Stuart MacBride - The Missing and the Dead

‘Come on …’ He pulled her up onto the walkway by her collar, knelt beside her and felt for a pulse. Nothing. ‘No, no, no, no, no.’

Logan tipped her head to the side and shook it, till water stopped running from her mouth and nostrils. Chest compressions. One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.

Hands snatched at his back.

Catherine — eyes wide and bloodshot, face streaming with rainwater, black hair plastered to her head. ‘I’LL KILL YOU!’

One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.

Then a fist thumped into his back.

‘KILL YOU!’

One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.

A palm slapped the side of his head.

One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.

Nails dug into his neck.

He snapped an elbow back. Caught her in the mouth.

One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.

She stumbled back, moaning and spluttering. Scarlet smeared her lips and chin, dripped onto her denim jacket, spreading into the damp fabric like poppy blooms. Then one white trainer caught in a crumbling pothole and she fell, arms out. The dull crack when her head hit the concrete was like a distant gun going off.

Logan laced his hands together and pushed against Samantha’s chest again. ‘Come on!’

One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.

He tilted Samantha’s head back, pinched her nose and breathed for her. Did it again.

More chest compressions: one one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.

Something solid cracked off his head, hard enough to send him sprawling as broken bells and sirens screamed through his skull. Gagh … Black and yellow dots sparkled in the dark clouds above his face, riding the wave of heat trying to push his eyeballs free.

Then everything faded to grey, hiding the pool and the hills and the buildings. Like being wrapped in a shroud that muffled the sound of rain and pounding blood in his ears.

…

Get up.

Nothing but grey.

…

Then the world snapped back into Technicolor.

Graham Stirling stood over him, extendable baton clutched in both hands like a baseball bat. ‘Well, well, well. Looks like it’s just you and me again.’

‘Gnnn …’

‘I’d really love to take my time, but this has all turned into a bit of a mess, hasn’t it?’

The baton cracked into Logan’s leg. Glass and barbed wire ripped through the muscle.

Up. Get up.

‘You’ve spoiled it.’

It battered against his chest. Knives and needles, cracking through his ribs.

GET UP!

‘I had them all nice and trained. But you couldn’t …’ He stopped. Stared off at the entrance to the outdoor pool.

The ringing in Logan’s ears changed tone, wailing up and down, regular and electronic. And it wasn’t in his head any more.

Stirling put his hands up and the baton clattered to the concrete apron as two patrol cars screeched to a halt by the pool buildings. ‘Your word against mine again. David and Catherine tried to kill you. I tried to stop them, but I was so weak after they attacked me.’

The Big Car’s doors sprang open and Nicholson and Steel charged out into the rain. Sprinting across the crumbling poolside. Tufty and Deano jumped out of the other car.

Oh, thank God.

‘No jury’s going to believe anything else.’

Logan rolled onto his front, forced himself to his knees, and shuffled over to Samantha.

One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.

Breathe …

One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.

Breathe.

‘You lied about me last time, why would they think this was any different?’

One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.

SODDING BREATHE!

Samantha’s chest convulsed and foul-smelling water spewed out of her mouth. Coughing and spluttering. Heaving in great ragged breaths, eyes wide, staring up into the thick black sky. Hands pressing against her chest.

He scooped her up and held her: cold, clammy, but warming up.

Steel’s voice cut through the downpour. ‘You! Where the hell do you think you’re going?’

Graham Stirling faked a couple of sobs. ‘They tried to kill me! They attacked me in my house and beat me and I was so scared.’

‘Get your arse over here.’

‘Samantha.’ Logan brushed the hair from her face and she blinked up at him.

Frowned. ‘L …’ She licked her lips. Swallowed. ‘Logan?’

Holy shit.

He almost dropped her. Squeezed her tighter instead as something warm burst inside his chest. ‘Hey you.’

‘Where am … Why am I all wet?’ Samantha reached for his hand, but hers wouldn’t work, the fingers stayed curled into a claw. ‘What-’

‘You haven’t moved in four years. But it’s going to be OK. I promise.’ He leaned in and kissed her.

Samantha’s claw scraped down his cheek.

Grey …

…

Cold …

Logan cracked open his eyes.

He was lying on his side, being dragged along the concrete walkway by one leg.

‘Gnnnph …’ His head throbbed, as if something living in there was trying to dig its way out.

‘Oh, you’re awake?’ Graham Stirling gave his leg another tug. ‘Good. Wouldn’t want you to miss this. A man shouldn’t be late for his own funeral.’

But … Where were the patrol cars? Where were Steel, Deano, Nicholson, and Tufty?

Samantha. Where the hell was Samantha?

Move. Get up.

But Logan’s arms and legs were like strips of rubber. ‘Nnngh …’

‘Thought I’d hit you too hard there.’

They’d reached the middle of the walkway between the two pools, where David Bisset lay still as the grave. Rain bounced off his body, turning the pool of blood seeping out of his nose and mouth a delicate shade of pink.

Stirling let go and Logan’s leg thumped against the walkway.

‘Have to say, I’d expected more of them. But they’re only kids, so what can you do?’ He knelt and rummaged through the equipment belt fastened around David’s waist. ‘Limb restraints and handcuffs. You learn a lot about this kind of stuff when you’re remanded for trial.’

He unrolled both of the bright yellow restraints. Then squeezed Logan’s knees together and wrapped them tight. Then did the same with his ankles.

‘Four months in that stinking cell with a junkie . You think that was nice for me?’ Stirling unclipped the cuffs from their holder. ‘He’d go to sleep every night, talking about all the things he was going to do to me if I didn’t get him some money, or cigarettes, or drugs.’

MOVE.

Logan forced himself onto his side.

Samantha lay on the concrete apron, spread-eagled. Catherine wasn’t far away, flat on her back with her arms outstretched. What happened to Nicholson and Steel? Where was the cavalry? ‘Nnnng …’

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘Kill … you.’ The words hurt, echoing around his battered skull.

‘Wrong way round.’ Stirling put a foot against Logan’s shoulder and pushed him over onto his back. ‘They broke into my house in the middle of the night. Little David and Catherine Bisset, all bitter and fired up and ready for revenge.’

Rain pattered down against his face.

Deep breath. And MOVE.

Stirling grabbed Logan’s left wrist and snapped the handcuff on, squeezing the metal arm until it was far too tight.

COME ON AND BLOODY MOVE!

Logan’s right hand trembled. He hauled it off the ground and fumbled at Stirling’s face. Gouge his eyes out, rip them from his nasty bruised little face.

But Stirling pulled his head back, grabbed at the hand. Missed. Fought for it. ‘It’s time … for you … to go … away .’