Snapshot (41 page)

Winter hung intently on to the ever-diminishing noise of Monteith’s shoes clacking against the foundations, catching the point where it merged with the sound of the dripping water then was subsumed by it, leaving him alone in the bowels of hell.

He put his head back and screamed silently, roaring nothing at no one. Monteith leaving should have made him feel safer but it did anything but. Bound hand and foot in the half-light from the hurricane lamps, he felt like Jonah in the belly of the whale with another misbegotten soul, the remnants of an earlier meal, lying by his side.

McKendrick was reeking. Winter had been trying to block it out but there was no getting away from it, the body seemed to be getting riper by the minute. It was like a piece of rotting steak meat had been left in the sun for days on end and had been sprinkled with a couple of drops of cheap perfume to make it sweet. Monteith’s speech had taken his mind off it while he was there but now there was nothing else to occupy his mind. It invaded every inch of the cupboard and attacked his nostrils like a snake.

His gag reflex was working overtime and he wasn’t sure how long he could go without chucking up. Once the horror of the smell lodged itself in his brain he could think of nothing else. His cheeks puffed out and he swallowed back down the bile that wanted to escape. He turned his head away from the body in a futile gesture because it was everywhere. The longer he sat there, the more it crept into his clothes, his hair, his skin. He edged away the little he could, shuffling on his arse so he was at least not touching him.

His stomach eventually let him down. He pulled his head to the side as it tightened its grip and he threw up. Fucking great. As if the stench of McKendrick wasn’t bad enough, now he had the smell of vomit to contend with as well. The only consolation was that at least it was his own sick. This didn’t seem much of a comfort as a second belch rose from his stomach and joined the rest. Emptied, he spat the last of it from his mouth.

The effort exhausted him, causing him to inhale and immediately bark out the smell again. His stomach had no more to give and disgusting as the stink was, he could handle it. Maybe vomiting had broken the hold that it had on him.

He looked around the cupboard and saw that apart from him being a prisoner, nothing seemed to have changed from his last visit. The cardboard box with the remains of the Special Ops’ survival rations. The four boxes of ammunition. The notebook and the photographs that had led him back here to Monteith. What a smart idea that had turned out to be.

He sat and listened. The dripping water was through the door and to his left, maybe twenty yards away. Way above him, Glasgow was still there and doubtless still awake but he couldn’t hear it. He didn’t know what time it was but the last train had gone for the night and the sounds of the cars and the food vans wasn’t making it down this far.

No, apart from the water and his heart, all he could hear was the darkness beyond.

His phone was just a couple of feet away but useless to him. Danny and Rachel were on the other end of that mess of broken technology, maybe wondering where he was, maybe not. Why hadn’t he listened to them?

Suddenly there was noise and his ears twitched at it. A scrape. A number of scrapes. Then silence. The wind? There was water down here so why not wind too? Then there it was again, closer, louder, more of them. The light of the hurricane lamps picked out the space below and beyond the bottom of the door and in the shadows he saw the shapes approach. Maybe it was the smell of vomit that attracted them. Maybe it was McKendrick, their unfinished meal. Maybe it was him.

There was either one big fucking rat or lots of them because the shadow moved and whispered as one. The scrapes that they had made across the floor were slowly, feverishly replaced by their chatter to each other. The squeaks soared to the roof as they had obviously decided that the time for deception was past. He could only imagine that they were considering the merits of charging into the room.

His breath was fast and shallow and he realized he was truly terrified. He’d seen what they’d done to McKendrick and didn’t fancy some of the same. Ryan hadn’t exactly been able to fight back but with his hands and legs tied, Winter wasn’t going to be much better off.

They were getting louder and nearer. Instead of just shadows, he could now see tails and feet and the odd inquisitive head darting below the door frame. Fuck this.

He roared at them. He put his head back and bellowed with every bit of energy that he had left inside him.

His face must have been the colour of beetroot as he threw a random collection of angry swear words at them but he was determined that they’d get the message. It wasn’t enough to be loud, he needed them to hear rage and danger.

