The Weight of the World

Chapter 5: A Night to Remember

With the entrance clear, I didn't need to think twice. Joe and I were up, running, over no man's land. Drawing closer to the door, which was ajar, shifting in the wind, I started to slow. We'd need surprise to overcome the officers.

Joe was almost through the door when I grabbed him. "Wait." I snatched up the shovel by the front window, abandoned since last week's snow. With my weapon raised ahead like a spear, I advanced.

The house was dark. The only light came from the back room. A mix of yellow lamplight and, judging from the murmur of sound, blue from the TV. Over the cream carpet, numerous filthy footprints ran about, like so many tiny mice. Two fresher pairs led to the kitchen. Joe pointed, and I nodded.

Bent double, Joe crept into the kitchen on silent feet. There, in the centre of the room, beside the table, was the first officer. A woman, with neat black hair tied in a bun.

My shoe squeaked on the tiles, and she shifted, as if to turn around. Before she could check for intruders, Joe smashed his fist into the back of her head. It didn't knock her out, but she almost entirely collapsed. Didn't even get a chance to throw a punch before he forced her into a headlock and squeezed.

A sound like a stampede ran down the stairs. "Farah?" The voice was deep, dripping with concern. From the entrance to the stairs, a torch beam cut through the darkness. I pressed my back to the wall beside the stairs.

I could hear him breathing. The creak of the stairs. His boots falling. Closer. Louder. Closer. Closer. A boot tapped, hard, on the hardwood floor. The shovel clanged, striking something hard, then following through to something soft.

Clattering torch, fumbling boots. He was staggering back, slipping on the stairs. I stepped into his view, shovel back in both hands. The officer threw up his hands. "Please!" His screams were followed by a gush of blood. The tip of the shovel tore into the flesh of his hands. His fingers. Again. Something fleshy plopped, like crayons, to the floor.

Screaming. Again, louder. With my free hand, I yanked him from the stairs onto the floor. He smashed his face into the wood, groaning. I raised my hands, raised the shovel. It rattled in my panicked grasp. Again, he moaned, low. "Please."

Thump. I expected it to clang. Like in movies. I supposed the top of his head wasn't quite hard enough for that. Maybe it needs to be metal. His stupid oval helmet had a great crack down it.

He was moving, a bit. I'd not quite knocked him out, but he couldn't be far off. I wasn't taking chances. I dropped the shovel, which clattered off the floor. Took the handcuffs from his belt, bound them behind his back. Dug around the washbasket. Dirty, sweaty sock? A perfect gag.

With his mouth stuffed and hands bound, I guessed he'd not be much of a threat. I slung the shovel over my shoulder to find Joe had similarly disabled the other officer. Only, she was awake now, and glaring with narrow, dark eyes. As I handed Joe the bloody shovel, her face grew cold, skin pale.

He stared at me for a second. Mouth half-open, eyebrows raised in a look of concern. "Issy,"

"Put that over by the door and help me carry the other one in here."

"Yeah, yeah, alright. But, you've..." he pointed vaguely at his face. "Red."

I ran a hand across my face and glanced at my palm, flecked with red. I shook my hand, wiping it on my jeans. "It's not mine." That settled, we returned to the base of the stairs. Mike awaited me.

"Issy? What the fuck is going on?"

"I don't really know," I said.

Joe ran his eyes along the bleeding officer with lidded eyes. "Jesus Christ." It was only now, with the blood drying on his forehead, that I truly processed the battered policeman on the floor. He was awake, barely, and had a face mixed with venom, disgust and abject terror. I stopped myself from throwing a mock punch.