The Abused Werewolf Rescue Group (19 page)

So that’s how I ended up in charge of Sergio’s mattress. I had to lug it through the tunnel, manoeuvre it into his cell, and heave it back onto his iron bedstead. Sergio was supposed to help me, but he was shaking too hard to be of much use; the smell of the tanks made him hyperventilate. The only thing he
could
do was crawl into bed and pull the covers over him, so that the mangled bit of mattress wasn’t visible.

‘Just lie there and pretend to be asleep,’ Danny instructed, very quietly. ‘I’ll be back in a tick.’ He himself was carrying the steel drum, which he’d shouldered back at the pool; his free hand was still wrapped around the boltcutters. In the penetrating light from the overhead bulb, he looked scarier than ever. His nose was so crooked, it was probably broken. His jagged teeth were brown, where they weren’t completely gone. His eyes were the same lifeless grey as his straggly hair, which barely concealed all the dents and scars on his scalp. As for the rest of his scars, they were savage. I’ve already mentioned the scar that was dragging down one eyelid. There was another bisecting his chin, and a hole in his left cheek. It was also pretty obvious that something had been chewing on his Adam’s apple, because a huge chunk of his neck was missing.

I guess I can’t blame Sergio for getting the shakes. I nearly freaked out myself, when I first saw Danny in the fully illuminated flesh.
No wonder he lives on his own
, I thought, as he shoved the boltcutters into my hands.

‘Hold these,’ he barked.

‘Where are you going?’ Sergio squeaked from the bed. ‘Don’t leave me!’

‘Calm down. Psycho’s gunna stay,’ said Danny, though not with the air of someone trying to offer comfort. It was more of a command. Then he told one of his dogs to lie under the bed, disregarding Sergio’s protests.
My
orders were to shut Sergio’s gate behind me and make sure the padlock looked as if it was closed up tight.

Next thing I knew, Danny was dragging me towards the cell I’d already abandoned.

‘What we need to do,’ he remarked, ‘is lull those bastards into a false sense of security. We need ’em to come in before they know what the score is. They can’t get suspicious.’ He let me go upon reaching my cell, which looked completely undisturbed. The light was still on. The gate was still locked. The water bottle hadn’t been moved. ‘This hasn’t bloody changed,’ he announced, as if reading my mind. ‘I don’t think they’ve even washed the sheets since I was here last.’

I stood and waited while he positioned his drum beneath the padlock, mutely handing him the boltcutters when he asked for them. I couldn’t quite see why he wanted me there. After he’d climbed up onto the drum – without assistance – it didn’t take him long to snip through the lock. And it wasn’t as if his dogs needed watching; the two that had followed us sat rigidly by my side, panting a little, their gazes riveted to Danny’s every move. He didn’t even hand me the boltcutters when he jumped down again; instead he took them into my cell and hid them under the bed.

Only when he asked me to restore the drum to its proper place did I finally make a genuine contribution. ‘I want it exactly where yiz left it,’ he warned. ‘Everything’s gotta look the same. That’s why I shut the gate back there. Understand?’

I understood, all right. I wasn’t stupid. I also understood why he made the two dogs – Tagger and Mutt – crawl into my bed, under the covers. From a distance, their combined bulk was very misleading. ‘When our friend comes down to give yiz a bite to eat, all he’ll see is a lump,’ Danny said. ‘With any luck, he’ll think it’s you. I’ll hide behind the door and surprise him. And if it’s a standoff for some reason, the dogs’ll go for this throat.’

It seemed like a workable (thought slightly bloodcurdling) plan, thanks to the cell’s layout. But I could see a possible complication. ‘What if he checks on Sergio before he comes in here?’ I asked.

‘He won’t.’ Danny sounded absolutely confident. ‘Sergio’s not the one with a Rohypnol hangover.’ As I absorbed this chilling comment (
Rohypnol? Is that what they used on me?
), Danny went on to say, ‘And if I’m wrong, it’s no big deal. Psycho’s hiding under the bed in there, so no one’ll see
him
. Chances are this guy’ll just dump Sergio’s breakfast before coming straight over here.’

