Hurst, Robin Crumby [funny books to read .txt] 📗
- Author: Robin Crumby
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Tommy froze. From just outside the door, they could hear muffled voices and scuffed footsteps on the stone floor. The three of them unconsciously stepped backwards, awkwardly clutching their weapons. There was a series of dull thuds against the door, although it didn’t sound like they were trying to force entry. Another louder thump and then the sound of liquid, like someone relieving themselves against the door. They smelled the fuel before they saw it as a rivulet snaked under the door, pooling directly below the stack of chairs and boxes, soaking into the cardboard. They heard the strike of a match and then a whoosh as the fuel vapour ignited.
Tommy reacted first. He ran down the corridor back towards the basement where Toby and the other children were cowering. In the corner of the room was a bucket that the children had been using as a toilet. It was half-full, stinking and slopping as Tommy ran back towards the doorway. When he reached the passageway, the smoke on the inside was already spreading rapidly throughout the complex, blown by drafts and air currents that made the castle freezing in the winter. He got as close to the door as he could and threw the bucketload of slops across the floor, trying to sluice the petrol away. It did little more than disperse the fuel more widely around the doorway.
The other three had raced off to try and find the buckets of sand placed around the castle complex, leaving Tommy alone watching the fire take hold. He kicked at the furniture stack, trying to dislodge the nearest item. Their hard work to secure the door had turned out to be misplaced effort. The chairs and boxes were wedged solid and he was forced back by the heat and choking fumes. He tried one last time, grabbing hold of the carpet balanced precariously on top. Gravity did the rest and the whole stack collapsed against the opposite wall, blocking the passage. The initial flash from the petrol began to die down as flames licked harmlessly at the stone walls.
Tommy shielded his face from the heat, retreating back down the passageway. He stayed low until the smoke was less dense. From all directions men and women were shouting, panicked by cloying fumes that made their chests heave.
Nathan raced down the stairs, appealing to Tommy and the others to get back to their posts. “For God’s sake, put those fires out. Smother them in blankets, or whatever you can find. They’re trying to smoke us out,” he shouted over his shoulder, racing to the next post.
****
In the shadow of the castle’s western wall, Will was making slow but steady progress, creeping towards the main gate, making as little sound as possible. He was keeping his eyes on the vessel that had moored up a few minutes ago, hoping he was invisible in the darkness. He counted eleven men as one by one they dashed across the roadway to wait by the drawbridge, pressed against the stone.
Will crouched behind a gorse bush, waiting for them to make their move. When he heard the explosions, he was paralysed for a few minutes. Without a weapon, he stood little chance against Copper’s heavily armed paramilitaries. His best chance was to disarm a lone guard and attack from the rear where they would least expect it. He thought he glimpsed Copper giving orders, but he couldn’t be sure from this distance.
He lost sight of the group when Copper’s men headed inside. There was now only a single figure left guarding the entrance. This was the best chance he was going to get. Will crept closer and was now no more than thirty metres away. He recognised the guard from his time at the hospital: a spotty youth, seventeen at most. Will fancied his chances and readied himself to pounce. He was a dozen footsteps away when his boot slipped on a rock.
It was as if the next few milliseconds were in slow motion. The kid whipped his head around, surprised to see Will so close. He glanced down to flick the safety off his semi-automatic rifle before bringing it to bear. Will threw himself the last few metres, lunging at the weapon, trying to knock it from the kid’s grasp. The boy fumbled for the safety and was a fraction of a second too slow. The gun fired just as Will’s lead hand knocked it sideways, the bullet passing harmlessly through the fabric of his shirt. Will wrestled the gun from the boy’s hands and brought the butt down against the side of his head, knocking the youth out cold.
Will searched the boy’s pockets and found a torch and two more clips, before climbing through what remained of the gate and drawbridge. Standing in the covered entrance were two more of Copper’s men, facing away from him, oblivious to his approach. At the last moment, one of the men turned his head. It was one of the guards from the hospital, responsible for many of the beatings and blows Will had suffered. The other man he had seen at the pub.
Will’s lip curled into a snarl, as he squeezed off a short burst from the hip at close range, propelling the man forward against the wall. His next victim suffered a similar fate, slumping to the ground, clutching at the wound in his lower back. Will stepped over their bodies, pausing to meet the look of pained surprise from eyes that were already closing.
He stood with his back against the wall to the guardhouse, catching his breath, considering his next move. Will crouched down suddenly as a face appeared at the window before darting out of sight again. Will smiled, struggling to contain a laugh. A blur of red hair remained just visible. It had to be Scottie. There couldn’t be more than a thousand people left alive with hair like that. He put his face close to the glass and whispered quietly. “Hey, Scottie. It’s me.”
