Free The Road to Hell by Peter Cawdron

raked across the side of his face, knocking his sunglasses off and sending him plummeting to the ground. The blaster fired, burning a hole in the wall as it flew from his hand.
    The gun clattered across the floor and rebounded off the skirting board before coming to rest just a couple of feet away.
    Without his glasses, the light was blinding. Kane squinted, thrashing around with his hands before grabbing the sunglasses and putting them back on. The lenses were cracked, marring his view of the world. Although it was hopeless, he launched himself over toward the blaster, reaching out with his right hand to grab it as he slid across scratched, worn, bloodstained linoleum.
    Olivia was quicker. Her right foot came down on the back of Kane’s hand, her stiletto heel digging into his skin and pinning his outstretched palm to the floor. For a second she just held him there, pinning him face down on the floor, watching the pain surge across his face as he struggled to wrench his hand free.
    She leaned forward, increasing the weight on her right foot, driving her heel deeper as she reached down slowly to pick up the blaster. Blood welled up on Kane’s shattered hand, running out from around the base of her stiletto heel.
    Kane looked up in agony, watching as Olivia reached down. Her soft cleavage shifted forward, filling her tight silk dress as she picked up the gun. Her freshly dyed, jet-black hair fell gently off her shoulders toward him.
    She smiled as she pushed the warm barrel of the blaster up against his forehead, saying, “Did you miss me, Honey?”

Chapter 06: Drunk

    The smell of alcohol hung in the air. The fire was out. Glowing coals lit up the hearth. A single gas lamp on the wall provided only a dim yellow light staving off the bitter darkness. Up high on the ceiling, an exhaust fan turned slowly on its bearings, circulating the air.
    “ Damn, Brains, what have you been drinking?” asked Harrison, closing the door behind him. The distinct smell of purified alcohol hung in the air.
    Brains was subdued and unusually quiet as he swayed back and forth on his chair.
    “ What is this?” asked Harrison picking up the bottle. “Rocket fuel?”
    “ It’s a mixture of methyl-dextro-hydrol derivates if you must know,” replied Brains, slurring his words slightly. “But I’m not drunk, just a little pickled.”
    “ Yeah, well, I think you’ve had enough for one night,” replied Harrison, taking a swig. The strength of the alcohol lashed at his throat, burning his lips.
    “ It’s no wonder you’re going blind,” he added laughing, forcing a cork into the thin neck of the bottle as he placed it up on the shelf.
    Susan was asleep, curled up on the couch with a blanket over her shoulders. She’d had a shower. The punk hairstyle was gone, as was the pink hair colouring, revealing her beautiful blonde hair beneath. In the soft light, her hair fell like silk on the couch pillow.
    “ She waited up for you. Fell sleep listening to an old man waffle on about armadillos and nuclear fusion.”
    Harrison smiled. He’d been through plenty of bull sessions with Brains. Sitting down across from him at the kitchen table, he got comfortable, pulling the blaster out from the small of his back and setting it on the rough, wooden surface.
    “ Did you find what you were looking for?” asked Brains.
    Even at a distance of six feet, the old man’s breath reeked of high-purity alcohol. It was something Harrison could never understand. Sure, he liked a drink as much as the next man. Something to soothe the nerves and relax the muscles after a hard day, but at best that’s all it ever was, a relaxant. Getting blind drunk had no appeal. To Harrison, it seemed absurdly excessive. Why spoil such an intelligent mind, he wondered, looking at the old man swaying at the other end of the rough wooden table.
    “ I’ve got at least one good lead,” replied Harrison. “We’ll break the surface just after midnight and backtrack to the