Matt Hilton - Blood and Ashes

‘Genius.’ Gant eyed his leader, allowing his gun to trail away.

‘Yes. You see it now, don’t you? The possibilities… no, the reality, we can achieve.’ Hicks grinned and he no longer looked like a learned professor, more like a manic fool. ‘Lincoln Square was only the start, Samuel, The Day of Broken Spirits. With that one statement we showed them how vulnerable they really are, and we make them fear what we are further capable of.’

‘Genius,’ Gant repeated. Hicks’ grin began to flicker as he noted the tone in the tattooed man’s voice. Gant spat on the floor. ‘I used to think that you were a genius. Now I see you for what you really are.’

Fingers trembling, he raised the gun again.

Hicks swayed, looked at the contents of the box, back at Gant.

There were tears in the eyes of the tattooed man. ‘I followed you all these years, Carswell. I did everything you commanded because I believed in you. I believed in your vision because it was also my vision. Now I see how blind I was. This was never about establishing a segregated country for white men; it was always about greed, about money. That’s all you’re interested in. All that you ever were.’

‘Samuel, I see that you’re still hurting from your wounds. You’re not thinking straight. Once you’re well again, we will talk and you’ll see that I am right. It’s the pain that is making you act this way: don’t worry, I understand. There are no hard feelings. I promise you that…’

Gant blinked at the crack of the pistol, mild surprise on his face as he watched Hicks grab at his gut and drop to his knees. There was another sound in the room, a deep-throated roar that swelled inside his skull. He couldn’t tell if it was the shouts of Hicks’ bodyguards or the pounding of blood through his veins. Probably it was both. He heard a double crash, but didn’t look round. He didn’t need to as he’d already told Darley what he intended doing and that as soon as he fired, Darley should kill both of the minders.

Staring at Hicks, he saw his fingers steeple on his chest again, the man reacting to the second bullet wound before Gant was aware of having pulled the trigger.

Gant took a step forward and placed the. 22 calibre handgun to the top of Hicks’ head. ‘It was never about money for me, Carswell. It was always about our pledge: we must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children. Your plan would serve only to destroy us all. You are tainted, Carswell. You have joined them, the grey men.’

He heard the third bullet, felt the tug of the barrel across the top of Hicks’ skull as the recoiling of Hicks’ body tore the man away from him. He smelled the cordite, the coppery tang of blood, but for once the smell didn’t offer him any satisfaction.

He stood there for some time, for how long he had no idea. Finally it was Darley’s hand on his shoulder that roused him, and he withdrew his gaze from the middle distance and looked down at Carswell Hicks. Hicks’ corpse had collapsed so that he sat against the silver-coloured box, his legs splayed, blood on his gut and chest, head bowed as though shamed.

‘You OK, Gant?’

In a daze, Gant nodded. The bird-like man offered him a hand, but he shook his head. He saw that the two minders were as dead as their mark, their chests open cavities where Darley had blasted them. ‘We did the right thing,’ he said. His words were only partly directed at Darley, because he was still shocked that he’d gone through with it. Carswell Hicks had been everything to him, and now he’d murdered him. Gant regretted that it had come to this; he’d always thought that it would be him and Carswell standing side by side, looking out over a totally white nation. Side by side as it should be.

Darley scrubbed a palm over his shaved head, looking down on Hicks. ‘Man, what a shame Hicks lost it. Must have been all those years he spent inside, alongside all those criminals. They must have turned him, Gant, so don’t you go blaming him now.’

‘What about you, Dar?’

‘I don’t blame him,’ Darley said defensively.

‘I’m talking about you turning. Way I remember it from our talk back in Pennsylvania, you thought that Hicks’ plan was too extreme. Well, I’ve got another plan. Are you still with me?’

Darley made a pecking motion with his nose, indicating the dead man at their feet. ‘I just helped you kill our leader, Gant. I can’t believe you’d doubt me to follow you anywhere.’

‘Good,’ Gant said, and he laid a consoling hand on Darley’s shoulder. ‘’Cause if you thought that was extreme, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.’

I needed the time to think.

I’d made my apologies, headed off to find a restroom. My bodily functions weren’t a major concern, but a necessity. Finished, I flushed, straightened my clothing, but stayed in the cubicle. Sitting on the lid of the WC wasn’t the place I’d like to be found if Armageddon struck. The idea was mildly humorous; who’d still be around to discover my inglorious end?

There was something slightly sordid about sitting in the locked cubicle, but it was one of the few places where I was guaranteed a few moments for solitude and reflection.

Random images flickered through my mind, events of days ago mixed in with the past few hours, so I got a disjointed replay like scenes from a Guy Ritchie movie. I saw the flicker of 35 mm film, two small girls happily playing; then Kwon lying dead with a hole between his eyes; mean-tempered Fluffy the cat screeching and heading for the trees; my knife in the chest of a man; Rooster cock-crowing and flapping his elbows up and down; Millie, soaked and freezing, gratefully accepting the coat, her eyes full of hope. But then I saw Don Griffiths lying in his hospital bed, and then running across the logging camp with Vince Everett at his heels. I saw the tattooed face of Samuel Gant, the eight-eight pattern growing and swelling in my vision.

Groaning, I jammed the heels of my thumbs in my eye sockets. This wasn’t thinking, this was not what I wanted. I scrubbed hard; saw black and red spots floating in my vision while searching for the lock on the door. I left the cubicle, went across to a sink and jammed down hard on the tap. The icy water helped; I splashed some over my face. I shuddered out a breath, leaned both palms on the sink and stared at the reflection in the vanity mirror. Now there was a misnomer if ever I’d heard one. There was nothing vain in the image staring back at me. I looked like I’d lost a few pounds, my cheekbones like vertical slashes, dark rings under my eyes, skin sallow. Maybe that was only an effect of the stark overhead lighting. I pushed fingers through my hair, making strands stick up like thorns on my head. The look didn’t suit and I smoothed them out again.

‘You aren’t getting any younger, Joe,’ I whispered at the reflection.

I thought of the younger man I once was, Sergeant Hunter, One-Para. How back then I’d been full to the brim of life and expectation. Back before Arrowsake had tainted me. I hadn’t seen it coming, the descent into the dark place they formed for me. Only those who loved me noticed. Diane had stuck by me at first, but even her love wasn’t strong enough to quell the need for violent retribution that Arrowsake had instilled in me. Maybe by leaving me she thought I’d see the light. For a while I had, but always the tug was there, and it had finally reeled me in. In Kate Piers I thought I’d found salvation, but the compulsion bred within me had spoiled everything. When I should have run away with her, found somewhere safe for us both to hide, I’d sent her away while I indulged a selfish desire for violence against her tormentors. Kate died and I’d felt the bitter stab of failure ever since. Imogen, Kate’s sister, was a lifeline, but how many times had I even thought about her over the past few days? Once, and only when I considered saying goodbye. I was stuck firmly on their hooks again: Arrowsake still owned me.