Electric Light (Blair Dubh Trilogy #3) (10 page)

Craig turned to his mum and took her hands. “I’ll be fine. You know me, I always am.”

“You’ve just been shot,” she cried, verging on hysterics. “If you go out that door I swear I’ll tell Freya and she’ll be furious with you. You made her a promise.”

“Mum, this is my job. You might not like it but this is what I do. Now we’re going out there to get Hughes and we will come back. We have to do this.”

Tears slid down Nora’s lined cheeks as she realised there was no way she could prevent her son from doing exactly what he wanted, he’d always been the same. She nodded sadly, drew in a breath and forced herself to calm down. “If that’s what you want but if you come back dead I’ll tell Freya.”

“That won’t be necessary.” He kissed her damp cheek and gently squeezed her hand before turning to the rest of the room. “All of you, stay down and stay safe.” He looked to his two colleagues. “One of you needs to stay here with this lot, we have to maintain a police presence. I’m not going to make the decision who. You’ll decide between you.”

Gary and Steve looked helplessly at each other. “How the hell do we decide that?” said Steve.

“Better hurry, Hughes could pop his head out the door any minute,” said Craig.

“Hey, what are you doing?” said Steve when Gary grabbed his right wrist and cuffed him to the rail running around the bar.

“That fluffy blond bird of yours will kill me if anything happens to you. Stay here and look after this lot.”

“How can I do that if I’m cuffed to the bar?”

“I’ll leave the key with Bill. Don’t let him out until we’ve gone.”

“I won’t,” said Bill. “Good luck lads.”

“Thanks,” said Craig. He hesitated before adding, “we could use a distraction.”

“What sort of distraction?” replied Bill.

“I don’t know, anything you can come up with to draw the sniper’s fire off us and don’t use yourselves.”

“We weren’t intending to,” replied Jimmy.

“Whatever it is do it fast. We need to reach Hughes as quickly as possible.”

He gave his mum one last hug before nodding at Gary. Everyone watched in silence as he and Gary made their way through the pub to the back door. It would have been suicide to go out the front.

The others looked at each other in consternation.

“Trust the stupid wee fud to do something like this,” muttered Bill.

“What can we use for a distraction?” said Jimmy.

“Whatever it is make sure it’s a good one,” replied Nora. “That’s my son out there.”

Bill beamed. “Don’t you worry Nora hen, I’ve just had an idea. It’s a mad one but it’ll be one hell of a distraction.”

CHAPTER 11

Hughes jumped awake with a loud snort, roused by his own snoring. He glanced at his watch but it was too dark to make out the time so he turned on the light in the small lounge of the McNab cottage. Crap, he’d been asleep for two hours. Still, who was to know?

He eased himself up to a sitting position, the muscles in his neck aching from the awkward position he’d ended up in on the McNab’s very comfortable couch. He yawned and stretched then rubbed his stomach, which rumbled loudly. Before fixing himself something to eat he wandered over to the window and peered out into the gloom. There were no lights on in the Michie cottage.

“Cheeky bastards,” he said out loud. He wouldn’t put it past Gary and Steve to have skived off to the pub. If they had he was going to have their jobs for it.

Hughes got on his radio and attempted to reach both his constables but there was nothing but static. He surmised the storm was responsible but it wasn’t going to save that useless pair from a bollocking.

“Right,” he huffed, storming for the door.

Graeme was boiling over with fury. Thanks to Craig fucking Donaldson he’d been thwarted twice. He was actually crouched in Craig’s bedroom in his mother’s cottage because of its wonderful view of the main street and it was tempting to trash the whole house, just to get a bit of his own back, but that would not be productive. Instead he leaned back against the wall, rifle clutched tightly in both hands, screwed his eyes tight shut and concentrated on his breathing. It didn’t take long for his heart rate to slow and the ugly, dark feelings to evaporate. When he opened his eyes he was once more calm and thinking clearly. His ability to control his emotions so well was a never-ending source of pride for him.

Graeme wasn’t used to being vexed like this, he was used to getting the job done then getting out. If all had gone according to plan he would be hightailing it out of the village through the woods by now, which he’d spent weeks combing so he could walk through them at night quite easily. By now he should be scouting for the next place to go but he’d barely scratched the surface here, there was too much evil left in this village. The purification process wasn’t complete.

