(aka Bike) Part 1009 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
She pushed the gun into my back and I nearly fell on her injured companion. I tried to think of Simon as being nearby, but all that did was make me want to cry–and that wouldn’t help anyone.
I looked at the man before me. He was very pale, in fact he looked very ill. “This man needs a hospital.”
“No hospital, you fix and quick.”
Hell’s bells, where do I start. He was sweating, and as I moved to touch him he started and pointed the gun at me. His hand was shaking. The woman barked something in Russian at him and he relaxed the gun.
I examined him more closely. His shirt was heavily bloodstained in the abdomen–it appeared that he’d been shot or stabbed. He should have been in an operating theatre, not lying in a barn with all sorts of infection about. Actually it smelt as if he possibly already had an infection, which explained why he was sweating and shivering.
“He needs a surgeon and antibiotics–he’s got an infection, for goodness sake.”
She rested the gun against the back of my head, “Fix him or I blow your brains up.”
Her mangling of the English language didn’t help me focus. “Ask him to move the gun, I need to touch his hand.”
Once again she barked an instruction at him and he moved the gun further away from me. I touched his other hand–it felt icy cold–this did not bode well.
I imagined the blue light coming into my body from all over the universe and I then focused it on moving it into his. I was asking it to save his life so I could find Simon and save his–no I didn’t ask it, I begged and implored it to do as I asked so I could find Simon.
I thought I saw blue energy flow between us, but that could have been pure wishful thinking on my part. Holding his hand in my right hand, I placed my left hand on his chest. He whimpered, and I felt his friend standing behind me. I had no doubt she would kill me if I failed. I tried to keep this out of my mind.
My hand felt very warm on his chilled skin, and at one point he seemed to be having a convulsion. His head lolled back and his eyes rolled up into the top of his sockets, his mouth drooped open and his tongue fell out of the corner–then he started to shake, like he was shivering violently. I held on, and noticed he’d dropped the gun–he’d also wet himself–I hoped that was all he’d done–he was smelly enough now.
I closed my eyes and poured the energy into him, willing him to get better, to heal and to allow me to find and rescue Simon. My hand seemed to move lower and I winced as I realised it was on his wound. The wound was fibrillating like a damaged heart, it felt like it was heaving with maggots. Then my fingers closed on something small and hard and I pulled it away–it was the bullet, so something was happening.
My hand returned to his wound and it felt like it was red hot, my hand felt like the element in an electric kettle, I wasn’t surprised when he groaned tensed and fell back. Then it all felt normal.
“What you do to him? I kill you,” she shrieked and pulled me away–I was exhausted and part of me couldn’t have cared less if she had.
He said something and she looked at his bare midriff which now just showed a dent, the wound had otherwise healed. She laughed and almost whooped with delight, then she turned to me and cocked her pistol. I suspect she would have shot me but for him telling her not to, I think her name was Katya, least that was the only word I recognised.
She hugged him and pulled him to his feet. I wondered what would happen now. “Where is Simon?” I shouted, “I did what you asked, now tell me where he is.”
“I forget, goodbye,” they started to walk away laughing, except he’d left his gun behind. I leapt on it and pointed at them.
“Where is he, you bitch?” I pointed at them and pulled the trigger–nothing happened.
“It’s empty, you stupid cow,” she said and pointed hers at me. I noticed the safety catch was still on, I clicked it to the off position and pulled the trigger again. The gun barked and I fell over backwards. I didn’t hit anything but they took to their heels and ran.
“Where is he, you bastards?” I screamed at them, then collapsed to my knees sobbing. I don’t know how long I was like that when I heard a quiet bumping noise above me in the barn.
I shuddered, and grabbing the gun, looked all round me. Then the bumping noise again. It was definitely from above me. I began to go up the small staircase which led up to the loft above the main part of the barn. My hand was trembling as I held the gun, “Who’s there?” I called and the noise got louder.
I walked towards it and called again, this time it was definitely louder and seemed to be becoming from inside a pile of bales of hay. “Simon?” I shouted and it banged twice.
I switched on the safety catch and tucked the gun into my jeans–then began to pull down a number of bales of hay. I was sweating and growing very tired, but persisted. If necessary, I’d tear down the barn with my bare hands.
