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Back The Last Drop of Blood
Chapters (60)
  1. Cover
  2. INTRODUCINGKATIE MAGUIRE
  3. ALSO BY GRAHAM MASTERTON
  4. Title Page
  5. Copyright
  6. Epigraph
  7. Contents
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. 47
  55. 48
  56. 49
  57. 50
  58. 51
  59. About the Author
  60. An Invitation from the Publisher

Nolan Carroll must have been crouched down out of sight on the floor of the shed. He stood up suddenly and shook his fist at Katie and she could see that he was mouthing something, although she could hear him only faintly. In his left hand he was holding up a red plastic petrol can, and she could see that he had already screwed off the lid.

He mouthed something more, and even though she couldn’t make out what it was, she could judge by his expression that it must be angry and abusive. Then he lifted the can up higher, and started to pour petrol all over himself, his eyes and his mouth tight shut, drenching his wave of white hair and soaking the shoulders of his mustard-coloured shirt.

‘No!’ Katie shouted at him, and she immediately turned to Detective Walsh and the garda who was standing beside the shed door. ‘Jesus! He’s just emptied a can of petrol over his head! Cailin – call the fire brigade! Tell them it’s desperate!’

Detective Cullen had just appeared at the back of the house, and she called out, ‘Daley! Go and fetch the fire extinguisher out of the car, will you! Double-quick!’

The garda with the pry bar was right behind Detective Cullen and Katie beckoned to him frantically. ‘Quick! Hurry! Get that shed door open! Your man’s dripping head to foot with petrol!’

The garda came running across the yard, but before he could reach the shed door, Katie saw Nolan Carroll holding up a box of matches, almost ostentatiously, as if he were performing a conjuring trick in front of an audience. Ladies and gentlemen, I have here an ordinary box of matches. Guess what I’m going to do next!

‘No, Nolan! Don’t do it!’ she screamed at him, but he struck a match. It flared up, lighting up his face. He looked triumphant, but only for a split second, because then he was totally engulfed in leaping orange flames.

He didn’t cry out – not that Katie could hear, anyway. She couldn’t see him clearly, because the inside of the shed was rapidly filling up with smoke and the window was turning a dark amber colour, but he appeared to be hopping up and down and swaying from side to side, a column of flames with a human being inside it that was dancing some kind of last self-sacrificial dance.