by Azhar Amien
Chapter 11: The Caged Animal
Almost a week had passed. Tonight the darkness was infinite. The wind howled, the cold was unrelenting. Noise was at a minimum. And I held onto it, as my safe haven and as my keeper. I pulled my cap down, and set my deliberately large sunglasses in place. I sat alone at a table eating slowly and regaining my strength. I had needed the time to recover and to set myself up somewhere else; to fade into the shadows. This small cafe had an open bar and I faced it, watching the bartender to see if he showed any sign of recognition or suspicion. There was a television mounted above him that was still playing the news of the death of Paul Castellano, and lining it up with the demise of Victor Salvatore and Gregory Donovan. Just like Donovan, Castellano’s dirty secret involving the twelve year old girl had also been unveiled, destroying his reputation. But I knew that his demise had also put an end to his ‘business’, and that would have hit the mob hard.
The police had refused to comment on the case of the hit-man targeting the mob bosses. I had not been in contact with Sarah again. I knew that she would keep my identity out of the media. The police would too. It would be insanity on their part to reveal that one of their own was murdering mob bosses in cold blood. It would also be stupidity; it would sign their own death warrants. But the reality, the truth, was there for me to face. I had lost her. I had lost all allies. I was alone.
The mob knew. The cops knew. Sarah knew. Jack Mercer was a killer. Jack Mercer had gone off the rails. Jack Mercer was considered armed and highly dangerous. Jack Mercer was insane. There was now a city-wide manhunt for me and the public did not know. The good people did not know of the police officer who had turned to murder. They only knew what the news had said. That there was a killer out there who was hunting the mob. And I knew that silently they cheered. In the comfort of their own homes and among their families, they revelled in the deaths of these evil men.
I gingerly touched my side and rotated my shoulder. The pain was practically gone. I nearly had full functionality back. I was alright. I felt again for my sidearm. It had become an hourly habit. I was slipping into paranoia. Losing my Berretta had been a major mistake, but it had not been the first one. Perhaps it was better that way. Even if it had only been the mob who had known I was the killer, I would have needed to run anyway. In my city the mob and the police were like rats in a cage; there wasn’t a whole lot one could do without the other knowing. I had always known that I was living on borrowed time. I had always known that this would only end if I found Jess or died. I could hear the bartender talking to some man who was having a drink at the counter, and I took interest when their discussion became relevant to me.
“Hey Mike have you been watching the news?” the man asked the bartender.
“You talking about the killer who’s going after mob bosses?”
“Yeah. It’s crazy, man. He capped Salvatore, Donovan and Castellano.”
The bartender whistled.
“And get this. I heard from a friend of mine, who heard from his friends, that they’re calling this guy the Reaper.”
The Reaper? I almost laughed. It looked like little Reece Donovan had definitely spread the message I had left with him, and had taken my words quite literally.
“According to my pal he could be the same guy who killed that dirty cop Will-something, and the very same guy who put a bullet through the brain of Hal Edwards. Remember that dickhead? Everyone was so shit scared of him, and then one night he turns up with scrambled eggs for brains.”
“Dan why do you get so excited about this shit, man? It’s best we keep out of it and try not to talk too loudly about it.”
“You don’t get it, man. I hear the mob, those assholes, they’re actually scared of this guy!”
“Bullshit. Of one guy?”
“Yeah, no shit! Well it could be more than one guy for all we know, but my pal is pretty sure it’s just one. Apparently this guy is some nutjob who’s got something personal against them. And he isn’t done yet. He still wants to go after Cornero himself.”
“So what does this all mean, Dan?”
“Christ, Mike, don’t you watch the news or read the papers? Don’t you hear about this from anybody else besides me? There’s been no major crime for nearly this whole week man. Not even so much as a half-wit from a gang has been seen out on the streets! I’m telling you that this Reaper guy, whoever he is, he’s cleaning up house.”
The bartender looked nervous, “We should keep our voices down, Dan. We don’t know who could be listening. I don’t want trouble.”
