however, when he had said he would never have guessed Costa was a violent man. There was an edge to him – a narrowing of his eyes from time to time – that spoke of an inner rage. At least Costa was trying to deal with the issue.

  “You find anything useful back here?” Costa asked, perhaps wishing to change the subject.

  “Snooker balls and some mittens? Any idea how to create a distraction with those?”

  He shook his head. “Not a clue, but I found something else we might use. Come take a look.”

  Adam followed Costa over to the other end of the storage room. He hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a small closet. Patrick stood next to it, and he seemed like he’d been waiting for Costa to return. He was, once again, sucking on his injured hand.

  Costa nodded. “Open it back up, Patrick.”

  Patrick pulled the handle and opened the closet. It was made from cheap wood on ancient hinges, and it dragged along the floor. Inside was a single shelf, high up. Beneath the shelf was a vacuum cleaner and an assortment of other cleaning items. Nothing immediately helpful.

  We could try and polish our enemy to death?

  Costa reached in and pulled out an old torch. It was one of the ones with a crank handle to charge it. “My phone is going to die soon, and I’m sure everyone else’s will as well, so this is going to be helpful, but what’s really cool is the other thing I found.” He reached onto the shelf and retrieved a pair of bulky handsets resembling ancient mobile phones.

  “Actually, I found them,” said Patrick.

  Costa shrugged. “Yeah, okay, fine, but it was me who knew their value.”

  Adam grunted. “Just tell me what you have.”

  Costa held up his find – a pair of walkie-talkies. “These are exactly what we need to create our distraction. The only problem is that someone will have to put themselves in the firing line.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Adam.

  “No.” Costa patted him on the arm. “It’s going to have to be me.”

  “I still don’t see why you need to be the one to take the risk.” Adam had been trying to convince Costa to let him carry out the distraction for the last five minutes now, but the kid wasn’t budging.

  I really am eager to get myself killed, aren’t I? I didn’t know that about myself until tonight.

  Costa smiled, seemingly relaxed about what he was planning to do. “I have training that you don’t. I might not have ever crept around in a jungle trying to remain undetected, but the army trained me for it anyway. I’ll be able to stay hidden better than you. Also, your part of the plan involves a lot of running, and I don’t think I can do that. I’ve been dizzy ever since I got hit in the head.”

  Adam ran his fingers through his messy, wet hair then leaned back against the shelving. “Okay, fine, so run through the plan one more time. I want us all to be prepared.”

  “Okay,” said Costa. “I’ll head out the back and try to make it into the woods without stepping on any of those nails you told me about.”

  John lifted his blood-soaked loafer. “I advise extreme caution.”

  Costa nodded. “Once I make it into the woods, I’ll snap a few branches, kick a few trees, and try to get our enemy’s attention. Once I catch sight of him, and I know his attention is on me, I’ll click the walkie-talkie three times. That’s your signal to leg it out front as quickly as you can, Adam. Make it to the road and get us some help. Make a call if you get a signal.”

  Adam liked the thought of beating it down the main road and away from this place, but he had some reservations. “Then what happens to you? You’ll be out there in the woods with a madman – a madman with a gun.”

  “Or the ghost of a dead sniper,” said Tasha. She was probably trying to lighten the mood, but Adam wanted assurances, not jokes.

  Costa seemed completely calm. “I’ll be okay. I don’t intend on being spotted, but if I am, I’ll head straight back here. Patrick will be at the door waiting for me.”

  Patrick nodded. He was holding the wind-up torch in his bloodstained hand. It gave off more light than all the mobile app torches combined.

  “What can I do?” asked Tasha. “I’m with Adam, right?”

  “You keep a lookout. If you see anything, call Adam back right away.”

  “And I’ll sit and take a load off if you don’t mind,” said John. His brow was sweating and he kept wincing in pain. “I’d rather not lose my foot to gangrene.”

  Costa looked at him. “You’ll be fine, but yeah, you sit down and rest if you need to.”

  John snapped off a lazy salute which Adam thought was disrespectful. He’s a good kid trying his best. Why be an asshole about it?

