It was Young Billy Fisher who’d barged in the station room halting the plan to get Vicky out, or to be a little more specific, what was left of him. Jill only recognised who he was by the orange vest, and that pineapple hair-do of his. Most of his face had been eaten away by the rain, with only one of his eyes remaining in its socket, the other, his left, swung loose over his now visible cheek-bone.
His right ear rested on the side of his neck, near to his shoulder, and there was a hole where his nose once sat. His rack of pointed yellow teeth and blood-red gums were also visible, as the flesh from his jaw now dangled loose, like melted plastic, just above his chest. He tried to speak but could only make loud gurgling sounds and high-pitched cries.
Continuing forward with the gait of Frankenstein’s monster, Billy stumbled in Jill’s direction causing Gregg to raise his gun.
As Gregg followed Billy’s progress across the room, Hal stood from the bench. ‘Shoot him,’ he said, then shouted. ‘Shoot him!’
But Gregg didn’t shoot, he only watched as Billy reached through the bars to Hal. Hal walked to him reaching through the bars from his side and held Billy in his arms. Then, and with several cracks of braking bone, Hal started to crush him against the cell. Billy let out an almost silent rasp as his last shallow breath of air was pressed from his lungs. Due to the pressure he was putting into his grip, Hal’s eyes started to twitch; seconds later, he allowed Billy’s corpse to fall from his hands. Then stood there looking down at him.
This was their chance, Jill widened her eyes as far as they would go, literally throwing looks at Vicky, willing her to get up and stick him with the cattle-prod. Vicky, not wanting to take her eyes off Hal, felt under the bench to locate it. She then stood, and with the prod outstretched, lunged at him.
As big as he was, Hal wheeled on the spot like a seasoned ballerina and took the cattle-prod from her. With his free hand he gripped Vicky by the hair, lifting her two feet from the floor. Vicky screamed trying free herself, but there was no hope of that, his grip was vice-like. Again he spun on the spot, this time putting Vicky between Gregg and him. Gregg raised his gun ready to fire.
‘Go ahead, hot-shot.’ Hal said, daring him. ‘Pull the fucking trigger now!’
Jill could see he was about to accept the provocation. ‘No, Gregg …’ she shouted, again pulling down his arm. ‘You might hit Vicky.’
Hal pulled back the hand holding the cattle-prod, and with a malevolent glint in his eye, looked straight at Jill. ‘Oh yeah,’ he said, ‘something I forgot to mention … mes parent’s adoptifs, sont Français! Oeil pour oeil, cette Billy’s vie pour la vie.’
Understanding every word he said, Jill’s knees began to buckle, causing her to grip the desk just to steady herself.
Still managing to hold Vicky well clear of the floor, Hal depressed the switch on the cattle-prod, the electricity crackled as it arced across the two steel prongs. And again he looked Jill dead-in-the-eye. ‘Dire adieu, à votre ami,’ he said.
Without another word, he thrust the prod up into Vicky’s back where it exited her lower chest; the crackling now reduced to no more than intermittent buzzing as her electrified innards clung to it. Blood spewed from Vicky’s mouth, choking her screams into strained gargles of agony. Hal, still using her as a shield, held her there until her bodily spasms ceased.
Jill ran at the bars screaming and reaching in for Vicky, and Gregg aimed his gun, again, this time pulling the trigger, twice. One shot hitting Vicky in her left shoulder, the other hitting Hal in his left cheek. He dropped Vicky’s body and turned away holding his hand over his face. Gregg moved to the front of the cell putting his arm right through the bars, then fired again. This shot hit Hal on the side of his head just above his left ear. His brain and skull fragments sprayed the cell wall behind as he fell to the floor.
Jill grabbed for the keys and anxiously began fumbling through them, she unlocked the cell door and rushed in kneeling beside her friend’s lifeless body. She lifted Vicky’s head onto her knees brushing the hair from her face. Then, rocking to and fro, she cried, repeatedly telling her how sorry she was.
Gregg entered the cell checking Hal for signs of life. He’d didn’t think he’d recover after sustaining such a massive head wound, but no way was he taking that chance. Vicky, he felt sure, was already dead, and whilst he let Jill lament over her demise, he took a brush from one corner of the room and used it to close the station door. Standing on Hal’s chair and using the brush once again, he closed and bolted the hatch.