“Alright, alright. I’m just saying this guy deserves a medal! Let those assholes shit their pants for a while. They can see how the rest of us feel every goddamn day.”
Their conversation died down to idle chatter. I thought about what I had heard. And I smiled.
I returned home feeling tired. I wished that I could have said that I had used the past couple of days to rest, but I had not. I had bought myself provisions to last in my motel. Everything had been paid for with cash. I didn’t imagine that I’d stay for very long. Getting what I needed from the ATM in advance had been a smart move, because I was all set and already leaving no breadcrumbs for the police to follow. I had not simply sat around idly. The first order of business had been to get rid of my car, which I had traded in at a dealer shop and then paid the difference in cash to purchase a cheap car. I only needed to get from point A to B, and didn’t care about the vehicle itself. The police would be looking for my old car, and so for the time being I was invisible.
I had also set to work during my recovery and had crafted items that could be of use to me on the field or as defensive measures. I had firstly put together an effective smoke bomb using potassium nitrate, sugar, wax, a cylindrical container to hold it all, a cord for the fuse and an accurate scale. Sometimes the internet just made things too easy. The problem was that I had only been able to make one model, as it required a nine hour waiting period for the mixture to set. That had done the job in ensuring that time wasn’t on my side.
Another device I had crafted was a remotely detonated pipe bomb, which had taken up the bulk of my time and had been extremely tricky to get right. Pipe bombs were essentially improvised explosive devices, created using a tightly-sealed section of steel water pipe filled with explosive material. The pipe containing the mixture was closed at both ends with steel or brass caps to prevent leakage and ensure containment. A fuse was then inserted into the pipe, with lead running out through a hole in the side or capped end of the pipe. The fuse itself could be electric with wires leading to a timer and battery or it could be a common fuse that you needed to light manually. But the key aspect of a pipe bomb was that all of the components were easily obtainable.
The containment the pipe provided meant that even simple chemicals could be used to produce relatively large and lethal explosions, and the fragmentation of the pipe itself during the bang could lead to devastating shrapnel bursts. Pipe bombs were especially useful when you were in the kind of position that I was in, and had no access to fragmentation grenades or explosives of any kind. But picking the explosive mixture was tricky as you needed the right materials.
Appropriate materials could include match heads or gunpowder, although these burned slowly and resulted in a lesser rupturing velocity of the pipe than other materials, which potentially weakened the shrapnel power. I had considered black powder as well, which was known as saltpetre and was an dangerous combination of round charcoal, sulphur, and potassium nitrate. Permanganate or chlorate with sugar were both also easily available and very useful, although chlorate had a higher explosive effect of the two. Aluminium combined with carbon tetrachloride or permanganate was also an available option. It had taken a fair amount of research on my part to choose the best one. The chemistry had made my head spin. But with enough time and the internet, most things of a do-it-yourself nature became possible.
Pipe bombs, although highly dangerous, volatile, and of course i
llegal, were effective for getting the job done. They were mostly anti-personnel, but the right kind of bomb could also light up a vehicle like a Christmas tree. But it had been risky to build one. It was unsafe and I was the furthest thing from an expert. The most common disaster when crafting a pipe bomb, or any homemade explosive, was premature detonation if you were not careful. The materials used for the explosive mixture were highly prone to ignition by the friction and static electricity that was generated when packing the material inside the pipe tube, or attaching the steel or brass end caps. Sharp objects as well, such as nails or broken glass, that were added inside the bomb for shrapnel also increased the risk of an early detonation. Dealing with all of the complications had been somewhat of a nightmare.
It wasn’t only safety to worry about either, as pipe bombs could also turn out to be defective. They could possibly fail to explode if the gas pressure build up was too slow, which could result in a bleed-out through the detonator ignition hole. Insufficiently tight threading could also lead to bleeding gas pressure through the threads faster than the chemical reaction pressure could rise, which would prevent the desired outcome. The bombs could also fail if the pipe was fully sealed and the chemical reaction triggered, but the total pressure build-up from the mixture was insufficient to burst through the casing, which meant the explosive material wasn’t potent enough. That ended up being a dud bomb, but even that didn’t stop it from being dangerous if incorrectly handled, as an external shock could trigger a rupture of the casing.
