The Shoebox Pursuit - Part 2 - Footsteps and Shadows
CHAPTER TWO
The elite squadron earnestly raced through the raging storm - they needed shelter, they needed help and they needed it fast! Billy led the way, a fair few metres up ahead, barely visible due to the incredibly harsh weather conditions that were pummeling the group from every possible direction. He swore blind he had seen a building of some sorts from his vantage point on the cliff top just moments ago. Yankee and Doodle were locked and loaded, almost permanently stuck in a repeating twist, circling their Captain whilst scanning the surrounding area for any kind of threat, like a loud mouthed rotating human shield. In the centre of the protective bodyguards was Charlie, moving with great speed, clutching the now unconscious Specks like a sleeping baby in his arms. The Captain’s hands were drenched in blood, and he could feel the warmth quickly escaping from the small man’s body.
‘This way,’ yelled Billy, though it was hard to be certain of his words from the noise of the storm. ‘I’m sure it was this way.’
The storm savaged the area, like a bitter tempest churning up everything in it’s path. Lightning bolts streaked across the sky, momentarily illuminating the way, yet allowing nothing more than a brief tease of hope and direction. But just then a single and dazzling white streak of lightning erupted from the clouds above, heading straight towards the ground. It struck down, igniting the terrain just next to Billy. The flash of the impact was blinding and the noise unbelievable.
‘Jeez,’ he yelped, hopping to one side in a delayed and rather vain attempt to dodge the thing. But then another struck down, just inches away from the soldier - so close he could feel the heat! ‘Jesus!’ he remarked, louder and more frightened this time. And before he could catch his breath, a third attack hit the ground, the proximity so extreme this time that his skin was literally tingling. ‘Christ!’ he screamed, automatically leaping into a jump and roll. He stood up and cursed the skies, raising his gloved fist in anger. His blasphemies were a rather restrained reaction, given the severity of the situation.
‘Get your head back in the game, Billy,’ ordered Charlie, who was swiftly catching up with the young man.
Vigorously shaking off the close encounter, Billy sped up his search, perhaps because of how close Specks was to being lost, or perhaps to evade his own potential execution via the storm. But he was all too eager. And gradually as he moved further and faster than the others he began to fade into the curtain of rain that was pouring down. The men called out to slow him, to turn around, to come back, but he must not have heard them over the almost unbroken rolls of thunder. Until finally he was completely gone from plain sight. On losing visuals with Billy the remainder of the group burst their charge into an all out sprint, racing onwards, doubling their efforts to try and draw level. But no matter how fast they went they couldn’t find Billy. He was gone.
‘Stop moving before we all get lost,’ ordered Charlie, skidding himself to a halt. ‘Damn that kid.’ He was breathing heavily, clearly exhausted. ‘Come on Specks. Stay with me buddy,’ he said, clutching his passenger ever closer in a desperate attempt to pass over some of his own strength into the little man’s fading heart. The brothers began calling out for Billy, their voices desperate, panic-stricken, but there was no reply. They turned to their Captain, anxious for another order.
‘What do we do?’ asked Yankee, troubled.
Charlie couldn’t answer. Specks needed shelter, warmth and supplies. And he had none to offer him.
‘Cap’n?’ furthered Doodle, stepping forward, a vexed look imprinted on his face as his eyes flickered from Specks to Charlie, and back again.
At long last Charlie opened his mouth to answer, but was grateful to be cut off.
‘Over here,’ hollered Billy’s distant voice.
Charlie spun around on the spot, facing what he thought was the direction of the call. He burst back into a sprint, with the brothers hot on his heels, tripling their efforts to get to some kind of sanctuary. Billy’s voice kept calling out, and with every step they took it got louder. And finally, thankfully, they caught sight of the young man. He was waving his arms around wildly, standing in front of a pair of exceedingly tall iron gates. The squad quickly rushed over to join him.
There was very little time to take it all in, but they all saw it nonetheless. They knew now was not the time to stand and stare, but the scene was looming, demanding their attention. A high and mighty wall stretched as far as the eye could see in both directions. It was thick, heavy set, and had an abundance of weed and foliage growing all along it. Only the towering iron gates allowed any kind of insight into what laid behind the great wall. They peered into the grounds with wide eyes. A lengthy way down a muddy stretch of path sat an aged and crumbling mansion. It was massive, boasting waning flecks of beauty here and there, with a great variety of illustrious annexes and outhouses jutting out from either side. At the very top of the building sat a lofty and all-too-thin crooked tower, protruding from the roof high into the night sky, making the place look very unbalanced. The building was probably once glamorous, and perhaps housed sophisticated dinner parties and other such celebrations at one point in its existence. But now it looked abandoned, decades old, and badly damaged from the wrath of the war. As a result it was unsightly, unwelcoming, and downright sinister. But it was good enough for them.
