The parking lot is desolate, empty. It’s flanked on one side by the Fallow Park Surgery and the other by a prematurely wasted shell of a community centre, labelled as such by a graffiti-laden sign. A poorly maintained park with rusted swings and a patchwork slide lay in front of us as we drive in. Tall trees line every edge of the acre or so upon which the buildings and park sit. There’s no direct line of sight to any domiciles and we’re too far away from anything for sound to travel. You couldn’t hope for more privacy without leaving the city.
May eases the car into a spot not too far from the surgery entrance. She looks at me with hard eyes, pronounced lines of tension in her forehead. ‘You ready?’ she asks.
I nod and turn to look at Donald in the back seat. His hands are folded into one another in his lap, sweat soaks his collar, but there’s a serenity to his expression. He forces a quick smile and reaches to the footwell behind my seat. He pulls out the household implements we’ve armed ourselves with; a mallet for myself, a cricket bat for Donald. May is sticking with the collapsible steel baton she apparently carries with her everywhere.
Something stirs in me. Instinct. Whether native or invasive I can’t be sure. ‘I’m going in alone, I need to go in alone. If I’m not out in an hour then come say hi,’ I say.
Nods from the other two, albeit hesitant. That’ll have to do.
I take the mallet from Donald and exit the car. The other two step out and lean on the car, facing the surgery. I march towards the front door of the surgery, taking it on faith that my companions would do what I said. My heart assaults my sternum, my breath quickens.
The door opens as I approach. The man I think of as Raincoat is there, a jaunty smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eye. ‘Hey, Owen. Good to see you. Please put your hammer on the ground and come in. I’ll give you the tour.’
Something moves to my left. I barely catch it at the very edge of my perception. I glance over my shoulder and see a young woman holding a double-barrelled shotgun. There’s nothing behind her eyes, she’s the epitome of ‘vacant stare’. It’s unnerving. And how did she get there so fast? There’s no cover for her to move in.
I suppose it’s far from the strangest thing I’ve encountered recently. I turn my gaze back to Raincoat and slowly place my improvised weapon by my feet. He nods in response.
‘Let’s go,’ he says. ‘Carla, plug the extras.’
‘Wait, no!’ I shout. I turn and step towards the woman as she turns and brings the shotgun to her shoulder, aiming towards May.
It all happens so fast.
A belch of fire and thunder leaves a metal tube.
I see Donald throwing himself in front of May.
Scarlet erupts from his chest and he falls backwards, knocking my sister down.
I tackle the woman from behind, force her to the ground and position myself on top. I throw the firearm away, use my bodyweight to get her arms behind her back and hold them there.
I glance up to check that May’s alive. She screams and cradles Donald’s face, crying.
Donald’s face. There’s nothing there, no movement. Only an echo of the serenity he wore moments ago in the car.
Hands grab me, two under each armpit. They pull me to a standing position. Two more guys, thuggish looking, football hooligan types.
‘Come on now, Owen, we’re on a schedule here. Time to stop dicking about,’ Raincoat says.
The woman Raincoat called Carla is back on her feet, looking for her gun. I hadn’t thrown it that far; the thing was surprisingly heavy. May’s nowhere to be seen, Donald’s body is crumpled against the car, its silver body panels patched crimson with his blood. The apelike men on either side of me drag me through the doorway, through a clearly abandoned hallway to another door. Raincoat holds it open and his glamorous assistants push me through first. I can’t find it in myself to resist.
Behind me, Raincoat says, ‘Keith, take Carla and find the sister. And clean up out there. We’ll take Owen to see the doctor.’