Barrington’s instincts to cut his losses had been right. There was no way they were going to use Rags again to reopen their drug pipeline to Europe.
‘Besides, there’s a bigger reason why I’m walking away from your offer.’
‘What’s that?’ I said.
‘You know too damn much about my business.’
His hand flew from his pocket so fast that I didn’t see the knife until it slashed across my stomach. The pain was so intense that it froze me in the moment. Thousands of severed nerve endings crackled with electricity and tried to jam my brain with the same message of pain at once. I clutched at the wound. Blood leaked between my fingers.
‘No!’ Rags yelled. He shoved me aside, sending me sprawling to the floor and lunged at Crichlow.
Crichlow sidestepped Rags’ lunge. As Rags lumbered by, he swept the knife through the air again in an efficient arc. The blade caught Rags across the side of the neck. His legs went out from under him and he collapsed on to all fours. Blood poured from a deep and ugly wound. He clambered to his feet, but only half managed the feat before pitching forward on to his face.
I saw my fate if I didn’t do something. I pushed myself upright, but I took too long. Crichlow charged at me. He caught me hard while my balance was off. I bounced off the side of my racecar, cracking my head on the door.
The moment I hit the floor, Crichlow jumped on top of me and pressed his knee into my stomach. It radiated pain, paralyzing the rest of me. Pouncing on my weakness, he grabbed the side of my head and smacked it on the concrete floor. The shockwave that went through my head stopped me from fighting back. The second blow put me in a stupor. The third left me clinging to consciousness.
Crichlow pushed himself off me and looked down at the mess he’d made of me. ‘You know it had to end this way.’
I watched him walk over to one of the oil drums in the supply area. He broke the seal open and rolled the barrel over on to its side. A pool of amber spread slowly across the floor. He did the same to a second barrel before picking up a jerry can of petrol. I lost consciousness knowing what was going to happen next.
Lap Forty
The stench of smoke jerked me awake. In the short time I’d been out, the workshop had been turned into an inferno. Crichlow had doused everything that could burn in petrol and torched it. With all the chemicals and flammable materials, this fire would burn long and hot. The tyre rack burned black and ugly, spewing choking smoke. The office suite cracked and popped as something else succumbed to the fire. The oil barrels had been left to pump their contents over the floor. Black smoke billowed upward in a thick cloud off the oil pool and accumulated in the rafters. It swelled by the second and was now rolling back towards the floor. Where the oil burned slow and steady, the gasoline burned hot and fast. The rising temperature inside the workshop dried my face and I could feel it pricking my skin. Each breath hurt my lungs.
I was going to burn if the smoke didn’t kill me first, but I refused to die in here. I wouldn’t be another of Crichlow’s victims.
I sat up and the knife that Crichlow had used to carve up Rags and me rolled from my hand. Clever. He wanted to leave a scenario for the world to believe.
My head ached. My brain seemed to be throbbing inside my skull. The edges of my vision stung as if someone had turned up the contrast. I had Crichlow’s head-bashing to thank for that.
I pulled up my shirt and examined the gash. It was a foot long and bleeding, but it wasn’t deep. Just surface damage, I told myself. As much as it seemed like a ridiculous thought, I’d survive.
I wasn’t sure about Rags. A pool of blood two feet across circled his head. I scurried over to him and examined his neck. The cut was deep, but not accurate. Blood pulsed from the gash, but far too slowly for a major artery. I peeled off my shirt and pressed it to the wound. Again, I was trying to stop a man from bleeding to death. Rags stirred.
‘You’re OK,’ I said. ‘It’s bad, but not that bad.’
Rags looked at the blaze and chuckled. ‘You don’t think this is bad? Look, we’re not getting out of this. I need to tell you that Crichlow killed Jason. And now he’s killed us.’
‘Yeah, I know, but we’re not dead yet.’
Crichlow was gone, but he’d been smart with his pyromania. We were pinned in the rear of the workshop away from the exits. If we wanted to get out, it meant going through a wall of fire. I looked up. The trapped smoke was swelling and dropping down to meet us. We had less than ten feet of clear headroom.
‘The sprinklers?’ Rags said.
The sprinkler system should have been dousing us, but nothing. Crichlow must have cut the water supply.
‘Forget the sprinklers. Do you have your mobile?’
‘Yeah. My pocket.’ He tapped his right-trouser pocket.
I fished his phone out and punched in nine-nine-nine. I had to shout over the roar of the fire for the emergency-services operator to hear me. Her voice trembled when she told me the fire brigade would be there as soon as possible.
‘I don’t think they’ll get here in time,’ Rags said.
He was right. I ended the call by breaking into a cough. My throat was raw already.
‘Keep the pressure on your wound. I’m getting us out of here,’ I croaked.
The vapours inside a jerry can ignited and it flew across the workshop, smashing into a wall.
‘I like your optimism,’ Rags said.
‘Shut up and don’t move.’
I punched in Dylan’s number. It rang until voicemail kicked in. I cursed and called Steve’s number. He answered.
‘Crichlow is the one who killed Jason. He’s torched the workshop. Rags and I are trapped,’ I said.
‘Turn around! Turn around! Aidy’s in trouble,’ Steve yelled. ‘How bad is it, son?’
I stared at the flames vaporising the paint off the walls. ‘It’s bad. Crichlow has dumped the oil barrels out and doused everything else in petrol.’
‘Can you find a safe spot until we get there?’ A tremor had entered Steve’s voice. It hurt to hear it.
‘No.’
‘Stay low. Soak your clothes. We’re coming. It’s going to be OK. Say it.’
My head was aching. It felt as though the smoke was in my brain. ‘It’s going to be OK.’ My words came out dry.
‘Say it like you fucking mean it, goddamn you.’
I palmed away a tear. ‘It’s going to be OK.’
‘That’s my boy. Move this fucking car!’ Steve said before hanging up.
I tossed the phone back to Rags and snatched a hose line from the hook on the wall. Even though Crichlow had cut off the mains, I was banking on there still being pressure in the lines.
‘You won’t put this out with that.’ Rags laughed, but it immediately turned into a coughing fit.
‘I’m just buying us some time. Prepare to get wet,’ I said and doused him with water.
The moment I felt a change in pressure in the hose I turned it and doused myself.
The fire was spreading. The oil continued to expand across the floor. For every inch the pool grew, it set light to something else. Our safe haven wouldn’t last. The speed at which the fire was consuming the workshop was staggering.
‘We need more than this to stay alive,’ Rags said.
We did and we had it. For all the combustible materials in the workshop, there were a few that weren’t.
‘Race suits? Do you have any?’
Rags’ eyes lit up. ‘In the bag over there.’
He pointed to a sports bag on top of a tool cabinet. I grabbed it and opened it up. It was Haulk’s kit bag. It contained his suit, boots, gloves and helmet.