It must have worked because they shrieked and turned, disappearing from the doorway as soon as the explosion of noise hit them.

He continued to shout like a madman until he ran out of breath. His head collapsed onto his chest and he panted like a rabid dog. He didn’t know how long he sat like that, weary and fretful, wondering how the fuck he’d got there and how he’d get out.

His head occasionally lifted enough to sneak a glance at the door but the little furry bastards were elsewhere, doubtless hatching a plan. He stayed quiet and tried to think.

He watched the hurricane lamps. One was burning much brighter than the other and maybe it was his paranoia but the weaker one seemed to be on its last legs. From where he sat, he couldn’t see the length of the wick on it but he worried it would burn itself out before too long. He studied them. Watching how quickly they burned, trying to gauge how long they had left.

Not that he had any real concept of time any more. With his watch and phone smashed and no passing of daylight, it could have been crawling or racing for all he knew. He guessed it had been maybe two hours since Monteith left but it could have been half that or twice it. He was fucked. He heard another squeal.

His head flew from the lamp to the door in time to see pink feet and ink-black eyes steal fearlessly into the room. Just one rat rather than the pack. An advance party, perhaps.

The little bastard scanned the room, nose twitching, giving him no more than a contemptuous glance in the passing. Winter roared again but it didn’t flinch, just looked at him curiously wondering what he thought he was achieving. Maybe it was because it could see that the noise wasn’t connected to movement or had worked out that he couldn’t move. Either that or they’d just sent in the bravest or the stupidest one they had.

It was well inside the room now and on the move. He pulled his legs instinctively towards him but it scurried past and made for the cardboard box with McKendrick’s rations. The black tail disappeared from view as it slipped inside and in seconds the sound of munching came from the box. Energy bars or biscuits, he guessed. The crunching stopped and he saw the rat’s head pop up into view, checking to see if Winter had found the ability to move. When it saw that he hadn’t it must have encouraged it to be braver still rather than go back into the box because, just as the first of the lamps gave up the ghost and flickered no more, it hopped out and onto McKendrick.

Standing on its hind legs, it sniffed at the air then in a flash buried itself under the blanket that covered the body. The squelching sound that floated over to him made his stomach turn. It was like fingers being stuck into blancmange then pulled back out. Judging by where the bump of the rat was on the body, he could only imagine, hard as he tried not to, that the munching slurping sounds were coming from McKendrick’s face. The image of Ryan’s half-eaten lips already scarred his mind and it seemed the rat was now finishing the job.

He screamed at it, as much to block out the hellish sounds as in any hope that it might scare it off. He bawled at it till his lungs were fit to burst. Whatever McKendrick had done, he didn’t deserve to be dessert for a rodent. And he didn’t deserve to listen to it. The last tired bark left him but the damnable noise was still escaping from the blanket and molesting his mind. Then it stopped, the bump moving from McKendrick’s head and slithering towards the edge of the blanket. The rat reappeared and looked at Winter with renewed interest, sitting up and testing the air with its nose.

Its snout still quivering like jelly, it hopped off McKendrick and onto him. Winter shouted and squirmed, trying to throw it off by rocking side to side as much as he could but it easily maintained its balance and all he was doing was slowing it down a bit. He screamed at it as he realized it was heading for his knee and that it was the dried scrapes of carmine blood that was grabbing its attention. He rocked almost all the way over and, yes, managed to shake it off but it simply leapt back on again.

Winter rolled the other way but it was ready for him this time, digging its claws into his legs and holding on, getting nearer and nearer to his bloody knee. He tried going up and down and side to side, almost absently noticing that the wriggling was loosening the ties at his feet, but couldn’t shake the rodent off again. Then, its target in sight, the rat almost lazily sunk its teeth into his exposed knee and bit. The pain shot from his kneecap to his teeth and back. It was like being stabbed with a rusty knife. He was being eaten alive by a dirty rat, sharing whatever diseases it had.

