Young Writers Society

this is the piece i did for my gcse coursework. I think there may be sum punctuation errors in it. I wrote it a year ago so its not to the best of my ability. Hope you like it. Please comment!

Fear

The bullet’s sound ricocheted off the wall as it made its way into the brain of yet another victim. As the scream he knew so well sounded, Martin Fether sat tensely in the small arms cupboard nearby; sweat dripping rapidly off his head. Though his ears had grown accustomed to the screams he constantly heard, he profoundly dreaded them. Ever since he had heard his grandfather’s vivid account of death in the war, he became sick even at the slightest mention of death.

The terrorist raid had scared all of the employees at the base, who now were most likely dying somewhere inside the base; a thought which Martin never liked to consider. The base, which had been built in the seemingly innocent British countryside for purposes of UN international security, was meant to be impossible to find, only half a dozen people outside of the organisation knew of its existence. Somewhere the information had leaked out, probably due to some form of human error; although supposedly inconceivable in the intelligence industry these things do happen.

If the attack, which was now almost complete, was to succeed, the billions of pounds worth of damage would be likely to cause an extreme increase in taxes and years more work in order to replace a essential aspect of the UN’s attempt to combat terrorism. Martin had realised, in the last hour of hiding, how crucial the base was in continuing the fight against outside threats, and that even more importantly, he was the only person who had a chance of defying the attackers. But his realisation had come across a fundamental problem, his fear. He had forced himself to reason with this fear though, and had come to the frightening decision that he would need to face the merciless enemy, to prevent another atrocious terrorist attack and finally confront his nightmares.

Martin was in his late twenties; he had a slender figure and measured in at a couple of inches under six foot. He hadn’t married yet, so spent large amounts of time away from his home, mostly on work related issues. Due to this he was now widely exposed to top secret material in his role as a computer specialist, combating the technological aspect of terrorism. He enjoyed his work, everything about it was great; the pay, what he did, the people he worked with. Apart from his job, he liked to think he fitted well into the society around him. He socialised well with most of the people he met, it made him feel normal, just how he wanted to feel. But not now; everything had changed.

As part of the initial training course, he had been taught how to use the Walther P99QA pistol that was squirming in his quivering, slippery hands. It was compulsory that he have it with him at all times. But, he had never considered the fact that he might have to use it, he had just assumed it was a security measure against some very slim threat. His time in the cramped room had been a hot, tedious and claustrophobic experience. But in this awkward time he had come up with a plan. In order to fulfill his objective he knew there was a high chance someone would have to die; he just hoped beyond hope that that person wasn't going to be him.

Ah well, here goes the worst thing I’ve done in my life his suicidal conscience told him. His feet slowly crept out into the deathly silent corridor, his hands still shaking uncomprehendingly, from the cramped and over-heated cupboard that he had been concealed in for what felt like an eternity. Although the corridor was deserted, Martin’s heart was pounding as if someone was holding a gun to it. The sweat on his legs was causing his trousers to stick to the insides of his legs as he walked, making him feel very uncomfortable. The silence should have helped to reassure the fearful Martin, but couldn’t. Nonetheless, as he turned the corner though, his nightmares came storming back, more violent than ever.

His eyes engulfed the scene of the lifeless body lying on the floor, in a pool of its own dark red clotting blood, which was still gradually oozing out. He could feel the sick rising gradually upwards towards his mouth, but he fought the temptation to throw up all over the innocent victim. What made the experience worse though, was that the lady in front of him was pregnant. That baby had a whole life to live, who would take a opportunity like that away from someone so innocent. The image gave Martin a new boost of determination fuelled by revenge for this mother, and more importantly her unborn child. He pulled his eyes away, from the nightmare, with determination that was now slowly subduing his fear. He stepped over the body slowly, trying not to disturb the corpse that had been frozen in time. As he moved away, the image of the body continued to linger on in his mind, haunting him and continuing to make him feel slightly sick, but opening a new window of revenge and a increased sense of purpose.

Wandering through the dark and threatening alcoves of the corridor, the image of the corpse he had seen continued to sicken his mind, but with a gradually deteriorating impact. Reaching a door he put his ear to it. He knew that this door, that he travelled through every day, door C13-47-B2, led into the computer room, the main objective of Martin’s mission within the base. He also knew that if there was somewhere he could almost guarantee finding an enemy guard, this was it. But as he listened all he could hear was a chilling silence accompanied by the heavy thudding that his heart continued to make. Making the assumption that the area was deserted, Martin forced the door open.