I smiled to myself - out of tiredness I supposed, as there was nothing humorous about my situation. You’d either need to have been completely stupid, a thrill-seeker or pretty damn desperate to attempt to create any kind of homemade explosive. I was probably two of those. But I had managed to avoid blowing myself up, so I had that going for me. It had also taken some doing on my part to figure out the remote detonator. Typically for those you needed a simple transmitter and receiver pair. On the receiving end you needed a relay that would respond to the signal from the transmitter. I couldn’t be too far out of range, but a couple of generous meters and in theory I’d have full control over the detonation of the bomb.
I had considered rigging my apartment in case I had any unwanted visitors, but had decided against it as I couldn’t risk a freak accident. And the obvious pitfall was that if anyone tracked me down and got to me in my sleep, I’d end up being caught inside my own trap. Instead I had set up a tripwire a few feet from the door. It wouldn’t result in anything exploding, but it was tied to a metal bucket on top of some cupboard. If anyone set off my trap the loud noise of the bucket would alert me in advance, which would give me time to act. The beauty of the trap was that the tripwire itself was fairly visible, but if anyone noticed it and tried to step over it they would fall victim to the secondary wire I had set up in the shadow of the first. The result of the trap was the same, but there were two ways to trigger it.
The final item I had built was soft padding for my shoes in order to reduce the noise of my footsteps. They weren’t inaudible, but if I remained careful it was doubtful anyone would hear me. Despite my new arsenal I still felt as though I could have done more. Only having one smoke bomb and pipe bomb obviously meant the danger would have to be severe enough to warrant their usage.
I was not sure what my next move was. I had not figured that part out yet knowing that both the police and mob were on full alert for me. I didn’t have an idea yet of how I’d be able to get to them. I had considered using the pipe bomb on Luis Kane. Perhaps rigging his car or home but that was risky, not guaranteed to work and it had taken an obscene amount of time and effort to craft it, which meant I had to be sure when I used it. Of course the obvious problems were that if it failed he would take it as a scare-tactic and never come out of his hole, and either way I would lose the opportunity to interrogate him.
I also wasn’t sure what Kane’s part to play in the grand scheme of things was. Victor Salvatore had been the teacher; the old timer who commanded respect. Gregory Donovan had been human trafficking and recruitment. Paul Castellano had been the man of immense wealth and resources; no doubt the keeper of many secrets as well. Castellano had surely been rich enough to supply anyone in need, and able to move the mob’s money however he pleased, given that he owned the bank that most of the mob used. But what of Kane? Anthony Cornero, as far as I knew, was the most feared and powerful man in this city. Effectively the king of kings to put it lamely. But I did not know what either of them ‘specialised’ in so to speak. The only thing I knew for sure was that it was either Kane or Cornero who had been behind the weapons shipment and my family’s murder. It had to be one of the two. They were the only two leaders left. One of them had to have killed my family. One of them had to know where Jess was. I stole a glance at the clock. My thoughts would have to wait. It was time.
I’d been extremely busy during the week, but I had also spent the little time that I had been able to spare getting a closer look at Luis Kane. I had got a few vague ideas about him based on my surveillance. I had scraps and first impressions to work with mostly. I had considered using a listening device from one of those online spy shops to get information, but I had doubted that the quality would have been good enough, and it wouldn’t have been worth the risk. I had no idea how I’d bug his place in any case. Not to mention that Kane barely stayed in one room long enough, as though he was fearing snipers or something.
Over the last few days my observations had led me to conclude that Kane was an unstable and violent brute of a man. He had a dominating physical presence; the kind of man you would never want to match blows with. It took little things to set him off, often in public. His own men were terrified of him, and it was difficult not to see why. I’d witnessed him assault one of them for dropping a crate of some unknown contents when carrying it to his car. I knew very little about him apart from that. He didn’t bathe himself in wealth as much as the other mob bosses, but he was obviously a shady character. He had many visitors throughout his days. Cars went in and out all the time. What was he doing all day? Unfortunately I had no idea how I was supposed to approach him. The guy had enough bodyguards that you’d mistake him for the president. He had been driven paranoid by the looks of it. That meant he was afraid. I eyed his place through my binoculars. I had heard in the bar that the mob were actually afraid of me now. Perhaps what I saw was the effect that it had had on a man like Luis Kane.
