Gregg and Nick gathered the equipment they’d need to set another bomb and entered into the shaft. They’d expected some dust to be still floating about but with the earth being as sodden as it was, it seemed to have settled quickly.
They reached the cross-over and turned left heading for Chambers, along the tunnel they’d just blasted, but could only manage a few feet before coming up against a wall of earth that their bomb had created.
The device did its job better than Nick’s expectations. ‘Looks like we’re in business, Buddy,’ he said.
They set about rigging the second bomb in the tunnel leading to the schoolhouse, when Gregg had another brainwave. ‘How many of these balls, sorry ... shells did you bring with you, Nick?’
Nick looked aloft calculating his answer. ‘Ten of the thirty-fives, and a half dozen fifteens, why do you ask?’
‘When we’ve done here, we need to set up one more in the tunnel leading to the cinema.’
‘I thought you wanted to keep that one clear for them to get through?’
‘I do, but once they’re in there, I want to block it after them, to make sure they don’t double-back.’
‘Righhhht, with you now. Well that means we’d have used six of the thirty fives. The four we have left should be enough to blow the oil-truck, but let’s strap everything we have to it anyway. A couple of fifteens on each of the trucks fuel tanks, and with the rest strapped to the four pressurised air cylinders …’ he allowed his words to trail off.
‘Okay, we blow this, and then set up one more in the cinema tunnel.’
*
Before Jill started to look for a container to hold the oil, she took another peek at Alicia just to make sure she was okay. She was still sleeping, and curled up on the back seat, covered over with a green and red, chequered travel blanket.
During this quiet moment, she thought again about Vicky lying dead in the cell just across the road. And what might have happened if she’d tried to get her out sooner. Would she still be alive now? Would they both be stood in this tin shack, trying to figure things out? She decided yes, they probably would be.
Scratching her head, she started to look around. ‘Where do I start? Where do, I start?’ she murmured.
Looking on the steel shelving only produced more old tyres and rusting engine parts. She even climbed up to the top shelves to see on the upper tiers, but still found nothing suitable.
‘Come on, Vicky, if you’re watching over me … now would be a good time for a clue.’ She turned on hearing the rear door of the windowless mini-bus creak open. She also felt a cool gust of air brush over on her face, but there was nowhere it could have come from. ‘Was that you, Vicks?’
The only reply she received came from another gust of wind from outside, and the odd, eerie creak, of the tin walls which sent an ice cold shiver running down the full length of her spine, followed by a rampaging herd of goose-bumps rising up to the back of her neck and over her head, causing every hair she had to stand on end. Then, like a chain reaction, the feeling spread over her entire body.
Shaking off the ghostly sensations, she moved over to the mini-bus to see the rear door open about two inches. She reached out, pushing it closed again, only to have it bounce back to that same two inches. Realising how silly she was being, her eyes rolled in their sockets and her head shook. There were no such things as ghosts, psychics, or vampires, were there? She pulled open the door of the mini-bus and its rusted hinges grated with an ear-piercing, Yeaarrr. Jill jumped; nothing half as graceful as a Gazelle, but just as high.
When she finally landed she couldn’t believe what stood before her. Even the mini-bus had been filled with old tyres. It had to be some kind of weird rubber fetish thing they suffered from, as well as all that rain-watching crap. She began emptying it in the hope there would be something suitable beneath. And after ten minutes of building a small mountain of tyres, and a massive sweat, the mini-bus was empty. She managed to retrieve an old, army-issue type, metal fuel container, about the size of the average suitcase.
She looked to the roof of the garage. ‘Thanks, Vicks.’
Once she had the container by the oil-truck, she compared the sizes of the two holes. The one on the container was about three inches across, and the end of the rubber tube was around eight inches across, with a metal ring fastened to it, preventing her from squashing it to a tighter hole. If there had been a funnel somewhere, she would have come across it when she searched for the container.
She had no choice, if she wanted to fill it she’d have to hold the tube in place, physically. Quite sure she could do that; she had the container on the floor between her feet with the small metal cap unscrewed and dangling from a short length of oil-soaked string. The rubber tube was held with both her arms as she flicked the lever indicating, outlet. She put her ear at the tube’s open end to hear gurgling noises; the oil was definitely on its way.
It didn’t take long for the tube to become quite weighty, in fact, if she didn’t start pouring soon, it’ll grow too heavy for her to hold on to. Taking the container handle in one hand, and the last foot of the tube caught in the crux of her elbow, she began to lower it. But as the tube went beyond horizontal, a huge wave of black gushed from inside, hitting the container’s top-side and ricocheting outward in all directions, including up in to her face.
She let go of the rubber tube which spewed oil over the floor around her feet, and as she searched blindly for the lever to stem the flow, her blackened eyes began to sting. Eventually she managed to cut off the oil, but was covered from head to toe in it. Her hair, her face, and even the “Clint Eastwood” poncho, received its fare share. She picked up the container to find none of the oil had actually managed to find its way inside.
Gregg and Nick climbed from the shaft at that very moment to see her standing there, looking into the container. When she raised her head, the whites of her eyes stood out against the black of her face like spots on a domino brick. Gregg looked at Nick and Nick at Gregg, and they both burst in to laughter.
Jill waited, staring at them, her face, if only they could see it, said it all. She continued to stare whilst listening to their half-hearted apologies. And after she explained what happened, Gregg led her by the hand around to the rear of the oil-truck.
‘See that?’ he said, pointing. ‘It’s a tap to release small amounts of oil; you just put your container underneath it, and turn it on.’
Jill stared at the small, inconspicuous tap, whilst under her oily mask another furious expression formed. ‘Why the hell didn’t you say so before?’ she yelled.
‘I had no idea you were going to fill it,’ he said in his own defence. ‘I only asked you to find something to put the oil in.’
Jill picked up the container pushing it into Gregg’s stomach. ‘Be a good little boy would you, and fill that up for me? While I try to clean myself up!’
They both heard a rather quiet. “Fire-in-the-hole!” And a few seconds later, another explosion, this one, just as big as the first.
‘Woo hoo!’ Nick shouted, as the hatch door once again bounced shut. ‘That’s two down with one to go!’ he enthused.
Jill looked over the concrete floor to find the largest puddle she could, and before standing in it, she removed the oily poncho. She tilted her head back allowing the falling drips to hit her face as though taking a shower. Albeit, a very weak one.
Gregg filled the container to its maximum before joining Nick at the back of the van. ‘Nick, when we’ve set the final bomb in the cinema tunnel, Jill will have to go up to the town hall and set those fires. Timing will then become our prime concern. Once the fires are lit, and Jill gets back here, I’m going to drive the 4X4 up to the town hall. Get your van facing north, and when you’ve detonated the final bomb blocking off the cinema tunnel, flash your headlight. That will be my signal to get the girls out. Then make sure Jill takes your van and gets Alicia and herself away from here.’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Nick.
‘And don’t bother waiting for me to get back, just push the oil-truck through the cinema doors and press the button to raze that place to the ground.’
‘It’ll be my pleasure.’ Nick said, smiling.
‘When I do get back, you jump in, and we go to meet the girls.’
‘Okay.’
‘Ready then?’
Nick sighed, feeling his pride welling up inside. ‘Let’s do it!’ he said, sounding like a battle-ready soldier.
