Page 43 of Chaos & Carnage
“That’s just cos your boss is shit, Fury.” Reap’s voice rumbled low in the night, all our heads turning towards him.
“Fuck me,” Magnet grinned. “You feeling all right, Reap? Taken your temperature lately? If I’m not mistaken, that was a fucking joke.”
The group laughed, a low orchestra of chuckles, carried into the night air.
“Come on,” Indie broke the humour, pulling us all back to this grisly reality. “Let’s bake some Aces.”
Magnet and Fury turned to the van behind us, a van I’d never seen before, nondescript and white, the same as the countless work vans that littered the region’s roads, and therefore perfect for tonight. They pulled out bags, handing them out to some of us, and then together we crept off into the night.
A thin light bled under the roller shutter garage door, the same light filtering under a wooden door to the side, stuck in the middle of a mass of badly bricked up wall.
“K lads. Quietly does it,” Fury coached, his voice little louder than a whisper. “Me and Reap’ll kick the door in. Beanz, Indie, chuck in that canister of petrol. The rest of you light it the fuck up. Got it?”
We all nodded, my stomach tensing, bile rushing up into my throat. I glanced at Cade, his face tight, the muscle in the side of his neck tense, his hand balling and releasing. He liked this as much as I did. But it was one in, all in. Indie’s orders. And when we signed up to this gig, we signed up to it all, even if we never thought we’d get to this point.
Fury pulled out the jam jars filled with a rag, a clear substance sloshing in the bottom, a potent familiar smell. I inspected the homemade bomb.
“What’s this?” Cade asked, doing the same. “Molotov cocktail?”
“Nah, mate. Fucking Geordie cocktail, this baby.” Fury answered, his face a picture of pride.
“Aye, a fucking Fury creation. When we light that rag, get rid of it pronto. It’s as fucking stable as he is,” Magnet added, grabbing one for each hand.
“Ok boys. Here we go.”
Indie and Reap positioned themselves at the wooden door inserted into a mismatch of brick.
“Three good kicks I reckon,” Indie gesticulated at Reap. “Reckon half this wall will come down with it. On three…”
It took two kicks, the door popping and the wall of brick visibly shifting. Fury drove his shoulder into it after Reap stepped back, and the door flung inwards. There was a rush in the dull light, the splash of liquid, the thud of feet. We had seconds before we woke the whole lot of them. Beanz retreated, Indie falling back last, emptying the last of his jerrycan on the threshold.
“Light it up,” he instructed.
Lighters clicked behind us, the smell of smouldering fabric, Magnet raced forwards with both jars ablaze, launching them into the dark void as far as he could. We followed, half desperate to get rid of Fury’s fucking bombs in our hands. Inside there was a whoosh, and then a crackle, and now we were lit up by the glow coming straight back at us.
“One more round!” Indie shouted over the roar of the flames. “I want these fuckers cooked to a crisp.”
Then, as the last cocktail of flammable substance was thrown into the Aces’ clubhouse, Indie bent down and held a lighter to the patch of petrol at the door.
“And now the fuckers can’t escape.”
Indie stood watching for a second, the heat from the fire radiating outwards and now the flames were visible, not just a red-orange glow. Inside, there was nothing. Not a sound. The sleeping Aces cremating where they lay.
“Time to get outta here.” Fury patted Indie’s shoulder and then waved a finger over his head like he was impersonating a helicopter.
We trooped back to the road at a half-run, the full row of garages now well aflame. Back in the layby, the flames licked the sky, bright orange against the cloudless night, a plume of billowing smoke rising above us, spreading out in the icy cold atmosphere. We didn’t hear it first over the roar of the fire, no early warning.
“Shit!” Magnet shouted. “We’ve got company.”
Heads turned to where he was looking, to the cerulean blue flash in the distance.
“Get going lads!” Indie shouted as leather clad brothers rushed to bikes and the white van. “Chaos. Carnage. Reap. Magnet. Get the fuck out of here. You lot are too recognisable. We’ve got dodgy plates. Go on. Fuck off.”
Around us, bikes roared to life. Reap peeled off first, spraying stones at us as he took off over the grit and dolomite.
“Don’t forget you’re babysitting Demon tonight, Chaos,” Magnet shouted before revving the engine and racing down the street like he was out on a track somewhere.
Cade pulled his helmet on, nodding at me and sliding the tinted visor over his face. Then, side by side, we raced off through the night. In my wing mirror Beanz, Fury and Indie slid into the van, their shapes growing small, until the last thing I could see was the tiny prick of white light. The bend came at us quickly, flashing blue lights advancing from behind us, the white van only just pulling out of the clearing. And then I couldn’t see any more.