His only redeeming quality seemed to be his daughter. I had not seen any signs of a wife. Maybe she had left him. But he had a daughter who was pregnant - very much so. Based on appearances and what I remembered with Nicole, she looked as though she would have her baby in a matter of a week or two at most. I felt a pang of sadness as it brought back memories of my wife and of Jess. I had seen Kane’s daughter a few times around his place. He was a different person when she was there, but he always hurriedly ushered her behind his walls as though he was on the lookout for assassins. He truly was paranoid. On any other day his paranoia would have amused me. But it was making it impossible for me to act. There was no window of opportunity. There was no moment when he was vulnerable. There was no visible routine that I could exploit. Not from where I had been observing. I was stumped.
I sat back in my seat and turned on the radio in my car, in the hope that I would catch a bit of the news. Nothing particularly important was on. I tapped my steering wheel contemplatively. I stared straight ahead at the entrance to Luis Kane’s home. I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for. A sign of life perhaps. What I really wanted was evidence of an opening; of vulnerability. I wasn’t getting it. Kane hid in his fort guarded by a dozen too many men. And the problem was that he could beat me at the waiting game. Jess needed me and I didn’t have the luxury of stalling this one out. Maybe that’s what he was hoping for; that I’d crack and do something reckless again like I had done at Paul Castellano’s home. Victor Salvatore had always said that I was a hothead, and maybe now the mob was finall
y realising what the old man had meant.
I suddenly saw a man exit Kane’s place holding a thick envelope. Too quickly he began shoving it into his jacket pocket. He was alone. He hugged himself to battle the cold and strode right past my car. Maybe there was something of interest in that envelope. I felt the icy chill of the air seep into my skin as I left my car and went after him. I had grown accustomed to the cold over the last few weeks. Both it and the rain. The pair no longer hindered me. I kept my head down and my cap over my head as I followed after the man. At best the contents of that envelope would be incriminating enough to do some damage to Kane. At worst I could get some information out of the man since he had been on the inside. I wasn’t holding my breath. But it was the most promising thing that I had to go on right now, and time wasn’t on my side.
The man sharply turned a corner ahead of me, and I quickened my pace to catch up. I reached the corner. With a jolt I collided with a woman. And then control of the situation left my hands. I recoiled and my sunglasses went skew on my face. I instinctively threw my hand up to catch them, which caused me to accidentally knock them cleanly to the ground instead. The woman started and let out a small cry as she dropped her bag. I tried to apologise and move on, but she squinted at me as she reached for my sunglasses on the ground. My heart thudded. She wouldn’t know that I was the one the police were looking for - that news wasn’t out to the public - but my face had been littered all over the papers after the arrest at the docks.
The woman let out a gasp of delight as she finally recognised me. I tried to tell her I had to go, but she burst into a story of how she was excited to finally see me up close and how her son wanted to be just like me. A nearby police officer, who seemed to have been put there solely to illustrate what bad luck meant, turned to see the commotion and squinted at my face from a distance. I backed away. The man I had been following was long gone. The police officer called out to me. I apologised to the woman, urgently telling her that I had to go, and I turned around and briskly walked. The officer shouted at me; I could almost feel him putting his hand on his gun. I broke into a run. I reached my car, flung the door open and got inside. I fumbled with the keys, swearing, but I managed to get the car started. I threw the handbrake down, adjusted the gear and jabbed my foot onto the accelerator. Thank God for automatics. I just drove. My rear-view mirror showed me the cop in the distance speaking into his radio. It didn’t matter. He was too far away to see my registration number. But I couldn’t take any chances. The woman had recognised me, and the officer most likely had too. And even if he had not from that distance, there had been witnesses. I drove with increased urgency as I headed back home.
