Golden Hour (Part 7)
I felt the needle tear a hole, piercing soft tissue as it punctured a vein in my neck. An immense weight held me down. I screamed, my mind imploding with the onslaught of pain; everything hurt. I had to break free! I gritted my teeth; fragments of bone in my mouth, scratching my cheeks. A roar, then the pressure doubled. My broken ribs scraped against each other and the tip of the needle moved again, spewing ice as it went. I felt it burying itself through cartilage, and erupt into my windpipe. There it spurted its foul reservoir, spraying the inside my throat. Fingernails scratched at my eyes, drawing furrows down my cheek, before a digit snagged my lips. I bit, feeling it crack and split. Brown eyes narrowed above me, emotionless. As though I was another animal to be disposed. He was still wearing a white coat, jeans and a green casual shirt. The arms that came out of that shirt was anything but average, all sinew, knotted with veins. Then the weight was gone. Lifted from me. Coughing and choking, I rolled, spitting, but I could already feel the flow of the freezing liquid reaching down to my stomach. Reaching for my tonsils, I heaved. It felt as though I was turning myself inside out. Jagged edges were shredding my innards and air and blood rasped out of the new hole in my throat. A crimson apparition held the man in a head lock. Blood rained down like a waterfall from the part of an exposed skull. The top of its head flapping about like a poorly seated wig. I caught a gleam of silver beneath a tuft of matted hair, from a large metal plate, now creased and bulging at the edges. That apparition was Joe, almost scalped. I kicked out, jarring my leg against a wall of muscle. My attacker was struggling, trying to reach behind him with the half-empty syringe. Joe held him, twisting him one way, then jerking him back the next, trying to break his neck. One of the attackers arms went limp, his face now as red as the blood that poured over him. Joe grunted, trying to pop his head from his shoulders like the cork from a champagne bottle. The man faltered, arm trying to hook under Joe’s. Dropping back, he twisted, so that Joe’s forearm went across his windpipe. Sensing victory, Joe tightened his grip, crushing. The man aimed the syringe behind him, striking out like a knife, stabbing into Joe’s thigh. Joe flinched, but kept hold. The abductor depressed the plunger. I tried to stand, my feet skidding out from under me on the slick floor. Joe reeled, pushing away, looking at the syringe hanging out of his leg, one hand clamped to his head, blood oozing between his fingers. I looked around for a weapon, saw the grim surroundings for what they were. A cage, similar to the one in the van, was against one wall. I could see the pale, bare leg of a girl, poking out from beneath a dirty blanket. There was a wooden vanity table, green with mould, displayed an array of grim trophies. A tapestry of hair draped over the back of a chair, long platinum strands, shorter in length to the single one that Joe had. The man looked at me, how I’d not managed to stand, then to Joe, taking a couple of steps sideways to increase the distance from me. Joe was blinking rapidly, trying to keep one hand up, the other trying to control the flow of blood, or at least direct it away from his eyes. He discarded the plastic tube angrily. The man launched an attack, balancing on his back leg, striking out with his front. It was quick, but Joe was quicker. He sidestepped inside, caught the leg under the knee and grabbed the lapel of the man’s white coat. As he did he hooked the other man’s leg from under him, lifting him up and over, using their combined weight to crash back down to the floor. In doing so, he had to let go of the flap of skin on his forehead. It unleashed a fresh gout of blood into his eyes. Down the both went, the vet ignored Joe’s grip and hooked powerful fists into Joe’s ribs either side. Joe slammed his elbow across the man’s head, snapping it one way, then the next, shattering his nose and cheekbone. In retaliation, the man grabbed hold of the loose flap of skin, starting to tear it away. Pulling at the skin off his face as though ripping off a sweater. My heart missed a beat; slowed to the point that I can feel each contraction. Already my limbs feel heavier, it is an effort but I stand. Both arms supporting my chest. My legs buckle, but I managed to compensate and they snap back painfully. Joe is clutching his head, being pummelled mercilessly. He twists and turns, yelping as the blows land. I launch myself forward, falling between them, giving Joe time to get up. That’s where I lay, unable to take a breath, my vision clouding over. “You’re dead,” he said. He was addressing Joe. I was on the floor, no longer a threat. He pointed at me. “One more minute and your heart will stop, like his.” I couldn’t blink, but I could see him, gloating. What skin was visible on Joe’s face was the colour of ash, made even more prominent as islands in a sea of blood. He staggered backwards. The door shock with a loud crash and a howl cut through the room. Shock kicked my heart, thudding in my ears. I’d not taken a breath for a long time - it was more comfortable not to, the pain building behind my eyes was nothing compared to the shards of broken glass rattling around my insides. Joe lurched