Run For Their Lives

Run For Their Lives - Chapter 11 cont

Henry slid over to the vacant barstool between them. His brow was furrowed, as if he were trying to remember something.
Sam took his drink from the returning barmaid and sipped it.
Disconcertingly, Al took up position sitting cross-legged on the bar, momentarily pretending to rest an elbow on a beer pump.
?You might have had some vodka in that! Ha ha ? Bloody Mary!? Al tormented Sam, who glared at him, then pointedly ignored his sidekick.
?Irish?? enquired the kidnapper, rather too bluntly to be conversational.
?Uh-huh,? confirmed Sam, sipping some more of his drink, and trying not to let his hand shake.
?On ?oliday? Sightseeing??
?You could say that.? As cultural exchanges went, this one was standing still. Henry?s lips were working, as if he were practicing his lines before saying them aloud.
?Been on the Bunyan trail, ?ave you??
Sam thought of the landmarks he?d been ordered to remember.
?Oi?ve been around a few.? He replied, ?Loike de house where John Bunyan sought spiritual help from John Gifford in the 1650?s.?
It was evidently the right thing to say. Sam took his time over his drink while waiting for his next cue. Outwardly calm, he was churning inside.
?Yeah, I know it.? Henry took a swig of his own drink, the frothy head clinging to his beard and moustache as snow on pine branches. ?Just over the bridge.? The last word was stressed in far from subtle emphasis.
Sam trotted out his quotation like a well-rehearsed actor, anxious to get to the punch line. Although it was infuriating that this man and his partner had obviously read the script (Hell, they wrote most of it) yet it had been denied to him, forcing him as ever to hone his improvisational talents. Trouble was, he seldom had more than the vaguest outlines of the plot to go on and frequently felt as if he were destined to be forever playing Don Quixote in A Comedy (or Tragedy) of Errors, out of synch with his fellow thespians.
Since English Literature had been the one and only subject he hadn?t really enjoyed at school, he was as sure as could be that none of his degrees had been in theatre skills, and no Oscars vied for position with the Nobel Prize on his mantelshelf. Still, he would act out his part and hope to God that his performance would be good enough to ensure the happy ending that had been missing from the original edition.
The kidnapper beamed triumphantly and drained the rest of his beer in one long self-satisfied gulp. Then he wiped his face-fungus with the back of his hand, smacking his lips appreciatively.
He nodded toward the bag, as if noticing it for the first time.
?That isn?t full of souvenirs, is it?? he asked pointedly, glancing round to make sure no one was paying any attention. He overlooked the White Admiral adorning the countertop, who was perpetually pounding his hand-link in hopes of locating the girls.
Sam stared Henry straight in the eyes:
?Dere?s only two souvenirs Oi?m a-wantin? t? take home from dis trip. If?n Oi gets dem, you can have dis.? As he spoke, he nudged the bag over toward the man with his foot, by way of confirmation.
Henry?s face cracked wide open, showing yellowed, chipped teeth in a parody of a smile. Then he laughed.
?Good. Excellent. Then listen up. Leave that where it is, and walk out. Don?t turn around. Go back into town, to the car park where you left your car. The brats?ll be tied up in the ladies toilets by the time you get there. You can ?ave ?em back and welcome. All I gotta do is make a phone call an? they?re on their way.? To his credit, Henry actually believed he was telling the truth about that.
At last Sam caught Al?s eye, looking to his friend for advice. Predictably, before speaking Al studied - and thumped - his hand-link.
?Sorry, Sam, still not enough of a lock on the girls. Best to keep to what they say for the moment, even though the odds of them keeping their word ain?t worth a say.?
Sam set his jaw and clenched his fist. Why couldn?t Ziggy ever come up with the goods before the eleventh hour? He frowned at Al, who shrugged apologetically, and then they turned and left.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 11 cont

Somewhere in Bedfordshire​

It was quiet, too quiet.
Unable to see through the blindfolds, unable to move for the ropes binding them together, the girls turned to their ears for external stimuli. So far, they?d heard doors banging and heavy footfalls on uncarpeted floors. They?d heard the gruff angry voice of the man who?d fed and threatened and hit them. They?d heard their own terrified hearts beating in their breasts, and the sound of nervous breathing. They?d heard keys turning in huge echoing locks. They?d heard ? and pretended they couldn?t ? the tiny scampering and scurrying of industrious mice, no doubt feasting on the crumbs of cheese sandwich the girls had dropped. They?d heard the rain pounding outside, dull and muffled for the most part, but rattling on glass in a far corner ? a window, but not one that offered any real promise of escape.
They?d have to get free of the ropes first: ropes that cut into their wrists and ankles, chaffing the flesh and restricting the circulation. Each sound brought new fears and imaginings, the only small comfort for each being the sound of the others frantic panting to tell the sisters they were not alone.
Yet now the sounds had mostly ceased; the mice had left to forage further a-field; the wind had changed direction, blowing the rain away from the window, the banging and key-turning and shouting and stamping hadn?t been heard in the longest time. The quietness was too eerie, too scary to bear.
Tori and Shelley-Anne found themselves babbling to each other, filling every second with the first thing that came to mind, anything to keep the silence at bay and banish the terrors it contained.
They had thought that they dreaded the hollow clanking of the key in the door, which heralded the arrival of their jailer. Each time they heard it they had been sure the man had come to kill them and had shrank away, trying to become invisible and thus escape their fate. Now, however, the long silence led them to believe they had been abandoned, left in this desolate place to starve slowly to death. An image of their dying bodies becoming food for the scurrying mice ? or maybe they were rats, urgh ? haunted Shelley?s mind ? a waking nightmare that would not go away.
Faced with that alternative, the coming of the bad man suddenly held a lesser degree of horror.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 11 cont

Los Angeles
Wednesday evening​

David Beckett sat in the dark, listening to the steady hum of the dialing tone from the phone by his side. He was not about to make a call. The handset had been off its cradle for the past two hours or more - ever since the seventh call. At first it had been silence or heavy breathing. Then a distorted voice had commented on what he?d had for lunch, or his tie, or some other trivial detail that let him know he was being watched, and closely.
Guido Ruggiero was not going to be content with killing him.
No way.
He was going to torment him first, drive him mad with fear, making him jump at his own shadow.
Raising his glass to his lips with trembling hand, David gulped his third Scotch and started at some distant sound.
It was working.
David was too terrified to venture outside his door, which he?d locked and fastened with five newly purchased heavy-duty bolts. He was afraid to slip into his garage to tinker with his beloved ?57 Chevy, his oldest and most treasured possession, for fear it had been booby-trapped. He was even too scared to switch on his lights, in case his silhouette made him too easy a target. He couldn?t relax with his trusty computer, normally his favorite way of unwinding, for the memory of Edgar?s suicide by high voltage message haunted him.
As he stared at the bottom of his glass and wondered if he dared move to refill it, David Beckett pondered the old adage about a coward dying many times before his death. It was true ? he was the living proof of it. Except living wasn?t the right word. This wasn?t living ? it was clinging desperately to life, but it wasn?t living.
Maybe he?d be better off dead.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 11 cont

Bedford​

Honor had sworn vehemently when she?d found the bus stop deserted and she was swearing now at the ineptitude ? as she perceived it ? of the jumped up little tramp on the desk at A & E, who had kept her waiting all this time just to tell her that she couldn?t tell her anything!
According to the records, no Mary McGillicuddy had been admitted this evening, nor had anyone answering her description. She wasn?t there, had never been there, and her daughter should be relieved. Perhaps she had simply stopped in town for a coffee or something?
Honor found it easy to play the distraught daughter. She was feeling pretty distraught at the thought of having lost track of all that money. Where the Hell could the stupid old trout have got to? What if someone else had gotten hold of the bag? It didn?t bear thinking about. It was her money, and she was going to find it, one way or the other. The receptionist suggested that if she was really that worried (of course she was, what an idea!) then she could notify the police, although it was a bit quick to issue a missing person alarm. Getting the police involved was positively the last thing Honor wanted, but she bit her tongue and smiled sweetly.
?You?re probably right. She?s most likely got chatting somewhere; you know how old folks love to gossip. Oi?ll check around a bit more before we bother the po-leece. T?ank you.?
Almost choking on the words, she turned tail and departed.
Damn.
Where to now?
After several minutes sitting stewing in her car, she headed back along the bus route to the pub in hopes that she would find some sign of the Irish @#%$ on the way, or that by some miracle Henry would have met her and got the money. If she got that far and still came up empty ? no she wouldn?t even consider the possibility. She had to find the money, with or without the Nanny attached.
She just had to.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Bedford
7:08pm​

Sam got back into his private taxi and was about to ask Connie to return him to the car park in town when a squeal from Ziggy made him pause. Al leaned forward from his perch in the rear of the car and yelled triumphantly in Sam?s ear:
?Bingo! Sam, we got ?em buddy! We got a lock on the girls. Ziggy says they?re alone, but not for long. Move it, Sam ? Manor Farm, Wilhampstead. Go, Go, GO!?
Sam had started at the auditory onslaught. Connie looked at him with concern.
?You okay, ducks? You looks like yer seen a ghost.?
Al spluttered with indignation, ?Ghost, indeed! Huh!?
Sam glared at him over his shoulder.
?Oi?m fine, m? dear. Now Oi know where de girls are. Do you know where Manor Farm, Wilhampstead is, by any chance??
For a moment Constance looked confused, repeating the name to herself until the penny dropped.
?Oh, you means Wilstead. Yeah, I knows it right enuff. One family reunion coming up.?
Fastening his seat belt, Sam felt a surge of optimism stronger than any he?d allowed himself before. He was going to rescue the girls. They would live.
Thanks be to God; and Ziggy; and Connie.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 12 cont

QLHQ​


Rusty was homing in on Control. Deprived of sensory input even Ziggy?s advanced microchips were unable to track his progress, or indeed to predict his intended destination. The idea of its own vulnerability did not occur to the computer. It had been invaded by a hacker once before and dealt with him in short order, since when digital access had been restricted still further. A full frontal assault was outside the parameters of plausibility, and so was not considered worth preparing for. Yet this was precisely what was about to happen. Rusty had dispatched four further colleagues who?d had the misfortune to get in his way. They lay bleeding and helpless, and he neither knew nor cared if they would live or die. Now he?d turned his attention to the door ahead, just at the end of this corridor, which led to Ziggy and his ultimate triumph.
The not-so-all-powerful daemon was about to meet its Nemesis.
Gushie, edgy still from lack of sleep yet blissfully unaware of the madman only moments away from his workstation, was restless with excitement. He?d been scribbling away at his calculations all through the night, pausing only when Ziggy or Al demanded his attention. Tonight, he seemed inspired and everything was falling into place.
Now, with the approaching dawn, he felt truly enlightened.
He knew the answer.
He was convinced of it.
So confident was he that he didn?t bother to submit his hypothesis to be analyzed by Ziggy. He didn?t need the computer?s cautionary quotation of the odds ? he knew it would work, and the timing was perfect. In fact he was both amazed and annoyed that he hadn?t seen it before.
It was so simple really.
Gushie was beside himself with impatience, he had to contact the Admiral and prepare Sam. It was crucial not to let the right moment slip past.

