Dead Water (5 page)

“
Get in,” Murphy said, as I reached the vehicle.

“
What about the van?” I asked.

“
We’re gonna stand out in that,” he said. “If we’re going to
reach the Dead Waters alive, we need to keep our heads down. We
can’t afford to draw any more unwanted attention to ourselves.
Riding around in a big white van with luminous yellow and blue
squares all over it ain’t my idea of being
inconspicuous.”

“
So, where to now?” I said, climbing into the passenger seat. I
knew Potter always liked to sit up front, and I smiled inwardly as
I took my seat next to Murphy.

“
We find somewhere to clean up and get some rest,” Murphy said.
Then, without warning he blasted the horn three times. The sound
was deafening and echoed back off the fields and rolling hills.
Leaning out of the window, he hollered at Potter, “Stop standing
there with your thumb up your arse! We need to be out of here
already.”

“
I thought we weren’t meant to be drawing any attention to
ourselves?” I said, the sound of the horn still ringing in my
ears.

Murphy
grunted and started the engine.

Potter
mooched down the road, the tails of his long, black coat flapping
around his legs, like his wings so often did. He looked at me
sitting up front, scowled like a schoolboy, and climbed into the
back, slamming the door behind him.

“
Everything okay?” I asked, trying to hide a smile.

“
Just perfect,” he sniped, shutting his eyes and leaning back
in his seat.

Taking
great care in the snow, Murphy steered the car around the abandoned
police van, and in silence, we headed down the desolate road and
towards the hills in the distance.

We drove
for what seemed like hours across the bleakest land I had ever
seen. The sky had turned from white to a dirty, washed-out grey,
and I suspected that another storm was on its way. Conversation was
non-existent between the three of us, and the atmosphere inside the
car was as cold as the wind, which howled across the fields on
either side of the roads we travelled. Every so often we would pass
a derelict-looking outhouse, farmhouse, cottage, or barn. Murphy
would slow and look at the building as it sailed past. I knew he
was searching for some suitable place for us to stay for the night.
The only places that looked semi inhabitable had smoke coiling up
from the chimneys, telling us that they were already occupied by
their rightful owners.

As the
sky grew darker still, and the fresh flakes of snow began to swirl
down from the sky, Murphy stopped the vehicle by a narrow lane,
which wound away into the darkness to our right. Barely visible
behind a clump of wild ivy, there was a sign sticking up out of the
ditch which ran alongside the road. In red letters, the word
‘Campsite’ had been written. Without saying a word, Murphy turned
into the narrow lane and headed up the hill.

“
You’ve got to be kidding me,” Potter suddenly spoke up from
the back of the car.

“
Got a better suggestion?” Murphy said.

“
I don’t want to piss all over your plan, Sarge, but this ain’t
the weather for camping,” Potter groaned. “We haven’t even got a
tent.”

“
They’ll have an empty caravan or two,” Murphy said, his eyes
fixed on the narrow lane ahead.

“
What if they are all booked up?” Potter shot back.

“
In this weather?” Murphy snapped. “Give me a
break.”

“
Yeah, you’re right,” Potter said. “We’re the only fucking
Muppets dumb enough to take a camping holiday in sub-zero
temperatures.”

“
Quit complaining,” Murphy said, as we passed through an open
gate. “It might be quite nice.”

“
I wouldn’t describe freezing my freaking nuts off as
being
nice
,”
Potter moaned. “Or perhaps you’re planning on us all sitting around
a campfire while you sing songs and pass around the
marshmallows?”

“
One more wisecrack from you, Potter, and I’m gonna smash you
in the mouth,” Murphy barked, pulling the vehicle to a halt outside
a small cottage. Then, glancing at me, he added, “Zip that coat up
and hide your uniform. We don’t want anyone here knowing we’re
coppers. I don’t think they’re trusted in this world.”

I zipped
up my coat, and climbed from the car.

“
What about me?” Potter asked.

“
Stay here,” Murphy ordered him.

“
Why?” Potter said, looking hurt and left out.

“
Because, I’m not planning on tearing the campsite owner a new
arsehole, that’s why,” Murphy said, climbing from the
car.

“
What’s that s’posed to mean?” Potter snapped.

“
It means I want to find us a place to sleep for the night
without all hell breaking loose,” Murphy barked before slamming the
car door in Potter’s face.

Chapter Seven

Potter

Miserable old fart,
I thought to
myself as Murphy walked away from the car with Kiera. The old guy
was getting crankier by the day. But Murphy was the least of my
problems, we had always bitched at one another. It was my
relationship with Kiera I was most worried about. How would I ever
convince her it was just her I wanted – the person I loved most? I
had fucked up a lot in my life, but this was the mother of all
fuck-ups. If you could win the gold at the Olympics for the biggest
screw-up, I’d be up there on the podium, clutching the gold,
silver, and bronze medals.

How would I ever get her to listen to me? If only Kayla were
here. She might be able to convince Kiera for me. But
I
had to tell Kiera; that
was the whole point, wasn’t it? How? I’d tried telling her, hadn’t
I? I even told her how hot she looked in the police uniform. All
women want to hear that kinda shit, didn’t they? I must be missing
something – but what? Fuck if I knew what it was, I thought,
scratching my head.

I took a
cigarette from the crinkled packet in my pocket. There was only one
left. Bollocks! I peered through the window and out into the night.
There wasn’t going to be a shop for freaking miles. Then, through
the darkness and slow falling snow, I saw what looked like a small
kiosk, the kind of place visitors to the campsite could buy maps of
the local area, throwaway raincoats, and that sorta shit. Pushing
open the car door, I climbed out. I looked back over my shoulder to
see Kiera and Murphy talking to a thickset-looking guy standing in
the open doorway of the cottage.

