Dead Frost - 02 (21 page)

'Well, it was a
mistake,' Terry finally managed. He was about to lower his hands
when he felt the cold barrel of a rifle press against his ear.
'Look, I don't know what else to say. We thought we would be able to
pick up some supplies while we were out here, you know, medicine and
food. If we'd have known how much shit it was gonna cause
―
'

'You have no idea
what shit you've caused,' Victor sneered from the side, which meant
the hulking idiot, David Moon, was the possessor of the rifle. It
didn't make Terry feel any easier, and all of a sudden he developed
the need to use the toilet.

'So what now?'
Terry asked, hopping from one foot to the other; the snow crunched
beneath his boots, but the cold was somehow soaking through his
socks, which made him dance on the spot more than he would have
liked, considering the circumstances. Terry was expecting the
Captain to curse, show his disapproval at such an idiotic
rescue-attempt, grab Shane and Marla, and head on back to the
helicopter, which must be somewhere near; Victor rarely went anywhere
without it.

'Take me to them,'
Victor said. He was moving around, though Terry still hadn't seen
his face since they'd appeared out of nowhere. 'I need to have a few
words with that prick, Shane, before I put an end to all of you.'

Terry thought he
misheard in the first instance. Of course he misheard; a
death-threat – promise? - from the Captain was obscene, wasn't
it?

'Excuse me?' Terry
said, beginning to lower his arms once again. When the frosty
rifle-barrel brushed the back of his head, he lifted them wearily
back up.

'You heard him,'
Moon said, poking him just behind the ear with the tubular-steel of
the rifle. 'Now, I think you should get moving. This trigger
freezes up, you never know what might happen.'

The school-bus had
suddenly become nothing more than a pipe-dream, now. An oasis, about
to vanish for the last time.

Terry could hardly
breathe; the realisation that death was only minutes away could do
that to a man, and the irony was not lost on him.

He pointed towards
the open door which led into the school. 'We decided to hanker down
for the night,' he said. 'Didn't see much point in trying to carry
on in this shit.' He gestured half-heartedly towards the sky. 'I
only just found this here bus, otherwise I'm sure Shane would have
carried on through the night.'

'Well,' Victor
said, appearing from the shadows. 'Ain't we lucky that you didn't
bother to check out back like you prob'ly should have done? We never
would've caught up with you.'

Terry pondered the
fact, and found the desire to kick himself, hard. The Captain was
right, though; they
should
have checked. However, it was
difficult to raise enough morale – and bravery – when you
had just seen one of your friends die at the hands of kids still
young enough to piss the bed. Terry didn't feel the need to mention
that little episode, though. Why give Victor Lord any more
ammunition than he already had.

Which was
apparently
lots
.

'In,' Victor said,
his coat rustled as he raised his arm and pointed towards the door.
'Take us to them.'

Terry nodded
morosely. He would take Victor to them, and
then
what? He
heard what had been said, and since glossed over. They would
die
,
perhaps where they lay intertwined. Terry would be next, his
conscience dirtier than a meth-dealer's. Was that how it was going
to pan out? Was that how the Lord had decided Terry Lewis's fate?

Terry began to
crunch through the snow, slowly making his way for the open door that
ultimately led to his final resting-place.

'And don't try
anything,' Victor added. 'Or you'll suffer more than you need to.'

Thanks
,
Terry thought.
You're the best executor I could have wished for.

The three
men entered the school; Victor remained at the rear and pulled the
door shut behind them. Why let any unnecessary cold in, especially
since they would all be spending what remained of the night there.
Some, admittedly, would be breathing a lot less than others, but
still...

'It's just down
this way,' Terry said jabbing a conspiratorial finger towards the
corridor that lay ahead. 'I don't suppose it'll do any of us any
favours if I decide to
beg
?'

Moon laughed;
Victor didn't.

'Do you honestly
think that you can talk your way out of this?' the Captain asked.
For such a short sentence, he made sure to emphasise every word so
that it lasted for what seemed like an eternity. 'You made your bed,
shit in it, and that's where you'll sleep.'

Terry had never
heard it put like that before, but it was an apt description of the
trouble they were about to face.

Then, Victor said
something that neither Terry or Moon expected. 'Tell you what, old
boy. You give me Shane and the doctor, and I'll let you and the
other one live. You can come back to the barracks with us. How does
that sound?'

Terry was
speechless; it was the kind of offer that he would have jumped at,
once upon a time. The other one –
Jared
– was
never making it back to the barracks, though, not unless they could
find a mop and bucket, and Terry knew that he couldn't betray Shane
and Marla like that.

'Sounds like you've
got yourself a deal,' Terry lied. Even though he hadn't meant it, he
felt a pang of remorse as the words passed his lips.

Terry led Victor
and his trigger-happy minion down the corridor, away from the room
where Shane and Marla slept. He had no idea where he was going to
end up, or what he would do when he got there, but for now it was all
he could do. He was in no position to take the men on, and even if
he made a move for the rifle in Moon's hand the chances are he would
end up decorating the school walls with his own lifeblood.

