Nick sat up in a daze to find Jan holding out a hand to him. “Get up, brother. Looks like you’re having a party, but no one invited me to dance.”
Nick took Jan’s hand and leapt to his feet. He was dizzy from the blow to the head, but he was ready for a fight.
Bring it the fuck on.
Dash scrambled to his feet. There was a screwdriver sticking out of his left arm and he had dropped his shovel to the ground.
“Are my eyes deceiving me?” Jan asked. “Or is that ugly, one-eyed motherfucker Dash?”
“It’s him,” said Nick. “He survived the fall.”
“Survived so I could take you gangsters out,” Dash said making a grab for the shovel.
Nick tried to stop him, but was too late. Dash picked up the weapon and raised it over his head. He didn’t come at them, though. Instead he made a run for it, heading straight past Shawcross and into the shadows.
Alan had gotten up of the floor, too, and was backed up against Shawcross and Michelle. The three of them stood together in a triangle, clutching weapons – shovels, spades, and pitchforks – as they waited for Nick and Jan to attack them.
Nick picked up his replica rifle from the floor, but didn’t point it at them. Instead he held up his hand. “Just give it up, guys. It’s over.”
“Nothing is over,” said Shawcross. “There are three of us and only two of you.”
“Maybe,” said Nick, his words slightly slurred as his mouth started to swell. “But I think Jan counts as two, so we’re evenly matched. No one else needs to get hurt here.”
“I beg to differ. Give up now while you still have the chance. We outnumber you.”
“Actually you don’t,” said Annaliese, coming up from the direction of the restaurant. Pauline, Cassie, and Eve were with her. And so was Renee. They all carried weapons and were clearly ready to use them. “I think you’ll find that you’re the ones who are outnumbered and, after the day I’ve had, I’m quite happy to kill you all on the spot.”
“That’s right,” said Nick. “I don’t think the Geneva Convention exists anymore, so if you want to be treated like human beings, I suggest that you put down your weapons and start behaving like one.”
There was a standoff for a moment, the air tense and vibrating. Then Michelle and Alan threw down their weapons and put their hands above their head. Shawcross, however, kept a firm grip on his pitchfork.
“Give it up, Shawcross,” Annaliese said. “Michelle, Alan, grab a hold of him, will you?”
Michelle and Alan turned around anxiously and looked at their former leader. “Come on, mate,” said Alan, reaching for the pitchfork. “Just give up.”
“Get off me,” Shawcross growled. He shoved the pitchfork at Alan and buried it in his belly.
Nick’s mouth opened but no words came out.
Alan rocked backwards, clutching his torso as it begun to bleed. Michelle screamed as her friend’s bodily fluids spurted out onto the pavement. She reached for the pitchfork and yanked it free, but that only seemed to make the bleeding worse. Alan fell down onto his side and let out a gurgling moan.
Shawcross took off like a lightning bolt, taking advantage of the chaos he had caused. Nick gave chase, along with Jan and Renee. Annaliese and the others stayed put, tended to Alan.
We can’t let that weasel get away.
Shawcross headed off towards the front of the park. Nick did his best to keep up. The wishy-washy feeling inside his skull prevented him from running full speed and Jan, being the size he was, wasn’t the greatest sprinter. If they were not careful they were going to lose Shawcross into the night.
Then they’ll be no hope of catching him.
“Bleeder’s fast,” said Jan, sweating despite the cold.
“You’re telling me. Probably because he’s been eating better than all the rest of us.”
He’s probably been controlling the supplies and rations secretly for months.
They chased Shawcross around the front of the park’s office block and past the open doors of the warehouse. Beyond was Ripley Hall.
“He’s heading for the house,” said Nick.