Making a Case for Buying Fingerless Gloves
The Department for the Quantification and Utilisation of Luck.
With the staff who lived inside the city limits having either defected or been trapped there, and the one remaining army platoon (thirty soldiers) left to guard the facility out on reconnaissance patrols the only ones in the building were Cassie, Cooper and her boss Benjamin Crowhurst.
Not that Crowhurst was there out of duty, he’d been on an interdepartmental conference call playing a game of pass the blame, which is like pass the parcel, but more career damaging, when Arthur’s Seat erupted, cutting him off from his stylish mock-Georgian villa and demanding wife (he saw the latter as a volcanic-ash cloud silver lining).
As Cooper strolled into the cafeteria early in the morning, using his staff as a walking stick (even though he no longer needed one) he was surprised to see that Cassie was already there, he bought a ham and cheese panini and a green tea before sitting opposite her at what, for strategical reasons, was now their regular table.
“Never trust anywhere too posh to sell bacon butties,” he complained.
“It’s vending machine food,” she said, “close your eyes and you won’t be able to tell the difference,” she was wearing baggy, blue jeans and an orange T-shirt with “Myth Or logical?” in blue lettering on the front and was nursing a steaming hot cup of coffee.
“I take it that you couldn’t sleep either,” he said, looking at the wall clock that showed the time as being just after 6 am.
She shook her head without further comment.
“Any more overnight news?” He said, stifling a yawn.
“There’ve been several reports of Loch Ness monster sightings.”
“Isn’t that normal for the tourist season?”
“Yes, but they don’t usually mention it biting a tour coach in half.”
“Wow,” he said with a sharp intake of breath, “that’s, what, a hundred and fifty miles away from Morrigan?”
“More like one seventy and even I didn’t expect her influence to spread so far so fast.”
“What about closer to home?”
“I’m waiting for the patrols to get back with more info on what roads are still navigable and any sightings of enemy activity, nothing can fly with the ash cloud still up there,” she said, taking a sip of coffee, “Oh, and the government has now evacuated even farther away, to Aberdeen, where they’re hiding in a bunker whilst telling everyone else to sacrifice themselves for the greater good.”
“Look who’s embracing cynicism,” he said with a smile. “I was just wondering, can you feel Morrigan’s presence here, at all? I’ve heard other say they can.”
“It’s getting bad, I have a nagging voice in the back of my head calling me to her all the time.”
“That’s what I thought, but I can’t feel a thing.”
“You wouldn’t, you have the magick gene; she can’t control you.”
“What, never?”
“No, a thousand years ago a witch and a warlock combined their talents to defeat her, they couldn’t have done that if they weren’t impervious to her power.”
“Well, in that case, I need to find a spell to immunise you, I want you with me every step of the way.”
“Aww, thank-you, that’s so sweet!”
“That way if we meet something too strong to fight and too fast to outrun I can escape whilst it’s still chewing on you.”
“You’re a dick!” She snapped.
“You’re not even the first person to tell me that this week and it’s only Tuesday.”
“What the hell are you two doing sitting around chatting, do something!” Benjamin Crowhurst said storming into the room, his stubbly chin and rumpled clothes slightly undermining his authority.
“We need to wait for the patrols to return with more information before we can plan our next move, Sir,” Cassie said.
“Useless, bloody useless! I wanted to get rid of you after you killed those soldiers during your little psychotic episode, but I was overruled,” he said, glaring at her.
“I’m sorry, sir, but…”
“Don’t apologise to him, you’ve done nothing wrong,” Cooper snapped, cutting her off in mid-sentence, “he’s just a frightened little man, wearing expensive suits he can ill afford to seem more important than he really is.”
“How dare…”
“You’re intimidated by her intelligence, and probably were from the day you first met,” Cooper said, talking over him, “but now that she’s climbing the promotion ladder, with the help of her influential father, you’re looking for any excuse to get rid of her, before she takes your job.”
“That’s enough, I would’ve let you stay, but you’ve talked yourself out of it. You’re both fired and nobody will save you this time!”
Cooper stood up, leaning his hands on the table, making Crowhurst jump back in fright, thinking he was about to get hit, “You can’t sack me because I don’t work for you, but bravo for firing her, it’s a brave decision, I’ll grant you that,” she looked at him hurt but said nothing.
“What on earth are you talking about?” Crowhurst spluttered, looking unsettled, he didn’t rise to the heights he’d reached in the civil service by doing anything remotely brave.
“In the last few days I’ve watched fairytales come to life in front of my eyes and who predicted that? Not me, and certainly not you.”
“That need not concern you as neither of you has a future here, to see anything coming, get out!” He said, pointing at the door.
