Out For Blood 53

After a long pause neither of them had any useful input on how to get the kidnapped girls out of the Town Hall, not without risking capture themselves.
Nick was warming his hands by the heater when Jill turned to him. ‘Not gonna get one of our friend out there?’ she said pointing through the shutter to the remains of Sheldon outside.

Nick smiled and walked over to the shutter; after pressing the button his eagerness overtook him and he knelt as it slowly rose, he then snapped away. When he had ducked under the shutter Jill hit the stop button and then walked back over to Gregg. She passed him the bag of blood she had taken from the cold storage and gave him a nervous smile.

Gregg looked over in Nicks’ direction, from where he was positioned he could only see Nick from the back of his knees down, so he took the blood from Jill and put it into his jacket pocket.

Jill raised her eyebrows. ‘I truly hope that was the right thing I just did!’
Gregg put his still gloved hands on her shoulders. ‘I promise you… I'll only use it when, and if I have to.’
‘You know, you could always bite him,’ she said moving her head backwards indicating to Nick.
Gregg looked again at Nicks’ legs. ‘Far too much cholesterol, and besides, he’d probably give me indigestion.’

‘Yeah, but looking at him there’s got to be at least a months’ supply there!’
‘And it would take me another month to burn off the fat content.’ Gregg then raised his head. ‘Okay Nick, it’s time to get our heads together.’

Nick took another photograph and then ducked back under the shutter and once he was inside he pushed the down button. Just as the shutter was about two-feet from the floor a gunshot rang out, some of it hitting the bottom of the shutter and some of it hitting the floor at Nicks’ feet. One piece of shot penetrated Nicks’ right shoe blowing a piece of it off, Nick fell to the floor shouting in pain.
Jill and Gregg dove for cover as Nick was rolling over. ‘Arrrrgh… they shot my fucking foot off!’ He screamed.

As the shutter closed fully Jill and Gregg ran to him , they both knelt at his feet ready to inspect his wound as he sat up.
‘Is it bad? Is my foot gone?’ he said worriedly.

Gregg pulled off the shoe and the very damp sock to reveal Nick now had only four toes on his right foot… but there was no blood. His big toe however was missing, so Gregg looked inside the damaged shoe, he held it up-side-down and began shaking it but nothing fell from inside, he checked the sock also but that was just as empty.
Nick looked at his foot, and then at the shoe and began to laugh. Jill and Gregg just looked at each other puzzled.

‘What’s so funny?’ asked Jill.
‘I lost that toe last year at a fourth of July fireworks display, one of the big ones went off prematurely, it knocked over part of the display rigging and it crushed my toe, had to have the damn thing removed!’

Another shot rang out puncturing the shutter half a dozen times; luckily none of the shot had hit any of them this time. Nick grabbed his shoe and sock and he and Jill scurried to an empty oil drum by the side of shutter where he dressed his right foot, Gregg ran into the small office to look through the window to see if he could spot the sniper.

Across the street the only building with the correct trajectory for the shots that had been fired was the schoolhouse. Gregg looked very closely at each of the upper windows, the heavy rain slightly obscured his view but if someone was stood behind one of them he should be able to see them. Then again, a sniper would do his best to conceal his position, not advertise it. Gregg noticed one of the windows above the large main door was open a couple of inches, this was all the advertisement he needed, the sniper had to be somewhere behind that window. He now would wait patiently for his target to make a mistake.

Running his dry tongue over the front of his teeth he thought about the red liquid that weighed so heavy in his jacket pocket, and the enormous consequences of using it. He had to distract himself from thinking about the bag; he looked over at Jill and Nick. Jill was sat on a small wooden box close to the heater; her head hung low and her elbows rested on her knees.

Nick was stood by the oil drum and peeling the chemical strips off his newly taken Polaroid photographs, then after studying them and smiling to himself he put them inside the plastic bag he had in his pocket. This again reminded Gregg of the plastic bag he carried; he turned his attentions back to the schoolhouse windows for some distraction from the raging thirst he was suffering.

