Stuart MacBride - In the Cold Dark Ground

‘WHAT THE HELL’S GOING ON DOWN THERE?’

Gavin Jones crumpled to the ground not far from the cliff edge, moaning and whimpering.

The gun was easy enough to take off him. Logan dragged him into the whin bush, pulled his hands behind his back and cuffed them.

One down.

‘JONETHY!’

A quick frisk through his pockets turned up a spare clip for the semiautomatic.

That evened the odds a bit.

He gave Jones a kick, setting him off again, then crept uphill, using the swearing and crying as cover.

‘JONETHY?’ A shot rang out. Then another one. And another.

Logan hit the ground, scrambling on all fours back to the car.

Wright crashed through the bushes, firing off two more shots. ‘Thodding hell...’ He was downhill now, his silhouette crouching over his mate. ‘HE’TH GOT JONETHY!’

‘DO I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING MYSELF?’ Up on the road, Reuben moved to the edge of the verge, the sawn-off glinting in the headlights. ‘WHERE IS HE?’

Logan stayed where he was. Not moving. Keeping his breath as quiet as possible.

McKenzie marched over to Reuben, hands jabbing out, emphasizing the words. ‘Are you happy now? He gets away and we’re all screwed!’

‘MCRAE?’

‘Oh give it up. I told you to kill him and get it over with, but would you—’

Reuben rammed the butt of his sawn-off into her face hard enough to lift her off her feet. She crumpled out of sight, groaning. Then he took a short limp forward, good leg swinging back then snapping forward. There was the crunch of boot meeting flesh. And another one. One more for luck.

He stood back. Bent down and rubbed at his bad leg. ‘ You work for me , bitch. Understand?’

No reply.

‘UNDERSTAND.’ Another kick. Then he took his crutch and prodded something hidden by the verge. Probably McKenzie. ‘Oh.’

Allan Wright was still crouched over his mewling friend.

Logan took a deep breath.
Do it now, while they were both distracted.

One down, two to go.

He scrambled upright and charged, leading with his shoulder. Crashed through the whin, setting the seedheads rattling.

Wright almost made it to his feet before Logan battered into him, sending him sprawling. He hit the ground and bounced. Rolled over, snarling, then his eyes went wide — two big circles of white in the darkness — as he went over the cliff edge.

His hand flashed out, grabbing, wrapping around Logan’s ankle.

‘Aaagh...’ The world flipped backwards, crashing and rolling, and then they were falling.

Cold air rushed past Logan’s face, then something hard crashed into his side, flipping him over. And again. And again. Swearing and screaming his way down into the dark, surrounded by the clattering snap of breaking branches, thuds, and grunts.

One last crash and then a moment of agonizing silence followed by a deafening THUD.

Oh God...

Flat on his back, eyes screwed tight shut.

His arms and legs felt as if they’d been battered by crowbars, the whole of his chest screaming in pre-bruised agony.

Every breath was like being punched in the ribs.

‘Ow...’

Be lucky if he hadn’t broken his back. Probably going to die here, lying at the bottom of a gully, covered in gunk and dirt and broken bits of tree. Body eaten by foxes and crows. Nothing left but shards of bone and a tattered police uniform, to be swallowed by the cold dark ground.

A high-pitched whine filled his head, getting louder as the woods grew darker. And darker. Then silence.

At least if he was dead it wouldn’t hurt any more.

That would be something...

Logan exhaled one last broken-glass breath and let the darkness take him.

Cold.

Something wet rolled across Logan’s cheek. Then another cold kiss. And another.

He opened his eyes.

The world was grey, with little white spots drifting slowly towards him. Like a long dark tunnel filled with flakes of ash.

So, this was what death looked like?

Well, why not?

Last time he’d been unconscious for this bit. Or maybe, because the surgeons had managed to get his heart started again, he’d just never got this far?

Either way, surely it wasn’t meant to be this cold ?

A tingle grew in his arms and legs, like the opening bars of a symphony for pins and needles. But instead of that hard itchy electrified wave, the melody was one of ache and pain. Getting louder with every second.

‘Buggering hell...’ The words came out on a cloud of white. He squeezed his eyes shut. ‘Ow...’

Not dead then. Dead people didn’t hurt this much.

Logan rolled over onto his side and everything snapped back into its proper place.

He wasn’t floating down a dark tunnel full of ash after all: he was lying at the bottom of the gully, the ground around him covered in snapped twigs and bits of broken branch. Trees reached up into the falling snow, their tops disappearing into the grey.

A dark voice boomed through the night. ‘WELL?’

The voice that replied was a lot closer. ‘I FOUND AL! HE’S NOT BREATHING!’

‘DO I LOOK LIKE I GIVE A TOSS ABOUT AL? WHERE’S MCRAE?’

Oh great. They’d come looking for him.

Get up.

Sod off, it hurt too much.

No: up.

Logan groaned his way onto his front and forced himself to his knees. The landscape swam. A gentle probe of the back of his head brought his hand away dark and sticky, his fingers smelled of raw meat. Probably cracked his skull.

Be dead for real in a minute, from intracranial bleeding.

That or Reuben’s thugs.

‘FIND THE BASTARD!’

Jones’s voice dropped to a mutter. ‘“Find the bastard.”, “Find the bastard.”’ He was getting closer. ‘Can barely see, never mind find anybody.’

One last heave and Logan was on his feet, one arm wrapped around a branch to keep himself upright.

‘Should’ve sodded off soon as Mr Mowat died. Should’ve taken that job with Doogie. Could’ve been driving lorries all over Europe by now, but no .’ There was a crash, then some swearing.

Logan ran his free hand over his equipment belt. The baton was still there, but all that was left of the CS gas was the coiled bungee cord. It ended in a frayed tuft where the canister had been ripped off on the way down through the trees. No idea where the gun had got to.

‘YOU FOUND HIM YET?’

‘Course I haven’t, you fat dick.’ Then, much louder, ‘HE’S PROBABLY SNUFFED IT!’

‘I DON’T WANT “PROBABLY”, I WANT DEFINITELY ! FIND HIM!’

‘All over Europe, but noooo.’ Closer: couldn’t be more than twenty feet away. ‘ You had to stay with the team, because Eddy said we should.’

Logan shrank back behind a tree that wasn’t really big enough. Mind you: the Police Scotland ninja-black outfit might be a liability in the height of summer, but here? At night, in the dark, when it was snowing? Couldn’t have camouflaged himself much better if he’d tried.

A thin figure emerged from the gloom, picking his way between the bushes and boulders that littered the bottom of the ravine. Gavin Jones. ‘Yeah, and did Eddy hang around? Course he didn’t.’

He wasn’t wearing the handcuffs any more — they must have got the keys off McKenzie — but he had got himself another gun. Or maybe it was Wright’s gun?

Logan unclipped his baton and slid it out, slow and quiet.

Couldn’t extend it, that would make too much noise, so he wrapped his fist around the handle and held the thing facing down against his knee.

‘No, the two-faced bummer legged it when the going was good, didn’t he? Talked us into staying then did a runner.’ Jones stumbled over something in the dark and nearly went headlong. ‘GAH! BLOODY SODDING ABOUT, IN THE BLOODY DARK, BASTARDS!’