Scottie must have recognised the friendly voice instantly, but remained hidden, not quite believing his ears. “Will, is that really you?”
“Who else would it be, you giant sporran? Get this door open will you and get out here.”
There were a few seconds of loud scraping and thumps as Scottie moved the desk and cabinet out of the way. The key turned in the lock and the heavy door swung open. Scottie’s beaming smile greeted Will and they hugged each other.
“Right, laddie. Time to get our own back.”
Chapter FiftyThe helicopter carrying Sam and Jack lined up astern of the American destroyer making final course and speed corrections to compensate for the fourteen-knot crosswind. The Chester’s landing area was fully floodlit. The rest of the ship was still shrouded in darkness, its slow turning radar just visible. A forest of radio masts and antennas were silhouetted against a grey skyline, growing brighter in the distance. On the deck below them, an air marshal was standing in the shelter of the aft superstructure, holding high two illuminated hand beacons to guide the pilot. A light sea swell required precision timing to adjust for the rise and fall of the ship. To Sam’s relief, they touched down safely just off centre of the “H” in the landing area at the stern of the destroyer.
The pilot powered down the engines as the ground crew hurried out to slide open the side door, ready to transfer the injured on to two trolleys that were brought out to meet the aircraft. Sam wiped tears from his eyes, still haunted by what he had seen as they’d flown over the castle. He unclipped his harness, and helped the airmen lift the first gurney holding the wounded soldier on to the deck of the ship. On a count of three, they levered Jack's barely conscious body up and over the trolley’s metal rail, which was promptly raised and clamped into position. Two crewmembers from the Chester took over the care of the injured and wheeled them inside, towards the dim red light of the ship’s hatch.
Sam followed silently behind Jack’s trolley, his mind still trying to make sense of the confused scenes he had witnessed on their return, in particular the inferno burning in the canteen and stores. What could have happened? He could only assume the castle was under attack, but by whom and why?
Peterson caught up with them: “Wait up.” Sam paused in the cramped confines of a passageway, just wide enough for two men to pass, with pipes and overhead cabling stretching as far as he could see. Peterson put an arm around Sam’s shoulder. “I’ll ask the master of the watch to set you up with somewhere to sleep. You hungry?”
“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to stay with Jack,” said Sam.
“He’ll be well looked after. The medic will patch him up. If I were you, I’d get some rest. As soon as it’s light, we’ll take a squad back to Hurst to find out what happened. Petty Officer Flannigan will take care of you. Just tell him what you need and he’ll fix you up.”
Flannigan was standing ready, his hands behind his back. He wore a blue T-shirt with the ship’s insignia on it. He acknowledged the order and invited Sam to follow him down to the medical centre.
****
The surgeon attended to Jack, dressed in green overalls and a surgical mask that obscured half his face. He looked up at Sam with smiling eyes, noting his melancholy. “You must be Sam. People call me Doc. I’m the senior medical officer on this ship. Looks like your friend Jack here has been in the wars. Don’t worry. We’ll have him back on his feet in no time.”
Sam thanked the surgeon and lingered shell-shocked as a female nurse swabbed the nasty-looking wound to a shoulder that would need several stitches. Flannigan escorted him back to a waiting room along the corridor. As soon as Sam sat down on the plastic chair, he was overwhelmed with tiredness. By the time Flannigan reappeared with a mess tray complete with a mug of coffee, a carton of milk, some pasta with tomato sauce, together with canned fruit in syrup, Sam had his head back against the whitewashed wall, already fast asleep.
****
Flannigan left him to sleep, shaking him awake a few hours later, the tray still beside his chair, untouched. Sam looked up, his eyes red and swollen, to see the welcome sight of Jack standing there, braced against the doorway. Jack wore a US navy grey sweatshirt, his face still pale, his arm in a sling, but with a purposeful look about him.
“They told me what happened, Sam. About Terra. About Hurst.” His voice was croaky when he spoke. He swallowed hard, before continuing in a low voice, through gritted teeth. “We’ve got to get back there. We should never have left our people.”
The surgeon appeared behind him, eavesdropping on their conversation. “Now hold up, Jack. When my men found you, you were in shock, in no state to do anything. What you need, my friend, is a couple of days’ bed rest.” He paused, noticing the wild look in Jack’s eyes. “But I can see from the half-crazed look in your eyes that that’s not going to happen. Best thing I can suggest is that I take you straight to the bridge and you talk to the commanding officer, Lieutenant Peterson. I think y’all have met.”
“I appreciate your concern, doctor, but I need to get off this ship and find out what happened. My place is with my people.”
“Very well. Flannigan,
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