Bedford​


Al mustered all his self-control not to let the excitement or more accurately the elation, sound in his voice as he asked Gushie to repeat his assertion. He knew all too well the effect that false hope could have on his friend. Gushie?s enthusiasm was infectious, however, and the Observer was soon hooked on the idea of Sam?s imminent return. The subject of this earnest exchange was about to bust a gut ? overhearing one guarded half of the conversation, unaware of its implications and prevented by the presence of Constance from cross-examining the infuriating hologram behind him. Then, after what seemed like forever, Al decided to let him in on the news he?d waited so many years to hear.
?Sam, it?s incredible. We, uh I mean Zig? that is Gushie?? Al?s tongue was tripping over his teeth trying to find the words he was so eager to impart.
Sam adjusted the sun-visor, which had been left lowered and contained a vanity mirror. Though the hologram produced no reflection, Sam knew Al could see his face, and the hundred questions etched therein. Catching the gesture, then the expression, Connie spoke reassuringly:
?Don?t fret, ducks. We?ll soon ?ave it sorted.?
Sam conferred upon her a ?brave face? sort of half smile. Not only were her words comforting, she?d given him an opening of sorts.
?Oi just wish Oi knew what the divil was goin? on, dat?s all.?
?Retrieval.? Blurted Al.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 12 cont

?Gushie?s finally got the numbers to add up and he says the timing is just right. Looks like you?re on your way home, pal.? All this in one breath.
Sam was aghast.
This was positively the last thing he expected to hear. He ran a whole gamut of emotions in a matter of seconds. Then, once his disbelief had turned to joyous acceptance and anticipation and his thrilled heart had caught the beat it missed, his ecstasy turned to resignation.
It wasn?t that easy. It never was.
Ever mindful of her passenger?s odd behavior, which she attributed to stress and the eccentricities of the Irish, Connie was once more the chirpy Cockney.
?Chin up, dearie, look ?ere. We?s on the Cook?s Tour of Bedford. Over to our left, ladies an? gents, we ?ave the magnificent Cardington ?angers, ?ome to the ill fated R101 airship.?
Sam, found himself ? as so often before ? able to answer both companions in a single well-phrased statement.
?At any other time, Oi?d be delighted to hear all about it. But Oi?m afraid Oi can?t t?ink about anyt?ing else until Oi?ve got my wee poppets back safe ?n? sound. Dey?re all dat matters now.?
?B-but Sam, we?re talking retrieval. Do you??
Sam cut him off with a look flashed over his shoulder. He didn?t want to hear. Couldn?t afford to be distracted by temptations so strong as to be almost irresistible. Almost. To anybody but the ?terminally selfless? Dr. Beckett, as Al was putting it.
Sam?s reply was that of all bored children on cross-country holidays or long distance visits to Grandma?s.
?Are we nearly there yet??
?Not far now, ducks.? Supplied Connie, while Al was still checking. ?Fings?ll be better soon, you?ll see.?
In actuality, things were about to get a whole lot worse.

~~~***~~~​
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 12 cont

In the Turnpike, Henry stared gloomily into the dregs of yet another beer and decided it was time to graduate to whiskey. His nerves were shot to pieces. It was all going wrong and he hadn?t a clue what to do. So he just sat and waited: the bag of money nestled under his seat like an egg he was trying to hatch. It had been going so well, perfect down to every detail just like Honor had promised ? until he?d tried to give her the signal that he?d got the cash. When she?d failed to answer the phone he was sure his heart was going to quit on the spot. What if she?d been caught? What if the cops had her? What if they caught him with the money? They?d lock him up and throw away the key.
Perhaps he should just walk out and leave it where it was. He hadn?t touched it, had he? His prints weren?t on it. He was sure they weren?t.
Well, sort of sure.
In which case he could slip out unnoticed. Go and let the girls loose himself. Go home and act like nothing happened.
Except Honor was much too smart to stay caught, even if she?d been caught, and he didn?t see how she could?ve been caught. So she?d be looking for him sooner or later and how could he tell her he?d screwed up and left all that money in the pub? She?d never forgive him. So he tried phoning again. Still no reply. What was he supposed to do? Honor knew thinking wasn?t his strong point. She?d told him so often enough. So why wasn?t she around to tell him what to do now? He wasn?t sure how much longer he could stand this waiting. His palms were all sweaty. He rubbed them on his jeans and downed the whiskey the barmaid had brought him, signaling for a refill. Then he changed his mind:
?Bring the whole bottle.? He ordered, slamming a couple of notes down on the counter. After all, there were plenty more in easy reach; and his own ?bottle? had most definitely gone. As in totally lost it.

~~~***~~~​

Connie had turned down an unlit winding side road and slowed her car to a crawl.
?Can you pull in somewhere outa sight?? asked an ever-cautious Sam.
?Sure as eggs is eggs, ducks.? Grinned Connie as she complied. She was really quite enjoying the adventure. All it needed was a ?follow that cab? and she?d really feel like she was in a movie.
Not that she didn?t appreciate the seriousness of the situation, she did. But the gravity of the girls? predicament could not totally eclipse the thrill of being involved in their rescue. She?d not had this much excitement since the day she?d been evacuated as a child. Of course, Mary went and burst her bubble with the classic line:
?Wait here in the car where it?s safe.?
And unlike the giddy young heroines in the films, she?d do as she was told. Going off to find the hero (or heroine in this case, but the idea was the same) always resulted in lots of screaming and a need to be snatched from the jaws of death ? or worse.
Connie had her head screwed on better than that.
?They also serve who only stand and wait.? She rejoined.
Mary gave her a thumbs-up and got out of the car, heading purposefully back round past the Dutch barn towards the house as if she were following someone. Considering it was dark and muddy underfoot and the old girl was a stranger, she moved with surprising confidence, thought Connie. The girls were lucky to have her on their side.
In daylight, and in other circumstances, Sam would have loved it here. His happiest memories ? of the precious few that he still had ? were of his years back on the farm in Elk Ridge.
In its heyday as a working farm, this one too had a wonderful atmosphere. Lambing sheds, configured in a huge letter E, replaced the milking sheds of his youth, but a farm is still a farm and this one had everything to make it special, and wonderful, and just like home. It had ? character, from the low sheds to the quaint little pond and the crooked tree.
Then there was the house itself. What tales it could tell.
A sign over the door boasted that SW had restored it in 1911 (though the identity of SW was uncertain). Behind it was hidden the secret of a six foot square cubbyhole bricked up to conceal who-knew-what. Had Honor known of it, she?d no doubt have placed the girls inside, but it was well disguised and even the previous ? and subsequent ? owners had not worked out how or where to access its interior, though builder?s plans clearly showed it to exist. For all anybody knew, it could have been a priest hole and may yet contain the skeletal remains of some unfortunate buried alive within.
The brick-and-stone clad exterior formed an L shape, and from the back the hangers at Cardington were clearly visible. The interior was a mix of huge rooms and little alcoves, high ceilings and low, with many interesting nooks and crannies. The front door was a solid wooden portal studded with wrought iron knobs and an enormous lion?s head knocker, which Sam didn?t use. He tried the handle, but without any real hope of it?s yielding to his grasp.
It didn?t.
?Oi don?t t?ink this?d open wit? a credit card, even if?n Oi had one.? Sam commented to Al as he tested it with his shoulder. It didn?t even rattle. ?So how in God?s name am Oi supposed to get in??
He was tired. His head throbbed with the relentlessness of a ship?s engine ? hollow and persistent and wearing on the nerves. The rain, which had eased for a time, now deluged him with renewed vigor. He was soaked through and thoroughly miserable.
Never before had the conflict between duty and desire been felt so keenly. Retrieval ? dreamed of, longed for, blessed retrieval.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 12 cont

To have his own life back at last. To soak in his very own bath, rest in his very own bed; shave his own face in the morning. There was nothing in the world he wanted more than to go Home. Nothing in the world except to get back the lives of two innocent children whom he?d placed in deadly peril. Two children who were so close he could almost hear them breathing.
Yet, perhaps both goals could be achieved.
Perhaps he could save the girls and Leap. Leap all the way. Leap his last final glorious Leap.
Home.
If he was quick. Al had said that timing was important, but perhaps, just maybe, there was enough of a window of opportunity for him to do both.
Window; yes ? a window. There may be a window open somewhere. There had to be. He began circumnavigating the building, trying every casement he passed. Driven by this new sense of urgency, he raced around the house, heedless now to the rain; the rough gravel underfoot; his blistered feet; his aching head. All he could think of was gaining access to the building and saving the children and still being home in time for tea.
Al didn?t need telling what was going on in his friend?s mind. His own thoughts were running along much the same lines.
?Mind if I take a short cut?? he asked Sam, waving his hand-link at the wall. ?I could, uh, find out where you?re headed?? he suggested, with a casual grin.
?Be my guest.? Sam paused to make a small mock bow, and then sped on.
?Gushie!? commanded Al predictably, ?Centre me on the girls.?
Al found himself on the opposite side of the house, in the dark, dank cellar. He took one horrified look at the girls ? still in their nightclothes which had spots of blood on the front from where they?d had their teeth pulled ? and their grim surroundings, and leapt back over the building in a single bound.
Sam was just trying the kitchen window. Al?s sudden appearance made him jump backwards a good foot or two, gasping and clutching at his chest.
?Gee-sus, Mary an? Joseph! What d?ya wanna go an? do a t?ing loike dat fer?? he hissed.
In spite of his genuine regret for startling his friend, Al sniggered at Sam?s outburst. He couldn?t help it ? that accent and phraseology were just so un-Sam. The mirth was short lived, curtailed both by Sam?s stern glare and by the seriousness of the situation.
Al waved at the window with the hand-link as if it were a remote control capable of unlocking it.
?This way leads through, Sam. They?re in a cellar and the accommodations leave a lot to be desired.? He gave Sam a telling look. Sam braced himself and heaved at the window, trying to raise the sash. It rattled, but didn?t open.
?Try again, buddy.? Encouraged the Observer.
Grim determination lent Sam strength. Every muscle in his body went taut with the effort, and his face turned several shades of scarlet. Then all of a sudden the window responded with a jolt so sharp it almost knocked him off his feet. Sam hoisted himself up and scrambled in. The hem of his tweed skirt caught on a tap in the kitchen sink as he entered and he tumbled onto a cold hard tiled floor, legs and arms akimbo. Al slid gracefully through the wall to find Sam rubbing his shin.
?You really must hone your B & E skills, Sam.? He admonished as the Leaper picked himself up from the floor and huffily straightened his clothing.
Something between pride and stubbornness cured his limp after the first couple of steps.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 12 cont

?Wh-what was th-that?? whispered a terrified Shelly-Anne to her sister.
?It didn?t sound like th-them.? replied Tori, trying to feel reassured by the thought.
Shelley was inclined to agree with the comment, but found no comfort therein. It had been so utterly quiet for so long that she had thought never to hear a sound from outside again. Had thought she?d welcome one if it came to break the stifling stillness. Yet now the new sounds brought with them a whole new set of terrors.
Something had come crashing in to the room outside, above them, and now seemed to be coming closer. Something breathed heavily and seemed to snarl and growl and whimper like a wounded animal. Something sounded mean and dangerous.
Something was rattling and banging at the door. It sounded angry and frustrated at not being able to get in. Shelley was glad now that they were locked in ? that the Something was locked out. Shelley was in no hurry to be eaten.

