Hunters: A Trilogy (40 page)

Red smashed his forehead onto the steering wheel, uttering a strangled scream of rage as a thick rivulet of blood ran into his left eye. His lips spat blood and hatred. ‘Fuk you – fuk all of ya!’ he snarled. Red shook his head back and forth so violently that for one second it seemed as though he might be having some kind of a fit.

Red’s tormentor never batted an eyelid. ‘Yes, yes, I know that you are angry, and that is quite understandable. But, so are we, Mister Tolder, we are very angry indeed!’ George said, smiling menacingly. ‘We are angry that someone such as yourself, someone who is so selfish, so mean, self-centred and uncaring as you are, would even contemplate trying to outwit us!’ He leant forward, anger leaping from his eyes, his gaze almost seeming to illuminate the interior of the Spear.

Seeing that gaze seemed to deflate Red, he shrank back into the seat and lowered his head, ginger hairs on the backs of those huge hands glistening as he clasped his skull. After a while, he raised his head and looked at the monitor.

With eyes bulging, he uttered his penultimate sentence.

‘Fuk all o’ ya!’ he whispered, then sat back and closed his eyes.

George’s acidic words knifed into the stillness of the cab, ‘Actually, it will be you, who gets ‘fucked’ old chap,’ he snapped. ‘Yes, ‘fucked’, indeed!’

The pause before the old man’s next sentence seemed to be interminable.

Eventually he continued, saying: ‘You see, we thought you may well be up to no good from the very beginning, but we played along in the vain hope that some goodness may be forthcoming from you and your masters. It was never an option really, was it? You were all far too greedy! But we know that now, don’t we?’

He went on to explain how they had let Red think he had a second device, how they had tricked him with electronic wizardry and made the second stone appear as though it was a real Light Maker. It was just a game to them and they had never imagined Red would do what he had done. George said that Red had never been to their world, it was just another piece of holographic imagery, merely a little trick they had played on him and he had never even left the surface of the planet. The brutal slaying of Jonathon and Mr Wilson, and the unexpected stealing of the real Light Maker had caught them by surprise. Luckily, Michael and Kenneth were at hand, even though they were both killed, they had been used to provoke Red into initiating the device, a device that had been merely a prototype.

George looked down from the screen and shook his head in despair.

‘We needed you to initiate the device,’ he whispered. ‘Anything in order to get it out of your hands would do, the chance of it actually exploding was never going to be a problem because Michael was always going to be able to heal it anyway. We just wanted you away from the Stone, far away from it. You see, we needed you to bring the Demon to us, bring the Darkness to a place of our choosing, a place from which there can be no escape!’ He stared without emotion at his prisoner. Then, after a short pause, during which neither man spoke, George eventually said, ‘And so, here you are, my dear boy, here you are indeed!’ He smiled disarmingly.

Red said nothing, sitting there with a sullen expression upon his face, the trickle of blood had coagulated on his cheek as he sat with eyes shut, huge fists rhythmically opening and closing.

George continued, saying: ‘So, you see, I am afraid to say that you, young master Red, are nothing more than a trap!’ He raised his eyebrows questioningly but only received a low moan in reply from the captive giant.

When George spoke again, it was as though he’d become a Judge, one who had donned a black cap and was delivering his final sentence. Very calmly, he announced: ‘So, we are going to bring you back, yes, definitely – but your final destination will not be within the luxurious surroundings that you so desire. No, you will have a far more illustrious final abode!’ He stared into the cab, eyes glowing as he delivered the final blow.

With a thin smile, he said, ‘We are transferring you straight into the centre of the universe, it will be there, amongst the beauty and the blackness of its endless horizons, that you will be detonated. With you will be one of the last remaining pieces of this current Demon, he and you will be spread across the infinite heavens!’ With his voice cracking in anger, George continued with Red’s bad news. ‘It is all rather fitting, is it not? I do believe that if you did have any Gods, then they may well take this generous gesture into account before deciding upon your eternal fate, my friend!’ he said, gazing unblinkingly into the cab of the Spear.

Red’s face had gone white, eyes bulging obscenely from their sockets. The shocking rush of truth had completely stunned him. He looked rather like a school bully, one who had been confronted by someone much bigger and much smarter than he, someone who, without compassion, was going to give him the hiding of his life. Red looked about ready to weep as he spoke his final words, although a begging rant would be a rather more accurate description.

