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<h1>28</h1>
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<p><em>August 4. 9am</em></p>
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<p>White hot fire seared across Danny Gillan's back.</p>
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<p>The excruciating pain was like a splash of molten metal, an
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incandescent surge of agony. He was slammed by a giant hand against
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the steep shale slope only yards from the top and freedom. His face
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drove in against the soft surface with stunning force before he
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could even scream.</p>
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<p>He had just been reaching for the next handhold when all the
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world turned to flame.</p>
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<p>Somewhere in the distance, a clap of dreadful thunder shook the
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valley in a cannonade of shattering sound, following on the searing
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pain that ripped across Danny's shoulders and on his spine. His
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nose drove into the gravel, burst like a tomato with a wet sound,
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but he was soaring so high on the surge of the other unbelievable
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hurt that he felt nothing of that.</p>
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<p>His whole body jerked even as his hands tried to dig into the
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surface. The noise went on and on and on, rolling up and down the
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valley, reverberating from the chasm walls and Danny was surrounded
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by nose and pain, completely encased in it for what seemed like an
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eternity.</p>
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<p>He was burning. He was on fire.</p>
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<p><em>Oh God don't let me...</em></p>
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<p>It had all happened in the blink of an eye. The man had turned,
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raising the gun. Corky had been screaming something unintelligible
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but utterly clear in its meaning. He had been bawling at Danny to
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move, to climb, to get up and over. And the gun was swinging up
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wards and the hot, sour panic had erupted and the shudder of
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anticipation had shaken him from the bottom of his spine to the top
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of his head. He'd scrambled desperately for that top ridge, feet
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sending out avalanches of shale, fingers clawing at the incline,
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knowing the black barrels were swinging up on him.</p>
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<p>The pain had hit before the sound had swallowed him and he had
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been batted against the slope by an enormous force and he was on
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<em>fire</em>.</p>
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<p>That first instant seemed to stretch on and on, trapping him
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inside a vast and implacable bubble of pain. His vision went black
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and he knew he was dead. Dead and gone. There was just the pain and
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the noise and he was burning. Dead and judged.</p>
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<p>The fire consumed him. He was being burned away, cauterised,
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scorched, scalded. All down his back a molten river was eating into
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him, corroding the skin and muscle. Inside the bubble of time and
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pain, he was catapulted back ten years, crawling on that slick
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linoleum and the boiling liquid which hate into his hands and the
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tender surface of his knees while on his back the skin was peeling
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and bubbling like tar. Around him, through the thunder, he could
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hear again his sister's scream mingling with his own and his limbs
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jerked.</p>
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<p>He was dead and this was the bad fire. This was the burning. He
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was searing and shrivelling, skin warped and contorting. The noise
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went on and on and on and somebody was screaming and it wasn't his
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sister Agnes who was making the noise. It was John Corcoran,
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somewhere far below screeching like a banshee while Danny was
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burning up.</p>
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<p>And he was falling.</p>
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<p>The pain did not diminish, but the strange, timeless bubble that
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had encapsulated him suddenly burst and he was not dead at all.
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Fire raced across his back, huge gouts of it, but he was not dead.
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He coughed and gravel and blood spat out. His hands were clawing
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away, working on their own, trying to get a grip, but he was
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falling. He felt himself peel away from the slope while his hands
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clawed at the air and the thick taste of metal was clogged in the
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back of his throat. He dropped, almost in slow motion, to the
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gravelly surface, ploughed a boy-wide furrow, tumbling head over
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heels. He landed on his feet, twisted, came down on his shoulder,
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still somersaulting as he dropped from the high ridge.</p>
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<p>All the time, despite the dizzy spinning of the world the
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enormous burning consumed him and noise went on and on. His
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shoulder hit a spur of mudstone and he flipped on and out into the
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air, arms wheeling, legs kicking. There was sky and then green,
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grey of the slope and then blue sky again. Everything whirled as he
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spun out into the air. No sound escaped him. There was no time. His
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hands were still trying to grab at the shale slant way above him.