‘It ain’t the Hilton…’ began Yankee, in a dreadful attempt to lighten the mood, but instead merely emphasizing his impeccably bad timing.
‘Shut it,’ commanded Charlie, in no mood for the boy’s humour, his concern for Specks escalating to the point of panic.
‘Gate’s chained shut,’ pointed out Billy, pulling on a thick chain that was wrapped around the iron bars several times over.
Doodle stepped forward, pulling his pistol from its holster and shunting Billy to one side. He aimed at the chain at point blank range and fired a single shot. The chain crumpled to the floor, broken. Without orders the three men began to push the heavy gates open between them. The rusty metal was heavy, awkward, and resisted their efforts. But eventually it moved, creaking and groaning as it went. The group took a few steps into the grounds, and looked across at their nearby destination. Once again the sky lit up in an abundance of lightning, cracks, streaks, decorating the sky directly above the mansion. It could have been their imagination, or perhaps it could have been a trick of the light, but for a very brief moment there was so much lightning intertwining in and amongst the heavens, that it almost looked like an ominous face was being drawn in the sky, momentarily glaring down at the isolated soldiers. All but Charlie took a rather nervous gulp.
‘Let’s move,’ he barked, barging past them all, and ignoring his own concern over what he just witnessed.
They all bolted down the mud path, their boots splashing through puddles and mounds of built-up dirt. Either side of the path was a deep swamp, which seemed to surround the entirety of the mansion, and was almost breaking over the top of the walkway. Dirty, bloody water gushed about the place, forming small black rivers running through various courtyards and dead gardens. Billy looked back behind him and couldn’t help but feel concerned as the iron gates slowly closed all by themselves. He hastily shook it off, summing it up to the weather, following Charlie and the boys down the path. Now they were that much closer to the building it seemed even more daunting. But right now all thoughts had to be on Specks.
They reached the mansion. Charlie ran up the few steps leading on to the porch. He didn’t bother looking at the boarded-up windows, or the barbed wire running all along either side of the porch, or the bullet holes in the woodwork. All he was looking at was the entrance - a pair of doors that were nailed shut with wooden planks. With a long deep breath he positioned himself, before booting the doors in. They swung open, and as creepy as it might seem, it actually sounded like the house was exhaling like a ghastly old witch taking a long-awaited breath. Billy and the brothers gulped again, feeling categorically uneasy. They peered inside, cautious. There was nothing but darkness. Normally Charlie wou
ld carefully assess the situation before charging in, but there was no time. And to the rest of his men’s surprise he dashed inside the building. As hesitant as they were, the rest of the squad followed, the doors instantly slamming closed behind them.
Inside was dim, cold and musty. But Charlie’s eyes were keen. The hallway was grand, with high ceilings and beautiful paintings plastered all over the walls. Directly in front of them all were two staircases - one leading upstairs towards a crooked old grandfather clock that wasn’t working, and the other led downstairs, into nothing but a blanket of darkness. All around them were doors, leading to who knows where, but Charlie dashed to the right, through a large yet rather unstable looking alcove. The room was just as dark as the rest of the house, but an ancient and expensive looking fireplace, with gold framings and beautiful carvings running throughout it was prominent in the room. Charlie placed Specks gently down in front of the grand feature on a thick rug. Even in this darkness the patient looked noticeably sick.
For a very brief moment no one said anything. All that could be heard was their individual exhausted breathing. They were dog-tired, soaked to the bone and freezing cold. But they didn’t seem to notice. All eyes were glued to Specks, who looked even more tiny and fragile than he had ever done before. Charlie’s brain was going a mile a minute as he processed everything, his eyes flickering from left to right as he assessed the situation and the options, staring at his bloody hands in horror.
He pulled himself together and got to it.
‘Yankee, I want this fire going, and I want it going now. Burn anything you can. I don’t care if you have to rip out the staircase, or pull up the floor boards. Get me some heat in here asap,’ ordered Charlie, his voice firm. ‘Doodle, get some lights going. Candles. Lamps. Whatever comes to hand. I can barely see my own nose! And something tells me I’m going to need to see what I’m doing!’ he continued. ‘And Billy, I need supplies and I need them quick. You know what to get.’
‘But how do you expect me to…’ harped up Billy.
But Charlie raised his hand, abruptly silencing the young man. He pointed at Billy, then firmly to the hallway they had just come from. All three men looked at him, waiting, hesitant to move.
‘NOW,’ he shouted.
Startled, they all jumped to attention and hurried to their tasks.
Charlie turned his attention to Specks. Instinctively he took off his own jacket, rolled it into a ball and gently placed it behind Specks’ head. He quietly lifted up the man’s shirt again and watched in dismay as blood continued to seep far too generously from the wound. Why was it still bleeding? He looked around, snatching a ghastly looking cover from a nearby chaise longue. It was dusty beyond belief, causing Charlie to cough as he inhaled the cloud of dirty air. He wrapped the cover up into a tight ball, then placed it over the wound, putting a great deal of pressure on it.