I kept moving the bales and finally, thought I could see something, I worked even more feverishly. Then I beheld something wrapped up in a sheet, I dragged at it, and underneath, bound up and gagged was Simon. I nearly thanked the god I don’t believe in.
With fingers which couldn’t work fast enough I undid his gag, “Oh, Babes,” he said, “I thought you were never coming.”
“Geez, Si, let’s face it, I was looking for a needle in this haystack–what the hell are you doing here?”
“Waiting to be rescued by the most amazing woman on the planet.”
“Yeah, well she couldn’t come, so I had to.”
“If you hadn’t shouted, I’d never have heard you, that hay stuff was like sound proofing.”
“I’ll remind you of that the next time you tell me I’m shouting.”
“I’ll never complain of that again.”
I untied him and it took us several minutes for him to stand and a further ten minutes for him to get down the stairs and onto the ground. He was very wobbly and had to lean on me to walk away.
“How are we going to get home? Have you got a car?” he asked.
“No, but I’ve got you, and that’s all that matters.”
“I could do with a drink–I don’t suppose you have any water?”
“Look, there’s a house over there, let’s go and ask for help.”
“Better hide that gun then.”
I tucked it down lower in my waistband and pulled my top over it. We walked slowly to the farmhouse and up to the front door. Simon didn’t smell too sweet.
“How long have you been there?”
“I dunno, days I think. It was dark up there, so I have no idea and they took my watch–the one my dad gave me.”
“I’ll buy you a new one.”
“What for? I have loads of them, if you remember. It was just that that was a nice one.”
I rapped on the door and it opened, a little with a woman’s face peering out the crack. “Can you help us? My husband isn’t very well–could we have a drink of water and could you call the police?”
“P-o-l-i-c-e? What for?”
“Just tell them it’s Cathy Cameron, and where we are, they’ll come to collect us.”
“Go away–I don’t want no gippos here,” her retort was so unexpected I froze in disgust, allowing her to slam the door shut.
“Can you believe that?” I looked at Simon. Then sitting him down, on the door step, I shouted through the letter box. “Will you call the police, please and could we have some water? I’ll pay for the bloody stuff–he’s ill, so stop messing me about.”
I heard footsteps approach the door and expected the door to be opened and her to offer us a glass of water. Instead I stared in horror as shotgun barrel poked out of the letter box and I jumped to one side as it was fired at us.
“You stupid cow,” I yelled as if it would have made any difference.
“Clear off you beggars.”
It was only with enormous self control that I didn’t shoot through the door with the pistol and kill the stupid bitch. Instead, I ran to the back of the house and then came dashing back. “Can you drive a tractor?” I asked, and Simon nodded.
Comments
Stout fellow, Simon...
Nice episode.
Cheers,
Puddin'
-
Cheers,
Puddin'
A tender heart is an asset to an editor: it helps us be ruthless in a tactful way.
--- The Chicago Manual of Style
Typical!
Now she's got Simon, it's time for Cathy's wild tractor ride! Wheeee!!!
Abby
Heartfelt hospitality
those country folk are well known for it, wouldn't you say..
I hope they plan on driving the tractor through the front door. That would teach them.
Also I feel it's much more in line with the current sequence of marvel and mayhem. It's a little bit of a disappointment that those two pesky Russian were able to escape. Probably they'll be of use in future episodes to generate a new bout of trouble.
Anyhow, in some way I'm a little bit relieved that Simon has been recovered, and Cathy and him are rejoined. Now we can change our focus on what Henry has been able to uncover after Cathy's insightful tip about maybe the whole exercise has been a wildly spun out of control diversion.
Thanks a bunch Angharad, for the continuing EAFOAB saga. It's still utterly mesmerizing and amazingly fresh.
Jo-Anne
Can't help but think,
That it is not a very good idea to take a tractor from a woman, Who just so happens to have a shotgun in her hands....Maybe Cathy and Simon should do something a little less dangerous....Like wrestling with Alligators....Or trying to separate Bonzi from his dinner...
Kirri
Country 'folk'?