He counted the bodies lying in the street and frowned. Seven was an unsatisfactory number when there were still so many in the pub. The curtains were all closed and he couldn’t see a thing through them, they were just too thick. He grunted in frustration. What remained of the village was in there, no doubt crouched and cowering in fear. Perhaps he could barricade all the exits shut and burn it to the ground? Those who managed to escape he could shoot. But it was risky. He knew Gordon kept a shotgun because he enjoyed hunting, they’d discussed weaponry often enough. Undoubtedly Gordon would now have that gun in his hot little hands, ready to blow a hole through the first thing that approached and he was a good shot. After seeing the devastation those weapons could do up close he wasn’t about to walk up to one head-on. Approaching the pub directly would only be a last resort. However they would be attempting to call the emergency services and although this storm was playing havoc with his own mobile phone he knew there was a landline in the pub as well as police officers with Airwave radios. The authorities would be moving in. Time to ensure they didn’t get very far.

He was about to turn away from the window then hesitated. Movement had caught his eye further down the street. He pressed his face up to the glass and squinted, attempting to make out where it was coming from. Graeme’s lips curled into a smile. Here was his chance to rid the world of more evil.

Craig and Gary had snuck out the back door of the pub and pressed themselves against the side of the building to peer around the corner.

“What can you see?” whispered Gary.

“Not much,” replied Craig. It was dark, the full moon casting a glow but it kept being obscured by thick, rolling storm clouds. None of the streetlights appeared to be working, probably put out of commission by the sniper, telling him he must have night vision, another advantage along with the gun.

At that moment mother nature once more lit up the scene for him as soft thunder was accompanied by brilliant lightning.

“Jesus Christ, there must be six or seven bodies in the street,” said Craig.

The horrific scene was mercifully blotted out when the lightning died away. Craig couldn’t tell if the storm was finally passing or if it was just a lull before the worst of it descended on them. Judging by the danger in the village he decided it must be the latter.

Another, weaker flash of lightning crackled over the village and Craig saw something that made his heart sink. One of the bodies moved.

“Oh shit,” he whispered.

“What?” whispered back Gary.

“I think one of them is still alive.”

Craig held his breath as he waited to see if they would move again. He couldn’t be sure they actually had, with the frenzied lightning his eyes could have been playing tricks on him. He hoped they were. He’d promised Freya he’d come home alive and he really didn’t want to break that promise.

He watched, straining to see clearly in the darkness, appalled when their hand moved. He didn’t know who it was, it was hard to tell at this distance. What he did know was that he couldn’t leave a critically injured person lying in the middle of the road.

“Stop moving,” he called to them.

The figure didn’t speak but they did raise their hand, which shook violently.

“I said stop moving,” he called louder. “If the sniper sees you they’ll shoot you.”

“It hurts so bad,” wailed a woman’s voice. “My back…”

“I’m going to try to reach you but you’ve got to lie still, okay?”

“It hurts…I can’t…”

“Don’t move,” Craig bellowed when the figure rolled onto its side. Lightning strobed across the sky and he saw it was Iza.

“Shit,” he said, instinct propelling him out from behind the pub. “Jesus Christ,” he yelled when her head exploded and she flopped back to the ground, twitching. He just managed to duck back behind the pub as two bullets slammed into the ground beside him.

“He shot Iza, she was already injured,” he said, the horror of her death replaying before his eyes.

“Fucking sick bastard,” spat Gary.

It was one of the lowest points in Craig’s life. He felt he should have done more to save these people. He’d known Adam wasn’t the real sniper and now he’d been proved correct, but he should have persuaded his colleagues he was right and encouraged them to investigate more closely. He’d been too worried about protecting his precious career. Well he wouldn’t make that mistake again. He could still atone for his failure and that began with staying alive long enough to do it.

“You ready?” he said to Gary.

Determinedly his colleague nodded.

Taking a deep breath Craig scrabbled towards Gordon’s four by four that was parked in front of the pub, careful to keep his head down below the vehicle, Gary following. Shots thudded into the ground around them but they managed to reach safety unscathed.

“Try and get the fud on the radio again,” said Craig.

Gary tried but all he got was static. “Now what?”

“Now we wait for Bill’s distraction. I hope he doesn’t take long.”

Right on cue lights came bobbing down the road, only about a foot off the ground, moving erratically.

“What the hell is that?” frowned Craig.

“It looks like…I don’t bloody know what it looks like. Whatever it is, it’s not human.”

Their question was answered when a loud squawking filled the air.

“They’re fucking chickens,” exclaimed Gary. “Bill’s tied lights to a herd of chickens, the mad bastard.”

“It’s a brood not a herd and he’s not mad, he’s one smart bastard,” said Craig when bullets started to pound into the ground around the lights. “It’s panicking the sniper, he can’t work out what’s going on. Let’s move.”

