Death Day Read Online Free PDF

as we get paid for doing it I couldn't give a bugger what they want it for.' He drained the last drops of brandy from his flask. He shook the flask and dropped it back into his pocket.
        'I'll tell you what,' he said, 'it's getting colder. I reckon we'll have a frost tonight.'
        'It is bloody cold,' said Steve, softly, almost to himself.
        He threw what was left of his soup onto the ground and pushed his thermos into his lunchbox.
        Grumbling, they returned to cutting down the sea of weeds and grass. Mackenzie straightened up sporadically and massaged the small of his back, groaning with the ache that had settled there. He drove his spade down hard and felt it connect with something solid. He pawed away the earth and saw a root as thick as his arm. And the tree stump was more than three feet away. He groaned inwardly. Shifting it was going to be harder than he'd anticipated. He lifted the spade above his head and brought it crashing down on the root, severing it with a powerful blow.
        'Steve.'
        The youngster turned.
        'There's a couple of hatchets in the work bag. Go and get them. We'll chop the bloody thing free.'
        Steve nodded and headed off to fetch the tools. Then he heard Mackenzie call again. 'And bring the crow bars too.'
        He returned a moment later with the tools to find Mackenzie leaning on the tree stump. He took an axe from Steve and set to work, hacking through the thick roots until the sweat began to soak into his coat. But neither of them removed their jackets because it was getting so cold. Mackenzie could feel the biting iciness catching in his throat and he half expected to see his laboured breath frosting before him in the freezing air. Steve too, slashed away at the tentacles of root, watching as sap oozed, bloodlike, into the earth.
        It took them nearly half an hour to free the stump.
        Panting, Mackenzie picked up the crow bar and motioned for Steve to do the same. They slid the clawed prongs under two sides of the stump and, at a given signal, pressed down on the iron levers as hard as they could. Their faces turned bright red with the effort and veins stood out angrily on both men's foreheads.
        'Hold it a minute,' gasped Mackenzie.
        Steve was fit to drop. He had never known exertion like this in his life and, if he had his way, he'd never have it again. They tried again but the stump remained stuck fast as if driven into the soil with some gigantic steam hammer. It was like trying to pull a masonry nail from a wall with your fingers.
        'Couldn't we both try it from the same side at once?' offered Steve, not really caring now whether they moved the bloody thing or not. He didn't know why they just couldn't have gone round it.
        Side by side, they prized the crow bars deep beneath the stump, Mackenzie eventually shouting in angry frustration.
        'Fuck the bloody thing.' He threw his bar to the ground and stood, hands on hips, staring at the recalcitrant stump which seemed to grin back at him as much to say, you might as well forget it.
        'Does it matter that much?' Steve asked timidly.
        Mackenzie exploded, 'Of course it matters, you stupid little bastard. How the hell are they supposed to turn it into a fucking burial plot with that stuck in the middle?'
        He retrieved his bar.
        'Come on,' he snarled and they set to Work again. To Mackenzie, it had become a matter of pride; he intended moving that stump if he had to stay there all night and do it.
        There was a slight creak and it lifted an inch. They pressed down harder and it lifted a little more.
        'It's moving,' shouted Mackenzie, triumphantly.
        Inch by agonizing inch, the tree stump rose, bringing with it more thick roots which hung like hardened veins from its dirt encrusted base.
        It lifted a foot. Then eighteen inches, a great sucking sound filling the air as it began to