Something was rattling and banging at the door. It sounded angry and frustrated at not being able to get in. Gushie was glad of the Security lock ? which kept him in and the Something out. He was in a state of extreme nervous agitation, keyed up for the retrieval attempt and annoyed at the delay in implementing it. He could do without this unwarranted distraction.
What was keeping Dr. Beckett? He should have freed the girls and been ready to Leap ages ago. Surely he wasn?t going to let a little thing like a locked door stop him now?

Rusty was not about to let a little thing like a locked door stop him now.
Not when his ultimate goal lay just beyond: The Daemon?s Lair. The personification of Evil that called itself Ziggy.
He would hack it to pieces as it wallowed in its pit, thinking itself invulnerable. It had another think coming.
Rusty laughed maniacally as he struck at the palm operated security pad, which admitted only authorized personnel. He was the invincible one, and nothing, nothing was going to keep him from fulfilling his mission. At his bidding the stone rolled away, revealing the cave of the Hideous One within.
?Eureka!? he cackled triumphantly as he burst through the doorway.

Sam had tried pushing the door; pulling the door; hefting the door with his shoulder ?til it ached; kicking the door with well placed flying kicks, which ? hindered by his attire ? had merely resulted in his landing on his tushie ? hard.
He was sweating and he was swearing, an activity he was not easily moved to.
Finally, exhaustion and reason led him to abandon his assault and join Al in a search for the key. If the goons had it with them, he was scuppered.
Precious moments ticked by while they searched. They looked in obvious places like the ledge above the door, the drawers in the kitchen cabinets, even the cookie jar for heaven?s sake. They looked on the coat pegs and under the front door mat. They looked in and under the plant pot where a poor neglected spider plant spread its dead brown tendrils across the counter top. They looked for signs of disturbance in the dust that coated everything, hoping somewhere it would show them recent usage. It was a slow process with only the multi-colored glow from the hand-link to guide their efforts.
Eventually Sam stopped in the middle of his umpteenth circuit of the area and asked for the fiftieth time:
?Are you sure Oi can?t get in through the cellar window??
?It?s too small!? Al?s patience was wafer thin. ?The key is here somewhere, Sam. Keep looking.?
?Oi looked everywhere!? snarled Sam, stamping his foot.
As good luck or God/Fate/Time/Whatever would have it, Sam?s foot was in exactly the right spot to dislodge a loose floor tile with the gesture of frustration. Man and hologram exchanged glances and wordlessly bent to examine it. Sam turned it over almost reverently, as if afraid of further disappointment, or as if uncovering the treasure of some ancient civilization. Nestled in a little hollow was indeed a treasure, one greater than all of Tutankhamen?s gold; a dull cold heavy beautiful key.
Sam bent forward slowly at first, reaching out and all but stroking it. Then suddenly he grabbed it and raced for the cellar door like a kid on Christmas morning descending on the tree.
?Eureka!? he chuckled triumphantly as he burst through the doorway.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen​


Honor pulled into the car park of the Turnpike and switched off the engine, ripping her keys from the ignition vehemently. She was furious that she no longer had total control of the situation. She had planned it all so meticulously, allowed for every possible eventuality. She couldn?t understand what had become of the stupid Irish @#%$. It was infuriating to have to admit that there had to be something she had not foreseen.
Not that she was ready to give up - not by a long way.
Honor Brookes was not finished yet.
And if the unthinkable should happen and the money be lost to her ? well then, first she?d make Henry pay for the failure of the plan. Somehow it had to be his fault. No way could it have been down to her. So Henry would get that beating. And the painful death from the stomach wound. And every other indignity and agony she could imagine inflicting upon him.
Honor could imagine quite a few.
The grotty little brats could be made to watch it all. That idea appealed.
Then, when Henry had finally gasped his last ? how long would that take? ? The longer the better, she was in no danger of discovery. She could make it stretch out for days if the feeble little creep didn?t curl up his toes too quickly.
Then, after Henry, she?d make the little @#%$ suffer. One at a time, turn by turn, while the other watched, she?d try out every form of torture she knew, and invent a few more for good measure.
She?d have the time of her life, until at last she ended theirs.
After which she?d simply pack up and move on. Bide her time. Revise her plan to eliminate even the slimmest chance of failure.
Then pick a new target and fleece them instead. She could live with that. Yeah. If Henry didn?t have the money, she?d treat this as a dry run, a dress rehearsal. Next time, maybe she?d find somewhere for her victim or victims to die of slow suffocation, just like Scorpio had. Though she still thought that wasn?t as much fun as her way. It was too remote, impersonal. She preferred to see her victims suffer; to twist the knife, or whatever, in person. That was far more satisfying. Nothing in this world turned her on so much as the sight of someone or something writhing in agony because of her, cowering before her, pleading for mercy.
Hah!
Mercy was for weak fools. She was strong.
She looked in her rear-view mirror, tidied her hair and straightened her clothes. She set her jaw. Oh, yes, she was strong. She was not about to let one minor setback get to her for long. Having affirmed that, she was once more totally in control. She got out of the car and went to find that idiot Henry.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 13 cont

Los Angeles​


By the time the Donahues arrived to answer David?s frantic summons, they found their friend more or less a basket case. He?d been pretty incoherent when he?d phoned, babbling, not making any sense at all. But they knew from the news that Ruggiero was out, and Bill had heard through the grapevine at work that Sally had left him. It didn?t take an Einstein to dot the i?s and cross the t?s. They had hurried over as soon as they?d got a baby-sitter for the boys.
Getting in had taken a bit longer.
The place was in total darkness and looked for all the world like nobody was at home. Nor had been in a while. Peering in at the window through the tiniest gap in the curtains revealed not the slightest hint of movement, no sign of life at all.
In fact for a moment Cat was afraid that they were too late. That Ruggiero had gotten there first and murdered their youngest son?s godfather.
He was a complicated man, strange even in some respects. He?d changed since they first got to know him: suddenly; radically - almost like he was two different people. But he remained a good man, and a good friend.
Cat cared about him as she would a brother, and the boys thought that ?Uncle David? was the best. He was even starting to let Sean help him tinker on his beloved Chevy, getting him to pass tools and teaching him the different parts of the engine. Caitlin couldn?t bear to think those days were gone.
Eventually they made themselves known beyond doubt at his door and David had dragged them in, locking it behind them. Even then he?d stared at them hard; as if still unable to believe they were indeed who they claimed to be. Once satisfied he ushered them into a dark corner and they all hunkered down. He was totally disheveled and looked ill, his eyes sunken in his grey face and his shoulders hunched. When he spoke, his voice was a harsh rasping whisper and his head darted about as he searched, ever vigilant, for any sign of movement.
?Y-You?re sure you saw no one?? he asked again, grabbing Bill by the arm.
?Relax, there?s nobody out there.? Bill assured him. David was not so easily convinced.
?Oh, he?s th-there all right. He?s wa-waiting for me to drop my guard. He?s just, just waiting for the right mo-moment to k-kill me.? David was breathing hard, fighting to get every word past his trembling lips.
?Calm down, David. We?re here now. We?re here to help you,? soothed Cat in her most maternal voice.
?Yeah,? agreed Bill, ?we?re here for you - just like you were there for us when we needed you.?
There it was again. Reminders of the time he?d been a hero and knew nothing about it.
How crazy that made him.
Yet somehow it was different now.
Cowering here in the dark with Bill and Cat he suddenly understood that their friendship was his. It may have started in the Twilight Zone but over the past seven and a half years he had built on that friendship. He had been the one to take the vows of godfather at Patrick David Donahue?s christening, despite being surprised to learn he?d already agreed to it. And he?d been pleased to fulfill those duties. He?d worked with Bill, shared beers with Bill, and gone on photo-shoots with Bill. He?d enjoyed meals at Cat?s table. Him: David Beckett. Times he did remember. Good times.
With a shock he realized that it was only because of Sally that the blanks really drove him crazy. He understood at last that she had played on his confusion, amplified his ambiguities, and fed his fear of insanity to create a dependency on her. She was not really a bad woman; there had been some good times with her, too. It was just that she was a spoilt rich child and knew no better than to use people for her own amusement. She?d had some romantic notion of ?happy ever after? with the man she had rescued from certain death.
He couldn?t be that man, but she hadn?t seen that. She?d thought if she kept harking back to it she could bring him out- this white knight she?d dreamed of. It was sad really, when you thought about it. They were never meant for each other, they were worlds apart, yet each had felt the other was just what they needed. Poor misguided fools. Neither had set out to hurt the other, it was simply that what they had was built on shifting sand.
In that moment of revelation, that epiphany, David felt closer to Sally than he had throughout all their years of marriage.
He also felt more at ease with himself.
He even felt a little backbone growing. He may never comprehend what had happened back in ?95, may never remember the hows and the whys, but that didn?t mean he had to be afraid of it. This was about the here and now, and it was up to him how he handled it. If he stopped trying to measure up to the ghost of that other David Beckett and feeling he was bound to come up lacking, he could be his own man. And this David Beckett was not going to carry on being a craven coward good-for-nothing. He was still terrified of Ruggiero, as he had every right to be, but he was blowed if he?d let the creep scare him to death.
Why should he do the job for him? If Ruggiero wanted him dead, he?d have to do it personally. David wasn?t going to make it easy by being a sitting duck.
?You know,? he said to his friends, his voice surprisingly calm and even, ?it?s just occurred to me that I?m going about this all wrong. I?d probably be much safer ? we?d probably me much safer ?? all at once he was aware that he?d placed his friends in peril by bringing them here ? ?out in the open, in a crowd. Let?s go and find us a whole heap of witnesses, shall we??
Once again the Donahues were astounded by the sudden dramatic change in their friend, but they were pleased to see it.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 13 cont

