Tania Carver - Cage of Bones

He thought of his own daughter. Of Josephina.

He looked at Finn once more. He had to do something.

For the boy.

For himself.

For the past and the future.

He lifted his leg, aimed a kick at the weakened bar. It cracked. Again. It cracked further. Again. The whole thing was splintering now.

The Gardener tried to push himself against the bars, stick his blade into the space Phil had created. Phil grabbed his wrist, twisted. The Gardener screamed, held on to the blade. Another twist. The blade dropped.

With his other hand, Phil punched the Gardener. The air knocked out of him, the man staggered back. Phil picked up the blade, forced himself through the gap he had made.

The Gardener had recovered, stood before him by the altar.

‘You’re going to die,’ he shouted from beneath the hood.

Phil saw the curved, razor-sharp shape of a sickle in his hand.

The Gardener ran towards him, arm raised, screaming.

The van sped towards the gates. The driver changed up, increased speed.

Mickey, along with the rest of the team, braced himself for impact.

Bull bars connected with metal. The van bumped from the impact. The driver put his foot down, kept going. The gates gave. The team cheered, Mickey included.

They were in.

The other two vans followed.

The first van came to a halt before the warehouse’s closed doors. The second one drove round the back; the third stayed just inside the gates, blocking any exit.

The men piled out. Ran towards the warehouse. Dim light came from the windows at the front and sides, seeping round the blinds. There was a normal-sized door by the side of the main entrance. The enforcer was brought out of the van; a heavily gloved officer took up position. Brought it back. Forward. Again. Again.

The lock broke, the frame splintered.

They were in.

Mickey ran in with them. Inside was a wide strip-lit area. On either side were rows and rows of shelves rising high to the ceiling, going back deep into shadow. Filled with all manner of appliances, consumer electricals, household items, sports equipment. All compartmentalised and catalogued. It screamed ‘legit’. Perfect cover.

The two trucks sat in the main area. In front of them was the green 4x4. A couple of leather-jacketed, mulleted, heavy-set men were opening the doors on the back of the containers. Out stepped young women, some no more than children, blinking and squinting into the artificial light. Dressed in filthy clothes, some in rags. All thin, pale.

Mickey paused, stared.

The girls screamed when they saw the police, ran back inside.

The two men had pulled out their weapons, but they soon realised they were outnumbered. They slowly put their hands in the air.

Clemens stepped forward. Grabbed the nearest heavy, smashed the butt of his gun into his face. The man grunted, staggered back, hands to his face, blood fountaining from where his nose had suddenly split. Clemens followed him, did it again. The man went down, whimpering.

Clemens turned to the other man, who held his hands out before him, backed away.

‘Stop it… ’ Fennell was staring at Clemens. He backed off, panting for breath, chewing his lip, smiling.

Mickey looked round. Couldn’t see Balchunas or Fenton.

Fennell was shouting orders.

‘Fan out, find the ringleaders. Don’t let them get away.’

The team did so. Officers running down the aisles, all round the shelves.

Mickey joined them. He glimpsed a shadow flitting from one side of a row to the other, at the far end of the warehouse. Ran down after it. Reached the end of the row. Looked round the corner.

Nothing.

Checked along to his left, his right. His left once more.

Saw the shadow again.

Ran towards it.

As he approached the end of the next row, squinting against the gloom, he didn’t see the cricket bat being swung towards him until it was almost too late.

He managed to twist his body out of the way of the shot, letting it connect with his shoulder rather than his head, the intended target. He let out a gasp of pain, grabbed where he had been injured. Dropped his gun.

The bat came at him again.

He opened his eyes just in time to see it coming, managed to scramble out of the way. Then turned to see who his attacker was.

Balchunas. Eyes wide with fear and desperation. Panic and anger. Not good combinations.

‘Get back… let me… let me go… bastard… you bastard… ’

He swung again.

This time Mickey was ready for him. He waited until the bat had been swung and was out of the way. Then grabbed Balchunas’ arm, pulled it backwards. Balchunas screamed. Mickey kept pulling. Balchunas dropped the bat; Mickey forced his arm behind his back.

As he did so, he felt the Lithuanian being pulled away from him.

‘I’ve got him.’

Mickey turned. Clemens was standing next to him, twisting Balchunas’ other arm. The Lithuanian tried to drop to his knees, whimpered.

‘Please, no… no… stop… please… ’

Mickey let go. Stepped back. Was about to argue when movement caught his eye. A back door was opened and closed again quickly. He saw in silhouette who had gone through. Fenton. He looked at Clemens.

‘Look after him. If you injure him, I’ll have you.’

Before Clemens could answer, Mickey was off.

Out of the warehouse, into the night.

After Fenton.

The sickle came down towards Phil’s face.

He jumped backwards, got out of its path. The Gardener was breathing heavily from the exertion.

Phil dodged round him, ran to the altar. Picked up another blade, turned. Just as the sickle came towards him once more. It caught his arm, cutting through his jacket. He felt a slash of pain as it sliced into his flesh. Blood started to seep through the edges of the tear.

The Gardener advanced. His madness gave him strength, negated the age difference. Phil moved behind the altar, picked up a candle, threw it at the Gardener’s face. It hit the hood, fell to the floor. Sputtered, went out.

Loss of blood was starting to make Phil light-headed. He had to focus, concentrate. Just to stay alive.

The Gardener swung, missed.

Phil used that to his advantage, went on the offensive. Swung his own blade. Connected with the Gardener’s chest. The Gardener screamed, clutched himself where blood started to seep through. He screamed in rage, came at Phil again.

Phil upended the altar, threw it into his path. The Gardener stopped.

In the cage, Finn began to scream. The Gardener turned.

‘Shut up… shut up… ’

Phil was weakening. Stars dancing before his eyes. He couldn’t see straight. He needed to rest.

The Gardener was weakening too. Phil could see it. But he wouldn’t stop. He came at Phil again.

Phil tried to move out of the way, but was too tired.

The blade came towards him.

Phil couldn’t move.

‘Phil?’

Marina looked round the chamber. Took her iPhone from her pocket, turned on the flashlight.

‘Phil?’

There was no sign of him. She shone the torch round, listened. Looked behind her. Glass hadn’t followed. That was something. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. She had to do something. Make a decision. Another look round.

‘Phil?’ Louder this time.

Nothing. She shone the torch once more, found the bed. Crossed to it. Made the same discovery Phil had made.

‘Oh my God… oh my God… ’

She looked round once more, frantically this time. She knew, rationally, that the skeleton couldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t rise up and chase her, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t scared by it.

Or by the person who had done that.