He screamed again and rolled right over onto his side, sending the rat spinning onto the floor. He kicked and scrambled and rolled, desperately trying for perpetual motion in a bid to stop it sinking its teeth into him again. Being on his side made him vulnerable but the movement was saving him. The cabling was becoming looser round his legs and the more he kicked, the more he was sure he could get them off. The rat circled and jumped but he was trying to get on a bucking bronco now. As long as Winter had the energy to keep going then he could keep it off but when he stopped the rat would have him. He had to kick the cabling loose and quick.

He thrashed more, feeling it give bit by bit, his feet easing further apart until with a final shake it was off him and his legs were free. As soon as he’d rid himself of them, he rolled onto his side and heaved up unsteadily onto his feet. The rat didn’t fancy it so much once Winter was standing and tore off under the door, easily avoiding the kick Winter swung at it.

He looked down at his bleeding knee, thinking that it wasn’t crimson, it was dirty, diseased red. If he ever got out of there then he’d need to see a doctor right away. But as he looked at the still-locked door and tested the cabling on his hands to no avail, he knew it might be the least of his worries.

He paced around, again trying to shake the ties on his hands the way he’d done with his feet, but he got nowhere.

He ended up slumped back against the wall, as far away from McKendrick as he could, waiting and watching and wondering. He hadn’t been like that for long when he heard it. Faint but getting louder and closer. Footsteps. Despite all the bad news that they were probably bringing, he was glad to hear them. After so long of nothing but water and squeaks, they were somehow deafening as they neared until finally they crashed down outside the door and in the dim glow of the single remaining lamp, he could see the long shadow of human legs.

The key turned slowly in a lock weighed down by a hundred years of rust but with a final clunk it drew back the bar and the door swung open. Rifle in hand, Monteith came in looking stern, anxious even. He seemed surprised to see Winter sitting in a different position to when he’d left and immediately looked to Winter’s feet where he saw them untied. Monteith immediately lowered the rifle till it was trained on him.

‘Turn and show me your hands. Now.’

‘Nice day at the office, dear?’ Winter asked him, paying for it with a sharp kick to his right ankle. He was really getting fed up with that.

‘I said fucking turn round.’

Winter obediently swivelled at the hips, ducking forward and to the side so Monteith could see that his hands were still firmly bound together behind him.

Monteith nodded, satisfied. It was only then that the smell from McKendrick hit him and he turned away sharply, his hand covering his nose and mouth.

‘You get used to it after a while,’ Winter told him.

Monteith looked down at the covered body, shaking his head slowly.

‘How did he die?’ Winter asked again.

‘I told you. An accident.’

‘You accidentally broke his neck?’

‘He went for me. The crazy bastard leapt at me when I had the gun on him. I didn’t want to kill him, wouldn’t have shot him. Not dead anyway. I might even have . . .’

‘Let him carry on?’

‘No. Yeah, maybe. I don’t know. It didn’t come to that. He got both hands on the gun and it became him or me. He ended up in front of me with the rifle across his neck, both of us holding it, grappling for it. I tried to pull it into his throat just to choke him a bit but then I twisted it and . . . there was a crack and he slumped. I didn’t mean to kill him.’

‘So you took over where he left off?’

Monteith ignored him.

‘How many did you kill, Monteith? Eight? Oh and you shot an innocent cop too. That make you proud?’

‘Shut the fuck up, Winter.’

‘You said that McKendrick should have been proud of what he did so it should be the same with you. Are you proud? Are you?’

‘I told you to shut it.’

He was getting louder, angrier.

‘Come on, Monteith. It’s just you and me. You said McKendrick should have got a medal for what he did. He did something when everyone else did fuck all, that’s what you said. So you did it too, didn’t you?’

‘You’re talking yourself into the grave, you stupid bastard. And there was no innocent cop. Your arsehole mate Addison was guilty as sin. I’ve never taken a dirty fiver in all the years I’ve worked and the idea of cops working for these bastards makes me want to puke. They are no better than the scumbags that pay them.’

Winter tensed his wrists against the cabling ties, wishing they’d been loosened so he could punch him in the face.