“Do you want me to tell you about our future without her?” Cooper said, “I don’t need to be a fortune teller to do it,” he sat back down and put his feet up on the table much to Crowhurst’s annoyance of who was straining to gesticulate at the exit as hard as he could.
“We won’t be able to predict Morrigan’s tactics, and without an effective strategy we’ll get outflanked and overrun within a day or two,” he said, casually taking a drink of tea as Crowhurst strained to point harder as he nodded emphatically at the door.
“As for you: if you’re not a Celt you’ll get killed very quickly, which is, believe it or not, your best-case scenario because if you fall under her control you’ll find that she has three types of thralls: the soldiers, which you’d be rubbish at, even with superpowers,” he said, giving him an insulting look.
“Then there’re auxiliaries, but since you’re not physically fit and have no practical skills, you’d end up labouring in the catering corps,” he paused to give him a disingenuous smile before continuing, “which you wouldn’t be any good at, whilst I’m sure that you’ve related many an entertaining anecdote at dinner parties, I doubt very much that you’ve ever hung back to do the dishes.”
He paused, deliberately waiting for Crowhurst to speak, so he could interrupt him again and keep him off balance.
“You…,” Crowhurst gasped.
“Which only leaves cannon fodder, where the worthless dregs of humanity get beaten and starved until they’re sacrificed, as a diversionary tactic. And yes, Cassie, I did really read one of your reports. So, much as I’d like to microwave some popcorn and stay to watch you die, I think leaving will be the much safer option for me.”
For a moment Crowhurst stood in silence, dropping his hands to his sides, as a big, blue vein throbbed in his forehead, he didn’t know what to believe but whilst a braver, more moral person might have made the wrong decision for the right reasons, he erred on the side of personal safety, as he always did, “You can both consider this to be your final warning, now get back to work,” he snarled, before making as dignified an exit as he could under the circumstances.
“How did you know about my father?” Cassie said, puzzled.
“You’re a square peg in a round hole which means somebody powerful, and most likely older, wedged you in here but you’re not the kind to have affairs with married men and since you’re physically attracted to me you’re not gay either, so the manly clothes and caterpillar boots show that you’re a daddy’s girls trying to be the son he never had, making your father a safe bet.”
Cassie went bright red and was still spluttering a denial when the fire exit exploded inwards, razor-sharp fragments of wood flying in all directions, only just missing them.
He sprinted for the door, ramming it open with his staff just before he got there. He was in the corridor before the first smoke grenade landed on the canteen floor with her hard on his heels, the screeching, two-tone fire alarm sounding as they ran.
After a few yards he skidded to a halt, grabbed a fire extinguisher from its wall mounting and spinning around like a hammer thrower, hurled it back the way they’d came from. He pulled the Glock from his belt holster hidden by his sweatshirt and fired once. The extinguisher started to spin, a thick fog of white gas spewing out from both sides.
“Where….did….you….get….that….gun?” she gasped, out of breath.
“It’s like you and ironic, hipster T-shirts, I never leave home without one,” he said after he shot out the klaxon, that was getting on his nerves, the alarm sounding fainter in the distance as they started running again.
They passed a dozen doors on each side before he stopped at a red, metal one with ‘Restricted Area: Server Room’ on it in white lettering. Cassie ran past him for a few feet before she realised that she was on her own and doubled back to join him. She stood resting her hands on her knees, panting out of breath as he picked the lock, locking it again once they were both inside.
He sat between two server racks, “Not much of a jogger, I see,” he said with a smile, not even breathing heavily.
“I only believe in using run in conjunction with away,” she wheezed, flopping down onto the ground beside him, her T-shirt soaked with sweat.
“When you run away as much as I do it’s good to keep in practice.”
“Why are we here?” She said, propping herself up on one elbow and looking around.
“For the same reason I shot the extinguisher, cold gas and large amounts of metal disrupts any thermal imaging systems they might be using.”
“You were heading for this place, weren’t you? But you had no reason to come down this way before, so how did you know it was even here?”
“I always have several exit strategies.”
“What, like waiting for me to let you go, like the last time?” She said sarcastically.
“Oh, please,” Cooper snorted, “I’d have ghosted within a few hours once I knew what was happening.”
“Then why was I told that you did nothing but complain about being held captive before I got here?”
“I didn’t want to raise any suspicions whilst I was waiting to see what the angle was. They spent a lot of money on testing and psychoanalysis and I thought there might be a payday in it for me, and if the worst came to the worst it was a couple of days with nobody trying to kill me.”
“And you were just going to stroll out past the armed guards, I suppose,” she snapped.
“Six soldiers guarding my room, in three shift, twenty-four hours a day, same men every time,” he smiled, leaning back against the cool metal.