Manor Farm
Wilstead Beds​

Sam could tell the girls were beside themselves with fear. When he finally gained access to the cellar he found himself at the top of a short flight of stone steps. It was almost pitch dark inside, but he could hear their breathing ? fast and gasping. At least it meant they were alive! As he made his way carefully down the steps, he began talking quietly to reassure them.
?Don?t you fret now, poppets. ?Tis only your old Nanny come to take you home.?
Louder gasps then, in disbelief. Followed by babbling chatter as they expressed their relief and delight at the sound of a friendly voice. Incoherently they vied for attention, both trying to tell Nanny everything, all at once.
?Hush now, I?m coming. It?s all over now. You?re safe.?
He was feeling his way down the brick wall, which was damp and uneven with salt deposits that had ?bled? from the bricks and gathered in clumps having nowhere else to go. Sam felt the chill of the room through the damp clothes, and shivered despite the overcoat. ?The poor wee lambs must be half-frozen? he whispered to Al, wishing he?d had the foresight to bring them a change of clothes and coats and blankets.
At last he?d made his way over to the middle of the room where Tori and Shelley sat back to back. His hair and clothes had picked up a few cobwebs on the way, and the thick stockings were now ventilated with holes where he?d caught them on splinters of stored furniture, further barking his shins and adding to his bruises. He bent down and set to work untying the girls. It took a while, for their bonds were well knotted and hard to grip with cold, grazed hands.
Once freed, they both flung their arms around him, tears streaming down their grubby faces, almost knocking him over backwards with the strength of their emotions. For several minutes he did nothing but hold them close, warming them and restoring their circulation with a brisk rub and loving hug, stroking their hair and tenderly kissing their foreheads and calming them with the soft lull of his voice. He even managed to get a couple of giggles out of them by suggesting he should have announced his arrival with ?I?m Luke Skywalker, I?ve come to rescue you,? and then by conjuring up the picture of their Nanny jogging round Bedford culminating in his undignified fall. After which he told them of Connie?s kindness and how she was waiting to drive them back to town.
During this time, Al had been standing guard outside, anxious for both sides to be away from this dismal place. It seemed to be taking forever for Sam to bring the girls out, though he?d seen and endured enough of the traumas of captivity to appreciate the need to be gentle with these innocents.
Thus he curbed his instinct to hiss at Sam to hurry up, at least as long as the coast remained clear. To ensure which he constantly prodded his hand-link for signs of approaching danger. When the signs came, they were from an unexpected quarter.
Just as Sam was easing the girls to their feet and leading them out, the link squealed, making Al start. Then he looked puzzled and annoyed:
?Why bother me with that at a time like this?? he asked the ether.
?Your presence is required here now, Admiral.? Ziggy told him firmly. ?We have a problem with Security.?
?Then let Security deal with it, dammit. That?s what we pay ?em for!?
Al threw up his hands in exasperation, though his voice was muted so Sam wouldn?t overhear.
?You fail to comprehend, once again, Admiral.? Ziggy?s superior tones sounded more than a little impatient, ?Security IS the problem.?
Al shook his head and muttered something about having to do everything himself. Then, in best poker player tradition, he wiped all expression from his face and turned to Sam with an easy smile.
?Sorry, kiddo, gotta go. They need me to uh, go organize the red carpet for you. I dunno, an administrator?s job is never done, eh? Catch ya later, buddy.?
With which he vanished, leaving Sam staring after him with a ?here we go again? look on his face.

~~~***~~~​
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 13 cont

Honor looked into the whiskey bottle and found Henry swimming somewhere near the bottom. The stupid waste of space was drunk out of his skull. She felt like hitting him then and there, but forced herself to keep up the fa?ade. With difficulty, she prized him from the barstool and dragged him and his precious package outside, all the while playing the concerned girlfriend. She had half a mind to leave him there to rot, but then she wouldn?t get the chance to make him suffer, and she wasn?t about to let him off that lightly. Besides, leaving him would be a loose end.
?No loose ends? was her number one rule.
Once outside, she clouted him swiftly round the head, chided him for being too drunk to drive and lay blame on him for everything imaginable, even down to the appalling weather. After a brief debate, with herself since Henry was too far-gone to be of any use whatsoever, let alone make any decisions, which he couldn?t manage at the best of times ? she decided to take his van and come back for her car later. It would be more convenient if she wanted to move any bodies, and his more comprehensive tool kit held a wider choice of potential weapons.
Grabbing his keys from his pocket, she practically threw Henry into the van. Then she gently placed the bag on the floor and took a peek at it?s delightful contents, grabbing a crisp note and shoving it down her cleavage, reveling in the feel of it next to her skin.
That done, she drove off at breakneck speed. She didn?t know how the old girl had made it to the pub, but she had to figure the luck of the Irish might get her back to the car park. There was no telling how long she?d wait there for the little brats to be returned before cottoning on that they weren?t coming. Then what would she do? Call Daddy, Honor supposed, but quite possibly the police would be a close second on the list. She was confident the trail would not reach her hideout, but one couldn?t be too careful. As she drove, she was thinking of backup plans to supplement her backup plans, in case she had to move out before she?d dispatched all three millstones. If trouble came, she?d be ready. Silently she seethed at Henry for being drunk. It would spoil her fun ? dulling his senses to pain and betrayal alike. She?d have to go back to killing the sniveling little tarts first. Give Henry a chance to sober up while he watched them suffer. The shock of seeing what she had in store for them should snap him round pretty quick. And if not, maybe a quick dip in the chilly duck-pond would do the trick. In any case, she?d make sure he was primed and ready for her Machiavellian machinations.

~~~***~~~​
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 13 cont

Corporal Kincaid had never had cause to enter Control before. Even in his heightened mental state it was an awesome sight and he was distracted from his purpose. The daemon lurked here somewhere, for it never left its lair, although its influence spread throughout the land. Yet it was not immediately visible. Who knew what powers it possessed? Perhaps it could make itself invisible, or disguise itself as something else. Rusty certainly had the feeling of being watched again. He didn?t see Gushie cowering behind the main control console. He was mesmerized by the giant glowing blue orb that flashed and glittered above him: the daemon?s eye? He was spellbound by the walls, which were dripping blue blood. The whole place thrummed with the daemon?s heartbeat.
It was almost as if the cave entrance had been the daemon?s maw and he?d been swallowed whole. Rusty?s resolve was shaken, and fear crept in again. Was he really a match for this malevolence?
He circled the room, the axe still clutch before him ? held now like a cross or talisman; his shield raised ? a charm to ward off the Evil One. Gushie barely recognized the Corporal who had so recently saved his life. He was barefoot and covered in blood. But it was more than that ? his expression, so wild and distant, was something less than human and more than animal.
Gushie whispered to Ziggy to summon Dr Beeks.

~~~***~~~​

Sam had tried the front door. It was as intractable from inside as it had been from without. There was nothing for it but to lead the girls out the way he had come in. The sisters were naturally agile, but their long period of enforced inactivity had left them stiff. Their exit through the window was a far from elegant affair. They were just picking themselves up and dusting themselves off when Henry?s van came charging down the lane, driven by Honor with all the reckless speed of Cruella De Vil approaching Hell Hall.
It was already close enough to cut off their retreat to Connie?s car. Before they could be caught in the glare of its headlights, Sam grabbed the girls by the hand and raced them between rows of barns and across to the lambing shed. Once inside, he signaled them to stay close behind him and be very quiet while he kept watch for an opportunity to dash for the safety of their getaway car.
His head throbbed with the effort of quick thinking and he rubbed his eyes to clear the recurrent blurring of his vision.
All thoughts of going Home evaporated like the morning dew. His only concern was to evade the enemy. He?d had Al to guide him on the way in. Now, he had to try and find his bearings alone. The night was black as pitch, and Tori?s lemon nightwear, though splattered with dirt and grime and blood, still stood out against backdrop of the wooden buildings. They would have to ensure that they kept to cover as much as possible and only break across the open ground when they were absolutely certain it was safe. Sam had left both the cellar door and the kitchen window open. It would not take the kidnappers long to realize their birds had flown.
?Go on,? he urged silently, ?go inside, both of you. Right in through the door, that?s it.?
Honor had taken the duplicate key from her purse and struggled with the lock. She was not making it easy for herself by refusing to put down the carpetbag but she had no intention of letting it out of her sight now that she finally had it.
Henry had taken his time getting out of the van, and now staggered behind her, almost pushing her through the door as he stumbled on the gravel.
?Clumsy oaf!? she snarled, pushing him back outside roughly. He paused, dizzy, unsure which way he was supposed to be going. For one heart stopping moment as he wheeled round he seemed to stare at straight at Sam, who froze. There was a chance his drunken eyes wouldn?t focus on them if they kept perfectly still.
As Henry turned away, Sam dared to breathe again, but the delay had cost them.
Honor?s shriek of rage told him their absence had been noted and now they were pinned down, unable to escape, as she re-emerged from the building ? her face like thunder. Despite her previous resolve, she had dropped the bag.
?They can?t have got far on foot. We?d have seen them down the lane so they must be skulking around somewhere.? Honor pushed Henry again. ?Don?t just stand there, idiot. Look for them.?
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 13 cont

Sam?s only edge was that she couldn?t know he was there: wouldn?t suspect that he knew where to look. Indeed, the harridan was asking Henry if he?d been stupid enough not to lock the cellar door.
?Course not.? He slurred, hurt at the suggestion that he?d neglected his duties, though in truth he was so soused he couldn?t recall one way or the other.
Hurling further insults in most unladylike fashion, she stalked off round the house, searching the shrubbery, instructing Henry to start on the sheds. Sam cursed to himself that Al was never around when he needed him (though he knew deep down in all fairness that it wasn?t really true). He drew the girls further into the lambing shed and in hushed tones and gestures told them to hide in the hay, which was strewn in abundance throughout. He advised them to split up, to keep very still and quiet ? like statues ? and to listen carefully for a signal from him to run like crazy. Once on the move, they were to find Connie?s car and not stop or look back, no matter what they heard or saw. They must not stop for anything!
After checking they could not be seen in their hidey holes either side of the door, Sam took up his own hiding place at the far end of the centre arm of the E.
The ceiling was higher here, easier to defend himself. Now the trick would be to get both villains far enough in for the girls to sneak out behind them.
Henry was getting closer, though his progress was random. As he passed one of the low black out buildings he hit his head on an old-fashioned oil lamp hanging on a hook by the door. Cursing, he was about to hurl it away when the idea penetrated his sozzled skull that he could use it. The sloshing sound when he?d moved it suggested it was fully loaded. He pulled out a lighter from his back pocket and got it to ignite on the fourth attempt. The casing was cracked, but it sufficed. Holding it aloft, he set off again, though he?d forgotten what he was looking for.
No doubt he?d recall once he found it. In the meantime his bloated bladder urged him to find a bathroom, but as that would take some time, he made do with relieving himself in the feeding trough.
At that moment Honor completed her sweep of the house and, drawn to the light, came upon Henry. She exploded in a tirade of expletives, detailing Henry?s many and varied inadequacies, and pushed him toward the lambing shed, with several slaps and kicks to speed him on his way.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

QLHQ​


Al, Verbena and Gushie flanked Rusty on three sides. Behind him the Control Room door gaped open, the corridor beyond deserted. Al had instructed Ziggy to cordon off the area, but to have more Security personnel standing by just out of sight, so as not to antagonize Corporal Kincaid further. So far Al?s considerable skills in conciliation, along with Beeks? experience in calming excitable patients, had kept Rusty from using the axe. They had learnt much from his insane paranoid ramblings, but not how to get close enough physically to disarm him, or emotionally to diffuse him. The air was thick with tension; the nerves of all those present were coiled taut as watch springs ready to snap. It was like a showdown in some Western town ? the two sides sizing each other up, each waiting for the other to reach for their gun so the shoot out could begin.
And all the while Time seemed to stand still.

