Samurai and Other Stories by William Meikle Read Free Book Online Page A

in the sockets.
    I sensed his smile had faded, but he did speed up.
    “It’s a talisman,” he said. “Part of a Zulu necromancy ritual. It’s used in conjunction with...”
    “Let me guess... a map written on human skin?”
    “Right first time. And now that you’ve burned one, you have to burn the other. If you don’t all those affected by the curse will arise and walk the earth and...”
    “Yadda yadda yadda. I’ve seen the movie,” I replied. “Anything else I need to know? Like why this is happening now?”
    “Well old McLeod has been in the ground a while now. Maybe this is a last attempt at bringing his wife back before he is too far gone?”  
    Just at that the door decided it had taken enough of a beating and gave way beneath the assault. The first thing to come through was an arm clad in blue serge—badly singed, still smoking, but unmistakably belonging to McLeod.
    “I’ll get back to you on that one,” I said. I threw the phone aside and tried to put my shoulder against the door. “Find a wig,” I shouted at Duncan. “It belongs to his wife.”
    Then I was too busy to talk for a while.

    *     *     *

    It felt like someone was hitting me on the back with a large lump of wood... in fact, someone was. McLeod’s hand gripped at the edge of the door and tugged . I had to slam my weight back against the door, hard, to keep him out.
    Too far gone my arse.  
    “What exactly am I looking for?” Duncan called.
    “How the hell should I know? Just burn anything that looks like hair.”
    The weight behind me pressed even harder and I buckled. A withered hand grabbed at me, and I had to leave a clump of hair behind as I pulled away. The door fell in with a crash.
    “I’ve found it,” Duncan shouted at the same moment.
    I had to back away as McLeod came through the doorway, those who had paid for his obsession shuffling close behind.
    “You’d better be right, wee man,” I said. “Quick. Where’s the Zippo?”
    That was when I remembered.
    He threw it out into the corridor.
    But hardened nicotine addicts aren’t stupid enough to be out without a backup plan. I held McLeod off with one hand and fished a box of matches out of my inside pocked with the other.
    McLeod’s teeth clacked perilously close to my fingers.
    I threw the matches in Duncan’s direction, hoping he was quick enough to catch them.
    Then I was in a fight for my life. McLeod showed no sign of being too far-gone for a fight. He took my best punch, right on the point of the jaw. His head rocked and a split appeared in the skin of his neck, gaping bloodless and gray. It didn’t slow him any. He came inside my swinging arm and grabbed me. He forced my head to one side and exposed my neck. Then he sniffed, twice, close together, as if checking my after-shave.
    “Where is it!” he said.  
    His voice was rough, harsh, almost a bark.
    I tried to speak, but the grip around my throat was so tight that all I could manage was to keep breathing.  
    “Where is it!” he said again, almost shouting this time. His breath smelled, of stale food and stagnant water, but I guessed now wasn’t a good time to tell him.
    With his spare hand he went through my pockets; fast and methodical, like a pro. When he didn’t find anything, the hold on my throat tightened further still. I tried to break the grip, but my strength was going fast. I punched him, hard, just below the heart; he didn’t even wince.
    He laughed in my face.
    “Is that all you’ve got, lad?”
    He threw me away, like a discarded rag. His hand barely moved, yet I flew, a tangle of arms and legs, crashing hard against the far wall and falling to a heap on the floor. Something gave way in my lower back; a tearing pain that I knew meant trouble.  
    I hoped I’d live long enough to see it.  
    I turned to see him coming for me again. I held up an arm, but in truth I had no fight left in me. McLeod came on, teeth clacking .

    *     *     *

    Duncan saved my life.
    Just