I had made an amateurish mistake. My face was too easy to recognise. Most people wouldn’t care when they saw me, but there always existed the chance that I would meet another like the woman. I had two options now. I could either move on or lay low. I had to pick one. I’d decide later. I grimly reflected, swearing to myself and beating myself up over what had happened. And I cynically thought that perhaps that was the moment where my luck finally started running out.
I fell onto my couch. I was even more tired now. At least I had become used to sleeping on chairs. I zoned out while staring at nothing. I was so lost. I didn’t know what my next move was. I didn’t know how to get to Kane. And I’d just let the only promising lead slip away from me. I put my face into my hands. I could not believe how much time had gone by since that phone call from Jess. I did not understand why she had not tried to contact me again. Surely someone, anyone, would have tried to reach out by now? I just needed something. I needed some modicum of evidence to tell me that she was alright.
The not-knowing was maddening. The stress was aging me daily. The worry was overpowering. Sometimes it felt like the only way I could function was if I drowned everything out and made myself numb to it. If I didn’t think too hard and simply acted. But when you were a parent that was impossible. And when you became like me, driven only by rage, violence and desperation it was hard to keep yourself together. I had forced my bitterness about the past out of my system. I had learned. Bitterness was like a cancer that fed off its host. But anger was like fire - it burned it all clean. I was angry.
I barely recognised myself anymore. Mirrors didn’t seem to reflect me when I gazed into them. They reflected only the beast. Sometimes I thought of the past and it felt like a different man’s life. And like the broken mirrors, so too my past did not seem to show me as the man I used to be. In the broken mirrors I could see everything clearly, but I knew that I was ruined and I didn’t have any hope of ever being fixed. Deep down I had known that I wouldn’t come out of it unscathed. I had entertained the idea that I would die during my therapy sessions with Teresa Brooks. But death was not what I feared. It was feeling like this. An emptiness and a deep-rooted anger that used me as its puppet. It was crushing. I did not know how much time I had left, or what would become of me. I could only push on.
There were still moments, in the darkest hours of the night, when I faced the nightmares. When I was forced into remembering Nicole and Jess; remembering their bodies, their last moments with me and my regrets. In those moments I was Jack Mercer again, and I was in pain. But when I was out there, trying to find her, out for the blood of the men who had taken everything I had ever loved - only the beast remained. At times I wondered if it truly was too late for me. If I was already a damn psychopath. They said that a psychopath thrived on a lack of empathy. I knew that these days empathy was something that I could barely reach anymore. It was said that without empathy we truly had the potential to be monsters; capable of almost anything. I gripped the arms of my chair tightly. I needed to find my daughter. If I did not, I feared that I would end up becoming something less than human.
I needed to rest. I needed these thoughts out of my mind. I needed to be rid of my anguish. I closed my eyes. And I tried to let go. But a loud rattling soon jerked me out of my sleep. It felt like only a few seconds had passed, but glancing at the time told me that a full hour had gone by. I was feeling hot from the thick rain jacket I had on. I looked at my mobile phone, as it was the source of the noise. It was vibrating on a nearby table. I was a light sleeper these days; I didn’t get much of it. But light sleeper or not there was no one who wouldn’t be woken up by that menace of a vibration. I groaned and reached over for my phone. I held it up to my face. I didn’t recognise the number. Who could have got it? Maybe it was just a mistake. I ignored it. It carried on ringing for a few moments. Then it stopped. I sank back into my couch to return to my slumber. But my mobile phone began ringing again. I cursed in frustration. It would go on all night if I didn’t tell the person that they had the wrong number. I picked up my phone, hit the green button and put it to my ear. But before I had the chance to speak, a voice answered me in the dark.
“Jack Mercer.”
My heart stopped.
“Do not hang up this phone.”
The voice was robotic. The person on the other end was clearly using a voice changer. I froze up. The panic began to set in.
“Who is this? How did you get this number?” I hissed once I found my voice.
“There are three men coming to kill you.”