‘No, please don’t send me! I can be more o’ a help to yo’all,’ he pleaded. ‘I can change, it was them others made me do it, they said you were full o’ sheeit, said I should get the device, they made me do it!’

The awful sound of George’s dry laugh sent Red into despair, he screamed, and it was the sound of playground misery.

‘I know thangs! I kin help, you cain’t sends me nowhere, please don’t kill me, please don’t…’ Fat, greasy tears burst their banks and rolled down his cheeks, they mixed with the blood to become a crimson river, running across his chin, frantic breathing caused tiny red bubbles to froth in the corner of his quivering mouth. With a horrible shudder, he began to stiffen, almost as though he was receiving an electric shock.

It was then that the Darkness made its appearance. A smoky black mist wisped from Red’s body, like steam rising from damp clothing, its liquidity writhed obscenely and began to race around the inside of the vehicle, slithering into every nook-and-cranny, oozing into the air vents and smearing itself against the windows. In desperation the substance tried to escape, whilst Red remained sitting in stupefied silence, mouth hanging open, frozen in wild-eyed horror as the Darkness fluttered around him in hopeless anger.

George looked disapprovingly at him. Then he shook his head and said, ‘You know nothing, Red, nothing at all, the Darkness has taken you, and so, it is together that you must go!’

Then, and with no more than a casual flick of his left hand, George sent Red into eternity. Bright light surrounded the vehicle, and with a quivering blink, it and Red were gone. Jane was quite sure that she heard Red utter a long, gurgling scream; it was the sound of a lonely child, trapped at the bottom of a very deep well, an awful, soul-wrenching plea of a scream. And one that went unanswered.

As the silver screen before them began to darken, they heard George’s voice once more. ‘And so the World turns…’ he said. With that, the screen shimmered once and then dissolved back into the machine from whence it had appeared.

Mike turned to them, saying: ‘And that, ladies and gents, will be the end of Red and, you’ll be happy to hear, the end of the Darkness he inherited from his father. In that particular line of events, this is how it will all end.’

Ken was ecstatic. ‘Bloody hell!’ he said. ‘What an ironic way for him to get the good news, I’m really glad that we’re on George’s side!’ He shook his head in amazement, or horror, or both.

Jane didn’t quite know what to say, so she asked if they would like a drink, and without waiting for an answer, stood up and made her way into the kitchen. She was amazed by what she had seen, but was also pleased as she now knew for sure, one hundred per cent, that Ken was fine. Previously there had been a tiny shadow of doubt in her mind. ‘Maybe the injury
has
sent him nuts…’

However, that particular thought had now jumped on the first plane ride out of her mind. ‘And don’t come back, either!’ she whispered. Now she knew that he was definitely okay, and that was just fine by her. They were together once more, and with Mike’s help, would be able to make some sense of this.

Jane felt sure of that.

What the hell that black stuff had been, was an entirely different question…

Reaching up to the cupboard, she fetched the bottle of brandy down once more. Thinking out loud, she said, ‘I think we could all do with a good shot of this!’ The words made her smile as she switched the kettle on and reached for some fresh mugs. In the dining room, she heard the two men laughing.

Jane closed her eyes and offered a silent prayer of thanks to their Guardian Angels for bringing them home to her. ‘I hope you lot have plenty of overtime left,’ she joked with the winged ones, ‘it looks as though you’re going to be needing it!’

It had been a while since the kid had been killed. Stevo guessed it was almost two years ago now, but, to be honest, he didn’t care how long it had been, or about the kid. It just so happened to be that it was all over the news again. Some dumb-blonde reporter was waffling on about the case once more. By the sounds of things, Gazzer had put in another appeal, reckoning he was unduly punished, crying that his sentence was too stiff.

Stevo snarled at the picture. ‘Whining little prick, he’d pulled the trigger, hadn’t he? The shit-head should have made sure he had hit the bastards he was aiming for, shouldn’t he?’ He threw the remote at the TV. The thin plastic case exploded on impact, sending its batteries rattling off the wooden unit. The Sanyo’s volume rose into a speaker-crackling crescendo. Stevo groaned: ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ Rising to his feet, he reached over, hit the off button and headed for the fridge, a thick coating of spilled beer and other unmentionables sucking at the soles of his black Nike trainers as he walked across the lino-covered floor.

