Assassin (35 page)
Harrison seemed to care nothing for the note of concern in her voice. His eyes were riveted to Carter's bloodied frame.
'What happened?’ he gasped, taking a step back.
Carter swayed uncertainly for a moment then slumped back against the wall, using it as support.
'Who did this?' the gang boss persisted, his face drained of colour.
'It's over, Harrison,' Carter croaked. 'They're dead. All of them.'
'Did you find Ross?' he asked, falteringly.
Carter nodded, a vague smile touching his lips. He licked them, tasting blood.
'Yeah,' he croaked. 'We found him.'
Tina had already crossed to the phone, was already dialling.
'What are you doing?' Carter wanted to know.
'Calling an ambulance,' she told him, tears welling up in
her eyes as she looked at him.
'Don't bother,' he said, gritting his teeth as a spasm of pain tore through him.
'You'll die,' she sobbed.
And now Harrison
did
look at her. His eyes lost the look of concern for Carter and filled with anger.
'I said it was over, Frank,' Carter croaked, his voice slurred, his tone low and muted. 'And it is.'
He pulled the automatic from its shoulder holster and steadied himself, the pistol aimed at the gang leader.
Tina dropped the phone, the operator's voice fading away
as the receiver swung back and forth on its cable. 'What the hell are you doing?' Harrison wanted to know, his eyes fixed on the pistol. He took a step back. 'Put the gun
down.' There was fear in his voice now.
Carter smiled.
And fired.
Once, twice, three times.
Tina screamed but her exhortations were drowned by the thunderous retorts of the automatic.
The bullets hit Harrison in the chest, the face, the shoulder, their savage impacts catapulting him backwards over the sofa. Blood spurted madly from the gaping holes, staining his shirt and, as he lay twitching on the floor, Carter staggered across to look down at him.
Harrison was still alive, barely, his eyes already beginning to glaze over but, in his final seconds of life, he saw Carter lower the pistol at him.
Saw him smile.
Carter fired until the gun was empty, the six remaining shell cases flying into the air as each bullet exploded from the pistol and powered into Harrison's torn frame.
The stench of cordite mingled with overpowering odour of blood and excrement. And finally Carter dropped the empty pistol and stood swaying in the centre of the room.
Tina ran to him, catching him as he fell, falling with him, feeling his blood on her blouse. Tears were coursing down her cheeks.
'Don't die, Ray, please don't die,' she murmured, stroking his face, ignoring the blood which coated her hand. She ran her fingers over his cheeks and forehead then touched his lips, horrified when she felt how cold they were. Please God, don't let him be dying now. She turned towards the phone once more but he pulled her back, smiling weakly up at her as she cradled his head in her lap. 'Don't leave me,' she sobbed. 'I love you.' She brushed his cheek once more, moaning as she felt a flap of skin on his jaw come loose.
To her horror she found that two of her fingers were caught in a gash obviously opened by a bullet but, as she tried to ease them free, she felt more of his skin ripping.
It was coming free in her hand.
Her sobbing stopped, her eyes bulging wide now as she felt the skin lift, rising like some kind of fleshy mask.
She gripped the ragged flesh and pulled as if driven by some insane instinct.
The entire face seemed to come away in her hand and she felt her throat contract as she found that she was looking down into a face unlike any she'd ever seen before.
The rotting visage of Charles Ross grinned up at her.
Tina tried to stand, tried to back away, but her legs buckled beneath her and she fell across Ross, the lump of dripping skin which she'd been holding finally falling from her grasp.
The features had been expertly carved away by the rotting corpse beneath her.
The face which lay on the carpet before her was that of Ray Carter.
Outside the door there were shouts, banging.
Sirens wailed in the street.
But Tina heard none of it.
She gazed at Carter's face, the face which had covered Ross's putrescent features, and she screamed.
Born and brought up in Hertfordshire, Shaun Hutson now lives and writes in Buckinghamshire where he has lived since 1986. After being expelled from school, he worked at many jobs, including a cinema doorman, a barman, and a shop assistant - all of which he was sacked from - before becoming a professional author in 1983.
He has since written over 30 bestselling novels as well as writing for radio, magazines and television. Shaun has also written exclusively for the Internet, a short story entitled
RED STUFF
and an interactive story,
SAVAGES.
Having made his name as a horror author with bestsellers such as
SPAWN
,
EREBUS
,
RELICS
and
DEATHDAY
(acquiring the nicknames 'The Godfather of Gore' and 'The Shakespeare of Gore' in the process) he has since produced a number of very dark urban thrillers such as
LUCY'S CHILD
,
STOLEN ANGELS
,
WHITE GHOST
and
PURITY
. At one time, Shaun Hutson was published under no fewer than six pseudonyms , writing everything from Westerns to non-fiction.
Hobbies include cinema (he has seen over 10,000 films in the last 20 years and cites director Sam Peckinpah as his biggest influence), rock music and slumping in front of the TV.
Reformed alcoholic, Shaun was diagnosed by a psychiatrist as having mildly psychotic tendencies. He is extremely unsociable and used to shoot pistols for a hobby (four perfect qualifications for being a novelist, really.)
Shaun has appeared on and presented a number of TV shows over the years. He has lectured to the Oxford Students Union. He has appeared on stage with heavy-metal rock band Iron Maiden 13 times and received death threats on a number of occasions due to his work.
His work is particularly popular in prison libraries.
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