by G J Stevens
They were running from me. They were running from their reckoning, but if there were any good people amongst them, it would be themselves they would have to run from before long.
Scanning across the images, I hoped Frank would be the last to leave, but I guessed that like a rat, he would have been the first, no doubt with a helicopter on standby for just this eventuality.
I scanned the pictures of empty laboratories and offices with equipment strewn to the floor. Desks where monitors shined with their last work. Spreadsheets. Photos of patients. Lines of text, each with a message window complaining I’d killed their network.
Moving to the next image I came to the vacant operating theatre, then its twin and my worst fear. In the colour image I could make out the blood-red floor and the gaunt, white naked body missing a leg.
Squeezing my eyes closed for a moment, I hoped the guy had gone quickly, but flinched when I opened them to see his arm rise and fall on the screen.
They would pay. I’d make them.
My attention fell to a view of the scene at number fifty-six and the scarlet front door. The house still deserted. No cops. No paramedics.
Three figures moved across the next few screens. The first was a camera pointed at the two steel doors, one of which I was behind, with two people passing the other side. They were the pair I recognised from earlier, walking with a caution which told me they had no idea where I was.
The next screen faced opposite the other and showed another in their same suit uniform, but he soon left the view. Just as he disappeared out of sight, I caught the flash of his assault rifle’s stock.
I checked the Glock, exchanging the nine-round magazine for a full seventeen and opened the door.
Bullets spat towards me, the blasts pounding against the metal just as I’d dived back, lucky that I hadn’t crawled forward into the path of the next un-aimed shots.
Leaving the door wide, I’d dropped to the floor and twisted to the monitor to get a better view. Rather than taking in where they’d fired at me from, I saw Frank and Ally running around the rising steps; the guy with the assault rifle was nowhere to be seen.
The echo of the shots died back and I knew he waited in hope I’d emerge again and he wouldn’t have to come and find me. His orders would be to wait, holding me back to give the pair the time to get away.
I ran the replay of his shots through my head, counting twice to make sure I’d got it right.
The first was an automatic burst, maybe six rounds. The second a clear group of three. I needed him to fire once more to confirm my thought.
Glancing to the CCTV, I saw the pair emerge in one of the offices, Frank in the lead and Ally close at his back with a handgun in her hand. Her survey was everywhere as the bright sun streamed through the windows.
I didn’t have time to be pinned down and this guy knew it.
I took the first of the disks from the bin, sending it clattering through the opening to slap against the concrete, all whilst swapping my view to track the pair escaping. The throw had the desired effect and a three-shot burst replied to confirm what I’d thought.
Obvious now, despite the echo.
An M16 with eighteen rounds to go.
I threw another and took him down to fifteen, but he’d already wised up to my attempts and didn’t loose off another volley as I released the third of the disks.
After upending the bin and stuffing the backup tapes into the bomber jacket pockets, I lay flat to the floor, throwing another disk, but this time in the opposite direction. Six shots burst out to follow.
With nine rounds left, I tried to make myself as flat to the floor as possible, trying not to think my luck would run out soon and a stray ricochet could get me any time he fired.
Lifting my hand, I fired in a direction I thought he could be, trading my three rounds for another six of his. Now was the time to test his metal; was he counting or was he an amateur? Did he have another magazine at the ready or a second weapon just for this circumstance?
I threw a disk and let another round off. I’d got my three, but could no longer afford to be flat.
As I heard the tell-tale solid click of the empty magazine, I leapt up through the opening and caught him in my sights, but at a very poor angle to the side of the staircase.
He stood alone with the new magazine in his hands.
My record to reload was three seconds, but I’d done it over hundreds of times on the range. He was less than I was and was still fumbling to eject the old magazine. His hands still played with the catch as his gaze fixed on me, settling to the darkness inside the barrel of my Glock.
His magazine fell to the floor as the lead flattened inside the back of his skull.
I didn’t linger to untangle the weapon from his body. Instead, I raced up the concrete stairs with my feet echoing to arrive in a small glass lobby; a bubble of glass with a locked door to my front.
I pumped four rounds at the plate glass, smashing out the remains with the butt end of a fire extinguisher. But it was taking far too long to get through.
Eight rounds left; Nine in the spare and the Ruger, which I didn’t know if it would fire again.
I ran through some industrial foyer, magnolia walls of concrete with daylight streaming in from either side. I recounted their journey, finding the cameras high in the corners of the ceiling so I could pinpoint the direction they’d taken and follow.
Running, I glanced outside. The traffic had gone, leaving just exhaust fumes breezing in through the windows and wisps of smoke rising from the wrecked car resting in the distant tree line, the tanker parked at the base of the giant chimney. The sinking ship had emptied of its rats, their pray left below to die.
I raced through an office, jumping over debris to the smell of hot coffee and the carpet marked with recent spills. Pushing open the door to a stairwell, I ignored the steps and carried on through the offices, guessing at their likely escape through the open doors the other end.
