Stuart MacBride - Birthdays for the dead

Cut it. It s ruined anyway.

I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. Bits of shoe clattered into the tub.

A clunk. A hiss. Then warmth spread across my foot.

I peeked.

Brenda played the shower head back and forth, washing off thick slugs of congealed blood. She puffed out her cheeks, brows creased.

Come on, Bren, you can do this

Pink appeared through the red and black, then pale flesh. The whole thing was swollen and distended, like a massive wasp sting, centred around a dark circle not much bigger than a garden pea an inch from where the foot became toes. The starburst of black that had marked the shoe was there around the bullet hole too. Little black flecks of powder tattooed into the skin. Tiny slivers of cream poked out of the swollen mess. Bone.

Pink oozed out, staining the water.

She looked up at me. My sewing s not very good, but I ve got disinfectant?

Clean it up and bandage it. It ll be fine. I tried for a smile while I bled into her bathtub.

You re doing good. You ll make a great mother.

Gangrene wasn t fatal any more, right?

Rain drifted down, shimmering in the streetlights. Dawson shuffled from foot to foot. I m sorry, I really am. You came here because of us, and I m sorry we can t help save your daughter. He dug into his pocket, and produced a clear plastic bag with a dozen little round pills in the bottom. Amphetamines: they ll help keep you awake. And I ve put a full tank of petrol in the car.

I took the pills, slipped them into my jacket. You can t keep skimming product from your mum, someone s going to notice.

His chin came up. A man s got to provide for his family.

Parents fuck you up. I climbed in behind the Renault s wheel. You re a good kid, Dawson: don t turn out like your mum.

He grinned at me. Don t worry I look shit in tights.

Headlights streaked past on the other side of the motorway, leaving glowing trails behind them that crackled and pulsed in time with my throbbing foot. Wasn t easy working the accelerator and brake with my left, but it was do-able. Just.

Bloody heroin was wearing off. My jackhammer heart wouldn t slow down, no matter how much I ground my teeth. Bloody amphetamines. And the high blood pressure wasn t exactly helping the hole in my foot either. But at least I was still going

The windscreen wipers groaned and squealed back and forth in the drizzle, sounding like angry crows waiting to tear out my eyes.

Have to stop soon and get petrol. Take some of the Naproxen, Diclofenac, and Tramadol I d rescued from the house. Keep the pain down far enough to drive.

According to the dashboard clock it was a little after half ten. An hour and a half till midnight. Seventeen hours from then till five o clock Monday evening. One and a half plus seventeen was I ground the heel of my hand into my eye. Why did the headlights have to be so sodding bright? Eighteen and a half.

Eighteen and a half hours until the Birthday Boy started cutting chunks off my little girl.

I shifted my left foot slightly, keeping the Renault at a steady seventy up the M6. Flashing my warrant card might have worked on the way down, but that was before I had pupils like huge black buttons and a bullet hole in my foot.

Preston went by on the left-hand side, nothing more than lights in the darkness and a name on a sign that glistened with rain.

Eighteen and a half hours.

My phone blared in my pocket. I dug it out: Henry. I pressed the button.

Is isn t working any more The words were all slurred, running into one another.

You found Rebecca.

I ve been I ve been trying to think But it s so difficult I m so sorry, Ash, so so sorry. Unbelievable: I d seen him down a whole bottle of Bells in one sitting and still look completely sober. I want to want to save her, but it I can t get I don t know what he wants

Henry, how much have you had to drink?

I can t do it any any more. I m Should have stayed in Shetland. Ash, why why did you make me come? A little sob. She s dead It isn t I can t.

Fuck s sake, Henry I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. You re not the only one having a shite day, OK? Grow up.

Something roared past me in the outside lane, making the crappy little Renault lurch.

I should should ve caught him years ago. Is all my fault. Is no. Slurping, gulping, then a hissing breath. I didn t mean to I m sorry, Ash, I m sorry. Is all my fault

Put the bloody bottle down, you useless drunken old bastard: I need your help! Katie s still out there. There s still time. We have to find him.

Stupid, uselesssssss ol man Should ve should ve died years ago.

Henry!

Everyone I know everyone s dead.

A clunk, and then muffled crying.

Thanks, Henry. Thanks a fucking heap.

Monday 21st November

Cold

I coughed, shivered. Opened my eyes. It was still dark. Urgh Everything ached from the base of my skull all the way down to the tips of my toes. I was in the passenger seat reclined back as far as it would go my coat draped across me as a makeshift blanket, breath hanging in front of me like fog in the gloom.

The Renault s windows were all steamed up.

I scrubbed a hand across the chilled glass, making it cry condensation tears.

Outside, the sky was blue-black; no sign of any stars. The massive bulk of an artic lorry sat in the space next to mine, facing the boarded-up services. A sign hung on the temporary security fence:

CLOSED FOR REFURBISHMENT, BUT DON T WORRY, WE LL BE BACK SOON!!!

Moving sent burning needles tearing up my right leg. I gritted my teeth. Tried to ride it out. But it wasn t working.

Ah, Jesus

Then someone started pounding a hammer into my foot: thump, thump, thump, in time with the blood in my ears.

Tramadol and Diclofenac: I popped three of each out of their blister packs and dry-swallowed them.

Come on, come on, work. Work.

The breath hissed out of my mouth, taking a shower of spittle with it.

Fuck

I slammed a punch into my leg.

WORK!

Banged my head back against the seat.

Not going away

God.

Hauled in another breath.

The pills weren t working

I fumbled Eugene s junky starter kit out of my coat pocket and unzipped the shiny plastic with trembling fingers. It looked like an exchange pack the kind that chemists gave away free, trying to keep intravenous drug users from infecting themselves or anyone else. The only bits that looked as if they hadn t come from Boots were the three tinfoil wrappers, the cheap plastic lighter, and the instruction sheet. A step-by-step how-to guide to forever fucking your life up.

I followed it to the letter.

Only a half-dose this time. That d be safe, wouldn t it? Enough to take the pain away and not leave me a dribbling wreck.

Nothing. Nothing And there it was the same rushing warmth from last night, forcing down the stabbing, throbbing ache. I sagged back into the seat as if my joints were made of jelly. Brain all muggy. The sound of distant church bells. Melting

Maybe Dawson s mum was telling the truth? Maybe there wasn t rat poison and caustic soda scouring its way through my veins, killing me from the inside out. Just the heroin.

Get up you lazy bastard. The Birthday Boy s got Katie.

I blinked at my watch, squinting to get it into focus. Nearly half-six in the morning.

Get up

I knocked back a couple of Dawson s little white pills, then lay back and waited for them to work their magic. Heroin and amphetamines for breakfast. Most important meal of the day.

There was a slightly gamey smell in the car, as if something in the fridge was on the turn. Not rancid, but heading that

Oh God My stomach rolled and boiled. Lurched.

I scrambled out into the morning, fell on my knees, and heaved.