‘What if they
both
come down, though? Gary and Lincoln? What if one comes in here and the other goes in there?’

Danny shrugged. ‘I can handle two,’ he promised. ‘With three dogs, it won’t be too hard. Not as long as you get the guns off ’em quick enough.’

‘
Me?
’

‘That’s what you’re here for, mate.’ Danny fixed me with a hard, cold, speculative look. ‘When the first one drops his weapon, I want yiz on it like a dog on a rat. Before the next one arrives.’

‘But I’ve never even
fired
a gun!’

‘It’s easy. I’ll show ya.’

‘But—’

‘Feel that. Feel the weight. Not too heavy, is it? You can handle that, no problem.’

I can’t count how many times I’ve been warned about guns. My mother once showed me a picture of a patient who’d tried to shoot himself in the mouth. ‘That,’ she cautioned, ‘is the kind of damage a firearm can inflict. Guns aren’t fun, Toby. They’re
made to kill people.
’ I think she was worried that Fergus might acquire a gun from someone (his brother, perhaps) and do something hair-raising with it. And I can understand why she was so scared, because if Fergus ever
did
get hold of a gun, there’d be hell to pay. No question.

But the thing is, he’s never even laid eyes on a gun. Maybe guns are more common in the countryside, and maybe there are drug dealers around Sydney who keep guns squirreled away under their beds. In my neighbourhood, though, I’ve never met a kid who’s ever handled a real, live gun. (And believe me, if they’d done it, they would have boasted about it.)

That’s why it took my breath away when Danny suddenly dumped his rifle into my arms. It was solid and smooth, and still warm from Danny’s touch. It had a wooden stock. And it was loaded. With
bullets.

When I raised it to aim at the wall, I was almost tempted to pull the trigger.

‘See?’ Danny said. ‘You got the hang of it already. You’re a natural. Just make sure the safety’s off, and you’re all set.’ Watching me adjust my grip on the thing, he declared, ‘You’ll be as safe as houses behind a cocked .22, as long as you know how to use it. And that goes for any other gun you might pick up.’

As an afterthought, Danny suggested that if I
did
pick up Lincoln’s shotgun, I should probably swap it for the rifle. Because a shotgun, he said, needed careful handling.

‘Anyway, whatever they bring down, just make sure you get ahold of it quick smart,’ he finished, relieving me of his weapon. Without it, I felt strangely exposed. That might be why I joined him so promptly when he took up his position near the door.

‘Do you think Sergio’s gunna be okay?’ I asked, keeping my voice down. Danny glanced at his watch and said, ‘He’ll be fine. Psycho’s in there too.’

By this he probably meant that Sergio was being guarded. ‘Yeah, but . . . what if he freaks out?’ I pressed.

‘Psycho never freaks out.’

‘No, I mean Sergio. What if Sergio freaks out?’

‘Not while Psycho’s there,’ he said quietly, as if Psycho was a trained counsellor. It really got up my nose. How could a dog be the answer to everything? Unless he was supposed to
scare
Sergio into a tranquil frame of mind.

‘But what if it’s
Psycho
who freaks him out?’ I whispered, at which point Danny turned his pale, empty gaze on me.

‘You wanna shut the hell up?’ he rasped. ‘Because those bastards could be down here any minute. And if they hear you talking, they’re gunna wonder who you’re talking to. And you know what’ll happen then?’

I could only assume that he was asking a rhetorical question. But I answered it anyway. ‘We won’t take them by surprise?’ I hazarded.

Danny shook his head. ‘What’ll happen then is, you won’t live long enough to die in the pit,’ he growled. ‘Since I’ll bloody well kill ya meself.’

And that was where the conversation ended.

W
e waited for
nearly four hours.

At first I was frightened. Then the edge wore off my fear, until I was merely anxious. After that I became impatient, then bored, then insanely restless. It was like being stuck on a station platform, only worse. At least when your train is delayed you can read a newspaper, or make a call on your mobile. Sometimes you can even buy a snack from the nearest vending machine.

