Reaper Page 10

  ‘Bollocks! You’re making it up.’

  The low-key squabble continued and Reaper stepped out from cover in front of the girl. She stopped and gasped, her eyes wide. She dropped the bottles, but the carpet cushioned their fall and they did not break. He took her into his arms before she had the chance to turn and run and whispered, ‘It’s okay. I’ve come to save you. You’re going to be safe.’ But the girl just shook in his arms. He found it impossible to tell how old she was: maybe sixteen or seventeen.

  She was blonde and plump and her flesh trembled with fear.

  ‘You need to tell me who is in the room,’ he said urgently. ‘How many?’ He shook her shoulders gently but firmly but she still couldn’t speak. ‘What’s your name? You’re going to be alright now, but tell me your name. What’s your name?’

  ‘Helen,’ she said, the word coming out as a sob.

  ‘Helen.’ He caught her gaze and kept it, looking deeply and sincerely into her eyes. ‘Helen, you have to help me. Who is in the room?’

  ‘Caroline.’

  ‘Caroline is in the room. Is she your friend?’

  The girl nodded.

  ‘Who else is in the room?’

  ‘Stacey.’

  ‘Is Stacey your friend, too?’

  She nodded again.

  ‘Good, that’s good, Helen. How many men are in the room?’

  ‘Jerome. They call him Jerome.’

  ‘Just the one man?’ She nodded. ‘Okay. Now what I want you to do is take the beers into the room and leave the door open. When you go inside, walk to one side and stay there. I’ll come in behind you. Okay?’ She stared at him for a moment, uncom-prehending. ‘You go inside and walk to one side.

  Okay?’

  She nodded again and he holstered the guns, picked up the bottles and gave them to her, took out the knife and flicked the blade open.

  Helen opened the door but it didn’t open properly and she eased herself in sideways. He peeked in and saw it was a sitting room and that, apart from the debris of a drinking session, it was empty. He should have realised it was a suite. He pushed the door open a little wider and entered. Helen took the bottles into the bedroom and Reaper began to close the door and then recoiled in horror.

  Hanging from a hook on the back of the door was the body of a young girl. Her shirt had been torn but apart from that she was fully dressed and seemed unmolested. Her school tie was around her neck and had been fastened to a hook on the door. Her tongue protruded and her face was discoloured. He went numb, hardly hearing the exchange of words in the bedroom.

  Hate pulsed through his veins. A searing memory returned. His mind screamed silently.

  ‘Stupid bitch!’ he heard from the other room, and he was striding towards the bedroom door without thought for caution. He entered a large room with a king-sized bed, the sheet crumpled and the bedding thrown into a corner. Helen was to the left of the room, still holding the bottles. Crouched on the floor by the bedding was a dark-haired girl who seemed to be naked. On the bed, lounging against pillows, was a large naked man in his forties, blue tattoos livid against the white flesh of both arms, his head shaved to the skin. All he wore were boots and socks.

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’ he said, but Reaper was already on the bed and plunging the knife into his stomach, withdrawing and plunging again, aiming upwards beneath the ribs. The man struggled but the strength drained from him under the viciousness of the attack and the repeated blows. As he lay back with his life oozing from him and a startled look upon his face, Reaper knelt over him and stuck the knife into his throat and the blood gushed afresh. The knife stuck there and would not come loose.

  Reaper rolled away and sat on the edge of the bed.

  His breath was ragged, his body was shaking – not with revulsion but anger that the man had died so quickly. He had wanted him to suffer more. He noticed the girls looking at him, horror in their faces. He raised a hand. His voice rasped.

  ‘I’m not going to harm you,’ he said. ‘You’ll be safe.

  Don’t worry, you’ll be safe.’

  He got up and looked at his hands and went into the bathroom. He washed them. He didn’t want them to be sticky for the next part of the operation. He also washed the butts of his pistols which had become smeared with blood. When they were dry, he held one in each hand and returned to the bedroom.

  ‘I’m going downstairs now. How many are there, Helen?’