Gregg gripped Hal’s feet, putting one under each of his arms and started to pull him from the cell. Hal was a big man, he could see that, bigger than most line-backers he’d seen, but he wasn’t expecting him to weigh almost half a tonne. After a struggle getting him in there, Gregg had Hal spread-eagled in the adjoining cell. He took the keys and commenced locking the shackles over his wrists and ankles.
Then, using the chair once again, he released the bolts allowing the hatch to fall open as he jumped clear. He stood and watched the rain hit the remaining pieces of Hal’s face, only to see the drops rolling off and causing no damage of their own. Hal was one of them, he had to be. He was sure of it. But if that was so, wouldn’t this have proved it? Shouldn’t his face be melting about now?
He turned, tossing the keys back to the desk and went to Jill who still knelt beside Vicky's body. Bending slightly, he put his right hand on her left shoulder. He wanted to say something to her, something meaningful, but nothing appropriate came to mind. Jill placed Vicky’s head back on the cell floor and stood before wiping her eyes with the heel of each hand.
Once Gregg felt that she’d calmed enough, he spoke. ‘Jill, I have to ask you. What did Hal say just before he-?’
‘He said his adopted parents were French. Then he said, “An eye for an eye, this life for Billy’s life.” And then ... he told me to say goodbye to my friend.’ Jill was again on the verge of tears.
‘So he knew about the plan all along?’ Gregg said, as quickly as he could to distract her.
Jill nodded. ‘Who’d of thought that fucker had half an education being what he was?’
Again Gregg looked at the rain hitting Hal’s face. ‘I don’t think he was one of them.’
‘What?’
Gregg pointed. ‘The rain isn’t burning his skin.’
‘You’re wrong, Gregg. I flicked water over him earlier, while you were in there, it burnt him. And you’ve seen his teeth. Don’t try to tell me he wasn’t one of them.’
Gregg looked over at Billy’s body. There was one sure way of finding out. ‘Jill, I need Hal’s gloves.’
Jill nodded, abscently. Entering the cell, she pushed aside the chair and tried not to look at Hal’s face as she pulled off the gloves. ‘Here,' she said, passing them to him. 'They look a bit big though.’
Gregg put them on.
She was right, way too big, but they’d have to do. Turning Billy over onto his front, Gregg ripped off the orange vest. His body had been affected by the rain, but nothing like his face. He managed to get Billy’s corpse to the cell holding him upright at the door; then, with a helpful shove, he pushed Billy on top of Hal.
Gregg and Jill stood in silence looking on as the rain just bounced of Billy’s torso.
‘Maybe it’s the rain; perhaps it won’t burn you anymore.’
Gregg felt sure it would, but what did he have to loose? He removed one glove and held his hand under the falling rain. No good.
‘Okay, if the rain burns you, why not them? What’s changed for them in the last five minutes?’
‘Well they’re pretty much dead ... Jill!’ Gregg could have easily bitten off his own tongue right about then.
Jill shrugged, looking again at Vicky, then she turned back to Gregg. ‘Well maybe that’s it; maybe water has no effect on them when they’re dead. Maybe that’s the cure.’
Gregg frowned. ‘Well that’s a hell of a prognosis, Doctor Bundy, mind if I sleep on it?’
‘I’m just trying to help you out, Gregg.’
‘Well ya know what ...?’ he stopped short; one thing he didn’t want to do was take his frustrations out on Jill, not after what she’d just been through. ‘Forget it, it doesn’t matter,’ he said, taking off the other glove and slinging it across the room. ‘We have to do something to get out of here before anyone else turns up.’
‘Why, do you think someone heard those shots?’
Gregg shook his head. ‘No, if they did, they’d be here by now.’
‘But it’s raining; perhaps they’ll come when it isn’t.’
‘Well then, the only hope we have is to get out before it stops.’
‘And how do you propose we do that? You go out in this and you’ll end up like him,’ she said, pointing at Billy.
‘Like you said earlier, we take the patrol car. You drive, right?’
‘Have you forgot how we first met?’
‘How could I, when I made such an impression on your car?’
Jill wanted to say “Vicky’s car”, but the correction seemed somewhat pointless.
‘Okay, here’s what we do. You drive the patrol car level with the front door and-’
‘Gregg, it’s only a few feet down,’ she said, pointing.
‘I know, but that few feet might just cost me an ear, or maybe even part of my nose.’
She sighed. ‘Go on.’
‘When you get the rear door lined up with the door here, open it wide and I’ll run out and dive in. I close the door, and you drive off. The nearest town is about twenty miles away; we get there, and get the authorities back here.’
‘That almost sounds like a plan.'
‘Then go get the car!’
