The Daily Dormouse. (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.