Dead Dry - Chapter 1

I rested the bike up against the out shed then crouching low and set the heavy pack down on the dirt. My position was out of sight from both the access track and cottage, I knew this was the point of no return and as such my most vulnerable to back out, so in a scurry I fumbled to put the gloves on before removing the pistol from the side pouch.

I stood stiffly, sliding the heavy steel into my waist belt, as I walked to the front door the barrel felt cold but reassuring.

Taking one final look along the road I tapped firmly on the door.

I couldn’t hear the handle twist or the door grate, nor did I hear the words that spat at me, two cracked eye sockets struggling to focus as they fought the daylight glare.

My chest smashed waves of numbing clatter up and through my scull, for a moment I thought I’d feverishly collapse.

Again the words spat at me, the eyes beginning to adjust and take shape.

No need to answer, instead snapping like a coiled spring I lunged violently at the doorway. Lifting the framed figure off its feet and propelling him deep into the dank corridor within. Half tripping we both exploded on the floorboards, the weight of the pack bearing down with surprising force.

Immediately the body beneath twisted to the foetal position. A low resonating howl began gasping.

Standing abruptly I stumbled to the door throwing it shut.

Turning to face the body I was surprised it hadn’t moved nor attempted to fight. I stood silent, listening as the figure let out a long grown, I’d winded him solidly and a sudden pleasure came over me. I worked a giggle which rapidly twisted to a hearty bellow, I’d not laughed like this in years and it felt righteous.

The figure slowly straightened and we found ourselves staring into one another’s eyes. The voice that followed a tremble tone, unsure and afraid…

 

“Take whataya want, I...”

Cutting him off I throw myself down on my haunches.

 

“SHUT THE F**K UP. You don’t get to speak anymore.”

The eyes widened, the lonely figure suddenly becoming vulnerable and in confusion it again began to murmur.

“Pleassse don’t..”

His plea instantly fuelling rage within. I snatched at my belt revealing the pistol. Without pause thrusting the barrel splaying apart the mans cracked lips, chipping a front tooth.

Anxious the loaded chamber with safety off would accidently fire, I held the steel firm, finger resting on the trigger guard.

“YOU DON’T GET TO F*****G SPEAK!”

In the following obedient silence a high pitch ringing sound filled within, instantly I began to doubt. Fear was encroaching, distracted by the overwhelming situation. Then as swift had fear appeared, support came in the form of a distant inner third voice, faintly at first then growing to a repetitive scream.

“Don’t you break now… Move, MOVE god damn.”

Grabbing his stained collar and with the barrel firmly thrust motionless beyond crooked jaw, I levered the man up, resonating a barking command.

“UP!! Get up! Move… MOVE!!”

Trampling into what was once a presentable living area I manhandled the stumbling body over to a large solid wooden chair, the thick arms worn and darkened by years of grime. This chair was evidently the place he’d lived and spent most of his pitiful days.

Two large, low tables held everything and all the man’s daily needs; books, papers, mugs, an assortment of empty bottles and cans sprawled in disarray. An overflow had scattered onto the floor creating a perimeter that had to be stepped over.

The need to secure him quickly was paramount, to this end I retracted the pistol, its release creating a gargle of foam spit that ran down the side of the chin only to then drawl and connect to the tweed of the man’s jumper. Securing the now wet, warm weapon back in the belt I pulled four silk tights from a side pocket. Lashing both arms and legs meticulously to the solid frame structure of the chair.

With the knowledge he was completely incapacitated I left the room, walked to the front entrance and gazed out across the frontage of the cottage. The remoteness was as real as it had been at the hideout.

The access track snaked its way down to the property, anyone approaching would be spotted and heard from a comfortable few miles.

Slightly easing at my achievement I closed the front door and in frozen breath stood for a long while.

Silence, I was in control, the plan and list of tasks now starting to flood my mind.