“What?”
“They are trained assassins. Do not underestimate them. Get out of there.”
Was this some kind of joke?
“Who the hell are you?” I shouted.
A short silence.
“You have five minutes.”
The line went dead. I stared at my phone feeling a chill spread through my whole body. My mind went into overdrive. Who had just called me? How could he have possibly got hold of my number? Could I trust the voice? What if it was trying to lure me out into the open, and force me into leaving? Was I being watched? What was I supposed to do? The sheer level of stress forced my body to awaken. My clock showed me that one minute had passed. I had only four left.
I bolted to my feet. The panic was crippling.
I closed my eyes for three seconds. I had to focus. I didn’t have time to think. I had to act. For Jess. I knew my belongings were in my car already. I had not kept them all in my room in case I had to break for it or I was compromised. But I had my weapons and small supplies with me. I rushed into my room and grabbed my shoulder-bag. I checked my pocket - my wallet was there. I walked out into the kitchen and stopped dead. On the counter was the pipe bomb.
Three minutes left.
If the voice had been telling the truth I did not have a choice. I grabbed it and looked in every direction, trying to figure out where to put it. I looked up at the metal bucket above the cupboards. In there? No I didn’t have the time, and I could easily ruin my signal if I wasn’t careful. I jabbed open my bin with my foot and wrenched the thick, dark plastic bag out of it. I turned it upside-down and poured most of the contents back into the bin, with the exception of a couple of fast food wrappers I left. I stuffed the pipe bomb into the packet and placed it onto the floor near my trap. No one would really think twice about a plastic bag and fast food wrappers laying on the floor.
Two minutes.
I reached into the side of my bag for the detonator. I had to move. I rushed over to the door and gripped the handle. I stopped as I reached it. I had a sudden idea. There’s no time! I screamed inside my head. I wasted precious seconds frozen. I gritted my teeth, rushed over to the kitchen counter, ripped open my bag and took out the smoke bomb.
One minute.
I fumbled with my match box and clumsily got a stick out. I dropped a whole bunch onto the ground in the process. I cursed and swept them aside into a corner. I lit the match and exhaled deeply as I put it to the fuse of the smoke bomb. It began to spark. I ripped open the oven and placed it inside. I closed it again. I ran. I was on the second floor. I bolted across the walkway to an old couple’s room. I had befriended them in the week. They were on a getaway trip. They were kind. They’d help me. I rattled their door. I waited. I glanced at my phone.
My time was up.
I knocked more urgently, sweat dripping down my forehead. There was no answer. They weren’t there. I was out of options. I dropped to the floor in the indent between the door. I made myself small. From here I could see my room. The smoke bomb would be a good distraction. Anyone would conclude, as it was emanating from the oven, that someone had done something careless with their next meal. At least until they paid attention to the smell of the fumes. I looked all around. There were no signs of life. I began to feel overpowering fear. Had I just fallen for a trap? I had placed my trust in some voice on the other end of an anonymous phone call.
There in my moment of panic, something clicked in my mind. What if the person behind the phone call was Sarah’s anonymous source? I didn’t have time to process the thought further. I saw movement. My body went numb. Three men dressed in full black were ascending the stairs to the second floor. I watched them without moving an inch. They reached my room. One of them placed a gloved hand onto the door handle and checked it. He appeared a little surprised that it was open, and I heard one of the other men say something about me probably having just got in because my car was in the parking bay. I swore. If they knew my car that meant they’d been watching me. Did they know where I had been during the week? Was that why Luis Kane had been so well guarded? I doubted it. If they had known I was stalking him they’d have killed me then already. I tensed. One of the men took out a suppressed pistol. He nodded at the others and opened the door. Smoke protruded out of it instantly.
The apparent leader of the group took a peek inside and announced that it was coming from the kitchen. Two of the men then slipped inside, and one waited by the balcony in front of the door. I cursed under my breath. I had wanted all three of them. The door closed behind them. Moments later I heard a shout, a loud clang and subsequent crashes as the metal bucket I had strapped up there loaded with glass and nails struck the floor. It seemed that they had found my tripwire. The smoke must have made it impossible to see, especially with a dummy wire as well.