“I had nice chats with them all. Let’s start with one of the night shift, John Wilkinson: a big guy, fiercely loyal and brave, but with a crippling fear of insects, but before I was lucky enough to find him I’d already identified one other with gambling debts, who would’ve been easy to bribe. And if all that failed, this is a civilian facility, not a jail. There are smoke detectors in every room and crash bar operated emergency exits to the fire escape stairs. One cloud of smoke and I could have strolled out in the general confusion. When we get out of here, I can show you my bug and oily rag collections, I haven’t dumped yet, if you don’t believe me.”
Before she could reply, he held up a hand for silence. Someone was talking outside in the corridor, but the hum of the air conditioner was too loud to hear much. He started his phone recording video, opened the door a crack, and slid the camera end out sideways on. After a few seconds, he flipped it over to record in the other direction before pulling it back in.
With the door open they could hear clearly, “… and nobody will get hurt,” someone was saying, without an ounce of originality.
“Mr Cooper, Ms Sloane,” Crowhurst, who was being held hostage, said after a jab in the ribs from a Beretta M9 brandished by Jackson Smith, “I have been categorically assured that this is a purely financial matter that can be cleared up to everyone’s satisfaction.”
“Okay, he’s obviously lying,” he said after inching the door closed again. “The bad news is that there’s seven of them, the good news is that they’re all grouped together and the open door will be between us and them, giving us some cover, at least,” he said after studying the footage on his phone.
“Here’s what we do,” he said offering Cassie the small Glock 43 from his ankle holster as she looked at him aghast.
“We use the door as cover and whilst you’re seeing if you can hit anybody and I’ll pick off as many as I can. If Smith shoots Crowhurst, which I think he will, that’ll make him as an easy target, If he doesn’t he’ll have to either hang onto a panicking man, which will slow him down, or let him go and give me a nice, clean shot. After that, all hell will break loose and we’ll have to play it by ear.”
“No,” Cassie said, horrified as she jumped up to face him, “you can’t just let them shoot him!”
“They’re going to kill him either way, and did I miss the part where you became the bestest of buds in the whole, whole world? You do realise that he’s knowingly trying to lead us into a trap? Now take the gun, we have to move fast, before they start kicking doors in at random.”
“How can you be so cruel?”
“I told you before, I look after number one, which is exactly what he’s trying to do and what you should do as well.”
“I can’t live like that,” she said, opening the door before he could stop her, “Don’t shoot, we’re not armed,” she said stepping out with her hands up.
He looked around and decided there was no way to survive a firefight in such a confined space, “If I get to kill her before I die I’m counting it as a win,” he muttered under his breath as he dropped his guns. He wanted to take his staff with him, but they’d have thought it was a weapon, so he put his hands on his head and followed her out.
“Ah, the perfidious Callum Cooper,” Smith said, letting go of his hostage, who left a lot faster than a man of his age and weight should have been able to. As he got near the exit, Smith shot him in the back. Crowhurst cried out in pain but stumbled on until another shot dropped him to the floor, where he lay unmoving.
Cassie, who was standing to one side, tied and gagged with duct tape, gave a muffled squeal of horror.
“What?” Smith said, looking at her, “I had to let him get a bit away, I brought a limited wardrobe and arterial blood spray is a bitch to get out of clothing.”
Cooper looked around to see that four out of the five of the men were of the oversized, musclebound variety Smith preferred to hire, but it was the fifth one that worried him the most. A small, jittery man with a runny nose that he dabbed repeatedly, using a hanky spotted with blood. He was obviously addicted to cocaine and was carrying a doctors’ bag.
To one side was the warlord Abbad Bin Nasir’s man, Oxford, notepad in hand, trying to work out how to spell perfidious.
“Jackson Smith,” Cooper said, “since we’re trading insults, aren’t you the man whose tricks were so dirty that even the CIA kicked him out? Talk about a low bar to hurdle. I thought you’d have better things to do, given what’s happening out there.”
“Mr Oxford’s employer is kindly giving me sanctuary,” Smith said as he gestured for two of his men to take an arm of Cooper’s each, “in exchange for you, that is. And the good news is that this time you’ll get to land with the plane. But don’t be sad that we’re parting company, I get to keep your fingers, in case I miss you.”
“What?” He said, panic rising in his chest as someone stepped behind him, landing a vicious blow with a gun butt to the back of his head, robbing him of consciousness.
The first thing Cooper heard as he came to, head throbbing, was a loud sniffing from the doctor. He tried to sit up, but he was flat on his back, strapped to a trolley stretcher, held down by thick, brown, leather straps.
They were back in the canteen, and on a table at his side lay eleven bags of saline solutions and an icebox, ten for his fingers and thumbs, and an eleventh that he didn’t know the purpose of. Hypodermic needles, sutures, medical gauze and a bone saw were all laid out in neat rows. Cassie was sitting in a corner, her mouth still taped shut, duct-taped to a chair, eyes wide with terror.