  ‘Five.’

  He looked at the other girl.

  ‘Caroline?’ he said, and the girl acknowledge the name. ‘Are there any more of your friends down there?’

  ‘Miss Hall,’ she said.

  ‘Miss Hall?’

  ‘Our teacher.’

  ‘What’s her first name?’

  ‘Jennifer. Jenny.’

  ‘Okay. You wait here and I’ll be back soon.’

  They continued to stare at him in utter shock and there was no point trying to assure them that they were safe. He turned to leave the bedroom and saw himself in a full-length mirror. No wonder the girls were horrified; the sight shocked him. His face was a mask of blood; his arms and chest still dripped red.

  He was the devil incarnate. And he wanted more blood.

  He checked his watch. It had been 25 minutes since he left Sandra. She would be getting nervous. He left the suite and walked unhurried around the balcony to the grand staircase. Mungo Jerry had finished and a Beach Boys song was playing. He began to descend the stairs and just past halfway down he shouted,

  ‘Jenny Hall! Get down and stay down!’

  A young man was lounging full-length on a red plush banquette that directly faced the stairs, empty bottles at his feet. Reaper shot him in the chest.

  Reception was to the right, the entrance to a bar was to the left. He entered the bar and was confronted by another man who was so alarmed that he dropped the bowl from which he had been spooning food. Reaper levelled and fired another chest shot and the man went down. The third man had picked up a full-length shotgun from the bar and was swinging it in his direction but it was too unwieldy. He should have had a sawn-off. Reaper raised his left arm and blew him backwards. Two others. One outside. Where was the last one?

  He was by a cigarette machine in the corner. He fired a revolver at Reaper but the shots were wild.

  One hit the CD player on the bar and Surfin’ USA came to an abrupt end. As Reaper levelled his right arm and aimed, the man seemed to sense the outcome: he dropped the revolver and raised his arms. Reaper shot him in the head.

  His ears were ringing from the shots but there was still the fifth man to make sure of. Reaper went to the front door, staying out of direct line of sight, and saw the young man with the sawn-off lying on his face on the steps with a bullet-hole in his back.

  ‘Sandra!’ he shouted through the open door. ‘It’s over!’ He stepped into sight with both arms raised at the top of the steps and stared across the square, finding her outline in the first floor window. He put the guns back in their holsters. ‘You’re needed, Sandra!’

  He paused in the fresh air, trying to get his anger to dissipate. Eventually he went back inside.

  ‘Miss Hall?’ he called. ‘Miss Jenny Hall?’ A woman came from the bar. She too wore only a shirt, which she now held together in front of her. ‘Jenny? Don’t worry. You’re safe now. Helen and Caroline are upstairs. I think they need you.’

  ‘Who are you?’ she said, gazing at the bodies and the lingering gun smoke.

  ‘I’m Reaper,’ he said.

  She shook her head and murmured, ‘The Reaper.’

  He did not correct her.

  ‘Where did you come from?’

  ‘We have a place that’s safe. Men, women, children.

  We’ll take you there. If you like?’

  ‘We?’

  Sandra entered through the front door, carrying the two carbines. She was pale but in control and Reaper guessed that having an audience again had helped her composure.

  ‘T
his is Sandra,’ he said. ‘Jenny . . . the girls?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Jenny Hall went upstairs to find Helen and Caroline.

  Sandra looked at the bodies. She visibly relaxed and handed him his carbine.

  ‘You okay?’ he said.

  ‘I’m fine.’ She was looking at the gore on his face and arms. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘There’s another one upstairs. He bled a lot.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Good shot.’

  ‘It took two.’

  ‘But you got him. When you learn what they did, you won’t regret it.’

  He went outside and sat on the step next to the dead body. Sandra sat next to him.

  ‘Should we go help them?’ she said.

  ‘One of the girls, Stacey, she’s dead. She’s been dead some time. She’s up there. I’ll go and get her in a while.

  No need for you to see.’