He wondered if Larry had tried to contact him, it had been almost twenty-four hours since he left the office. Larry had told him not to bother with so-called Psychics, “There never was, and there never will be a true fortune teller.” Larry had said, along with his usual… “Psychic my ass!” Gregg was looking forward to telling him how wrong he was, which was something that didn’t happen all too often. In fact Gregg couldn’t remember another instance of “I told you so”, where he was the one doing the telling.

Again he looked up at the open window across the street but saw no movement. He listened to the slow clunk of the rain that dripped from the tin wall above the window, as the drops pooled together to overcome gravity they dripped onto the window cill in an almost rhythmic pattern.

He then began to think of what he would no longer be able to do should he survive this day. No more swimming, no more drink that contained the smallest amount of water, he won’t even be able to wash. Gregg frowned to himself and removed one of the gloves he was wearing, he then swirled his tongue around the inside of his mouth and creating the small amount of saliva he had he spat onto his hand. The saliva sat there and did nothing, he realised then why everyone here reeked of piss, it’s what they cleaned themselves with, those that actually bothered to clean themselves. ‘Christ,’ he thought. ‘I’m not looking forward to that scenario.’

His thoughts then turned back to the sniper and the possible use of the tunnel. Either he will eventually use it to get to them, or they will have to use it to get to him. Neither option was good for whomever used the tunnel, getting in was the easy part, getting back out at the other end without having your head blown off… that was the tricky bit.

He thought about closing and locking the hatch, but that would get them nowhere. Gregg wanted the sniper to come to him, and sooner or later he knew he would do, but they had to be prepared for that when and if it happened.
He turned toward the other two. ‘We need to watch the tunnel entrance, can you handle it Jill?’
‘I’ll do it!’ said Nick getting up.

Nick made his way over to the hatch and took the gun Gregg had given him out from his jacket pocket; he then sat down on a short pile of used tyres by the side of the oil truck. If anyone should poke their head out of the hatch he would have a perfect view of them. Nick sat and waited, and then waited some more, but after only a few short minutes of no activity at the hatch his attention began to waver, he started to look around the garage.

Wide steel shelves were against the wall behind him, most of them were empty but those that weren’t had old engine parts rusting away on them, and some of them held more old tyres. A few rusted tools lay haphazardly scattered on the floor next to a small steel grid… a small steel grid? The sides of Nicks’ mouth dropped and his eyes narrowed in curiosity, then getting up from the tyres and putting his gun in his pocket he knelt before his find. He brushed away the dust that lay atop it and then blew it totally clean, tilting his head so he could read the four words moulded into it, his eyes widened…

“Fuel Shut Off Valve”

Nick smiled and his face visibly brightened at what he had found, he hurriedly picked up a rusting screwdriver and leaning his back on one of the oil trucks wheels he cleaned away the dirt that had accumulated around the edge; forcing the screwdriver between the grid and the concrete surrounding it he began to pry it open. He managed to create a gap of about half an inch when the screwdriver slipped from his grip and gashed his left hand causing him to cry out. Jill came around the side of the oil truck and Gregg soon followed.

‘What’s happened?’ said Jill.
‘What’s all the shouting for?’ asked Gregg as he arrived.
Nick held out his injured left hand. ‘I was trying to get this open!’ He gestured with his right hand at the grid.

Jill looked at Nicks’ wound; it was by no means deep, but it seems he is what she would call a bit of a bleeder. Gregg also looked at the wound, and unconsciously he rolled his tongue around the inside of his mouth and licked his top lip; realising his actions he stopped. He looked at Jill but she was still looking at Nicks’ injury, she didn’t see what Gregg had done.
‘I’ll go see if there’s a bandage in the office.’ He Said.

He entered the office and cringed as he closed the creaking door, then looking out toward the oil truck to see if he was visible to Jill and Nick he pulled the blood bag from his pocket then looked at it longingly. Again he raised his head to see if either of them was in view, but they were still behind the truck.

Gregg put the corner of the bag between his teeth and grated them laterally, thus piercing the bag in several places. He then enclosed his lips over the holes he had made and began to suck out its contents. He remembered what the old man had said to Jill in the station room…

“If he don’t watch… means he aint tasted the honey-salt.”