  “Okay,” said Costa. “We all know what we’re doing. Only thing left is to pull the trigger. Everyone ready?”

  Adam looked at the walkie-talkie in his hand and wondered if it would even work. Costa had given them a test, which was successful, but who knew what the range of them would be? They had no alternatives he could think of, though, so he reluctantly nodded. “Good luck out there, Costa.”

  “You too, Adam.”

  Do we shake hands? Hug?

  No, let’s just leave it at words.

  Patrick opened the fire escape. The rain lashed in. The thunder had stopped, but the downpour was no less fierce. The buried nails outside glinted like gemstones. There was no white face. All clear.

  Costa took a few steps outside and then stooped. He ran his hands through the muddy puddles and began soaking himself all over. Mud streaked his cheeks, and he kept on going until he was filthy. Even his clean white trainers ended up dull and brown. Adam had to admit, he blended in with the darkness a lot better now. Costa knew what he was doing.

  “I can’t tell if you look like a commando or a tramp,” said Tasha. “Captain Hobo.”

  Costa gave her a grin through the mud caked on his face. He lifted his walkie-talkie and gave it a quick squeeze. It hissed with life. “I’m all set. See you when all this is over, yeah?”

  Adam held up the other walkie-talkie. “I’ll be waiting for your call.”

  Costa kept low and moved across the garden with his head down. Several times he had to step over nails, but then he was at the trees. He stopped to look back at them, only his eyes clearly visible, and then he was gone.

  “Okay,” said Adam. “Patrick, close the door most of the way, but keep an eye out. Tasha, let’s head to the front.”

  John remained where he was, leant up against the wall in the storage room, but Tasha kept close to Adam as they went out into the hall. Once again, the chill had worsened, and they both had to rub themselves to keep warm.

  “I had no idea group counselling could be this dangerous,” said Tasha. “I knew I should have gone to the Wednesday group.”

  Adam pulled a face. “No way. That group’s full of deadbeats and losers.”

  “Right… Okay, so as soon as we get the signal from Costa, you’re going to leg it for the road? How much battery do you have?”

  Adam checked. “Fourteen per cent. Plenty to make a call.”

  “Good. Be careful, all right? After tonight I never plan on seeing any of you people again, but that doesn’t mean I want to see you get hurt.”

  “Thanks, I think. Don’t give
up on the group though, okay? Even if you need to find another one. You’re young, and clearly in pain, but you have your whole life ahead of you. Don’t waste it like… like me.”

  Tasha looked at him like she wanted to say something kind, but obviously nothing came to her so she just nodded and averted her eyes. For a moment, she appeared guilty, like she was once again blaming herself for something.

  The walkie-talkie clicked.

  Clicked again.

  Clicked a third time.

  “That’s me,” said Adam. “Hopefully I’ll see you later in the safety of a police station.”

  She pushed on his back. “Go!”

  Adam slid between the two front doors and exited into the foyer. He took a quick breath and then exited into the rain. This time, instead of being a shock to the system, the wetness was bracing. It made him feel connected to his body, ready to run like he had never run before. And that was what he did.

  Feet don’t fail me now.

  Thank God I’m wearing tracksuit bottoms and trainers. My scruffiness has proved useful.

  He dashed towards the main road, only thirty metres away. It was the middle of the night, which meant there was little hope of flagging down traffic, but the nearest house might only be half-a-mile away.

  All I need to do is bang on a door in the middle of the night and hope the owners don’t come out and attack me.

  Hey, the lights.

  Adam realised that the lampposts on the far side of the road were lit. The power wasn’t off. It was only the hall that was in darkness.

  What did that mean?

  It means someone cut the power only to the hall.

  That feeling of having a beast at his back returned. It made him sprint even faster. A panicked moan escaped his lips between pants, and he wondered what state of mind he would be in after all this was over. He already felt insane. Then he thought about Costa. Was he okay? What had he seen to make him click the walkie-talkie three times? A white face in the dark? Where was their attacker now? Still stalking Costa? Or heading back across the car park after Adam.

  I hope you’re safe, kid.