  He could sense she knew there was more to it than that, but she didn’t ask

  Instead, she said, ‘How many of them?’

  ‘Two girls and the teacher.’

  There was a silence between them and he wondered if Sandra was remembering her own ordeal. He reached out and took her hand.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘I try to blank it, but it’s difficult. It’ll be difficult for a long time. I came out with my life. I suppose a lot haven’t.’ She smiled at him.

  ‘Playing soldier helps.’ She looked at the body of the man she shot. ‘That doesn’t bother me. I remember.

  And I know he deserved it.’

  ‘These girls are going to need looking after.’

  ‘We’ll look after them.’

  ‘I’d better go upstairs,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  This time he didn’t try to dissuade her.

  Jenny Hall, Caroline and Helen were on the landing.

  They had dressed in an assortment of clothes, some ripped, some complete. They still looked confused and nervous.

  Sandra said, ‘You need some proper clothes. We’ll sort it.’

  The two students stared at Sandra in wonder. The girl was not much older than them but seemed so much more assured and mature. She carried her weapons with an unforced ease. Reaper wondered if the turmoil the world had just gone through had accelerated development. More likely it had forced people to accept or give up. Sandra was not about to give up.

  Reaper said, ‘We have transport.’

  The girls still looked more uncomfortable than he would have expected. Was he missing something?

  Sandra said, ‘Why don’t we go across the road. The hotel we were in, it’s okay. You could have a bath, a shower, clean up.’

  That was it. How dumb could a man be?

  They went across the road, Reaper and Sandra keeping watch, but the square was clear. Sandra led them upstairs and into the bedroom they had used.

  He stopped at the door.

  ‘I’ll bring the car round,’ he said.

  ‘There’s something else you could do,’ she said. ‘Wait there.’

  She closed the door and left him in the shadows.

  What now? He went to wait on the landing where the light was better. After a few minutes, she came to him and handed him the car keys and a sheet of headed hotel notepaper.

  ‘Their sizes,’ she said. ‘It might be good if you got them something to wear. Fresh clothes, fresh start.’

  ‘Got it,’ he said, happy to take orders. ‘I won’t be long.’

  He went out of the back entrance of the hotel and drove the car down a lane, took a left, and left again, ignoring no entry signs, and went past the fronts of the hotels. At the top he turned right towards the centre of town and the shops. He went past a large department store with a plate glass window that seemed to have been smashed out of pure vindictiveness. He paused at a junction: pedestrianised shopping centre to his left; more shops and pubs straight ahead; and a steep road down to the Promenade on his right. He turned left and drove up the pedestrian way. Someone dodged down a side street at his approach. It was inevitable people would be cautious while gangs led by animals like Jerome wandered the town.

  Near a shopping mall, he found a camping store and filled bags with boots, socks, T-shirts, trousers, sweaters, baseball hats, rainproof coats like the one Sandra had chosen, all in blue, and a handful of sports watches that promised to work up to thirty metres under water. He chose new kit for himself, because of the blood. He found a staff bathroom, stripped and washed, then dressed in clean clothes. He packed everything up and stared at the shopping mall. Great place for an ambush, but how many gangs like Jerome’s would Scarborough have? Besides, these were girls and they might not appreciate looking like conscripts in his private army.

  He hefted his carbine and went in, heading straight to the Debenhams store at the back. Now he chose jeans, plain blouses, soft sweaters, tracksuits, white socks and trainers. He added packs of underwear.

  Sandra had added bra sizes and he spent an embarrassed few minutes trying to choose something that might be practical and inoffensive. How could he get embarrassed when he was on his own? Sports bras seemed a safe option.

  One bag he kept apart from the others. This was for Sandra. Sweater, slacks, even a dress, although he thought he had probably got the size wrong. To make sure, he took the dress in two sizes. He remembered her shoe size from when she chose the Doc Martens.

  He picked her a pair of trainers, a pair of pumps, and a pair of summery high heels to match the dress.

