The Shift of Numbers by David Warrington Page A

pain appeared on his face. Tim twisted some more and pushed him roughly to the floor, standing over him as if daring Carl to get up.
    “WHAT the hell do you think you ’ r e doing?” stated Tim slowly and loudly, full of suppressed anger. Carl chuckled quietly to himself holding his wrist, but didn’t reply.
    “Right. That’s the end of the interview. We will take him back to his cell, then we ’ re going to speak to the Director …Get up , you idiot.”
    Carl got up , all the while staring at Tim, the violence and malice palpable in the recycled air. He walked out of the interrogation room and slowly into the corridor. Tim helped the t errified- looking Richard up from u nder the table where he had begu n to sob and babble incoherently.
    “Come on. I t ’ s all over now , Dicky. Follow me, ” said Tim reassuringly as he led his prisoner into the corridor.
     
    *
     
    Pete had made his way as far as the driveway to the farm; somewhere on his drunken journey he had found a pickaxe that was now slung over his shoulder in a business - like fashion. He had no idea what he was going to do with it un til he reached a big grey box. He could just about make out some b ig yellow words: ‘DANGER OF ELECTRICAL DEATH’. Something clicked in his mind and he started swinging at the box with all his might. After a few clumsy strokes , the tip of the pickaxe pierced the box accompanied by a loud bang and a flash. If Pete hadn’t been thrown 10 feet in to the air and knocked unconscious he would have seen all the lights in the valley to his right blink off, like a blanket had been thrown over the city.
     
    *
     
    In the pub an excited and slightly drunk en crowd were surrounding the television set awaiting the big advert. T hen it happened. Bill’s rosy , weathered cheeks and bushy grey sideboards filled the screen. T he camera zoomed out quickly t o see Bill holding a bucketful of carrots. Then the power went. A loud ‘BOO’ went around the darkened pub followed by stifled laughter. Bill ’s voice could be heard above the noise sayin g, “Would you adam-and-eve it? J ust my bloody luck.”
    “You looked beautiful , Bill!” and “They d o say the camera adds 10 pounds,” w ere some of the slightly slurred responses.
     
    *
     
    The next 30 seconds happened far too quickly for Tim. He and Carl were standing behind Richard walking down the corridor when the light above them explod ed plunging them into darkness and showering them with glass. The emergency lights, attempting to come on for the first time in years , flicker ed on and off creating a strobe- like effect. Short-lived s till images filled Tim’s eyes. T he first may have saved his life. It was of Richard wielding a heavy- looking ornamental vase above his petrified face. I t was aimed directly at Tim’s head. He ducked instinctively as th e darkness engulfed him again. He sensed a rush of air close to his ear as the vase flew past him, t hen a flash of light ac companied by a deafening roar f ollowed a second later by a high-pitched scream. As Tim stood up quickly, ears ringing, the strobe painted a picture of Carl, his gun pointed at the floor, the smoke surrounding his feet almost obscuring the blood splatter.
    Tim looked down the corridor to see Richard with his hands aloft, his surrender frozen in the flashing lights. As he looked to his right , a frenzied roar from Carl’s direction filled Tim’s ears and he saw , as a series of still pictures , Carl raising his gun and pointing it in Richard ’s direction. This time he didn’t need any time to react or even to think about his actions. On autopilot he had drawn his own gun and had watched himself slam the handle against Carl’s head. As he connected, the emergency lights stayed on, bathing the corridor in a dreary, tired , red light. Glancing quickly down the corridor , he saw Richard running, scared for his life, towards the fire escape. I nstinctively , he raised his gun.
    “NOOOO, don’t shoot