~~~***~~~​

Time seemed to stand still as Sam held his breath and waited for the confrontation he knew to be inevitable. He was not worried about tackling Henry ? his drunkenness more than compensated for Sam?s incapacitation.
The woman, on the other hand, was a different proposition altogether. She was young and fit and strong and determined. Not to mention she had a mean, cruel streak, which made her doubly dangerous. On top of which, no matter how much she deserved it, Sam never had been comfortable with hitting women. It went against everything nature and nurture had instilled in him. This, of course, put him at an even greater disadvantage, for the kidnappers clearly had no such compunction.
Sam would have preferred to rely on his wits to engineer their escape, but he was sorely afraid he?d left the better part of them splattered on the hotel carpet. So he watched, and waited, and prayed softly:
?Holy Mary, Mother o? God, protect the wee ones and grant me the strength to see them re-united wit? their Da, Amen.? Had he not been keeping so still, he?d have crossed himself, so strong was Mary?s influence upon him.
The villains were coming in now, lamp held high as they searched the shadows for the girls.
?Keep coming,? pleaded Sam wordlessly, ?Just a little further, that?s the way.?
At the last moment, Henry began to branch off to the left, a drunken lurch rather than a calculated move. It was now or never.
Sam stood up, deliberately rustling loudly and drawing the attention of both searchers (and the girls) with a whistle.
?Hello,? he remarked casually, misquoting the previous night?s episode of Dr Who, ?Oi?m de Nanny, Oi believe you want t? kill me?? For a moment it had the stunning effect he had intended.
?Freeze. Just like a statue.? Commanded Honor, once she?d composed herself from the shock of finding the woman there. To Sam?s horror, the girls froze in the act of breaking cover. Henry was confused, Honor ecstatic.
?That?s right. One wrong move, anything, I don?t care, I?ll kill you and the girls both. Understand??
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 14 cont

Sam knew he only had seconds. He nodded slowly to let Honor think they would comply. Then he calmly told Tori and Shelley-Anne:
?Do as you are told poppets. Be good girls ?like Ace!? This last was given just the right emphasis. The sisters were smart: they took his meaning.
He grinned as he saw the girls jump up and dash out like greased lightening, then he turned his attention to his own predicament. He was boxed in ? trapped.
?It will be my great pleasure to kill you.? Honor was purring. She grabbed the pitchfork she had so longed to use. Just then, she caught a flicker of movement from behind her, and turned to see the girls disappearing into the night.
?After them, you fool!? she shrieked to Henry. ?Are you just going to stand there and let them get away??
?Huh? Course not.? He mumbled automatically and stumbled out after the little brats.
In the meantime, Sam had been edging forwards. For a moment it looked as if he too could slip out unnoticed, but it was not to be. Honor advanced on him, making little jabbing motions with the pitchfork.
?I?m gonna skewer you, Irish.? She said, her voice dripping with menace, ?I?m gonna make you squeal like a stuck pig. And you know what? I am really, really gonna enjoy it.?
Sam didn?t doubt it. Many people had made similar threats to him in the course of his Leaps. Few exuded such pure malevolence as this woman. No matter ? so long as the sisters were safely away, he?d gladly take his chances. Even with a fractured skull, he still had a few moves up his sleeve that the villain was likely to think Mary incapable of. Even so, he?d have been happier if the fight were out in the open, with more room to move - more room to dodge those twin spikes.
She was almost in range. They began a dance of duck and dodge, thrust and parry. Sam scoured the gloom for a weapon of his own, but came up empty.
His best chance was to get her to circle round and leave the doorway accessible. He had to be subtle though. She was nobody?s fool, and was not about to let him off the hook that easily. Sam gulped as the phrase made him all too aware of the prongs she was jabbing his way. Her eyes glowed with a sadistic gleam, and with the pitchfork held out before her she looked truly devilish. All the while she described the ?exquisite torture? she was going to inflict, in graphic, horrific detail. Sam swallowed hard and tried not to let it get to him. One bold move at the right moment and he could grab the shaft, wrest it from her grasp before she could strike.
He might have made it, too. Might have disarmed her without even having to ram the handle into her solar plexus, or swing it round to stun her head.
Had it not been for The Distraction.
She was still taunting him with images of what she had in store, and how much she?d make him suffer, so that he?d be glad to die. He was still trying not to listen. Then, just as he lunged forward her words must have penetrated his subconscious ? for a vision floated before his eyes.
A dreadful vision of his blood-soaked body sprawled in the throes of death.
A vision of such crystal clarity as to be almost tangible.
A fatal vision even more vivid that the one that had plagued his dreams as Jack Stone.
A vision that made Macbeth?s dagger pale to the realms of daydreams.
A vision that so startled and shocked him that he miscalculated his maneuver and sprawled at his assailant?s feet.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 14 cont

Before he could regain either his feet or his composure, Honor pressed home her advantage with a shriek of triumph. She raised the pitchfork high and prepared to impale him. As the spikes rushed down toward him, Sam rolled over out of their path. Unfortunately, the proximity of the wall prevented him from rolling far enough, and he was wedged, on his back, in the line of fire. Sam managed to deflect the full force of the downward thrust ? nevertheless, one prong still pierced his right shoulder. Though the thick coat absorbed much of its momentum, so that the tine did not penetrate completely, it still went deep enough to make Sam gasp in pain. The vision flashed before him again, only this time it wasn?t his own face he saw.
It was Gushie?s.
He saw the Control Room, as real as if he was there, (had he been retrieved as promised?) and Gushie?s decimated corpse spread-eagled across Ziggy?s instrument panel.
He echoed his earlier gasp, and whispered uncomprehendingly: ?Gushie???
His tormentor gave a malicious grin, then chuckled:
?Oh, come on, now. You can do better than that, Irish. Let?s hear how you scream when I pull it out.?
So saying, she braced herself by treading on his right upper arm, and then yanked the pitchfork upwards. If it had hurt going in ? and oh boy, had it hurt! ? that was nothing to the agony of its withdrawal. Yet Sam pressed his lips tightly together and refused to cry out, determined not to give her the satisfaction.
The effort nearly made him pass out.
It was only a keen desire to continue living that kept him conscious.
The trickle of blood became a torrent, and instinctively Sam?s left hand flew up to apply pressure and stem the flow. Something in the movement seemed to intrigue Honor, who licked her lips. She shifted the balance of the weapon in her grasp. Then she flicked her leg around and kicked his hand away, making him wince. Her eyes were darting wildly as if searching for something, but he couldn?t tell if it was something physical or just a memory she sought.
Tendrils of torment snaked down his arm and tingled in his fingertips. He tried to clutch his perforated shoulder again, but Honor warned him sharply of the consequences of such an action:
?I wouldn?t do that if I were you. For every little disobedience you are guilty of, I?ll make those little tarts suffer ten times over.?
Sam was about to point out that she no longer had the girls. He hoped to God that she didn?t have the girls. Surely the big lug was too drunk and inept to have caught them? Connie would get them to safety, wouldn?t she?
Honor clearly thought different.
?Oh, don?t you worry. I?ll get them back, if it takes all night. Only question is ? do I make them watch you die, or let you enjoy what I have in store for them??
She swung the pitchfork from side to side, as if weighing up the various merits of each alternative. Though she was ad-libbing in parts, she wanted to play this out in true Scorpio style.
Sam offered no preference. His choice was not on her menu.
?On your feet.? She commanded abruptly.
Sam didn?t move; was too dizzy and disoriented to move, so she kicked him viciously in the side.
?Come on, get up.?
The blow doubled Sam in half, groaning softly. His sluggish brain balanced the effort of rising against the vulnerability of staying where he was.
He decided that at this stage obedience was his wisest option.
However, with his right arm hanging limp and useless by his side, his head and side aching fit to burst, getting up was easier said than done. Honor prodded him impatiently with her foot. Finally, he swayed before her, trying to clear his head enough to plan defense; escape, survival.
?Now turn, face the wall.? She ordered.
Sam knew it was foolish to turn his back on her, but did it anyway.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 14 cont

?Come on, put your nose right up against the wood.?
The wood smelt damp ? for some reason it reminded Sam of Home. Sam fought to keep his mind on what was going on behind him. Straining hard, he heard the swish of the pitchfork as it was raised again, and barely managed to dodge as she tried to crack his skull again with its handle, which whistled just past his ear and reverberated against the beam. He swung round and tried to grab it with his left hand to disarm her, but she was ready for him and her elbow caught him in the throat, making him gag. While he was still getting his breath back, she was on the attack again, swinging the pole round to knock his feet from under him, so that he crumpled to the floor once more.
Then she kicked him repeatedly to keep him down, while she repositioned the prongs for another thrust.
Sam recalled suddenly how he?d fought a woman in a barn once before. He seemed to remember she?d been quite a spitfire, but had lacked this harpy?s total immorality and capacity for evil. The thought occurred to Sam that she might have been sent by Lothos to exact revenge for his rescue of Alia. Yet it could not be, for they had made body contact and her form had not altered.
Self-preservation now overcame his qualms about sparring with a woman, but she gave him no opportunity to attack. All he could manage was to evade the worst of the blows, trying to crawl, crab-like, out of range, all the while trying to staunch the flood gushing from his throbbing shoulder.
At last she paused in her attack, though still looming menacingly over him with pitchfork poised, forbidding any real bid for freedom. She bent lower, to be sure he heard, and purred:
?Oh no. You lift that hand once more and I won?t let you see the girls again. Do we understand each other, huh??
When he failed to reply, her voice got sharper, and her words were punctuated with renewed blows:
?Do?we?understand each other??
Light headed from loss of blood, Sam felt distant, vague. His grip on reality was tenuous at best. He could barely process her words - much less formulate a reply.
Honor laughed, a low growling laugh.
?Don?t pass out on me yet. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Not yet. Not yet. Don?t pass out on me yet ? you rotten Irish whore. Do we understand each other? If you care what happens to the girls you better answer me. All right??
That got through, and Sam managed to mumble ?Yeah.?
?Now listen to me carefully.?
She bent lower still, so her face filled the whole field of his blurred vision, and he could feel her bestial breath on his skin. It made his flesh crawl.
?I changed my mind. I?m not gonna let you see ?em before they die. Slowly ? they?re gonna die real slowly. I just wanted you to know that. You understand? I just wanted to make sure you knew that before I killed you.?
She giggled now with girlish glee.
?Goodbye, Irish.?
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 14 cont