Down in the tanks, however, there were no phones, no newspapers, and no vending machines. There was a toilet, but no booth. When Mutt took a piss, he did it in a corner. When
I
took a piss (just once), I had to do it in front of Danny. Not that he paid any attention, thank God; he seemed to have slipped into a kind of trance, leaning against the wall with his eyes half-shut. Occasionally he’d mutter under his breath. Occasionally he’d scratch himself, or shift his weight, or adjust his grip on the gun. But apart from that, he was like a hibernating bear. The only time he said a word was when Sergio appeared, at about five o’clock. Poor Sergio had fallen asleep for an hour or two – and upon waking up, had immediately panicked. ‘I thought you must have left!’ he whimpered, through the bars of the gate. ‘I thought you’d gone off and left me here!’ With his puffy eyes, heaving chest and trembling hands, he cut a pretty pathetic figure. Even
I
felt sorry for him. And I wasn’t looking too good myself, right then.

Danny, however, was unmoved. ‘Get back to bed,’ he snarled, ‘or I’ll sic the bloody dogs on ya!’ I don’t think he was serious. For one thing, a dog attack would have made too much noise. But his tone was so menacing that Sergio scampered off without a word of protest.

About half an hour later, I heard a sharp
bang
.

Danny stiffened beside me. His knees cracked as he straightened up, pushing away from the wall. I followed his example. It felt as if I’d stopped breathing. The dogs squirmed slightly, but froze at the nearly inaudible hiss that Danny made by pushing air through his teeth.

Footsteps sounded on a wooden staircase outside the cell door. I could tell that it was a staircase because the feet were descending – and I could tell that the staircase was made of wood because of the way the treads squeaked.
Thump-squeak-thump-squeak.
There was a jingle that had to be keys, and a muttered curse from someone with an American accent.

Lincoln.

To say that I was terrified is an understatement. I was so tense that I was vibrating. Sweat poured off me, but my mouth was bone dry. Blood pounded into my head.
You can do it,
I kept telling myself.
You can do it you can do it you can do it.

There was a funny little
snap
, which must have been the door’s spy-hole cover flicking open (or shut). Then, unmistakably, came the squeal and clank of a bolt being pulled.

‘I’ve got a gun here, kid, so don’t try anything,’ Lincoln announced. I nearly jumped out of my skin, but Danny didn’t move. He was already in position, every muscle fully engaged. I cut a quick glance at his clenched jaw and staring eyes, before the door suddenly swung towards us.

Lincoln was carrying a shotgun. That was the first thing I noticed, because its barrel entered the room ahead of him. He wasn’t far behind, though; I saw the outline of his shoulder, a slice of cheekbone and the back of his ear. It was just a momentary glimpse before Danny’s hulking form blocked my view.

‘
Freeze!
’ he rapped out.

God
, but his voice was scary! It didn’t sound human. Or maybe I’m mixing it up with the dogs’ snarls, since everything happened so fast. The barrel of Danny’s gun had only just made contact with Lincoln’s shoulder blades when the dogs jumped up like a two-headed jack-in-the-box, all yellow fangs and mad, glaring eyes. As Lincoln recoiled, I lunged for his weapon.

‘
Drop it!
’ Danny snapped – even though he didn’t need to. Shocked by the dogs, Lincoln had slackened his grip; I was able to whisk his shotgun away quite easily.

‘Hands behind your head,’ Danny growled, prodding Lincoln with the rifle. ‘Kneel down. That’s the way. Toby? Don’t point that thing at me.’

‘What? Oh. Sorry . . .’

‘I want you to unload it,’ Danny continued. Before I could open my mouth to protest, he added, ‘The safety’s already on. You just gotta press that little release button near the trigger guard. See that?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Now slide back the action bar until the first round pops outta the chamber . . .’