Us real country folk know that any xenophobic exurbanite scaredy-cat who is dumb enough to fire a shotgun through a mail slot isn't going to have a chance at hitting a speeding dormouse Mom on a tractor. Wonder what that number one buckshot did to the inside of her door anyway? But this is exciting stuff! Lady Catherine Cameron rocks! Just goes to prove the proposition that our favorite author is ever inventive, giving us an amazing feast of stories telling the lives of the characters we love. More! More!
jmacaulay
jmacaulay
Daily Dormouse-1009
I wonder why that farm was chosen? Is that farm wife of Russian descent or in league with the Russians? Is she related to Brown-Coward?
May Your Light Forever Shine
May Your Light Forever Shine
Would have expected a barn on an abandoned farm
The woman with the shotgun would complicate things.
If they wanted revenge I suspect complaining to police, MI5, MI6, SWAT, etc that there is a woman in the house shooting at people at her door would have some kind of effect. She's probably the local police chief's grandmother thus protected.
Agree that stealing her tractor probably is not a good idea. (and please Cathy, don't shoot her, you'll just have to heal her and you must be exhausted)
>> Not a good idea...
Well, Cathy has yet to discover her power to cloud men's minds...
Cheers,
Puddin'
-
Cheers,
Puddin'
A tender heart is an asset to an editor: it helps us be ruthless in a tactful way.
--- The Chicago Manual of Style
Hope the tractor is a 'John
Hope the tractor is a 'John Deere', as they run forever. Besides, the green and yellow color scheme will go rather well with Cathy's blue light if she needs it again soon. Just where is this farm so we can all avoid it if we are in the neighborhood? Ja n
A dish, best served cold!
Hmmm. I wonder if the farm has a mortgage. If so, I wonder which bank it might be with.
Prospective Score-settling
Bike Archive
Bike Resources
Yaawww-nnnggh!
What a night last night, (Is the economy really picking up? I ask myself.)
Busy as hell last night, mobile broadband wouldn't work in work, missed my nightly fix of EAFOAB, drove home totally exhausted, (Why do ships come like buses?) (It's the tides stupid!!!)
Ah well, yaaw-nnnggghhhh! It's a beautiful, morning lets go and see what my favourite story site has to offer. (Hope she didn't miss her nightly posting.)
Ah, here we are, 'wounded Russian', 'gun in back of head, 'dirty barns', 'blue light', oh goody!! - Yep were at the right ephisode and on track.
Crickey!! What is it with little old biddies and lonely farmhouses? It must be the 'South of England' syndrome, the only hospitality that's known of, is the corporate variety that has to be paid for and dispensed in a 'suite'. All other varieties of hospitality have become extinct because the habitat has been destroyed. (The goodness of men's hearts.)
The tractor angle sound's interesting, you can do some useful damage with a tractor but escaping at speed isn't really one of them; though taking the 'cross-country' route can shorten the journey, like straight through the anti-social bitch's house.
I know that 'water is the new oil' but poor Cathy only wanted a cupful. Don't let the Yanks know we've got water in England or they might attack us! (Especially the Texans and Arizonans cos they're running out.)
(Boy am I goin' to cop it for this!!)
Ah well Angharad, it was a good ephisode, usual cliff-hanger ending, let's see where this one takes us.
It's a beautiful, sunny Monday bank holiday morning and I've got the day off so I'm going for a ride up the Aberafan Cycle trail. (30 odd miles of assorted derilect railway tracks through dense green deciduous forests and crystal clear rivers.) Nature has claimed it all back from the slag heaps and it's now a real beauty spot.
Loving EAFOAB Angharad. Please don't let it ever stop! How in the hell d'you manage to write something everyday, or do you store up ephisodes during your fertile periods and then portion them out.
I'm in my sterile period at the moment hence the bike rides to try and get my brain working again. All writing on stop.
See you tommorrow,
OXOXOX.
Beverly.
One might wonder...
why the residents of this house are afraid to call the police...
Ann
I can't speak for the UK
But country folk tend to be a lot more generous than city types. It comes from mutual dependence.
High Noon
I thought this was peaceful no -gun GB. Simon 's been shot, and now both Cathy and Simon are shot at Cathy has a gun in her pants, and there are. people running around the countryside with more guns. At least Simon's back.
Cefin