‘Billy,’ Charlie bellowed out into the house. ‘Move it.’ But there was no reply.
Specks’ lips began to tremble, and gradually he started to mumble a string of incoherent words. Charlie lent in close and listened. It was hard to make out at first, but slowly Specks began to make sense. He was repeating the same words over and over again. ‘The… bullet… is… still… inside.’
Charlie pulled himself away, a grave look on his face, the information sinking in all too fast. He knew what he had to do.
‘Doodle, where’s my light?’
‘Right here, sir,’ he replied, dashing into the room, carrying a pair of lit candlesticks. He placed them either side of Charlie and Specks, offering very little light to the situation.
‘Good lad, good lad,’ said Charlie. ‘Now go help your brother.’
Doodle hurried off into the house, after his brother, without question. But truth be told, the order was more for Charlie’s benefit than anyone else. He didn’t want an audience watching him when he made his next move - he was scared.
Charlie lifted off the now blood-soaked cover, throwing it to one side. He looked at the wound. It was still oozing blood. Charlie had big hands, too big for a procedure as delicate as this, but he didn’t trust anyone more than himself to risk Specks’ life. There was no choice - he was going in. He moved himself closer, ready to operate. But his hands were shaking. For a second he studied them, gazing at the things like he had never seen them before. He took three deep breaths, slowing his heart rate and calming himself. And as he did so his hands stopped shaking - they were his to control. At a snail’s pace, as delicate as he could possibly be, he pushed a thumb and a finger into the wound. He had very little idea what he was doing, and he hoped to God he didn’t do more damage than good. This was all new to him. It was warm, wet and everything felt identical, soft, squishy, alien. Further he pushed, cringing as he went, hopeful in his efforts. Until finally, at long last he felt it - something that did not belong there - a cold hard lump lodged in amongst the flesh - the bullet. He kept himself composed, regulating his breathing so as not to make any unnecessary movements. Carefully he moved his fingers either side of the bullet, squeezing a good grip on the thing. He wasn’t confident in his actions, yet bit by bit he started to pull the thing out, until he was done. He looked at it briefly, glaring at the bloody metal in the palm of his hand, before flicking it into the darkness of the room. He looked down at Specks, who looked close to death. The wound was now in an appalling state.
‘Billy,’ Charlie bellowed yet again.
‘Okay, okay. I’m here,’ replied Billy, entering the room at speed, carrying a drawer load of what could only be described as stuff.
He dropped it down, right next to Specks, before himself dropping to his knees. Neither of them spoke. Everything was instinct. Billy and Charlie sifted through the draw. It was limited. But whatever they were going to do, they had to do it fast. Charlie pulled out an almost empty bottle of gin, along with some duct tape - a lucky find. Whilst at the same time Billy pulled out some old and rusted copper wiring. It looked unsanitary, but it was their only option. If they had more time available maybe they could find something better in the confines of the house to use for such a delicate operation. But they hadn’t. This was going to be messy.
‘Charlie, are you sure about this?’ asked Billy, staring down at the wound.
‘No,’ he replied firmly. ‘But when was the last time we could be sure about anything?’
‘What happens if he is bleeding internally?’
‘We’d better pray he’s not.’
Billy snatched the bottle of gin and poured it all over the wound. Charlie took hold of either side of the abrasion and pinched it together as best he could, the two separate pieces of flesh pushing together and forming a small lip. Billy unraveled what little copper wiring he had, and straightened it out. Quickly he jabbed it into the lip, piercing the flesh, coming out the other side. Specks winced in pain, even in his unconscious state. Billy apologised under his breath, before quickly bending the wire around and repeating the process, over and over, until he had wired from one end of the wound all the way to the other and tied it into a knot. It looked ugly and rough, but the hole was at least closed. Billy swapped roles with his Captain, placing his hands on either side of the wound, supporting the copper wiring, keeping the hole firmly closed, whilst Charlie ripped the duct tape into thin strips. Swiftly he moved, taping up the makeshift surgery as tightly as he could, again and again, until none of the wound was visible.
They sat back, finished. They wished they could have dealt with the situation with a great deal more elegance and skill, instead of like a pair of mechanics tackling an old banger with hammers and fists. But either way they had done their best. They went quiet, exhausted, terrified, yet relieved. They stared at the little man in great concern, neither one of them uttering a word. And just then the fire ignited to life. They hadn’t not noticed the brother’s efforts in getting it going. The fire quickly flooded the room in a dim orange glow, gradually filling the area in a welcomed warmth. Yankee and Doodle sat themselv
es down next to Charlie and Billy, staying unusually quiet. All eyes were on Specks, who was bloodied and pale, but alive. There was nothing more to do than wait.