?Now, where shall I ventilate you next?? A throaty laugh. ?The leg perhaps? The other arm? Or shall I go straight for the stomach??
She really was having trouble deciding.
Part of her wanted to play with the old girl, like pin the tail on the donkey, and enjoy her squirming as each puncture wound oozed out her life?s blood.
Yet she was impatient to see the effect of the stomach wound she?d decided might as well be inflicted on the victim she had to hand, and couldn?t bear it if the old trout passed out too soon.
Her moment of indecision was probably all that saved Sam.
For as she stood, with pitchfork held aloft, poised to deliver her next blow, her partner in crime burst triumphantly into the shed, pushing Shelley roughly in front of him and waving the lamp wildly.
?I got one of ?em, honey!? he proclaimed proudly. ?She?ll soon tell us where the other brat is ?iding.? The damp night air had sobered him somewhat, though he was still unsteady on his feet.
A sob from Shelley shook Sam back to almost full consciousness. Honor, startled by the sudden intrusion, was caught off balance as she spun round to face her accomplice.
The pitchfork flew from her grasp and sailed over her shoulder like a javelin, colliding with the oil-lamp in Henry?s hand.
Henry simply stood and watched it fall, mesmerized by the myriad tongues of flame that licked at the carpet of hay round their feet.
Honor shrieked: ?Idiot!? and kicked Sam again viciously to vent her frustration. This time, however, Sam had the added incentive of Shelley to protect.
Desperation focused his mind and he grabbed Honor?s ankle with his left hand as she made contact with his ribs. With all his rapidly fading strength he twisted, making Honor lose her footing and laying her out more or less at right angles to him.
As she went down, he scrambled up.
In two strides he was out of her range and had reached Shelley?s side.
Without a backward glance, he scooped her up in his good arm and ran for their lives, dodging the worst of the inferno and bolting out of the door.
Henry was still rooted to the spot.
Honor was back on her feet, but was boxed in by the rapidly spreading fire. For the first time her rigid self-control crumbled completely and she looked frightened and vulnerable. She called Henry?s name, not in anger or condemnation, but as a cry for help. Henry became aware of her and drew his eyes from the flickering light show.
Suddenly he was stone cold sober despite the heat of the flames, and more decisive than he?d been in his entire life. His true love was trapped and in danger. He would have to rescue her.
?I?m coming, honey. I?m coming to get you.?
So saying, he plunged deeper into the burning building, regardless of Sam?s parting shout advising him to get out while he could.
Once outside, Sam put as much distance as he could between them and the shed, before the thick acrid smoke clogging his lungs forced him to stop and draw in fresh air. Shelley was coughing too, so he set her down and checked her over. Fortunately, her nightwear was flame retardant, and she appeared unscathed. Sam had picked up wisps of hay in his hair and clothing, and was smoldering in a couple of places. Only the soaking he?d been subjected to on his enforced jog had prevented him from catching alight. A brisk pat here and there soon had him out of danger: for the moment.
Sam ? being Sam ? was on the verge of re-entering the shed to rescue those still inside. Telling Shelley to stay put, he was on his way when she put out a restraining hand and looked up at him in alarm.
?What are you doing Nanny? Don?t leave me. Please, don?t leave me.?
 
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?Oi?ve got to?? Sam started to explain, looking from her pale dirty face to the raging bonfire behind him. At which point common sense reared its head. He still had Tori to find. His first ? and last ? duty was to the girls. Besides, he was in no fit state for such heroics. It was a close run contest over which was generating the more heat ? the conflagration in the shed or the pain radiating from his injured shoulder. Between that and the lingering effects of his head wound, the smoke inhalation and the soaking, topped off by the kicking that had left him bruised and tender, he was in no fit state for much of anything.
Still he hesitated. A hazy memory taunted him of how terrible it was to die in a fire. There had been a girl about Shelley?s age to protect then, too. A very special girl, though he wasn?t sure why. He also had a vague recollection of successfully fighting a fire in a barn once before, despite having an injured arm to hinder him. But that had been the longest time ago.
Shelley?s hand clutching his arm ever tighter, and the sound of her whimper, brought him back to the present and he hugged her close.
?It?s all right, poppet. Nanny?ll not be leaving you again. You?re safe now. Are you after knowing where your sister is, by any chance??
?Sh- she went back to the house.? Shelley saw Mary?s bemused look and explained the obvious as only a child can: ?To get Daddy?s money back.?
Smiling, Sam helped her to her feet and they supported each other as they turned to find Tori and her treasure trove. As they got up, Henry staggered from the would-be funeral pyre carrying a limp and lifeless Honor in his arms, and both of them ablaze from head to foot.
Shelley screamed.
Sam immediately shielded Shelley?s eyes from the gruesome sight. This time he could not stand by and do nothing. He admonished the girl not to look, and with a kiss to her head and a promise to be right back, he swung into action.
Adrenaline leant him a temporary burst of energy to prevail over his injuries. He didn?t approach the human torches directly, but struck out toward the horse trough. Hastily filling a bucket with the tainted water, he dashed to the rescue.
All the while he called out to Henry to lie down and roll on the ground.
If Henry heard, he did not understand.
If he understood, he did not obey.
Henry just stood, holding his beloved as if they had just crossed the threshold of the bridal suite.
By the time Sam reached him, the intense heat had caused Henry to genuflect and his scorched face held eyes that no longer saw. Sam doused the raging inferno with his water bucket, and then smothered the diminished flames with the heavy coat, which he ripped from his body with painful haste, although he knew in his heart it was much too late.
When, moments later, he had beaten out the last flicker of fire, he lifted the scorched remains of the coat.
Two corpses, petrified into a grotesque statue, met his smoke-stung eyes. Henry was pitiful, crouched holding Honor on his lap, his seared face uncomprehending. Honor?s face was twisted in a grimace; her whole body as charred and blackened in death as her heart had been in life.
Sam sank to his own knees, barely registering the pain of the bruises from his earlier fall, hoping that despite all appearances, their souls were not beyond redemption. He said a silent prayer over them, and then (having transferred the keys and purse to a side skirt pocket) he reverently covered them with the coat. He could do no more.
He knelt there for an endless moment, giving in at last to shock and confusion and pain and horror and sheer exhaustion. Finally, he was able to apply the much needed and long overdue pressure to his leaking limb. He did so automatically, without any outward show of awareness.
It was only when he heard Shelley screaming to her sister to keep away, and to her Nanny to come away from the danger zone, that he gradually roused himself and beat a shaky retreat from the edge of the inferno to where the girls awaited him. Together, the raggedy trio weaved their way around the out-houses to the waiting car, the girls dragging the huge bag and supporting their pale and trembling Nanny.
 
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Connie heaved an enormous sigh of relief as she saw them approach. The wait had been interminable. Three times she had almost left the car to go and look for Mary. It had taken every ounce of patience and self-restraint she could muster to stay put. And then some.
First she had heard the van roar down the driveway and felt she should go and warn Mary of the bad guys? return. Her hand had been on the car door.
Then she had wavered, wondering if a quick blast on her horn would be more immediate and more effective. In the end, she had done neither. Partly, it had to be admitted, through fear of her own capture.
Yet not solely for her own safety?s sake, she was not that selfish. If taken prisoner, she would be of little use to Mary or the girls. Then again, she remembered those foolish females in the films who acted rashly and made things worse. Mary seemed like she was prepared for almost anything. What if she?d managed to hide from the approaching felons only to have her cover blown by Connie?s interference? So she?d slithered down in her seat out of sight and held her breath.
But it was oh so frustrating not knowing what was going on. As she sat and waited she could hear shouting, but could not discern what or by whom.
There had been noises, people running, banging ? chaos. Should she go and help? The urge to pitch in grew stronger by the second, and she even reached over to get her umbrella, which could also be used as a weapon if so needed. But Connie kept telling herself that she would not be responsible for delaying their getaway by deserting her post. What if they got free, only to be re-captured searching for her? NO, it would never do.
?They also serve who only stand (or sit) and wait.? She?d said it light-heartedly, trotting out the old clich?, but there was only the thinnest line between clich? and Universal Truth. The stakes Mary was playing for suggested to Connie that the line had been crossed.
She sat tight and waited.
Then had come the fire ? lighting up her horizon brighter than last month?s Guy Fawkes celebrations. Surely the time had come for her to intercede? What if Mary and the girls perished in the flames because she sat back and did nothing?
What then?
How would she live with herself?
This time she got as far as opening the door before conceding the folly of striking out to search for three needles in a burning haystack. Then the thought, should she retreat and gather reinforcements? Send for the cavalry? There was a call box just a short drive down the road. She could call the fire brigade and be back in less than five minutes. The idea had merit, but again it meant not being where she was expected to be. Five minutes could be forever when you?re desperate and they wouldn?t know for sure she was coming back. They might think she?d turned chicken and made a run for it. Then they?d have to leg it. If they were hurt, it could mean they didn?t get away fast enough.
It was too risky.
She never would have believed that doing nothing could be the hardest thing of all ? until now.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 14 cont

So it was that when she saw three grubby scarecrows staggering her way, she waited only long enough to be sure as to whom they were, and that they weren?t being followed. Whereupon she leapt from the car, sprightlier than her years suggested, and rushed to lend whatever assistance she was able.
It was gratefully received.
Sam found himself ? like all the best hotels ? running hot and cold, as shock made him shiver and pain made him sweat.
He felt shaky deep inside, and his vision was blurred in the extreme. He was having trouble determining which way was up. He made no protest when Connie offered him a steadying arm and guided him to her chariot.
She took charge.
Introducing herself to the children (so they wouldn?t be taking a lift from a stranger), she instructed them to strap up in the back (the bulging bag wedged firmly in the well between them) while she eased Sam into the front passenger seat, fastening his seat belt over his damaged arm with great care.
Sam endured her ministering without a murmur, as if it were all happening to someone else, far, far, away. He knew he was slipping deeper into shock, but found it increasingly impossible to cling to the life raft of reality. He had to have help to be pulled back, but didn?t know how to ask for the bullying he so desperately needed.
It would normally have come from Al without him needing to ask. He fleetingly wondered why Al had deserted him, but couldn?t hold on to the thought. Everything was so vague and woolly, and the abyss was comforting. Down there he didn?t have to think about the horrors he?d witnessed or the sporadic bursts of stabbing pain, which exploded like fire crackers in his shoulder. He was even becoming anaesthetized to the soft sobs of the two traumatized children behind him. He needed Al to snap him out of it, like last time ? last time? ? but by now he couldn?t even recall who Al was, let alone anything more.
Then, just as he was on the verge of being lost forever in the blissful mists of oblivion, reality snatched him back with a sickening jolt. Reality took the form of excruciating pain, which brought tears to his eyes and took his breath away.
-?Aaiieee? howled Sam in anguish.
-?Nanny!? shrieked Shelley-Anne in horror.
-?You leave my Nanny alone!? yelled Tori in anger.
?Sorry,? soothed Connie, ?I didn?t mean t? ?urt ?er like that. I wos only tryin? t? ?elp.?
She was back in the driving seat, and had brought out a first aid kit. From this she?d taken a gauze pad and soaked it in iodine. It was the application of this poultice that had raised such a pother in the car.
Though the awakening had been a rude one, Sam was grateful for it. Connie had begun to withdraw the offending object from his clothing. Sam gingerly closed his hand over hers and planted the pad back on the open wound. With a half smile, half wince, he nodded to let her know he?d keep it there and she slipped her hand away. The movement made his aching neck ache all the more, both from the blow to his head, and tracking up the other side from his punctured shoulder.
?T?anks, Oi needed dat.? He nevertheless told her sincerely.
?Yeah, like a toothache.? Commented his nurse.
?It?s uh, its alright, poppets.? Sam reassured his charges, though it was clearly an exaggeration, ?Nanny?s fine now.?
?She will be, once I gets ?er to ?orspital.? Pronounced the Cockney, starting her engine and reversing away from the still raging inferno. That got Sam?s attention even more clearly.
?H-hospital?? he questioned, as if the idea were not a logical one.
 