around, trembling. “sounds… as though it wants… to be let in,” his voice trailed. I saw alarm on the vet’s face for the first time, not from anything that we could do, or had done, but from this dog outside. Paws like battering rams hammered against door panels. Joe took a step towards the door, hands reaching out, even thought it was across the other side of the room. The man started forward, trying to club the back of Joe’s head. Joe shrank his head into his neck and took the blow this his shoulders, firing back an elbow into the man’s sternum. The crunch echoed throughout the chamber. A bubbling rasp escaped the man’s lips, and he toppled backwards. I can hear the frenzied attack on the door, wooden planks being splintered, even see teeth flashing between the gaps. Joe stood before it, the tendons on his neck as taut as piano wire. He was reaching into himself, finding the reserves to thrown open the door. Only it wasn’t that door he was opening. With an almighty heave, the world turned inside out. I was frozen by a wave of coldness, it crackled through me, rolling over my body in a wave. My breath frosted before me, the plume from my mouth smaller than the cloud at the hole in my throat. At the same time, my pulse restarted, heart picking up the tempo. Joe slowly turned around, there was nothing behind, just an empty space. He walked past the killer, who back pedalled with his heels, holding his chest the same as me. Joe’s wounds have frozen over the tear in his head has become a crown of ice, glittering above the metal plate. When he offers me his hand, I can see that one screw is indeed lose, the raised head gouged strips into the torn skin. Carefully, he pulls me to my feet. “Can you walk?” I nod. He takes the girl out of the cage, wrapping her in the blanket from the bottom and lifts her onto my shoulder. His eyes roll back into his head as it looks like he’s trying to survey the damage from the inside and falls backwards, blinking rapidly, snapping his face from side to side. Until at last his eyes are looking forward. “You don’t have much time, you need to get out, get outside the tunnel before I fall. If you don’t you’ll be stuck here forever.” “Where’s here?” “Somewhere you don’t want to be.” Broken in body, not mind, I carried her, one foot in front of the other. It took both of us to get her off the platform, but we managed it. Joe fading, whatever it was he was doing, I could see life leeching from him. He was getting slower, lagging behind, unable to take the weight of the air above him. The tunnel was getting darker. “Run,” he said, “Run like the devil!” White noise, filled my vision as I tried to make sense of the looming shapes; hear my footfalls; see the faint gleam of the rails, and focus on the small pin point in the distance. I held her close, feeling her warmth burning through my chest and shoulder, her hair breezing against my cheek. Joe’s voice was distant, far away, “…keep going.” “No, we’ll wait.” I started to turn. “No! If you lose the light, you’ll never get out, run. Run!” I did. Felt as though I was running through razor blades and my lungs were a pincushion. The end of the tunnel receded, shrinking into the void. I yelled, shouting into the blackness. Head down, blindly continuing. The acid building up in my limbs matching the agonies everywhere else. I ran until I could run no more. There was no light. Only darkness. No, not complete. I could make out the shimmer of stars above. I stopped. Nothing. Nothing. Instantly, the world was alight with fire, blue and red from emergency service vehicles. The noise of people deafening. Halogen spotlights burned my eyes. I heard a cry of shock from behind me, then people swarmed around. My legs gave way and I collapsed. I could feel guiding hands lowering me to the ground, and taking the girl. I heard Charlotte whimper; wanted to reach out and comfort her, but she had already been taken away. A sea of legs surrounded me, then someone shouting for room. “Jesus Christ,” someone said, moving in. In the parting gap, I saw a couple, crying, gathered around Charlotte, looking over at me, then a paramedic was above me, looking into my eyes with a torch. “Hold still, don’t move.” “Poisoned.” I said, my hand touching my throat. People crying. Petrol, fumes from a generator. Flashes of light. The comforting weight of a blanket pressing down on my shoulders. “Where’s Joe?” I asked. “There’s someone else with you? There’s no one down there.” I looked back down the tunnel, light racing down the rails as far as they eye could see. Empty. “There is, wait.” I was lifted onto a stretcher, metal rails lifted into place. “No, give me a minute.” Protesting, not being heard. A crack of thunder rolled from the clear heavens. I waited, watching. Like a magician’s trick in reverse. Nothing… one, two, three. Joe exploded from the darkness, he fell against a bystander, leaving a bloody hand print across a neon hi-vis jacket, before crashing to the floor. It looked like the top half his face had been torn away. The policeman screamed, dropping his flashlight. It fell illuminating Joe’s unblinking eyes, one pupil dilated, the other unresponsive. I turned and puked. Someone rubbed my back. From where Joe had appeared, I could hear the process of intubation, then CPR. Then it was my turn to be wheeled into an awaiting ambulance.