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He fell the way the stones had fallen, bouncing, tumbling and then
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out into the air and he realised that the pain would end.</p>
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<p>He was falling to the rocks below and it would all end here and
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there would be no more fear.</p>
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<p>Corky was screaming his name and he wanted to close the pain off
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for a moment to tell him not to worry, but there was no time for
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anything at all. The ground leapt up at him, the canyon walls
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whipping by in flickering striations if grey and white, like candy
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stripes. He fell.</p>
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<p>The belly flop into the deep pool knocked all the breath from
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him. The force of the flat impact was like hitting a wall. His nose
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took another blow and both his knees drove right into the sediment
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at the bottom of the pool..</p>
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<p>Danny was so stunned he did not even know he'd landed in the
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water. Everything went black and for a wonderful moment all pain
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was snuffed out for the second time he believed he was dead but now
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he simply welcomed the cessation of hurt.</p>
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<p><em>And he fell for forty days and forty nights.</em> His
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father's voice came to him from a long distance. <em>Forty days and
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forty nights without stopping, cast out to the exterior
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darkness.</em></p>
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<p>He'd been falling, burning up in the fire and he'd hit and it
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had been easy. He'd hit and the pain had gone and he floated in the
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dark, slowly turning. Paulie Degman's face floated beside him.</p>
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<p>"<em>All right, Dan</em>?"</p>
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<p>He tried to answer but he couldn't say anything because he had
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no mouth. Paulie opened his own mouth and a bubble, silvered and
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wavering, rolled up to the far surface.</p>
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<p>"<em>Are you in a state of grace, Danny boy</em>?" Paulie wanted
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to know, all white and bloodless and twisting in the current. His
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voice sounded like the noise water made when it tumbled down under
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the heather runnels, cold and hollow. There was a buzzing behind
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the words and Danny knew it was the flies, sent by Be-elzebub, the
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Lord of the Flies, one of those who had fallen forty days and forty
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nights with the searing incandescence of Lucifer falling with
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them.</p>
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<p><em>And there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth,</em> Paulie
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was saying, in Danny's father's voice and the buzzing got louder he
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did not want the flies to come and lay their eggs in him when he
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was dead and he did not want his hair and nails to grow, the way
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Mole Hopkirk's nails and hair had grown in that room at the back of
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Cairn house.</p>
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<p><em>Danny!</em></p>
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<p>Paulie was calling to him, calling him down into the mud. The
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pain was starting up again in his back and there was a new pain in
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his face and the taste of blood in his mouth and that was funny
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because except for the fire, you weren't supposed to feel pain at
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all when you were dead.</p>
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<p><em>Danny!</em> The voice called him and he tried to turn away
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form it and the buzzing had changed into a hissing sound, like
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millions of bubbles bursting on a shingle beach, then a muffled
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roar that sounded just like water cascading and his hand was
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snagged on something. He couldn't do anything about it. He tried to
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breathe and an awful cold flooded his throat and he suddenly
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choked. In that instant his consciousness surged back to him and
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his slack muscles instantly galvanised. Somebody was pulling him by
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the arm while the pain still rippled and burned across his back,
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now heating back up again after a brief cool respite.</p>
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<p><em>Danny!</em> Not dead Paulie, but John Corcoran. Corky was
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bawling his name at the top of his voice, dragging him up from
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where Paulie's face was wavering into the dark.</p>
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<hr />
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<p>The gun had roared. A sudden punch of sound that slammed into
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Corky's head. He was only feet away, reaching for the barrels that
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were raised up towards the far wall. Everything had suddenly gone
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mad. The butt had taken Doug on the side of the head, a swift and
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vicious jab and he had stumbled away, got up then drifted sideways
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before falling down to the ground, and Tom was over with Billy who
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was writhing and choking and the man was raising the gun. Corky had
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watched amazed as the first cartridge had gone flickering through
