Eight
He was about to start cooking breakfast when he realised there was something that needed doing: out in the street were three bodies, an abandoned truck and a shotgun. Whilst he knew that the police wouldn’t be coming to call anytime soon, he felt he had to dispose of the bodies and the truck, rather than just leaving them where they were. He sighed and put down the saucepan that was in his hand. As he walked to the hall, the bathroom door was open and he saw Jane’s blood-stained jeans on the floor, so he picked them up and went outside. With a bucket of seawater, a scrubbing-brush and some detergent he cleaned off as much blood as he could. He went back inside and hung them next to the log-burner to dry.
He put a few things into his rucksack, along with the sawn-off, put on his hat and coat and prepared to leave. He turned at the door and went back into the conservatory; Jane was still sleeping soundly. He didn’t want her waking up to find him gone, so he wrote on a piece of paper; Just popped out to dispose of the bodies. Back soon. Help yourself to anything you fancy. Jamie. He propped it on the coffee table by the sofa and then left, taking with him two large water containers to fill while he was out.
He walked down the road to the scene of the carnage and stood there, shaking his head in disbelief. Never in his life had he imagined that this might happen to him. He sighed and dragged the three bodies to the Toyota’s rear, then opened the tail-gate. Something niggled at the back of his mind and then he remembered what it was; the second guy he’d shot reaching for his pocket. He turned him over and looked in his jacket pocket, to find a revolver. It was large, old and well-worn, with a blued-steel finish and chequered walnut grip. The barrel was about four inches long and on the left side it said Smith and Wesson. He turned it over and on the other side it said .357 Highway Patrolman.
He didn’t know it, but it was a Model 28; made by Smith and Wesson for around thirty years until the late ‘80s. It was a stripped-down and cheaper version of a previous model, produced especially for law-enforcement officers and manufactured in huge quantities. It had also been the first revolver designed to fire the .357 Magnum round. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly; if the guy had been carrying this in his hand when he’d shot the first man, then things might not have worked out as well for him and Jane as they had done. He smiled, shrugged and put it in his rucksack.
He decided to have a look around the truck. In the load area was a tarp covering some items and he pulled it off them. There was a jerrycan filled with diesel for the Toyota and another filled with petrol, presumably for another vehicle of theirs. There was also a toolbox, a socket set, a felling axe, a small hatchet and various other assorted tools and hardware. He climbed down and went round to the cab, which had discarded food wrappers littering the floor. In the glove-box he found an almost-full box of cartridges for the shotgun, plus a box of fifty shells for the revolver, labelled “.38 Special”, with six rounds missing. This confused him, as the gun was clearly stamped with “.357”. His limited knowledge of guns came only from films, TV and novels, and he obviously had heard of .357 and .44 Magnums.
He took the gun from his rucksack, opened the cylinder and removed one of the six shells; it matched those in the box. It obviously must work with them, so he shrugged again and put the revolver and the bullets in his pack. If he’d had more interest in guns – or access to the internet – he would have discovered that a revolver chambered for the .357 Magnum round could also fire the .38 Special round (which was much cheaper and more widely available), but not vice versa.
He went to the back of the truck and, with some difficulty, managed to lift them all into the load-bed and closed the tail-gate. He found the shotgun in the road on the far side of the vehicle, picked it up and put it in the cab then looked around; there was a lot of blood on the road, which he couldn’t do much about, so he left.
He drove to the industrial area on Beeching Road, which wasn’t far away, looking for something specific. It didn’t take long to find what he wanted: in a yard next to an industrial unit he saw a skip and drove up to it to look inside. It was nearly empty; perfect. He reversed the truck up to the skip and it was almost at the same level as the load-bed. Looking around, he saw many discarded wooden pallets, so he dragged four over to the skip. He put two in the bottom, then climbed up and pushed the bodies in on top of them. He then threw the other two pallets on top and sloshed some petrol from the jerrycan over them.
After moving the truck away a few yards, he picked up a stone and wrapped some food wrappers from the cab around it, to give them some weight. He stood back several yards, lit the wrappers and tossed the bundle into the skip. The petrol ignited with a wumph sound and he felt the air displacement from where he stood. He got back into the cab and drove the short distance to Egerton Park at the Wickham Avenue entrance, where he filled the two water containers from the ornamental lake. After putting them in the truck, an idea occurred to him.
He got the revolver from his rucksack and a plastic bag – he always carried a few for collecting plant samples – and went back into the park. There were many ducks on the lake or by the side of it and they were used to being close to humans and being fed by them. He selected a nice fat mallard on the bank and moved slowly to within a few yards of it. Crouching down, he cocked the hammer, took careful aim and pulled the trigger, blowing the duck’s head off. The rest of the birds erupted into the air and flew off. He picked up the duck, put it into the plastic bag and walked back to the truck. Roast duck tonight – nice!
While he was out in the truck, he decided to go to Halfords on the retail park and pick up two of the portable generators he’d seen when he was last there. It was only two miles away and didn’t take long to get there on the empty roads. Driving well over the speed limit, straight through dead traffic lights and junctions without even slowing, he felt reckless and had a slight feeling of euphoria as if he’d taken some kind of drug; a reaction to shooting the thugs, rescuing Jane and surviving unscathed. Despite the awful events that had happened and the terrible situation that he and the country were in, he was living an adventure and felt more alive than he had ever done before.
The retail park was just as he had last seen it, although there was a Ford estate car there that he didn’t remember seeing before. Maybe his memory was wrong, but he didn’t want to take any chances; he’d learned already that he needed to be cautious. He took the sawn-off from his pack, checked it was loaded and put a few extra cartridges in his left pocket. After a second’s thought he also took out the revolver, replaced the spent round with a new one from the box and put it into his coat pocket, then got out of the truck. He stood outside the door to Halfords listening for a minute, looking around the parking area and at the other stores. He heard nothing to alert him so he went in, walked straight to the shelf and picked up two generators – one diesel and one petrol – then took them out to the truck. Walking past the till he saw that his £10 note was still there next to it. As he drove home, he decided that he liked the Toyota and would keep it. He didn’t see the point in abandoning it when it was a perfectly good vehicle and seemed to be well-maintained. Two vehicles were better than one! Besides, it could be something for Jane to drive if she wanted to.
Back at the bungalow, he parked on the drive and went inside. Jane was up and heard him enter; she came to the kitchen door, walking stiffly and looking concerned.