As the air palpably
altered – it was almost as if it thickened, making it more
difficult to breathe – Terry hoped that he had rediscovered his
faith in time. He had lived so long without it, perhaps God had
forsaken him. Maybe, and this is the part that frightened him the
most, it didn't make a blind bit of difference whether he had faith
or not. What if he was going to die, anyway, regardless? What if
those years as a Padre had been wasted, and there was nothing but
darkness and eternal sleep?

As those thoughts
mercilessly assaulted him, he had to fight back the urge to turn to
Victor and inform him of the real whereabouts of Shane and the
doctor. He just about managed to retain what little faith he had,
and pushed on up through the corridor, heart racing so fast he could
hear nothing else.

As he reached the
next passageway, he knew that enough was enough; he could lead them
on a merry-fucking-journey all night long, but that didn't detract
from the end-product.

He was going to
die.

He was simply
prolonging the inevitable.

'They're through
there,' Terry said, pointing towards a door that could lead to
anywhere. 'But you have to promise me that you'll make it quick,
while they sleep.'

'Sorry,' Victor
said, in a voice that suggested he was anything but. 'I need to have
a little parley with that fool before Moon shoots him.'

As if the mere
mention of his name excited him, the soldier patted the side of the
rifle with a mixture of pride and anxiety.

'So be it,' Terry
said. The Captain's response didn't change anything, for the room
was severely lacking in potential marks. 'Can I stay here? I don't
want them to know that I led you to them.'

Victor sighed,
glanced at his colleague, who was shifting nervously from one foot to
the other. When he turned his attention back to Terry, there was a
slight glint of compassion in his eyes, very obscure, almost
nonexistent, but it was there.

'Okay,' he
whispered. 'But don't try nothing, or you'll die here, tonight,
along with them, you understand?'

Terry nodded.

'Okay, let's get
this over with so we can go home.'

Terry watched as
the two men headed for the door. He knew that the room on the other
side would be empty, and yet he anticipated a miracle of sorts,
anything to stop the maniacal Captain and his overgrown henchman in
their tracks.

They pushed the
door open and stepped into the darkness.

Terry closed his
eyes and silently prayed.

*

The room was some
kind of theatre, with seats laid out in rows from the front of the
room to the very back. There was a stage at the head of the room,
elevated from the ground by roughly three feet. At the side of the
stage were little wooden steps leading up. The curtains were pulled
shut, but there must have been an open window somewhere because they
flapped with each new howl of the wind.

Victor signalled to
Moon:
Move quietly
. It was quite the request for somebody of
his stature, but he would try his best not to knock anything or cause
a row since it was liable to get him shot.

Behind them, the
door clicked shut. They both turned, not knowing what to expect, and
the relief hit them as they realised that it was just the door.

The floor was
soaked, and they tread carefully as they moved up the centre-aisle.
At first Victor thought there must have been a leak in the roof, or
perhaps the water-mains had burst and flooded the entire hall.

And then he
realised that it wasn't water, at all.

Blood. Enough to
cause ripples in the surface as they walked, at least five
millimetres.

The aisle was wide
enough for three people, maybe four, which relaxed Victor somewhat;
there was very little chance of his accompanying ogre from kicking a
chair and warning the deserters of their presence.

Victor had Terry's
shotgun strapped to his back, which seemed to take the edge off. He
pulled it out and quietly removed the safety. There was no point
going into this half-cocked, and he forgot to ask the old one if
Shane was armed.

The wind kicked up
a fuss, howling like an escaped lunatic, and somewhere in the room a
window rattled in its frame. The curtain danced on the stage, and
then it opened a little.

Through the tiniest
of gaps in the material, Victor could see movement.

They were
definitely back there, hiding behind the curtains like some
agoraphobic neighbour. The room was dark, but the moonlight had
offered just enough of a glimpse to prove the old man had led them to
the right place.

As they reached the
end of the aisle, Victor pointed to the left; the place where he
wanted Moon positioned. He would take the right.

The soldier nodded
and moved across. Once there, he settled down just in front of the
curtain and pulled the rifle into position just below his cheek. He
watched as the Captain moved away, but he could see a thin smile
begin to curve up on his lips as he stealthily shifted.

David Moon had seen
very little in the way of wartime; apart from a short stint in Iraq,
but that had simply been a peace-keeping tour, nothing nasty. This,
however, made his heart race so fast he thought he might piss
himself. He was literally buzzing at the thought of what was going
to go down.

Victor climbed
slowly onto the stage, and for an older guy he was still pretty
lithe. Moon expected to hear bones cracking, or something.

The Captain took a
long, silent breath before pulling the curtain across. With the
shotgun raised, ready to fire, he screamed at the top of his lungs,
'YOU FUCKED WITH THE WRONG GUY WHEN YOU STOLE MY FUCKING
JEEEEEEEEP!'

On the other side
of the stage, pulling the curtain so hard that it almost came
unhooked at the top, David Moon powered forward, his face exhibiting
several expressions at once: anger, hatred, excitement...and fear.

He was caught off
balance for a moment as he realised what he had launched himself
whole-heartedly into.

The prick and the
doctor were nowhere to be seen on the stage.

Instead there were
children, dressed up in various colourful costumes, but one things
was immediately made clear.

They were hungry.