  He loaded everything into the back of the car and drove back up the pedestrian way. On impulse, he stopped outside a jewellery shop. The door had been forced but it was surprisingly tidy inside. He chose a Christian Dior Christal ladies watch with a price tag over £4,000. Sandra deserved a present.

  Reaper was surprised that the shopping had taken so long. He parked outside the hotel and carried in the bags. Sandra was waiting in the foyer. Her eyes widened when she saw the amount of goods. She helped him carry them upstairs, knocked at the door and put her head round it. He waited while she took the bags inside.

  ‘How are they?’ he asked when she returned.

  ‘Stunned, shocked. But they’ll be okay. They’ll have to be, won’t they?’

  It was a brutal reality, but she was right.

  ‘I got you a present,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  His statement had taken her by surprise. He gave her one of the sports watches and saw her disappointment.

  ‘That’s for operational purposes,’ he said. ‘This isn’t.’

  The disappointment turned into delight when she opened the box he gave her and saw the Christal watch.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘But when will I wear it?’

  ‘Whenever you like,’ he said. ‘Old rules don’t apply any more. Remember?’ She gave him a kiss on the cheek. ‘Oh yes, and there’s a bag of stuff in the car for you.’

  Sandra stared up into his face and said, ‘Reaper, you are amazing.’

  He looked away, changing the mood, then looked back.

  ‘I’m going across the road to collect any weapons they had. And there’s something else. The girl, Stacey.

  Did they tell you?’

  ‘They said she couldn’t face it. That she hung herself.

  The man they called Jerome left her hanging there. He thought it was funny. She was fourteen.’

  He nodded, getting his emotions under control, then said, ‘There’s a church up the hill. I’m going to take her there.’

  ‘You don’t believe in God,’ said Sandra.

  ‘No, but she probably did.’ He paused. ‘When the girls are ready, they might want to come. I’ll wait outside.’

  He went back to the car, took one of the suitcases from the back and pulled it into the Imperial. He opened it in the foyer and put in it two sawn-off shotguns, a Webley revolver, ammunition and two large knives in sheaths. He steeled himself to go upstairs, not because of the sight of Jerome, but
because of Stacey. The man had a sawn-off shotgun, a Walther PPK and ammunition, and a 10 inch Bowie knife with a leg sheath. He strapped the sheath and knife onto his own right leg. The guns and ammunition he took downstairs and put in the case, which he stowed in the back of the car along with the full-sized shotgun.

  Now, for the final part of what he had come to see as an act of cleansing . . . He went into another bedroom and found a clean sheet. He lay it on the floor of the room where the young girl hung. He stood for a moment before her and, in his mind, apologised for having to touch her. He promised he would be gentle and that she would now be able to rest in peace.

  It was as close to a prayer as he could manage. Tears sprang to his eyes as he took her light weight over his shoulder, using the Bowie knife to cut the school tie from which she hung.

  Reaper lay her on the sheet and arranged her clothes decently. He knelt by her side and, leaning forward, kissed her on the forehead, then carefully wrapped the sheet around her. He took the tie-backs from the room curtains, but they were not long enough. In the next suite, he found two white bathrobes and took the belts.

  As gently as he could, he tied the belts around the girl’s chest and thighs to keep the sheet in place.

  He swung the carbine onto his back, knelt down and picked up the body. She weighed hardly anything at all. A small victim in the aftermath of the end of the world. He glanced upwards. Are you there, God?

  Can You make sense of this? He carried her downstairs and lay her on the wall outside the hotel and waited in the sunshine beneath an egg-blue sky and the sound of the gulls.

  Sandra brought the girls across the street. The two young girls were wearing jeans, sweaters and trainers.

  Jenny Hall was wearing combat clothes. They carried the Debenhams bags of spare clothing.

  ‘There’s a church not far away,’ he said. ‘I’ll carry her. Sandra, why don’t you drive the girls there? Then we don’t have to come back.’

  He picked up the body and strode off up the road.

  Behind him, he heard the doors of the car open and close as they stored their gear and climbed aboard.