Lottery Dreams Ch. 12: The Joy of Sex

Chapter 12: The Joy of Sex

The idea of escaping from the huts for just a few hours struck terror in the men. It was a big risk, especially for people, who had found that keeping your head down, was the best policy.

In his mind, Charley played back all those old films, of wartime prison escapes. The sort that always gets shown at Christmas, that you end up watching once you have fallen out with your relatives. In those films, the bravery of the escapees was never in doubt. As Charley stood there now, looking out into the night, courage left him. What if he did nothing? Maybe someone from the outside world would come and rescue him?

But no one came to rescue him when he was trapped at Cobol, and Charley knew there was no one coming for him now. Once again, he had to grow up and make a decision. Good or bad, it was up to him now.

Security at the camp was slack. Being on an island, they could not get far, and the power of the gun ensured everyone behaved themselves. So they got out of the huts with ease. Escaping over the roofs, was another matter.

"Are you sure this is the only way?" asked Charley as they climbed up onto the corrugated tin sheets that formed the roof.

"You want to go and ask Rufus?" said Raj, pushing him on.

The metal was hot, from the baking sun of the day, so no one hung around as they ran on. Soon they came to the longer buildings, which made up the factory. These roofs were very tall, and it took some courage to walk up there. From this height, Charley could see the surf crashing onto the beach. Then they saw the studios.

"We think that's the place." Raj pointed to some modern-looking buildings, marked out by the huge dishes on the roof.

The small group of men made their way across the sheets of metal, thanking their lucky stars, that all the buildings were connected. Trust was a big issue now, and Charley felt that although he had only known these men a few weeks, he could rely on them totally. They all had one thing in common, they all wanted to get out of here.

They arrived on the roof next to the giant satellite dish. There were many small ones around them, all pointing to the stars. But the giant loomed over them.

"What now?" asked Raj.

"Let's get inside and see what they've got," said Charley.

"What then?"

"I don't know, I'm making this up as I go along."

They walked about on the flat roof wondering what to do next. This one was of asphalt, and soon they could hear music.

"There are people down there," said Raj.

"They must be using the studio," replied Charley.

Just as he was about to think of another bright idea, fate made its mind up for them. There was rumbling, then a mighty snap and the men found themselves riding an elevator to hell, as the roof crashed in.

Charley thought he had broken every bone in his body, but as he picked his way through the gloom of the dust cloud, he found he was fine. The others too soon got over the shock and explored their new world.

As the dust cleared, they sadly discovered where they really were.

All the cameras and lights pointed at them, as they stood in the middle of the studio floor. The men operating the equipment looked at them and stared back.

Raj was the quickest of the group, and span around to see what they had fallen into. And as the dust settled, they saw the scene behind them.

"My God it's the hood of shame!"

Sure enough, there was a man, wearing nothing except a leather hood, and who was clearly annoyed that the new visitors had interrupted his activities. These appeared to be the inserting of several objects into his rear end. The most prominent of which was inches away from Charley's hand.

"Shoot them!" cried the hood of shame.

But Raj was faster than the guards, and picked up the nearest Kalashnikov rifle, drawing back the bolt and preparing to fire.

"I've used these often enough in Afghanistan. Who wants to try and take it off me?" He smiled at the guards, who were now frozen in mid-step.

"For Christ's sake turn the cameras off! We are live!"

The hooded man seemed to be able to capture the urgency of the moment, even with the coloured devices sticking out of his backside. So when Charley realised this was the moment of truth, he did the only thing he could think of and grasped the handle of the large object inserted in the man's bottom.

"No, I wouldn't do that if I were you." Charley gave the rubber truncheon a quick twist. To which the hooded man screamed in pain. "Let the cameras roll, I want them to see this."

"Take off his hood," said Raj, pointing the gun.

"No don't do that!"

"Why not? Let's have a look at you," laughed Charley, giving the truncheon a quick twist.

"Don't do that!" the hooded man screamed again. He was looking over his shoulder at the scene unfolding around him. "We can settle this. I can give you anything you want. Just ask."

"We are being held here against our will," Raj stared into the camera, which was still focused on a group of naked women huddled on cushions. "Let the world know that this is a prison island. We are slaves, trapped here, by Rufus. If the world cares for the plight of refugees and asylum seekers, it will come to this place and help us fight the oppressors."

"For God's sake don't tell them that!" The hooded man was getting more worried. "Rush him, you cowardly bastards!"

But the other guards just stood frozen. Obviously, things were beginning to unravel. That broadcast would be seen by the outside world, and there would be repercussions to it.

"They'll be coming for us," said one of the guards nervously.

"If you want to save your skins, you'll go now." Raj gestured with the gun to the door. "Run, and you might escape the law."