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the air to land with a quick plop in the pool, amazed at Doug's
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sudden comprehension and his dash to get them away from the crazy
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man. He had almost made it. Danny, high up on the side where the
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slope got steeper before the fringe of couch grass at the edge of
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the moor, he had almost made it. He only had yards to go.</p>
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<p>But then Doug was down and out and Billy was rolling on the
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ground and the barrels went up and Corky tried to get them down
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again. He was diving, hands outstretched, bawling at Danny to get a
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move on, to get up and over the top and out of the way and then the
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gun had roared and a noise like thunder hit him so hard he heard
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only the first explosion followed by a repeated clapping sound and
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a high pitched ringing inside his head. Even in the brightening
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morning he saw the flash of fire at the end of the muzzle and then
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sudden belch of smoke just a shade darker than the fading mist. His
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head had swung upwards and Danny's arms had suddenly shot out just
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as a hundred small eruptions of gravel for two yards on either side
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of him where the spread of lead peppered the steep slope. Danny
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seemed to shove himself forward right onto the shale face with both
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arms out on either side as if he'd been kicked hard right between
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his shoulderblades. The hands were scrabbling at the face, trying
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to catch a grip as he slid for thirty feet down the steep shale,
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then he simply peeled away and began to tumble backwards. It all
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happened in the space of a split second.</p>
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<p>There was no sound but the strange internal crackling inside his
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head and the reverberating thump that could have been his heartbeat
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or his mind's echo of the devastating blast. He was trying to shout
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Danny's name, over and over, but he could not hear his own voice.
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He moved past the man, head up, oblivious to the danger.</p>
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<p>Danny fell away from the high side of the spur, flipping right
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over in a complete somersault. He landed twenty feet down, on his
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feet but now facing outwards, much like a ski-jumper. His momentum
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drove a wide furrow in the soft gritty marl, sending up a bow wave
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of powdery rock and then he tumbled over again, arms pinwheeling,
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face just a white blur. His shoulder glanced off the ledge twenty
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feet up and then he was falling straight down. Corky froze. His
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friend was coming down, twisting in the air, heading straight for
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the quartz rocks at the head of the pool where the four feathers
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still stood. Despite the silence, he knew there would be a
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deafening, deadly thud then Danny hit and then nothing, no cry, no
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moan. Nothing.</p>
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<p>Danny missed the rocks by scant inches and hit the water with a
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smack that sent up a wide, curving splash.</p>
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<p>He disappeared under the foaming surface, right in at the deep
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basin where Billy had jumped in on the first day to clean the mud
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from his jeans. Corky's legs got him to the edge. The wave of
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Danny's entry had splashed right up onto the stones on either side
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and sent a little roller curving up over the shingle at the shallow
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end. Danny's tee-shirt was a red blur down in the depths, his hands
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pale fish. For a second Corky though the dye was coming out of the
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shirt in a thin cloud, the way the red grime had come washing off
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Billy. He reached the edge, jumped in across the shingle, up to his
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knees, kept moving, up to his waist. The basin sloped away and he
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was under the water, bawling Danny's name, now hearing the words,
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but as if they were far off. He ducked down, got a hand to one of
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Danny's and started hauling him up to the surface. The hand was
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slack and lifeless. Under the water Danny's head turned round and
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in the blur Corky could see the red smoke billowing out from the
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front of his face and knew it was blood.</p>
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<p>Had he been shot in the head?</p>
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<p><em>Oh my god Danny oh my god</em></p>
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<p>For an instant he panicked, thinking that Danny's head must have
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hit the rocks, must have caved in on the sharp quartz edges, or
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maybe the shot had blasted through from front to back. He felt his
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heart buck wildly and very quickly, out of control. Everything
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seemed to shrivel in the pit of his belly. He pulled, got a foot to
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the shallows and a hand to one of the edging rocks, dragged his
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lifeless friend upwards, away from the dark at the bottom of the
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pool while the blood trailed out and faded in the moving current.