Grabbing himself a can of Special Brew from the otherwise-empty fridge, he slammed the door shut and cracked the ring pull. The frothy liquid burst forth and Stevo stooped to capture most of the foam in his open mouth, he let the rest of it escape to run across his chin and spatter in amongst the rest of the filth below. He chugged half of the beer in one go, lowered the can and belched loudly.

The cold alcohol cleared his head slightly – a hangover from the previous night’s excesses was still banging against his temples, the leaden taste of whiskey and marijuana still coating his mouth with their slimy fur. He coughed and then expelled a mouthful of brownish spittle into the sink, leaving the phlegm to run down the side of a greasy plate. It slithered like a slug, dangled for a moment and then glooped into the dirty water of the overflowing washing-up bowl. ‘This fucking place sucks!’ he thought, reaching for a roll-up.

Pulling a chair out from under the kitchen table’s scarred surface, Stevo brushed Jeanie’s make-up paraphernalia to one side with a curse. ‘I see the slut didn’t come home again last night, slack bitch!’ He caught a glimpse of himself in the small makeup mirror that sat propped against the wall. Shocking blonde hair lay dankly across his pale, acne-ruined forehead. Three day stubble spiked out from his thin cheeks and his dull blue eyes were outlined by red, almost raw, eyelids.

He grinned at himself through a haze of tobacco smoke; crooked yellow teeth only relieved by the singular gold cap on the front left incisor, the tooth had cost a fortune and matched the heavy chains dangling from his scrawny neck and wrists. He turned away from the mirror and reached up to drag his left hand across an unshaven face – he felt like shit, but knew that after another two beers he would be back on track.

‘Nine-thirty may be a bit early for a spliff,’ he thought, ‘but definitely not for some more piss!’ Stevo definitely liked that idea; with a grin he gulped back the rest of his beer. Lobbing the can towards an overflowing bin, he laughed as it missed by a mile and went clattering under one of the lopsided kitchen units.

After retrieving another two cans from the fridge, and grabbing a slice of stale bread, in which he wrapped a thick piece of cheddar cheese covered in brown sauce, he sat back down and contemplated his day’s activities. ‘I’ll get a few beers down, have a quick spliff and then hit the bookies,’ he thought. It sounded just fine, especially since his benefit payment would be in the bank by twelve o’clock. ‘This is gonna be a good day, Stevo, lad, a very good day!’ he whispered.

Just as he was cracking open a second can, the TV in the sitting room boomed into life again, the unexpected noise made him jump – he coughed as a lump of cheese caught in his throat. Cursing, he walked into the sitting room and bent forward to hit the off switch, pausing momentarily to stare at the dusty, fingerprint-covered screen as he did so. The report dealing with Gazzer’s case was still on air. Stevo stood and watched, unable to help himself.

He had been part of it… lived it for years… he’d been to court, suffered the jeers and the cheers, pushed through the endless packs of reporters as they jostled him, screaming for his attention. ‘Stevo, look this way, Stevo – are you guilty? Stevo, look over here, Stevo!’ He’d stood there, blinking proudly in his moment of flash-bulb glory. When he’d ultimately escaped justice they’d all gone crazy. But Stevo had revelled in it. Yes, he knew every word of the tale, he’d seen almost all of the countless hours of media coverage, and yet it still fascinated him.

The blonde woman was talking again and he watched the faces of the gang flash onto the screen, his amongst them, as she regurgitated their heinous crimes. She reiterated the sentences of those who had been convicted, and once more told the tale of how Stevo and the two others had been found not guilty. The kid’s parents were on again, talking of justice and of their hope that he and his ‘Not Guilty’ friends would suffer their shame and guilt forever. The couple were still pleading with the Police and the Government to put an end to gangs and crime on the streets, begging for someone to come forward with the rest of their names.

Stevo scowled at the TV, sneering: ‘Blah-fucking-blah! Shit happens, nobody meant for him to be hit, he was a civilian who just happened to be in the wrong place, it wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last, just look at a real warzone, lady, look at Afghanistan or sommat, that’s what you call casualties, you stupid bloody cow!’ He stuck his middle finger up at the screen. ‘Shaddup whining,’ he said. ‘You’ve had your friggin compensation, what more do you want, for Christ’s sake?’