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Connie glanced at the old lady with concern. She was no medic, but the poor dear was obviously in shock and in need of attention.
?Sure, ducks. By my reckoning your tank?s gotta be bout half empty already. You needs to go an? make a withdrawal from the blood bank. Not to mention getting a jab. We don?t want yer getting blood poisoning now, do we??
Just what Dr Beckett would advise for the real Mary. But once again things weren?t that simple. Yes, he?d probably lost about 4 pints and needed to stop the flow pretty swiftly if the loss were not to become fatal. Yet a transfusion now could prove fatal in itself. For Sam?s blood group, like most of his grades, was A+. Mary?s, he knew from her passport, was a B negative. It they tried giving him that it?d kill him for sure. Not that he could offer that excuse to his fairy godmother.
?No? hospital.? He breathed hoarsely, for the second time this Leap. ?Oi?ve got to get the wee ones home to their Da. Oi made a promise.?
?Oh, and how are you gonna do that, eh?? Connie had never been a bigot, but she was starting to believe the stereotype of the Irish being thick as two short planks. She?d never heard anything so stupid in all her life. ?How far d?yer fink you?d get down the motorway in that state? You?d kill yerself an? the little uns too, for sure. Nah, I?ll look after the darlin?s at ?ome tonite, and we?ll sort sommat aht tomorrer about getting? ?em back to Daddy. You just worries bout getting? yerself fit an? ?ealthy again.?
In truth, that was quite enough to occupy his mind.
Pain was a starving sewer rat, which bit into his shoulder with rapacious teeth and gnawed ravenously at the shreds of his nerve-endings with a tenacity that would not be denied. The bloodletting and the still troublesome head wound conspired to leave him barely conscious and deathly pale. He?d all the nasty after effects of smoke inhalation to contend with too, making it hard to breathe without coughing.
Still, he knew he could conquer it all, given time and rest, and told Connie as much, emphatically reiterating his determination not to go into hospital.
Connie still felt the old girl was mad to refuse, but had no wish to cause further distress to her or the young girls by arguing about it. So she offered a compromise.
?Okie dokie duckie, I tells yer what. I?ll takes yer all ?ome wiv me??
?You?re too kind,? began Sam.
?Not at all,? put in Connie, ?You won?t be imposing. I?ve got spare beds wot I keeps already made up and everyfink, ready for when me son an? ?is family come dahn from Shropshire. But if?n you takes a turn for the worse durin? the night, I?ll ?ave yer in the ?orspital so fast yer feet won?t touch the ground. Understand??
?Yes, ma?am.? Acknowledged Sam, meekly. He understood all right. He?d simply have to make sure that it didn?t happen. Even if it meant putting on a brave face and lying through his gritted teeth about how much better he felt. Which wouldn?t be an easy deception. As they drove, every knot and pothole in the road reverberated through the chassis and jarred his fragile frame. The temptation to withdraw to a state of insensibility was getting harder and harder to resist.
He whispered to the woman beside him so as not to strain his sore throat or alarm the children:
?Oi don?t need the hospital, but Oi do needs ya to keep me talking, just until Oi can get the bleeding stopped.?
?Shock?? queried Connie, equally subtle in tone.
?Nothin? Oi canna handle, wit? a little help from me friends.? Sam crossed his fingers that his assertion was true.
That gave Connie an idea.
?Sounds like a cue to me, ducks.? She raised her voice.
?How?s about it, luvs?? she asked the girls, ?Shall we ?ave a sing-song??
They looked at her as if she were mad. They were holding hands for mutual comfort, and trying hard not to think about the nightmare from which they hoped they had awoken. But this was unreal. Why should they feel like singing?
Connie was not about to take no for an answer.
?C?mon, all together now? ?Raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens???
Sam managed a genuine chuckle, and added his voice, albeit thinly:
?Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens.?
After a couple more lines it was too infectious to ignore and the girls chorused with them. By the time they arrived at Connie?s house ten minutes or so later, Shelley and Tori were almost relaxed, and even Sam felt that he had regained some measure of control over his condition, rather than letting it get the better of him.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

QLHQ​

The game of cat and mouse had been going on forever with neither side giving nor gaining ground. It seemed the impasse would last an eternity still. Inevitably something would have to give, but it was anybody?s guess as to what, how, when or where.
Rusty was confused.
The daemon?s minions were on guard, protecting their Master, as he?d have expected. Yet they made no move to attack him. If they had, he?d have been ready. Instead, they muttered incantations at him, seducing his brain into numbness so that he forgot his purpose. He tried not to listen, to drown them out with words of his own, but he was helpless before them.
He could neither attack nor retreat.
The Hideous One itself kept silent and hidden.
For a time he imagined it skulking in fear, and he felt a momentary resurgence of the Power, the Invincibility. Yet before it had emboldened him enough to strike, the minion?s murmurings caused him to doubt himself. Then he imagined the daemon concealed ready to pounce, to bite his head off with a single snap of its razor sharp teeth. Once more he was paralyzed with fear. He tightened his grip on his shield and raised it protectively in front of him.
Surprisingly, it was this gesture that brought about a collapse of the status quo. For it was at this moment that Al had been asking:
?Why are you doing this, Corporal?? and Ziggy broke silence to offer a hypothesis.
?I believe I have an explanation, Admiral. You may have noticed that Corporal Kincaid ? against regulations ? has misappropriated the trigger mechanism from the bomb that he removed from Gushie.?
?Yeah, so what?? snarled Al, unable to make the correlation.
?You may not have noticed, as I have,? Ziggy?s tone was patronizing in the extreme, ?that the casing had been shattered. It is my considered opinion?? (which meant ?Ziggy-knew-best?) ?that the Corporal has suffered chronic exposure to the chemical within, and his current atypical behavior is as a result of acute mercury poisoning.?
Gushie thought: ?maybe that?s why I?ve been feeling so odd lately, cos I got a dose too.?
Dr Beeks thought: ?An examination of blood, hair or urine would confirm the diagnosis, but it certainly makes sense.?
Al thought: ?Mercury poisoning??? and then, ?oh yeah, causing temporary insanity like it did with Isaac Newton, and milliners, who used it in hat making, hence ?the mad hatter? in Alice.?
Whether it was something he?d read or seen on TV, or whether it was one of those snippets Sam had dropped into a conversation he wasn?t sure.
All three were distracted by their thoughts so did not immediately notice Rusty?s reaction to the fact that the Evil One had spoken at last. Filled with a sudden, uncontrollable rage, he lifted the axe and flew for Ziggy?s Control panel. Unable to locate the source of the voice, he went for what he saw as the daemon?s heart.
Gushie was the first to see what he intended and stepped bravely, foolishly into Rusty?s path to defend the computer. Rusty didn?t falter; he simply sought to remove the obstacle.
By the time Al and Verbena realized what was happening, for it had only taken seconds, Rusty had struck a dozen or more blows, slashing Gushie?s arms (raised protectively before his face) his legs, and his chest. Gushie did not retreat; he steadfastly blocked the maniac?s way, protecting Ziggy, trying in vain to ward off the blows. Rusty hacked away at the unfortunate Head Programmer in a frenzy of blood lust, venting on the man all the hatred and loathing he felt for the computer. He paused neither for breath nor in the rhythm of his rampage, ?til at last the Admiral, with the help of a guard he?d yelled for, subdued him with a tranquillizer dart from the guard?s gun and pulled him off.
As the guard dragged him away, Al moved forward and gently lifted Gushie from where he?d slumped, contorted over Ziggy?s mainframe. Lowering himself to a seated position on the floor, Al cradled Gushie?s head in his lap, his face white as the crisp dress uniform that pillowed it.
??Bena?? whispered Al, a desperate plea.
 
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Dr Beeks merely shook her head sadly.
There was nothing she or anyone could do. Gushie was beyond all mortal help.
She sank to her own knees and gently took his hand, though severed tendons made him unable to feel it.
Tenderly stroking his cheek with her other hand, she spoke softly:
?Oh, Gushie, why??
Gushie looked up with sightless eyes.
He was already far, far away. With a brief shuddered sigh and a spasm, he was gone. Verbena softly closed his eyes and sealed them with a tear.
And so the grim tableau remained for several minutes. Neither spoke nor moved to break the spell, as if to do so were to accept what had happened.
They weren?t yet ready for acceptance.
Even Ziggy was silent; lights dimmed.
The computer seemed strangely affected by the human?s self-sacrifice. All the expensive, complex microchip technology and programming couldn?t fathom the logic of it. In the end, Ziggy sought an answer from the other humans, speaking softly, almost reverently:
?The carbon based life form known as Gushie has ceased to function. There are no vital signs registering whatsoever. All electrical activity in his brain has ceased. He is beyond repair. This is what you call Death, is it not??
Al did not reply at once, and when he did it was preceded by a heart-rending sigh.
?Yeah, Ziggy, Gushie is dead.?
?Did Gushie not realize the consequence of his intervention would be death??
Al pondered this, looking down at the tattered corpse for a long moment, then at the bloodstained axe now lying idle on the floor.
?I guess he probably did, Zig.?
?Then I fail to comprehend why he would take such an action.?
?Instinct.? Al was struggling for comprehension himself. He certainly couldn?t explain it to a bucket of bolts, even if Sam had made them capable of getting depressed by the death of Franklin Roosevelt.
Gushie had devoted more or less every waking moment to Ziggy?s well being ever since the computer first came on line. He?d fretted and fussed over it like a mother hen. It was second nature for him to try and protect it ? and indirectly Sam ? from damage. Whether or not Ziggy would have been any easier for all the king?s horses and all the king?s men to put back together again, Al was thankful that they didn?t need to find out.
Ziggy was inclined to pursue the conundrum further, but Al was either unable or unwilling to elucidate. The matter was settled by a new demand on their attention.
Ziggy?s illuminated panels suddenly flashed rapidly and randomly, a wild tarantella. If such a thing were possible, Al would have sworn he heard the computer gasp.
?What is it, Ziggy?? Al was already rising to his feet, gently easing Gushie?s lifeless form to the floor from off his lap.
?Dr Beckett?s structural integrity has been breached.? Ziggy?s voice, which had been most like a husky female of late, now sounded uncannily like Gushie?s.
Verbena and Al exchanged uncomfortable glances. This was all too weird.
What the hell was going on?
And what had Ziggy meant by such a strange observation, which had more to do with the techno-babble of Star Trek than to a report from Dr Beckett?s brainchild.
?Sam?s hurt?? interpreted the Observer, striding towards the Imaging Chamber, his arm stretching out to snatch the handlink from its nest as he passed.
?As I said, he has sustained a puncture wound to his right shoulder, narrowly missing the subclavian artery.? Ziggy?s normally superior tone was mingled with something bordering on emotion.
Al trudged wearily up the ramp.
It never rained but it poured.
As he was about to enter the Imaging Chamber, he was startled to find Verbena cutting in to block his path.
?Where do you think you?re going?? she challenged.
The Admiral made to push her aside. ?To Sam, of course,? his tone implying the addendum ?you stupid woman?.
Dr Beeks stood her ground, planting a restraining hand firmly on his chest, applying just enough pressure to make her presence felt and looking him squarely in the eye.
?And just how do you think it will help Sam to see you like that??
She withdrew her hand so that Al might examine his attire. He looked down at his normally pristine white uniform and seemed genuinely surprised to find it stained a deep pink from top to toe.
?You can hardly tell Sam you cut yourself shaving, now can you?? she pointed out rationally.
Al suddenly realized his mouth was gaping open, and shut his jaw tight with a snap. For a moment he hesitated in the doorway, his anxiety for Sam overriding all else. Then reason prevailed and he turned on his heels, racing as fast as his legs could carry him to get a change of clothes from his room.
He had his jacket unbuttoned and half off before he?d even reached the corridor.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 15 cont