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He made it to the near side, knowing it didn't matter which side,
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got Danny's head out of the water. For a long count Danny was
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completely still. Blood was pouring quite freely from mouth and
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nostrils as he hung, slumped over the stones close to the shallows,
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and then, by a miracle, his shoulders hitched violently. A gout of
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water came sneezing out, coloured by blood and snot. He coughed,
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tried to turn, raise himself up, much as Doug had tried to do,
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managed to get to his knees.</p>
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<p>He raised his hand towards Corky, his streaming eyes wide open
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and blind, mouth gaping. He gasped, coughed, gasped again and then
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he let out the most pitiful whimper of pain Corky had ever heard.
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Danny started to fall forward and Corky waded back behind him to
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get a hand round his shoulder and help him up. But as soon as he
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touched his back, high up close to the neck, Danny squealed like an
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animal and sank to his knees. The blood, what was left of it,
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drained out of his face and he looked as if he would faint. Corky
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ducked, managed to get his own shoulder under Danny's belly,
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grabbed him behind the knees and with a monstrous effort, got to
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his own feet, carrying his friend on his shoulder. He waded
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backwards out of the pool, gasping now for a breath of his own,
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oblivious of the man who stood there watching the whole thing,
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motionless and silent.</p>
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<p>The noise was still reverberating in Corky's ears. Water sloshed
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in his boots. Over by the ring of stones Billy was sitting, legs
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spread, hands at his throat, coughing uncontrollably. Tom was now
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tending to Doug, gently raising his head up. Doug was grinning or
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grimacing, his big front teeth pressed against his bottom lip. His
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hands were shaking like fluttering birds trying to take
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flight..</p>
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<p>Corky put Danny down, gently as he could despite the weight, in
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the lee of the slope at the cleft where he'd crawled through on his
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failed escape attempt. Danny's eyes were dazed, focused far off,
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not quite aware of what was happening. Corky was amazed that he was
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still alive.</p>
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<p>"The heron," Danny mumbled dreamily. "I saw the heron."</p>
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<p>"Very good Dan," Corky said. He sat him down. Twin trickles of
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blood were running down from each nostril and dropping onto the
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tee-short, making hardly a stain against the deep red of the
|
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|
|
fabric. Danny sat back but as soon as his shoulder touched the soft
|
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|
|
moss he yelled aloud and twisted violently to the side.</p>
|
||
|
|
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||
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|
<p>"He shot me, Corky," he managed to squeeze out. "Bloody shot
|
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|
|
me."</p>
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||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Over by the side of the stream the man still stood motionless,
|
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|
|
watching them all curiously. After a while he turned and slowly
|
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|
|
walked back to the ridge where he'd been sitting and eased himself
|
||
|
|
down again, in exactly the same spot, holding the gun the same way,
|
||
|
|
across his knees. It was somehow animal, somehow mindless, the way
|
||
|
|
he moved back to the same place, as if nothing much had happened.
|
||
|
|
He hunched there, seemingly oblivious to them all now, waiting.</p>
|
||
|
|
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||
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|
<p>The stillness of him was somehow even more scary.</p>
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|
<hr />
|
||
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|
<p><em>August 4. 10am.</em></p>
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|
|
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<p>Danny was crying. Tears were steaming down his face and he
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|
twitched violently while Tom held his hand tightly. Billy watched
|
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|
|
with strange, glazed eyes, while Doug held his own head in his
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|
|
hands and sat quite still as if any movement would bring pain. This
|
||
|
|
was true. The back of his head felt as if it was coming apart.