Though my hands were slippery with sweat, I managed to remove three shells from both the chamber and magazine tube of Lincoln’s shotgun. Meanwhile, Lincoln himself remained silent and motionless. He didn’t even turn his head.

I had a nasty feeling that he was biding his time.

‘Okay,’ said Danny, pocketing the shells – which were so huge they looked like coin-rolls wrapped in brown paper. ‘See those keys?’

I saw them, all right. They were hanging from a clip on Lincoln’s belt, which was holding up a pair of neatly ironed trousers. He was still dressed like a policeman, in a white shirt, striped tie and shiny shoes. His haircut was immaculate and he smelled strongly of aftershave. Only his drooping jowls looked untidy.

‘I want you to get those keys and unlock the other door,’ Danny instructed, talking to me without taking his eyes off Lincoln. ‘Then come straight back here with your mate. Don’t be too noisy, all right? And don’t forget that shotgun. If anything happens, you can pretend it’s still loaded.’

If anything happens.
It took me a while to figure out what he meant by this. At first I was too busy unhooking the keys from Lincoln’s belt – a manoeuvre that seemed risky enough, since Lincoln could easily have grabbed me in a headlock if I’d leaned in too close. But once I had the keys, I realised that step number two was even more dangerous. Beyond the cell door, I could see a brick-lined stairwell containing several other doors and the flight of wooden stairs. There was no way of telling what might lie in wait behind those doors, or at the top of those stairs.

Basically, Danny was asking me to walk into a possible ambush with nothing but an unloaded gun as protection.

I guess I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t been so scared of him. By that time, I knew, Danny was on a knife edge. I could smell it, somehow. I could hear it in his voice as he pressed the barrel of his gun into Lincoln’s back, pushing Lincoln further and further towards the ground.

‘Who else is up there?’ Danny rumbled. Then, when he received no answer, he gave Lincoln a kick. ‘
Who else is up there, you scumbag?
’

Lincoln gasped. I got out. I didn’t want to see Danny beat up an unarmed man, no matter how big a scumbag that man might be.

So I charged into the stairwell and made straight for the nearest door.

‘Sergio?’ I muttered. ‘Where are you?’

‘Toby?’

He must have been standing right there, behind the door I’d chosen; when I flicked open the spy-hole, his bloodshot eyes nearly gave me a heart attack.

‘Hang on,’ I croaked, tucking the shotgun under my arm. ‘Let me just find the key . . .’

‘Hurry! Quick!’

The bolt on his cell door was padlocked – and there were an awful lot of padlock keys hanging from Lincoln’s key ring. I had to try at least three before I found the right one. Meanwhile, Sergio was whimpering, Psycho was snuffling, and floorboards were creaking rhythmically overhead.

‘D’you hear that?’ asked Sergio, in a strangled whisper. ‘Someone’s upstairs!’

‘I know.’

‘You’ve gotta hurry!’

‘I know, I know.’

Luckily my fourth key turned in the lock, or I think he would have tried to crawl through the spy-hole. As it was, he nearly knocked me over when he burst out of his cell and made a grab for Lincoln’s shotgun.

‘Gimme that!’ he said with a gasp.

‘No—’

‘
Let go!
’

‘It’s not even loaded!’ I hissed. But he’d already yanked the thing off me. As he headed towards my cell, Psycho and I were right behind him. The instant we crossed the threshold, however, Sergio broke away. He suddenly darted forward, waving the shotgun like a club.

If it hadn’t been for my quick reflexes, I don’t know
what
would have happened to Lincoln. He was lying on his stomach at the far end of the room, with both hands clasped behind his head and one leg manacled to the floor. So there was nothing he could have done to defend himself if Sergio had started pounding a gun-butt into his ribs.

I guess you could say that I was Lincoln’s guardian angel. When Sergio swung the shotgun, I caught it before it could hit anything. And I hung off it grimly, even though Sergio aimed a few kicks at my ankles.

