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I sat down in the churchyard on a gravestone. I pulled my knees up and rested my head there. It was one thing to be killing Fearies, that was just pest control. Just lately though I was killing people. Yeah, yeah I know they’re the enemy, it was me or them etc. but two of this last lot would have a job shaving more than once a week. Probably kids being brainwashed by the fuckwitted ‘religious leaders’ who believed you had to fight for the right to flagellate.
Sara touched my knee, ‘S’up?’
I pointed to the dead grey robes.
‘Ah I see.’
I scuffed the ground with the heel of one boot before asking,
‘How’s the patient?’
‘Bloody impatient’
‘Typical fellah in other words.’
To be fair, O’Donnell didn’t seem to be making much of a fuss. She had bandaged his wound expertly, thankfully the round had passed through his arm and out the other side. Sara sat down next to me and I moved away slightly. I didn’t share her view that ‘touchy feely solvee allee’ and it made me a tad uncomfortable.
We sat in silence for a while then Sara nudged me,
‘Know what would make you feel better?’
Uh-oh.
‘Go on.’
‘A haircut.’
Hmm – I’d thought about a Mohawk before – so what the hell? I nodded my agreement.
‘Great – just sit still. This won’t take long.’
I felt a pleasant vibration as she began cutting, it was soon over and Sara gave me a mess-tin so that I could examine her handiwork in its steel bottom. Not half bad actually, Sara evidently had a multitude of talents. I remarked this to her and she blushed. Then she swung around to face the church, then back to me and signed,
‘Movement inside, want me to go?’
I shook my head and stood,
‘Probably rats or something – I’ll check.’ But I felt uneasy, the entire place was devoid of life, why had I not noticed anything when I was there?
I didn’t bother with the Browning, I had a snub-nose in my ankle holster. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Stood still for a moment while my eyes adjusted to the sudden gloom.
Then I saw a figure walking towards me. Light from a gap in the roof struck it and I let out a small gasp. I felt my stomach tighten into a icy knot. Despite the metallic tinge to his skin, it was Morris, I could see the two inch scar next to his eye. The cold, logical side of me told me what needed to be done – but could I do it? Watching him approach I crouched to take the snub-nose from its ankle holster. I stood again, aimed carefully and waited. I wanted him as close as possible. This might be a soulless shell but it still had Morris’s shape and I wouldn’t let him suffer any more than was necessary. A head-shot would be quickest and kindest. Some bastard had taken him from me, then brought his corpse back to life and this time it would be me who despatched him. Some bastard was going to pay the price for this – big time. My vision blurred as I eased back the revolver’s hammer.
End of Book Two
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In five hundred years time, most of us will be forgotten dust. But Hitler will still be remembered, God loves irony.
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Fear book 3 - part 9