“
Sorry, but we’re closed for the winter,” I heard the guy at
the door say. “You’re out of season by about three
months.”

“
We only want to stay a night,” Murphy said, fishing a roll of
bank notes from his pocket.

I didn’t
doubt for a minute that Murphy would convince the campsite owner to
let us use one of his caravans for the night. Murphy had his own
unique way of convincing people to give him what he ultimately
wanted. I looked away and headed through the wind and the snow to
the small kiosk. It was locked up and the lights were out. Just
like the guy said, we were out of season. Leaning against the wall
of the kiosk was a Coke dispenser, and next to that was a cigarette
machine.

“
A tenner for a pack of smokes!” I breathed, reading the price
printed on the front of the machine. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I knew I didn’t have any money on me, and I wasn’t going to go
begging from Murphy.

I peered
around the side of the kiosk and could see the others still talking
outside the cottage. Turning back to the machine and extending my
claws, I punched a hole in the front and grabbed for a pack of the
cigarettes. Before I’d even had a chance to snatch a packet, a
hideous alarm started to screech. It was ear-splitting.

“
What’s going on?” I heard the campsite owner boom.

I
glanced around the edge of the kiosk again to see the guy step away
from Murphy and Kiera and come rushing over to the
kiosk.

“
Shut the fuck-up!” I hissed at the machine, pounding the top
of it with my fist. The alarm continued to scream its high-pitched
wail into the night.

Knowing
that I would never be able to silence the damn thing before the
owner got to me, I reached inside and grabbed as many packs of
smokes I could hold and began to stuff them into my coat
pockets.

“
What’s going on here?” a voice suddenly boomed from behind
me.

“
Your freaking machine’s throwing a fit, that’s what’s going
on,” I snapped. “It swallowed up my money quick enough and then
wouldn’t pay out.”

“
The front of it is smashed!” the man hollered, looking down at
the machine.

“
Probably the reason it’s broken,” I said, looking at him.
“Kids these days! I don’t know – bloody vandals the lot of them.
Prison – that’s what they need.”

“
What kids?” the man asked, reaching behind the machine and
switching off the alarm.

“
The kids who vandalised your machine,” I told him. “Christ
knows how kids are being raised these days. They were probably
stealing the smokes for their parents...”

“
Who are you?” the campsite owner suddenly cut in.

“
He’s with us,” Murphy said, suddenly appearing around the side
of the kiosk. Then, glaring at me, Murphy quickly added, “I thought
I told you to wait in the car?”

“
I’m not a freaking pet dog,” I shot back.

“
What’s going on here?” the man cut in again, looking ever more
confused with each passing moment.

“
You’ll have to forgive my nephew,” Murphy said, looking back
at the man. “He is a little bit simple – you know, has learning
difficulties.”

“
Retarded, you mean?” the man asked, eyeing me, now with some
pity in his eyes.

“
I’m not a freaking re...” I started.

“
And I’m his social worker,” Kiera cut over me, taking me
gently by the arm. Then, looking at me, she smiled sweetly and
added, “Come on back to the car, Gabriel. You’ll be safe and warm
there. Let Uncle Murphy pay for the damage you’ve
caused.”

“
This is un-fucking-believable...!” I started.

“
Shhh now,” Kiera hushed gently, easing me away by the arm.
“Don’t get yourself upset, Gabriel. We’ll find some other place to
stay tonight. Then tomorrow you’ll be safe and sound back in your
secure unit.”

As Kiera
led me around the side of the kiosk and back towards the car, I
heard the campsite owner speak to Murphy and say, “Jeez, I didn’t
realise you had...a...”

“
It’s okay,” Murphy cut in. “It’s been a long drive and my poor
nephew has become rather upset and confused.”

“
Look, I’ve got a couple of spare caravans you can use for the
night. They’re not much, they haven’t been cleaned since last
summer, but they’re warm, and I’ll switch on the hot water at the
pump so you can all freshen up,” the owner said, sounding
apologetic.

“
Please don’t put yourself to any bother on our account,”
Murphy started.

“
No bother at all,” I heard the owner say. It looks like you’ve
got enough to deal with. And besides, I wouldn’t be able to rest
knowing that I had turned you and your troubled nephew
away.”

“
Troubled!” I hissed at Kiera, yanking my arm free. “I ain’t
troubled.”

“
Just be quiet,” Kiera hissed at me. “You want somewhere warm
to sleep tonight, don’t you?”

“
I’d rather sleep standing up in the freaking snow!” I
spat.

“
That can be arranged!” Kiera shot back.

“
You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I whispered at her, as
Murphy and the man headed back towards the cottage.

“
Enjoying what?” she said, from the corner of her
mouth.

“
Watching me being humiliated like this,” I said back. “You’re
not my freaking social worker!”

“
So what am I?” Kiera snapped, looking at me. “What exactly do
I mean to you?”

Everything
, I wanted to say, but
before I’d had a chance, Murphy was jangling two sets of keys in my
face.

“
Cheer up, Gabriel – we’ve got ourselves a place to sleep
tonight.”

“
Awesome,” I growled, watching Murphy and Kiera turn and head
towards a row of desolate-looking caravans in the
distance.

Chapter Eight

Potter

We
reached a row of static caravans. They stretched away to the right
and left, into the darkness. Murphy held the keys up and checked
the door numbers, which were printed on little plastic
tags.

“
Twenty-four and twenty-five,” he muttered to
himself.

“
Over here,” Kiera said, heading towards two caravans that
stood apart from the rest. These were bigger than the others and
looked more like mobile homes. This must be where the more
discerning camper stayed, I thought to myself as I followed
her.

“
You take twenty-five,” Murphy said, handing Kiera the key to
the mobile home.