‘Let go!’ he exclaimed, tugging and twisting. Don’t ask me why I held on. It wasn’t as if Lincoln would have done the same for me. Maybe it’s just that I had a bad feeling. Only later did it cross my mind that if Sergio had ended up leaving bits of Lincoln’s brain all over the wall, I would have become an accessory to murder.

‘Shh!’ said Danny. ‘Shut up!’ He was so angry, he even trained his rifle in our direction. But it was too late.

From somewhere off in the distance, high above us, a muffled voice cried, ‘
Link? What’s up?
’

Everyone froze. Even Sergio stopped moving. For a split second there was absolute silence.

Then Danny broke the spell.

‘Say one single word, and my dogs’ll rip your throat out,’ he spat. I thought that he was talking to me, until I realised that he was actually addressing Lincoln – who by now was being guarded by Tagger and Mutt. They were stationed on either side of Lincoln’s head, so close that he must have been able to smell them.

‘Get behind that door,’ Danny told me. ‘Don’t come out unless I call ya.’

He ducked into the stairwell, with Psycho at his heels, as I cut a glance at Sergio. But I needn’t have worried. Sergio had snapped out of his blind rage. He was shaking all over, so frightened that he could barely keep a grip on the shotgun.

Before he had a chance to drop the thing, I plucked it from his hand. Then I hustled him into the shadow cast by the open door.

From there, of course, I couldn’t see anything much – except for Lincoln’s motionless shape, which was flanked by Mutt and Tagger.

Mutt was drooling onto the floor.

‘Oh God,’ breathed Sergio. ‘Oh God oh God oh God . . .’

‘Shh.’ I was trying to work out what I should do if Danny got shot. Run for the pool? Use the dogs? Set up an ambush?

‘
Lincoln?
’ It was Gary. ‘
What are you doing?
’

I heard him hurrying downstairs –
thumpa-thumpa-thumpa.
Then all hell broke loose. There was a shriek and a yelp, followed by a quick cascade of crashes and cracks and thuds and grunts.

But no gunshots. Definitely no gunshots.

‘Toby!’ Danny roared. ‘Get in here!’

And I went. Just like that. Without a second thought.

In the next room, I found a scene that stopped me in my tracks. Gary was sprawled at the bottom of the stairs in a tangle of bent limbs and blood-spotted clothing. Danny was near him, stooping to retrieve a pistol from the floor. Psycho was sniffing around Gary’s outstretched hand, which was moving feebly.

‘Bloody idiot just came rushing down,’ said Danny, with obvious satisfaction. ‘All I had to do was stick me gun between the treads and –
whoomp!
He tripped over it. Wasn’t watching his feet, goddamn fool.’

‘Is he . . .?’ I couldn’t say it. But I didn’t need to. Danny knew what I was talking about.

‘He’s fine,’ Danny muttered. By now Sergio was right behind me, wielding Danny’s boltcutters. There was such a nasty look in his eye that I moved instinctively to block his path, just in case he tried to stomp on Gary’s head. Luckily, Danny stepped forward with the pistol.

‘Here,’ he said, thrusting it into Sergio’s free hand. ‘Hold this.’

Sergio was speechless. He gazed down at the little black gun, his expression a mixture of awe and delight.

I was speechless too, but not with delight.

‘Gimme that.’ Danny grabbed the shotgun, passing me his rifle instead. Then he fished around in his pocket for the shotgun shells. ‘You can chain this guy to the floor,’ he rasped. ‘In Sergio’s room. The keys’ll be on that key ring.’

‘But—’

He didn’t let me finish. ‘I’m gunna check the house,’ he announced quietly, his gaze fixed on a patchwork of green cupboards and yellow ceiling that was visible at the top of the stairs. When he stepped over Gary, it was as if he were stepping over a discarded sweatshirt. ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’

‘But Danny—’ I began.

‘
Shhh!
’

I was worried about Sergio. I was
very
worried about Sergio. So I did the only thing I could; I whirled around to confront him before he even had a chance to aim his gun. ‘If you shoot either of them,’ I warned, ‘then you’re no better than they are.’

Sergio scowled. From close up, he looked pretty scary.