That’s when he made the first mistake, he should have realised that the silence was almost too good to be true. The shiny metal door creaked loud enough when it opened for the man who was sitting down at the computer nearby, to hear. The man hastily stood up, and retrieved the knife lying on the desk, spun round and started swiping at Martin violently. Bugga! This isn’t good! he panicked. His immediate reaction was to stand back, and use his hands as a form of shield between him and his attacker, which he later realised had been a very foolish idea. Martin was relatively lucky, but one swipe cut deep into the outstretched arm supporting the gun.

Argh! Damn it! Martin couldn’t help but scream. The anger and pain surged right through his body and caused him to fall as he flung his arm up in the air. The pain of the wound, caused him to let go of his gun, which went flying off onto the white floor. Fright was beginning to take over his mind but Martin knew he had to fight it. He had come to ground on the hard floor, the sweat now streaming down the sides of his head. The man lent over him. His knife outstretched, sensing Martin’s extreme fear, ready to strike the blow of death into Martin’s throbbing chest. Martin could smell his rancid breath, and tried instinctively to shuffle away on his back. But the man tried to dive on top of him, to prevent his escape. Martin immediately saw the attack, and with his pain momentarily forgotten, he attempted to kick the man in the stomach, to wind the man and give himself a chance. Fortunately, the kick hit him in the hand holding knife, instead of in the stomach. The man grabbed hold of his hand in agony; consequently letting go of the knife. That was too close for comfort! Martin’s fear began to decrease as the knife fell harmlessly like a feather into Martin’s outstretched hand.

Martin’s blood pressure began to return to normal. Phew. In desperation though, the man tried to dive for Martin’s gun lying on the floor a few feet away from their fight. In Martin's brief moment of triumph, the pain he had also almost forgotten came surging back to his arm. But somehow he managed to ignore it. Fuelled by anger and revenge, he lunged at the man , wielding the knife in his unscathed hand, and stabbed him relentlessly in the back. The man’s dying screams, showed that the blade had ran home.

Everything then went silent once again, Martin sat, panting heavily, holding his blood covered hand up to his pounding chest. He was watching the man that he had just killed, as the dirty red blood seeped out of the wound onto the crisp white floor. What he had just done was beginning to sink in. He had just experienced the worst thirty seconds of his life. He was also feeling weaker and consequently was barely able to stand up properly. He had gone against his nightmares and caused a death himself, that was impressive; it showed his determination to survive. But he still felt surprisingly guilty. Was it morally right?... Of course I’ve revenged a pregnant woman’s death and surely many others, but is that really a sufficient justification. He couldn’t find an answer, but he knew he couldn’t just sit here reflecting on what had just happened; he had to move before someone came to found out what had happened.

He opened the door of an arms cupboard nearby and pulled out an MP5 sub-machine gun, a time bomb and another Walther P99QA, he didn’t fancy using the one that was stained in blood, gripped in the hands of the man he had just sent to hell. He put the Walther into the gun holster under his armpit and nestled the MP5 in his arms. Then he retrieved a couple more magazines for the guns, and put them in his pocket. He realised that now his whole body felt more alert and awake after the trauma he had just endured, ready to escape from his living hell.

He had originally thought that destroying the computer system using a manual would be sufficient, but now knew he no longer had the time, if he was to avoid another deadly killer; that was where the bomb came in handy. Sensing he was so close to success that had seemed impossible half an hour ago, he lay the bomb down in the middle of the room, next to the computer that the man had been sitting behind. His heart began to race again as he set the timer to twenty seconds. Enough time to pick up the gun, get out of here and close the door he thought, as he reassured himself that he was not adding to the mindless terrorism going on in this building, he was merely doing what had to be done to prevent an international catastrophe.

He pressed the sole, big red button on the bomb. Immediately, he picked up the big gun lying at his side, turned and ran for the door. He kicked the door open with one strong shove of his foot, and pulled the gun up to his shoulder. He could still feel the pain throbbing in his hand, but knew that he couldn’t let that stop him. What happens if it doesn’t explode? He couldn’t start worrying now, survival was more important! He really didn’t feel very confident. Kicking the door shut behind him he stopped and waited. The brash clang that the door made as it shut behind him was nothing in comparison to what took place next. He waited with anxiety, for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a matter of seconds.

The resounding boom almost caught Martin off guard, in the room millions of pounds worth of equipment and decades of information skyrocketed towards the roof, scattering across the room in a million minute pieces of blackened ash and dust. The shockwaves of the explosion punched at the door and the floor, causing Martin’s whole body to tremble; nearly making him drop the gun from his weak hand. The sound was incredibly deafening, Move away! It hurts! His ears screamed at his ignorant brain. But he didn’t move, not even after the explosion stopped its destruction; he just stood still, waiting for the enemy to come and investigate the racket he had caused. The new Martin was ready and waiting for the imminent fight with the remainder of the enemy, something he knew his old self would never have been capable of.