People misunderstood the true power of a tripwire. For any real one it wasn’t the blast or the actual trap itself that caused the most harm. It was the fear. The shock. The psychological impact. Triggering a trip wire told you that you were in enemy territory. You were in someone else’s playground. You were in a death trap. You were out of your depth. There was no way of knowing what else was waiting for you in the darkness. Your morale was already lost. The chaos went on. It was my cue. There was no telling what would happen now. My entire body trembled. A second ticked by. It was my only chance. I looked down at the detonator in my hand. I held my breath.
I pressed it. Nothing.
Panic gripped my very being. Please don’t let this happen now, I begged. I hit it again. And again. I extended my arm towards my room door and pressed the button three more times. I jabbed it in anger. Frustration and desperation crumbled my resolve. I pressed it again.
Instantly, my ears burst and my body trembled from shock as an explosion sounded out from my room. The door shot off its hinges like a rocket and slammed into the man on the outside, shattering his bones and sending him hurtling off the railing and down to the ground with a sickening crunch. I heard screams of agony from my room. The blast had been so loud the entire block had to have heard it. The cloud of dust settled. I peered down. The man below had bones protruding from his twisted legs and arms, and his body was a bloody mess. The men inside must have suffered a terrible fate from the impact and shrapnel.
But I wasn’t taking any chances.
I could hear screams and shouts around the complex. I had a minute before the fire department and cops would be alerted. Another six to ten before they arrived. It was enough. My mind and body accelerated from the adrenaline. I wasn’t processing everything that I was seeing. I had to act now. The pipe bomb had produced no grand fireball as many believed explosions from grenades or homemade bombs do. It had been a burst of smoke and an incredible force as shrapnel rocketed outward in all directions. There would be no fire.
I reached into my bag and fished out my gun. I stepped inside. My mind blinded me from what my eyes could see. There was a severed leg laying on the floor. Mangled body parts. Blood splattered the ceiling and walls. There wasn’t much left of one of the men. The stench was horrific. I heard a moan. I approached my bed room at the back.
Sprawled across the floor at the entrance to my room was one of the men. Shrapnel was stuck into his shoulder and leg. A few of his fingers had been blown off, as well as a part of his ear and a chunk of his skin. He was bleeding excessively. The pain would be unimaginable. I used my foot to roll him onto his back and he screamed in agony. His eyes opened. He saw me. He gasped. He was about to go into shock. I felt the anger return. The carnage I had unleashed frightened me. It was the kind of violence that would change me. I knew that I was in shock. My mind wasn’t processing the atrocity I had committed. That would come later. In that moment the beast was in control.
Wordlessly I placed my foot onto his windpipe. He struggled for breath. I saw the man’s good arm reach for his gun a few centimetres away. I applied pressure to his windpipe and aimed my gun at his stomach. I slowly squeezed the trigger. The explosion was deafening. The bullet slammed into his stomach and I knew that it had ruptured. He went into spasm for a moment, twitched and went still. I could see his snake-like intestines through a hole in his stomach from the pipe bomb. I could see bone. I ripped off my thick rain-jacket, which was now splattered with flecks of blood. I dropped it onto the ground next to him. I’d have to replace my jeans. Fortunately they were dark, which would hide any mess for the time being.
I turned around and rushed out of the room. I grabbed my shoulder-bag from across the walkway and stuffed my gun into it. I proceeded towards the exit, putting on my sunglasses and cap from my bag. A bunch of people were sticking their heads out of their doors now, observing the chaos. Some pointed and shouted at me. I could hear loud screams. People must have s
een the body laying below. I walked faster and kept my head down. I had minutes left still before the police or fire department got here. It was enough to get away. I didn’t even bother checking out. I didn’t care and neither did I have the time. Maybe if I was still checked in, someone would assume I had been caught in the blast and killed. Hopeful, but unlikely. I reached my car and threw my bag in. Then I brought it to life and vanished.