Bedford​


Connie settled Sam in a comfortable armchair with the words, ?There you go, ducks. Sits down before ya falls dahn.?
Sam didn?t argue. The journey from the car to the front door closely followed by that across the rolling deck of Connie?s long narrow lounge/diner had been as arduous a trek as any he could imagine. He sank gratefully into the soft upholstery.
?You sit tight. We?ll soon ?ave yer sorted.? Promised his hostess, heading for the kitchen to ?get the kettle on.?
Sam was happy to let her take charge, but was still mindful of his responsibility to the girls. Strictly speaking it was not really past their bedtime. It was only a little over twenty-four hours since they had been taken from the hotel. Yet those hours had taken their toll and the sisters looked as exhausted as he felt.
They had seated themselves on the floor at his feet, heads resting on his knees, seeking comfort and reassurance from the closeness, but sensitive of Nanny?s injury and not wanting to hurt her by climbing up on her lap for a proper cuddle. With his left hand he stroked each of their heads in turn and tutted at the state of their hair, faces and clothes. He chided them gently, as if they?d been playing in the garden and marred their Sunday best, smiling as he exonerated them of all blame.
?Are you two big girls clever enough to shower yourselves while I looks after yer Nanny ?ere?? asked Connie, returning with a bowl of steaming water and a clean towel, with which she obviously intended to cleanse his wound. For some reason the thought sprang to Sam?s mind to be grateful that it wasn?t a mustard poultice.
Connie put the bowl on a coffee table beside his chair. The girls rose obediently to their feet.
?I?ll be back in a tick, ducks,? Connie promised Sam as she led the girls upstairs, ?I?ll just sorts ?em out some towels and stuff.?
Sam smiled in acknowledgement, and exhorted the children to be good.
Once alone, he somehow managed to divest himself of the twin-set, a maneuver which, though carried out with all due caution, caused both intense pain and renewed bleeding.
Still, pressing his lips together tightly, Sam persevered in order to better assess the extent of the damage. It was not a pretty sight, but having cleaned the wound, Sam could see that it could have been far worse.
At least there was no sign of infection.
Connie returned, telling him she?d found the girls everything they needed, including a couple of her daughter?s maternity smocks ?to use as nighties.?
She was carrying a long wincyette nightgown for ?Mary?, which she hastily tossed over a chair back as she rushed to her guest?s side.
??Ere now, yer shouldn?t ?ave started wivaht me, ducks. Let me get that for yer.? So saying, she took the cloth from him and finished bathing the site of his injury, not missing how he flinched beneath her touch.
?Gawd, that looks nasty. Are yer sure yer don?t wanna get it seen to proper??
?Quite? sure.? Through gritted teeth. ?Oi have every confidence in your skills. You?re doin? a grand job, so y?are.? Sam flattered her, in order to divert her attention, though in truth, she was treating him quite professionally anyway.
?Would you happen t?have a needle and thread??
Leaving him once again applying pressure to the wound, Connie went to a padded footstool, which nestled beneath a table in the alcove under the stairs. Lifting the lid, she revealed a sewing box choc-a-block full of everything a seamstress could possibly need. In fact, closer examination would show that the table cunningly concealed an electric sewing machine.
?I?m a dab ?and wiv me needlework as a rule,? said Connie with a touch of pride in her voice, ?but I ain?t never ?ad t?do nuffink like this afore. What colour d?yer want??
 
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Sam smiled, her flippancy was as much to cover her own nerves as to cheer her patient, but it was a welcome relief to the gravity of the situation nonetheless and he appreciated it more than he could say.
?Oi reckon as how it oughta be red, but Oi?ll take whatever you have.? He responded.
She put a reel of crimson thread on the coffee table and took the needle into the kitchen where she scalded it with freshly boiled water to sterilize it. Sam was impressed that he hadn?t needed to suggest the precautionary measure.
?Brace yerself, ducks.? Connie instructed, ?This ain?t gonna be no beauty treatment.?
Indeed it wasn?t. Her fingers were nimble, her stitching strong and even, yet as she sutured the jagged wound Sam?s face took on an expression normally associated with sucking lemons. He pressed himself back into the chair, and held his arm steady, as in a vice.
?Sorry I ain?t got no anaesthetic.? His nurse apologized. ?This ?as t? be ?urting like ?ell. Feel free to scream or swear. It?ll not bother me an? the neighbours?ll understand.?
Sam pressed his lips together for a moment; holding his breath, eyes closed in pain. Then he let out a deep sigh.
?No, Oi?ll not do dat. Oi?ve no wish t? frighten the wee ones again.?
?You?re a brave woman, Mary, and that?s a fact.? Pronounced Connie, ?soon be done now.?
At which she deftly finished off and cut loose the needle.
?It ain?t the neatest darning I ever dun, but I fink it?ll do. Is there anyfink else I can git yer??
?Not unless you have any tranexamic acid.? Sam replied, almost automatically.
?Beg your puddin?? queried Connie, ?Wot d?yer want wiv acid??
?Tranexamic acid,? explained Dr Beckett, ?is a medication used for hemophiliacs and women with heavy menstrual bleeds, cos it helps t?slow blood loss. Only it rather went out of favor for a while with the advent of the contraceptive pill.? This last he mumbled to himself.
?Sorry, ducks, I ain?t never ?eard on it. Still, at least we plugged the leak, eh? ?Ows abaht if I seals it wiv some alcohol??
?Good idea.? Sam concurred.
Connie moved to a white cabinet in the front corner of the room and removed a bottle, from which she proceeded to cauterize the wound. Once again Sam flinched and shut his eyes against the pain.
?You looks like you could do wiv a dose of this internally.? Connie offered.
?No, t?anks,? declined Sam sensibly, ?but Oi?ll take a tonic water if?n you have it.?
By now he was way beyond shock, and burning up with pain-induced fever.
In response to Connie?s questioning look, he explained:
?It contains quinine. Used to treat malarial fevers.?
?Ah, good for what ails yer, eh?? Connie obliged, pouring him a long glass of clear liquid, which he sipped gratefully. Connie put a clean dressing on his shoulder, then suggested he should ?git aht of the rest o? them clothes and into this cosy nightie.?
Sam shrank back from her offer to help undress him. Though his rational mind knew she saw only Mary, still he was embarrassed.
?No, no. You go and check on the wee ones. Oi can manage.? He stammered, his hand subconsciously slipping into his lap to shield his genitalia.
?Ain?t no need to be shy, dearie, we?re all girls togevver now ain?t we? Still, if yer sure, maybe I oughta see ?ow the little ?uns is gettin? on.?
?Oi?m sure,? said Sam firmly, inwardly refuting her statement on gender and breathing a huge sigh of relief when Connie departed up the stairs.
Not that getting changed was anywhere near as manageable as he?d made out. No doubt Al would have found his wriggles and struggles highly amusing had he been there to witness them. Still, somehow he coped, and by the time the others came down he was decently shrouded in the long-sleeved, full-length, high-necked warm fluffy creation covered in rosebuds and forget-me-nots. He?d left the French knickers on to approximate boxer shorts. With his left hand, he beckoned the girls over to him. Their clean attire was rather ill fitting, but it would serve its purpose. They crouched down beside their Nanny, all squeaky clean and smelling of primroses, their damp hair glistening in the light. They not only looked cleaner, but calmer, and he soon learned why.
?Guess what, Nanny?? grinned Shelley-Anne, cuddling up to Sam?s bruised knees.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 15 cont

?What, Princess?? Sam asked gently. He hadn?t the energy for guessing games.
The girls exchanged glances, and then began jumping up and down with excitement.
?Auntie Connie says we can ?phone Daddy.? They chorused.
Sam looked round to find their benefactor returning from the kitchen carrying a tray, which replaced the bowl she?d cleared from the coffee table. On it were long tall glasses of milk and huge chunks of layered sponge cake smothered and sandwich filled with a dark brown, sticky mass of gooey dark chocolate icing.
?Me kids always used to call it Yummy cake.? She pronounced. ?Tuck in.?
The girls needed no persuasion, taking huge bites that gave them chocolate mustaches.
?Mmmmmnn, yummy!!!? they mumbled, their mouths full to bursting.
?Oi can see why,? laughed Sam, declining a portion himself.
?What?s up, luv, feeling a bit Uncle Dick??
Sam struggled momentarily with the rhyming slang before making a mental translation.
?Now you mention it, Oi do feel a wee bit queasy, but Oi?m not about to redecorate your walls, if dat?s what?s worrying you.? Sam reassured her.
?Oh, I ain?t fussed ducks. But I?ll bring the bowl back if yer finks yer might need it.?
?No, t?anks, Oi?ll be fine. Oi?m sorry t? be so much trouble.?
?Ain?t no trouble, dearie.? She assured him. ?Now, abaht this ?ere phone call, ?ave yer got the number??
Sam realized he hadn?t. He?d been too preoccupied to memorize it, and the maps he?d got from reception, which had the hotel details stamped on them had been left in the car. The girl?s faces fell as he apologized for his inefficiency, but their hostess was not fazed. She merely checked the name of the hotel and dialed Directory Enquiries. Thus it was that, moments later she was connected with the Balmoral Suite.
??Ello, Mr. Strickland? You don?t know me. Me name?s Connie Blackman. I got yer daughters and their Nanny ?ere. They?d like a word wiv yer.?
For a moment, Lyle thought it was the kidnappers with further demands, and that Mary had got herself taken hostage too. Then reason told him that kidnappers didn?t identify themselves, and he allowed himself a sigh of relief. It was echoed by the mechanical sigh of an opening door, which Al stepped through.
Sam noted that he was dressed somberly, for him ? in black slacks, black silk shirt threaded with gold, and a black leather bomber jacket. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. He looked at Sam and shook his head.
?Ah jeez, Sam, look at the state of you!? He was torn between horror at how dreadfully pale his friend appeared, how tired and pained, and amusement at how ridiculous he looked in the positively Victorian nightwear, with one sleeve hanging limp and empty.
He wiped the moisture from his eyes, and tried to pretend that mirth had put it there. Silently, he cursed the Cosmic Director, who had cast him as Sam?s protector and then kept preventing him from taking to the stage. It was his greatest fear, his constant nightmare, that one of these Leaps his absence would be the death of Sam.
With a tightly repressed shudder he widened his gaze to focus on the children, vying for their father?s attention as they both tried to tell him all that had happened.
?They both okay?? Al queried, indicating the girls.
Sam nodded, though the muscles in his neck protested the movement. ?They will be.? He whispered. Hearing how they spoke of their ordeal, he had little doubt that they would suffer no permanent harm. They were already regarding it as an adventure. Children were often far more resilient than their adult counterparts.
?Good,? pronounced Al, ?Let?s go then.? The sooner Sam Leaped out of there, the sooner his injuries would be healed. And that couldn?t be too soon as far as Al was concerned.
Sam shook his head.
?Oi don?t t?ink so.? He declared calmly under his breath.