"They know nothing about us!" shouted the hooded man.

"The whole world is looking at this programme," said the cameraman. "Why should we risk our necks?"

"They can't do anything!"

"We have already done it." Raj walked up to the hooded man, and with the gun cradled under his arm, he ripped off the man's hood.

"Rufus!"

"I'm dead- I'm dead!"

"Jesus man, how could you let them do things like this to you?" Charley looked at the rubber handle in his hand, and the other end disappearing into Rufus.

"You might as well shoot me now, I'm finished!"

"Rufus man, you need help," said Raj, as the studio emptied around them. The crews running for whatever transport could get them away from this nightmare.

"Grab whatever weapons you can, free the others in the huts." Charley was taking charge of the situation, knowing it could turn against them at any moment. "As for you, you sick puppy, we'll let the police deal with you."

Just then, Rufus made a dash for it. He grabbed the Kalashnikov from the hands of Raj and put the barrel in his mouth. Now, this would have been impossible with a normal assault rifle, but Rufus had brought the special adaptations of the weapon with him from the desert. And it was that which occupied his thoughts, as he pulled the trigger.

The explosion was terrific and blew his brains all over the walls. The others looked at the camera and wondered if it had been immortalised on film. No one wanted to hang around to find out. They ran from the studio, with the screams of the women echoing in their ears, and out into the night.

"Why the hell did he do that?" asked Raj, looking around at the chaos unfolding before them.

"Imagine him having to explain this to the authorities?" Charley looked at the truncheon, now freed from Rufus, and dropped it to the floor. Soon they saw flames coming from parts of the camp, as the uprising was unfolding.

All around them were screams and gunshots. No one knew who was winning, so the little group made their way back to their own hut. This too was beginning to burn, and Charley watched as the last of his possessions went up in smoke.

"What now?" asked Raj.

"Let's see if we can get off the island."

"What's left of the guards will have taken the aircraft," put in Raj, watching the men run wildly around them.

"We still have that gun," Charley pointed to the machine gun in the boy's hands. "That gives us some bargaining power. What about ships?"

"There's some old hulk down on the beach, but I would not want to put to sea in it. Some of us came across the ocean in boats as bad as that. We would think twice about doing it again."

"We might have to if the world turns a blind eye to this." Charley could see the factory going up in flames, and felt a sense of achievement. "We've done some good here. Come on boys, we deserve some time off. We can look at the ship tomorrow."

The night passed into day, and the morning brought ashes and smoke from the orgy of the rebellion. As predicted, the guards had fled in the few aircraft that had sat on the strip, leaving the freed slaves to face an uncertain future. Of course, the inevitable happened and the men looted the luxury quarters, where once Rufus and his men, had lived like kings.

Now, for the first time since he arrived, Charley turned his mind to the problem of the guillotine. After all, this was the very reason he had set down on this terrible place, and up till now, he had not made a good job of it. With the freedom of the island, he could wonder where ever he wanted. Charley stood on the same spot next to the shipping container, just a few weeks ago.

There it still was. In that container was the old guillotine, and in that machine was the ticket. Or was it?

Charley found a large hammer and smashed the lock. With a crowbar, he got the door open and shone the torch, stolen from Refuse's office, into the dark.

There it was.

The same guillotine he had worked for all those years in the factory at Cobol. The same green paint peeled in his hand as he touched it like an old friend. Now to find out where the ticket was.

Charley managed to get some of the metal panels off and lay on his back to shine the light inside the machine. He could figure out where the ticket would have fallen, but there was no sign of the piece of paper. Sure enough, this was the very slot he had told Old Dave about, And the very same conundrum he had talked about with Bob. For as he moved his hand inside the oily blackness, he pulled out an old Route card and an invoice.

"Lot of good this will do us now," he said to himself, as he saw the old familiar signatures on the paperwork. Charting another depressing day in the factory. Nothing could be further away from this tropical paradise now.

"Who you talking to in there?" said Raj coming into the gloom of the shipping container. Some of the others had come to see where their new hero was, and why he was not joining in the victory celebrations.

"No one. Just a ghost from the past." Charley laughed to himself.

"You are too deep for me man. What the hell are you doing anyway?"

"Raj sit down. I want to introduce you to an old friend. She's going to tell us a story, and at the end of it, I'm going to ask for your help."

So in the heat of the morning, Charley told Raj and the others gathered there, how the lottery ticket had ended up in the guillotine's insides, and why they had to get it out. When he had finished, Charley looked at the men and wondered what response he would get.

"Are you sure it's in there?" asked Raj.

"Get it out on the sand, and we can tear it apart," said someone from the back.

"If this ticket can be honoured by this Euro lottery, we are all rich!" The voice of another man echoes the opinions of them all. But Raj looked at Charley and knew this was an awkward moment.