“What do you want my fingers for?” He said struggling futilely against his bonds.
“Your phones, tablets, laptops, safes, and god knows what else, all have fingerprint locks and I need to preserve your fingers until I can have latex moulds made.
“Then take my fingerprints, you bloody idiot!” Cooper yelled.
“We already have, but I someone forgot to bring a proper fingerprint kit,” he said, glaring at one of his men who shuffled his feet and stared at the floor, “and Mr Nasir’s thumbscrews and other torture techniques will mean no second chance if they don’t take the old-fashioned way, I know you’ll appreciate that, because you’re a man who likes a backup plan,” he paused to check if Oxford was paying attention, before saying something he didn’t want the big man to hear, but he still had his notepad out, and had moved on to the spelling of arterial.
“But,” Smith said continuing, “since I already have a skilled doctor, for psychoactive reasons, taking your fingers is the most logical solution.”
“Mr Smith,” the doctor said apologetically, “I won’t have an adequate amount of anaesthetic for the amputations and still leave enough for the, er, procedure later.”
“Then skip it. We need to get out of here before the army gets back, anyway. You don’t mind, do you Coops? You’ll pass out from the pain… eventually. Oh, and I forgot to mention that we’re also taking your eyes, in case any of your stuff has retina access. Want us to do that first, so you won’t have to look at your mangled hands?”
Cooper screamed a bunch of threats as he rocked the trolly.
“That’s the last time I try to be considerate,” Smith said, pretending to have hurt feelings. “The fingers it is, then.”
“Hold it steady,” the doctor said to one of the thugs who gripped Cooper’s hand, palm down, straightening the fingers as the doctor lined up the bone saw above the knuckles.
Cooper hyperventilated as he felt the serrated blade scraping against his skin, “I’ll give you the unlock codes!” he yelled struggling to break free with every ounce of his strength, “Fu…,” he started to swear as adrenaline flooded through his system. Then a long lost Gaelic word he’d never heard before popped into his head and he screamed, “Fusada!”
Almost immediately there was a faint bang in the distance, “What the hell was that? You told me this place was clear,” Smith said to one of his men.
“Maybe someone broke in,” he said, defensively,
“I don’t care who it is, find them and kill them,” he said, before turning to the doctor. “And you, get on with it before we’re all staring down the barrel of a tank cannon.”
As the large man turned towards the door something burst through the wall at a sharp angle in a blur of motion, travelling so fast that a thick cloud of plaster, from the vaporised hole in the wall, shot into the air. The man could see it was the staff, red runes flaring blindingly bright along its length. He found himself between it and Cooper and, unfortunately for him, when a warlock’s staff gets summoned by its master, it doesn’t go the long way around.
It hit him like a red hot arrow, burning a hole big enough to see the door through where his heart used to be without even slowing down, cauterising the wound as it went. The man holding the fingers let go, pulling his gun, as the staff leapt into Cooper’s hand and he bellowed, “Reoth!”
Instantly the temperature of everything he was touching dropped to absolute zero, the metal trolly he lay on and the leather straps that held him becoming brittle, shattering and dropping him painfully to the floor.
He rolled to his feet just as the man who’d been holding his fingers still for the amputation shoved a Sig Sauer P226 pistol in his face whilst grabbing the doctor by the collar as he tried to run away.
“Oh, no, please do not shoot, I surrender,” Cooper said in a monotone voice without a trace of emotion as he leaned his head against the barrel of the gun, frost spread along its length. When the crippling cold touched the man’s hand, all atomic motion in his body stopped as an icy sheen spread over him. The doctor whimpered, trying to break free as it crept onto the back of his neck, stopping his brain as it grew to cover all of his body.
After a moment’s stillness, and without the muscles to perform the stabilising movements that had kept them upright, they fell over, smashing into thousands of red, glistening pieces.
He spotted Smith, two of his men and Oxford, out of the corner of his eye, escaping through the hole they’d blown in the wall on the way in. Pointing his staff at them two-handed as he stood sideways on he shouted, “Scort! Scort! Scort!” three bullet-sized balls of red light shot out the end of the staff, demolishing the wall and collapsing part of the ceiling, but they’d already gone by that time.
When the runes faded and died out, he suddenly felt very tired and hungry. He walked over to Cassie, “I’d say sorry for this, but you deserve it for nearly getting me mutilated and tortured to death,” he said as he ripped the tape off of her mouth with a yelp of pain from her.
She was rubbing her wrists as they sat back down at their table, which lay untouched. She looked around the room in shock as he took a bite out of the panini, “I