|
||
|
|
There was no blood, but the thumping pain was almost enough to
|
||
|
|
bring tears to his eyes and his neck ached abominably. The only
|
||
|
|
thing he could do for the moment was sit still and keep his eyes
|
||
|
|
closed until it faded. He'd felt sick for a while, but that had
|
||
|
|
passed. The pain was lessening beat by beat, but still each beat
|
||
|
|
was a pounder.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Danny had lain for a long time, trying not to move, lying more
|
||
|
|
on his front than on his side, head twisted to the right to keep
|
||
|
|
his aching nose off the soft moss. It was tender and bloody but
|
||
|
|
that was the least of his concerns. The pain was burning into his
|
||
|
|
back, a sheet of relentless heat like a blowtorch flame on his
|
||
|
|
skin. He imagined he could smell himself burning. Corky risked
|
||
|
|
crossing from to the stream fill the can with water and give first
|
||
|
|
him and then Doug a cool drink.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>"Shot me," Danny bleated again. His tee shirt was already drying
|
||
|
|
in the sun. It was plastered to his back and Corky could see no
|
||
|
|
bullet wounds and he wondered where the damage was.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>"I'll have to have a look," he said. "Where does it hurt." He
|
||
|
|
was speaking in a muffled murmur again, not wishing to attract the
|
||
|
|
attention of the gaunt man who sat like a crow beside the dead
|
||
|
|
fire.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>"My back. Oh, <em>shit</em> Corky. It's really bloody sore."</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>"Hold still and I'll have a look," Corky whispered, hushing him
|
||
|
|
as best he could.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Tom held Danny's hand, clasping his fingers with surprising
|
||
|
|
strength. Corky started to raise the tee-shirt, peeling it away
|
||
|
|
until he had exposed the middle of Danny's back. That's where the
|
||
|
|
bruise started. There were a few puckered little dents in the
|
||
|
|
fabric up between Danny's shoulderblades and three smaller holes.
|
||
|
|
He eased the cloth upwards, and heard Tom's sharp intake of breath
|
||
|
|
at the dreadful discoloration of the puffy skin which had swollen
|
||
|
|
under the tight cloth. Further up he peeled it away, with Danny
|
||
|
|
wincing and sobbing all the while. Finally, up high on the back, he
|
||
|
|
had to pull gently but firmly where the weave formed the small
|
||
|
|
pitted dents. It was only then that he realised what had
|
||
|
|
happened.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>The birdshot, tiny lead pellets had slammed into Danny's
|
||
|
|
sweat-laced shirt, hard enough to drive him against the face, but
|
||
|
|
from far enough away not to kill him. The spread-out pattern had
|
||
|
|
lost enough force and his damp shirt had acted as a buffer. Even
|
||
|
|
so, some of the shot had driven the fabric right into the skin,
|
||
|
|
causing those small dents in the swollen flesh. Corky had to ease
|
||
|
|
each of the slugs out one by one, pulling gently but firmly, and as
|
||
|
|
each of them came out of their embedding craters in the unbroken
|
||
|
|
skin, Danny howled in agony and the tears ran freely down his
|
||
|
|
face.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>"Easy Dan," Corky tried to say, but by this time, he was crying
|
||
|
|
too and Tom's face was a picture of silent misery. Tears were
|
||
|
|
trickling in the dust down his cheeks and dripping slowly from his
|
||
|
|
chin. He held Danny's hand tight as he could, for both their sakes.
|
||
|
|
When it was finished, Corky managed to ease the whole shirt off and
|
||
|
|
he rolled it up to jam it under Danny's face as a pillow. They let
|
||
|
|
him lie there until the sobbing stopped. The bruises on his back
|
||
|
|
were violet and risen, like bursts of thunder on the white of his
|
||
|
|
skin. Between the shoulderblades were three small dark spots which
|
||
|
|
did not bleed. They looked like ink-marks. Corky realised that some
|
||
|
|
of the little pellets had driven through the skin. There was
|
||
|
|
nothing he could do about that.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Tom filled the canteen again and brought it over, again braving
|
||
|
|
the attention, but ignored by the man who sat still as stone, as if
|
||
|
|
waiting for something to happen. He gently poured it on to Danny's
|
||
|
|
back while Corky held his quivering wrists.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>The cold was at first a terrible explosion of pain, and Danny
|
||
|
|
stiffened as if a bolt of high tension power had arced through him,
|
||
|
|
but then it settled into a gentle, soothing coolness which helped
|
||
|
|
take the burn out of his back. Tom kept it up, letting the cool
|
||
|
|
stream water trickle over the hurt to help the swelling go down and
|
||
|
|
after a while the heat began to fade a little.</p>
|
||
|
|
</div>
|
||
|
|
</div>
|
||
|
|
</body>
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</html>
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