I ran through, searching left and right through the windows but there was nothing but a few abandoned cars left tight to the building.
But now my view was blocked by the concrete walls themselves. Turning around, I backtracked my journey, speeding over swivel chairs, around tall files spilt to the floor and climbed the steps I’d passed once already.
Up through the first floor, then the second and third, I burst open the doors at the summit, running onto the gravel-topped roof. Squinting to the beating sun, I tried to take in the full view.
I was in the middle of the roof. To my right I could see tall barriers raised at the main exit of the compound and the tall chimney marking my way, its black contents billowing out into the sky. With the horizon just a sea of trees, if they weren’t going by road then I had no hope of finding them. If they were escaping by road, I could never catch them.
I ran towards the closest edge of the building, ninety degrees to the chimney. As I reached the concrete horizon, my view filled with the emptiness of the scene. All cars gone, the road littered with white coats and belongings no longer needed.
I carried on along the edge, jogging towards the chimney and watching as more of the same space opened up in front of me. Empty parking spaces. Debris to the ground. White coats. Briefcases, white access cards and papers strewn across the tarmac.
Then I caught the strong stench of gasoline and I half expected to see another car-wreck abandoned, but what I saw gave me more pause than I could afford.
43
A brick building wrapped around the base of the chimney and I watched as five figures rushed from a black Jeep with the doors pushed wide, hurrying to the entrance. Each dressed in white overalls with matching hard hats and the harsh contrast of an M16 rifle slung tight over their shoulders.
Three of their number busied in and out of the building as the remaining pair manhandled valves at the back of the tanker parked alongside.
Adrenaline surged from my core when I saw there were no hoses connected to the wide outlet
s they were rushing to open.
Clear liquid soon poured from the truck’s wide outlet, vapour shimmering the yellow warning signs covering its bulbous rear.
I hesitated, unmoving when I should have been doing anything but watching with disbelief as the hazy liquid blackened the dusty tarmac and made its way at a rising pace towards the drains and building where I stood; the building where the poor victims still lay.
Picking up my feet to move, I stopped for a second time with my stare fixing through the wide doors at the base of the chimney, all at once grateful I didn’t have binoculars.
I didn’t want more detail of the lifeless white forms, some limbless and bloodied, piled just inside.
Pulling up the Glock, I took aim at the nozzle; a difficult shot at this range, but not impossible.
Putting pressure on the trigger, I took a deep breath, but paused as movement caught in the left corner of my vision.
Turning towards a second Jeep, this time in white, I let the gun drop as I made out Frank through the passenger window. With windows in the back blacked out, I could only guess it would be Ally driving.
Its horn blared and I watched hands raise at the tanker, beckoning them past.
I took up the gun again, set the silver nozzle in the sight, lifting just a little to account for the distance.
The round pinged against the metal and reflex had me turning, my arm covering my face as I felt the flash of heat sending my senses crazy. The sound came next, the great suck of air as the flames consumed its surroundings to satisfy its great appetite.
No explosion followed and I turned back to see the road alight, as were the five men darting around the burning tarmac.
The explosion came to cut down the five men as they tried to rush from their fate, but it was the dark Jeep’s fuel tank which had caught, forcing the tanker towards the chimney.
Crouching, I hesitated with my fingers in my ears, waiting for the building to shake. I stood tall when the earth beneath me didn’t quake and took in the tanker, still intact despite the jagged cuts and dark metal shrapnel sticking out from its sides.
With the liquid on the road almost used up and the fire dimming, only a bright white flame from the nozzle remained like an upturned blow torch directed at the base of the chimney.
The remaining Jeep built its speed as the driver recovered from the shock of the explosion and it looked like they were going to attempt to rush past the burning tanker, rolling over the boiled, blistering tarmac.
A bold or stupid move, I couldn’t quite decide. Either way they were moving forward and passing beyond the edge of the building.
I fired off shots which should have been easy, but seven rounds later I’d only shredded the rubber on the two nearest tyres, having little effect to their building motion.
I swapped out the magazine, running backwards to get the angle and emptying the Glock into the rear left as it presented itself.
Still, with only one tyre remaining they continued, the engine roaring, the metal rims grinding to churn the tarmac. But now with just one wheel remaining, the steering had jammed left, the drag too much even for the steering servos to correct. With so little rubber on the road, the brakes were useless and they had no way to avoid the trees at the edge of the car park they raced toward.
With a grind of metal and a shower of leaves, they came to rest with loose branches raining down as steam hissed from under the hood.
Abandoning the Glock, I shot a glance back to the stairs, then to the Jeep and peered down the vertical face at my feet. My survey soon caught on a drainpipe. Turning around, I lowered over the edge.
Crunching to the gravel, I pushed the Ruger out in front, watching the doors of the Jeep for signs of movement as I ran.
My thoughts turned to the ease of my victory and an end to this job which had turned out so grim. I could take what remained of my target, get on with another chapter and do my best to forget the sorry set of firsts.
