MELT: A Psychological Thriller (24 page)

Carl nodded, understanding, but not completely agreeing. 'I'll get the bottle out. You stop them coming around here. Try to find me a tool.’

Alex nodded, heading back.

'Alex?'

Alex paused, shifting the weight off his bad leg.

'What did Glen do?'

'I didn't ask.' Alex pointed at the burial mound. 'It doesn't matter now. This place got what it wanted from Glen.'

 

 

#

 

 

Carl couldn’t remember ever feeling more frustrated in his life.

The bottle refused to budge.

Victoria called out, 'Are you coming, Carl?'

Yes, you old witch. I'm coming.
He grabbed Glen's empty slipper.

'What took you so long?' complained Victoria.

'I was using the drain.'

'My knee is hurting,' complained Victoria. 'I'll gather the chips into piles so you can move them.'

'Sure,' said Carl, scanning for anything like a tool. He'd already seen inside Megan's bag.

Alex dropped fresh chips into Carl's slipper.

Victoria pushed together Megan and Chrissie’s piles.

Megan asked, ‘How are you feeling now, Carl?’

‘No worse,’ he replied, filling up both slippers.

Damn it! There must be something I can dig with. Think, Carl!

His thinking felt hazy. And not just from the headache.

From the radiation?

He emptied the slippers back at the burial mound.

A silver shape tumbled out.

Carl grabbed it.

A belt buckle?

Ericsson's square belt buckle,
Carl realized.
It should be under all this ice
.

Alex.

He'd smuggled the buckle to Carl with the ice chips.

Alex is full of surprises today.

Carl tested the tool. Not an icepick, but a lot better than using his fingernails.

It would work.

When Carl next fetched ice, Alex glanced over his shoulder.

Carl gave him a small nod before they returned to business as usual, or unusual, depending on how you looked at it.

 

 

#

 

 

'I'd like to record a message,' Victoria told Megan.

Megan didn't hear.

She looked absorbed in extracting the plate from the ice.

Victoria touched her shoulder.

'Sorry, what?' asked Megan, lifting her face from her work. 'A message?'

Victoria nodded. 'Can your phone do that? Can I record a message on it?'

Megan's hand dropped to her phone. 'You mean like a goodbye message?'

'It won't be long. Just a minute or two. That's all I need.'

Alex said, 'That's a good idea. We should all record one. Just in case, Megan.'

Megan nodded and set the phone up for Victoria. 'This is the record button. Look in here. If you can see your own face on the screen then you're doing it right.'

Victoria vanished around the ice.

Carl heard murmuring for a few minutes before Victoria returned with the phone.

Megan went next. Then Alex. When Alex returned he offered Carl the phone.

'I'll pass,' said Carl.

'Really?' asked Megan.

Carl nodded.

Alex offered Chrissie the phone.

'I'm not allowed to touch Megan's phone,' said Chrissie.

Megan studied Chrissie doubtfully.

'We all deserve to leave a message,' said Alex.

'Just don't drop it,' instructed Megan. ‘Your fingers are probably numb from the ice.’

Chrissie nodded. She looked genuinely relieved.

She'll be leaving a message for her daughter
, thought Carl.

Carl didn’t have children.

He’d only spoken to his brother, Joshua, twice since leaving jail. Once at his mother’s funeral, and once at his father’s.

They only shared surnames now.

But we’re still brothers. The police will have contacted him.

Joshua wouldn’t know anything about Carl’s abduction. It was doubtful the police would learn much from anyone.

As far as Carl knew, no one had witnessed it.

It had been a well-planned abduction.

Carl had
been delivering a parcel after lunch when it happened. At first it felt like any ordinary delivery, until he’d reached the address.

He’d stopped the van and checked the address.

This can't be right.

The house looked vacant. He could barely see the front door through the overgrown garden. The place looked a wreck. A safety hazard. The houses next door looked even worse.

Where the hell am I? Stupid GPS.

He hated the GPS.
He preferred navigating by maps and memory. Paper maps and human memory.

When the GPS got it wrong, it
really
got it wrong. Carl had never delivered to this suburb before. Certainly not to this street of dilapidated houses.

He beeped his horn twice. Someone might emerge. Or perhaps he'd wake up a dog. If he saw a dog, he could leave a ‘COULD NOT DELIVER' notice in the mailbox.

No one came out. No dogs barked.

He checked the phone on the passenger seat.

UPS had just issued all drivers new phones. Too many drivers were breaking or losing ordinary phones. The new phones were huge, bright yellow, and built tough enough to stop a bullet.

They were also too big to fit in your pocket and had terrible battery life.

Right now Carl’s phone couldn’t even get a signal.

Stupid phone. The battery’s almost out of charge again.

He hopped out and slid open the cargo door. He found the parcel.

Another heavy one.

He should use the trolley, but pushing the trolley through the overgrown garden would be a pain in the ass.

Easier to just carry it.

He hefted the parcel.

More bloody books.

Why was everyone ordering books these days? Hadn't they heard of a library? Carl hated delivering books. Especially textbooks. Half a dozen textbooks might as well be a cannonball.

The front gate stood ajar. He kicked it open. It squeaked at him.

No one lives here.

As expected, his knock went unanswered. He glanced through the porch window.

There's not even any furniture inside. Why didn't I check before I carried this heavy parcel up here? Because I'm an idiot, that's why.

He left the gate open, distracted as a familiar-looking van approached.

FedEx?

The FedEx van with its big purple and green lettering parked behind his brown UPS van.

What the hell's going on here? Are we being pranked?

The cargo door of the FedEx van rolled open. A man pointed a paintball gun at Carl.

What the...?

This was a first. He'd heard of some stupid things, but paintballing the competition? The face behind the gun looked too old for pranks.

Pfffhhht!

Carl heard the release of compressed gas. The shooter had squeezed one off. By reflex, Carl raised the parcel to protect his face. Those paintballs really hurt unprotected skin. These guys were being idiots, but Carl could see the funny side of it. At least he'd have a good story back at the depot.

He felt the impact of the ball hitting the parcel.

Ha! They'd missed! Suck it!

'You missed!' he yelled at the guy in the van.

He checked the parcel to make sure the impact hadn't damaged the books.

There was no paint.

It was a dart.

The kind of dart used for tranquilizing wild animals.

Fuck me! He just fired a frigging tranquilizer dart at me!

But that held Carl's attention only a second because he heard his
own
van starting up.

They were stealing his van too!

Carl sprinted toward his van. This was the last thing he needed. If the van was stolen and the police became involved, they'd run a proper background check on him. UPS would find out he’d served time. His life would go down the drain.

Carl didn't think the situation could get worse.

It did.

A yellow Taser pistol appeared through his van's window. But Carl was committed. Too close to stop.

Sprinting for his van, Carl lifted the parcel high. One step from the driver's door, he hurled the heavy parcel with all his strength.

His window was down.

Nothing stopped Carl's special delivery smashing into the thief's head with spine-snapping force.

The man collapsed sideways. His arm jerked upward. The yellow Taser flew over the van's roof.

Carl yanked open the door, hauled out the unconscious man, jumped in and gunned the engine.

Thwack!

Someone stabbed Carl through the open window. He jerked away.

My shoulder!

They'd shot him in the shoulder. Another dart. He yanked out the dart, threw it out the window, and saw the man with the tranquilizer rifle dashing back toward the FedEx van.

He knows he shot me. I've probably only got seconds before I'm unconscious. Or dead.

Carl decided to make every second count.