"You have to make up your mind if you want to share this money, Charley? It's yours, and you don't have to give us anything. What is to be done?"

"Look, how the hell can I get a ten-ton guillotine back to England? More to the point, I don't need the money. We have to get off this island and tell the world what is going on. You can all have a share!"

There was a huge cheer from everyone gathered around the container, and their faces were alight with the thought of untold riches. They all knew what a lottery ticket was, as gambling was a universal language, and although they saw

£200 million being very watered down amongst them, they decided to cross that bridge when they came to it. For now, they agreed to help Charley get it out and back to England.

Someone could drive a forklift truck and after a lot of sweating, they actually managed to get the massive machine out of the shipping container and into the sunlight. Here they all stood, like fishermen, looking at their catch.

"Doesn't look worth £200 million, does it?" Charley wiped his hands on a piece of rag as he prowled around the huge machine to study it.

"So where would the ticket fall in?" asked Raj, ready with a hammer.

"In here," Charley pointed to a dark gap. "It's in-between the bottom blade and the casting that makes up the base. The invoice fell in like this." Charley put his finger into the hole, while Raj went around the other side, to see where it would come out.

"So the ticket would have fallen on the floor. If it had come out there, you would have discovered it, along with your old paperwork? So why do you not have it?"

"Because it was so small, it's fallen further inside." Charley sat on his knees and stared into the space.

"So where could it be?" They were all asking the same question now.

"Once it's fallen that far, there is only one place it can go."

"Yes!"

"To the driveshaft itself."

So they all set about demolishing the guillotine. Every piece of metal was stripped off it. They hooked it up between two forklifts and dragged it until the very body of the machine was torn apart. In the end, all that was left was the driveshaft, but still no ticket.

"So where is it?" Raj raced over the long brown column. "It's so smooth nothing could possibly hide within it!" Everyone shared his frustration, as they scanned the smooth cylinder.

"Yes it can," came Charley solemnly. "If you look, there is a narrow groove toward the end of the shaft."

"In there!" cried, Raj. "How the hell could it get in there?"

"Believe me, things can. Under pressure, and at great speed, little things like pieces of paper can be forced in anywhere. Give me the torch, and I'll take a look."

Charley lay on the sand and with the torch against the side of his head, he peered into the darkness of the drive shaft.

"What can you see."

"My God it's there!"

A huge cheer went up from all the men.

"Are you sure, it's the lottery ticket?"

"I can read Euro lottery on it," laughed Charley. "Even the date is right."

"This is good news. Now, all we have to do is cut it out," smiled Raj as he picked up the oxyacetylene torch. A man behind him turned on the gas bottles and they were on the point of cutting through the steel when Charley stopped them.

"No way."

"What do you mean!"

"You will never get it out that way."

"Why?"

"Because this is phosphor bronze." Charley kicked the huge column. "It is very tough, and built to take a great deal of heat."

"But this will cut through anything?" Raj held the torch in his hand.

"Sure, but that groove was put there to retain oil. You put that torch to it and the whole thing will burn out. Our ticket with it. No, we have to think of another way."

"What if we just burn one end?" Raj was not giving up just yet.

"You will have to generate a lot of heat to burn through phosphor bronze, believe me. It's made from the same stuff, that goes into the drive shaft of that ship on the beach. We can't take that chance."

"Then we will have to resort to sawing through it."

"We need special saw blades, and there is nothing in that workshop, that can do it. All we can do is get the driveshaft to a power saw, and carefully cut it out."

Raj sat on the sand and searched for an answer.

"Suck it out? Like a sweet?" said Raj.

"We might rip it," said Charley.

"Why can we not fish it out, like a surgeon? Get a piece of wire, and hook the ticket out?"

"Because if the ticket is damaged in any way, they will not pay up. Believe me, they are a tough organisation, the Euro lottery, and they don't give money away easily. The only thing we can do is get the whole driveshaft to a workshop that can cut it out in safety."

"How far away would that be?" said Raj.

"China?" replied someone in the crowd.

"We can hardly go walking onto the Chinese mainland and ask for the shaft to be sawn up by a boatload of asylum seekers." Charley could see no easy answer to the problem.

"How will we get it to a workshop?" Raj could feel his share slipping away.

"There's only one thing for it," said Charley, hands-on-hips in the hot sun. "We will have to take it with us."

"Take it with us? How?"

"On the ship." He pointed to what passed for a small harbour on the island.

"Charley you should take a close look at the ship before you decide to put to sea."

Finally, they gave in to Charlie's point of view and stored it back in the shipping container. One thing was sure, they all trusted each other, and Charley wondered if he could have relied on his English friends to have been so loyal.