I saw the white of airbags before anything else, then the empty pair of seats. The passenger door hung open a crack and I just about saw a pair of feet and her thin ankles in the distance between the dense trees.
I ran across the front of the car, heat pluming towards me as I turned to the red-hot bricks, the flame still intense from the tanker’s back. I couldn’t help but glance up the length of the chimney for a moment before racing off on the chase.
With no path to follow, their going was slow through the dense undergrowth; mine the easier task as their fight had pushed the branches and thorns out of the way, but still their only sign was the occasional shred of clothing hanging on a thick branch.
However, soon the brambles cleared and the chase switched to a well-trodden dirt path and I had sight of Ally’s back.
She wore a short lumberjack shirt over the tee I’d seen her in when they’d left me to be defiled and then killed.
Frank ran a few paces ahead, limping on his right foot.
Their voices were faint but I could hear the strain in his; hers calmer, more like they were chatting over drinks.
I watched as Frank took a left and I sped, following Ally around the curve of the path. They were looping back, realising their best chance would be another vehicle from the compound, if only they could stop me catching up.
I should have stopped and taken aim. I could have so easily. Instead, I watched as Ally glanced back for the first time; watched as her eyes grew wide and as she stumbled at my sight.
I watched as she slowed, stopped and turned, only glancing once behind her to make sure Frank limped out of sight.
As she turned, I saw the boxy shape of a firearm at the top of her leggings, the rest covered with the loose check shirt. I kept the Ruger raised as I met her eyes, the surprise still hanging on her brow.
I searched her features and read surprise. Intrigue, perhaps. But was the happiness I saw real? A smile rose from the corner of her mouth.
Still, I hadn’t gone completely mad; hadn’t left sense and my training on the roof. I knew I couldn’t trust myself. I was far too close to this now.
I had, after all, been in love. I still just might be. However, I couldn’t help but smile with the gun still raised in her direction as I stopped just outside of her reach.
“Hey, Cat,” she said with a longing in my direction, her voice softer than I’d expected.
“Hey, Ally.”
“This you?” she said, looking in the rough direction the path headed toward.
I gave a slow nod.
“Frank was right about you,” she said, her white teeth glaring towards me.
“How?” I asked. Of course I didn’t care, but I hung on her words nonetheless.
“You’ve got amazing skills. You could be great with us. You could flourish,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “And I’m sorry.”
“For what in particular?” I asked, trying to take my eyes from her face and make it look like I was more concerned about Frank’s location when in reality I’d almost forgotten about him.
“For underestimating you,” she replied.
I could feel my eyes welling, the emotion ready to boil; anger, pain and something else I dared not put a name to.
“Do you love me?” I said, the words sounding so feeble, my chest tightening as I directed my anger inward.
“I do,” she said, her eyes wide and mouth drifting open.
The pain released.
“I love you, too,” I replied and bit down on my lip. My arms dropped, the Ruger pointing to the ground. I tasted blood.
“I’m sorry for not bringing you in earlier. I’m sorry for falling for you.”
“So why did you leave me to die? Why did you leave me to be raped and killed at the hands of those three?”
Ally laughed as if I’d told a corny joke. “I knew you could handle them. I’d seen you in action, remember?”
I couldn’t reply. Doubt clawed at my mind. She was right after all; I had handled all three.
“So why were you so
surprised to see me?”
“I thought you’d run. I thought you’d get out. Why come for him? For me?” she said, tilting her head to the side. “But I’m glad you did. Come with us,” she said, outstretching her hand.
I took a step towards her and let the grip of my right fall from the Ruger. I moved my hand up. I moved to touch her, but just as I felt her warmth I took a step back, clasped my fingers back around the gun.
“I don’t want to be a part of this,” I said, shaking my head, a tear rolling from my eye.
“You think I do?” she replied.
I kept quiet.
“Do you think I want to be involved?”
I said nothing. I felt my mind putting up barriers my heart was all too willing to let her climb.
“What he’s doing here is disgusting. Barbaric. Inhuman.” She paused and I felt the barriers fall. “Is that what you want me to say?”
I kept quiet as my chest tightened.
“You’re right,” she said. “It’s a tough price to pay. These people are heroes. These people are paying to stop others suffering.”
“Did they volunteer?” I said, stopping her words. It was her turn to pause.
“Of sorts.”
“Did they volunteer to be Guinea Pigs? Did they volunteer for the torture in the name of progress?”
“Not in so many words. It’s not too late,” she said. “Come with us. We’d make a formidable force.”
“I’ve heard that before,” I said, letting a smile rise at the memory. “Anyway, I can’t. I don’t want to be with him.”
“We come as a package. We come with all this,” she said.
I shook my head, my teeth in my bottom lip.
“So what are you going to do?”
“I have my orders,” I said under my breath.
“What are your orders?” she said, brushing off my words with a grin.
“I have to bring Frank in.”
“What are they going to do to him? Will he stand trial?” she said as a laugh bubbled from her chest.
“I’m not the police.”
She looked a little surprised at the words.