The Wrecking Storm by Ward Michael

Author:Ward, Michael
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sharpe Books
Published: 2021-04-14T00:00:00+00:00

The man dropped the knife, roaring in pain and slowly fell to his knees, gripping his right arm in agony. Petty grabbed Tom’s collar and propelled him up back up Botolph Street, away from the river. ‘Run!’ he screamed and they both took off. He could hear shouts behind him but, pushing his legs as fast as he could, did not slow down to look back.

The outline of a church appeared near the end of the street. ‘Quick! Over here,’ Petty gasped. Tom followed down the side of the church into an overgrown graveyard, stumbling over lumps of fallen masonry. Petty grabbed his arm and pushed him under a tall gravestone that had fallen backwards against a wall. ‘Quick. Get in there. And don’t make a sound. Not even a breath, however long it takes until the danger passes.’ And with that he disappeared into the blackness.

Tom crammed himself into the small space between the church wall and the gravestone, which acted as a sloping roof over his head. He strained his ears for any indication of the gang approaching above the shouts and laughter of Apprentice Boys roaming the streets. Surrounded by cold wet stone, his body began to shake.

Approaching footsteps. No voices. It must be them - disciplined, not a rowdy mob. They came closer. He heard a rustling noise. Someone was slashing though the leaves on the ground with a sword or knife.

A quiet voice broke the silence. ‘I told you that was a mistake, to put out the torch, Billy Boy. Now we can’t see a thing.’

‘You shouldn’t have dropped it in the first place. He pushed it into Jack, and the tallow was burning his arm! I had to shove him and the torch in the piss channel in the street, quick. You’ll not like it Job, when he thanks me for it, you whoreson.’

The two lads continued their search for another twenty seconds before Billy Boy exclaimed: ‘This is hopeless. They could be half way to Fenchurch by now. We need to get Jack to a physicker,’ and he ran off, down the side of the church, back to Botolph Street.

By now, Tom was cramping badly and desperate to straighten his legs. The seconds ticked by. Then he heard a splashing on the stone above him, followed by a grunt, and a quiet voice.

‘And I’ll piss on your grave one day, Billy Boy. I will that.’ followed by retreating footsteps.

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