They raced out from behind the shelter of Gordon’s vehicle and across the street, Gary almost tripping over a chicken as he ran. The dull thud of bullets hitting tarmac was just about audible over the gentle roll of thunder and the squawking.

Instead of going through the front door of the McNab cottage they rushed around the back, out of the line of fire. They shoved open the gate leading into the small yard and hammered on the rear door.

“Let us in,” bellowed Craig.

There was the sound of the key being turned in the lock and the door slowly opened to reveal an indignant Hughes. “What on earth do you think you’re doing? You can’t come in here, it’s a crime scene.”

Craig and Gary barged their way past him and slammed the door shut. “There’s a sniper on the loose,” said Craig breathlessly.

“Impossible, he’s dead,” retorted Hughes.

“Adam was set up, he’s not the real sniper.”

“Then who is?”

“No idea. He’s already shot half a dozen more people, they’re lying outside in the street.”

Hughes’s forehead creased, making his dark eyes look mean and piggy. “I don’t believe it.”

“Take a look for yourself,” said Craig, gesturing to the window.

“Not likely, I don’t want to get shot.”

“The sniper’s on this side of the street. He’ll only see you if you stick your head out the window.”

Hughes walked through the cottage to the tiny sitting room, opened the curtains a crack and peered out. “I don’t see anything. Oh wait a minute, I do see a body.” He sighed, let the curtains drop and turned back round to face them, looking furious. “Is this some sort of stupid, sick joke?”

“Do you think we’d joke about something as serious as this?” scowled Craig.

“The only dead body I see out there is a chicken’s.”

“Forget the fucking chicken, look again.”

Hughes rolled his eyes and turned back to the window. When Gary and Craig saw him go rigid they knew he’d finally seen something. He backed away from the window, swallowing hard. “It could just be some rolled-up carpet.”

“Trust me, it’s not,” said Craig. “We think he’s shot at least seven people after they left the pub.”

“He? Who’s he?” Hughes demanded, voice rising with hysteria.

“We don’t know that yet. It might even be a woman for all we know.”

“Why don’t you know?”

“I’d love to get up close and personal with this bastard but I don’t want to get a bullet between the eyes,” yelled Craig, losing his temper. He and Gary had risked their lives to come here and this was the thanks they got.

“We need to stop this as soon as possible,” said Hughes.

“You think?” exclaimed Craig. “First of all we need to get back to the pub.”

“Oh yeah because a pint’s going to be the answer to all this,” sneered Hughes.

“What the fuck did you say to the Sarge?” demanded Gary, his temper snapping.

“Gary, take it easy,” said Craig, putting both hands on his chest and pushing him back when he advanced on Hughes.

“Sorry Sarge but I can’t take it any longer. We could have got killed coming over here to warn the stupid wee fud and does he even say thank you? No, he just gets on our case for not having nicked a fucking armed lunatic.” He turned his furious gaze back on Hughes. “If you hadn’t noticed we don’t have guns so it’s a bit of an uneven fight. If you’re so fucking great why don’t you go out there and let him use you for target practice while you read him his rights?”

“You’re going to regret speaking to me like that Constable,” glowered Hughes.

“The only thing I’m going to regret is not putting you on your fucking arse while I had the chance,” he barked, drawing back his fist.

Craig caught Gary’s arm and held him fast as Hughes stumbled backwards in panic.

“That’s enough Gary, take it easy,” said Craig.

Gary puffed out a breath and turned his back on Hughes while he tried to regain control of his temper.

“But he does have a point,” said Craig, fixing Hughes with a cold stare. “Get off our case and start helping. We need to get across to the pub because that’s where the rest of the villagers are and we can’t leave them alone. Plus there’s safety in numbers. We lock ourselves in there and try to call for help.”

“You’ve not even done that yet?”

“We can’t because of the storm,” hissed Craig through clenched teeth.

Disbelieving, Hughes started to speak into his own radio, Craig and Gary smiling with satisfaction when it got him nowhere.

“Now do you believe us?” scowled Gary.

“The landline,” said Hughes.

“You shouldn’t use one in a storm, you could get electrocuted,” said Gary. “On second thoughts, be my guest.”

“Don’t be so stupid, course you can,” he said, rushing into the hallway to use the same phone Craig had used when he’d discovered the McNab’s bodies. He picked up the receiver, held it to his ear then threw it back down when static crackled loudly in his ear.

“The village doesn’t want us to call for help,” said Gary.

“You can stop all that silly talk right now Constable,” chided Hughes. “Okay, so how do we get back across the road?”