Fear Of Broken Glass: The Elements: Prologue

by Mark, David

  Vikland made a decision and rolled over on to her back, bringing her arms around, upwards, towards where Chivers was bearing down towards the painting. She raised her gun, the muscles on her arms stretched, tense.

  Chivers stopped and reached forwards with both hands. ‘She’s in here somewhere... she was here just a moment ago, appeared out of nowhere...’ he looked around the room as his hands closed around the one thing she couldn’t see, above her, a short way in front of her was the painting. He was taking the painting

  ‘Leave it!’ Baron commanded.

  Chivers stopped and looked down, eyes wide open, backing away with the Hangman clasped in each hand as Oskar moved towards him, service gun in hand.

  ‘Put it down.’ He stopped, unprepared for when he saw her, a shadow lying flat on the floor, arms outstretched, her gun pointing at his stomach. ‘Elin?’ Lindgren’s eyes drew wide apart. ‘Is that you?’ Recovering, he glanced towards Conrad Baron who was walking down the aisle, his firearm already trained in her direction.

  Chivers obeyed. He placed the painting back on the pew, stepping backwards into the aisle.

  ‘Oskar,’ Vikland acknowledged, easing herself from under the pew and into a sitting position with her gun trained in his direction, eyes fixed on Baron, then Oskar, unsure what to do.

  Lindgren took a step backwards, uncertain, as Chivers stumbled backwards past him, looking around at the lonely interior of a church without a congregation, as if preparing for more surprises.

  She rose slowly into a standing position, exposing herself as Oskar found his voice, the surprise at seeing her here written all over his face.

  ‘Don’t do anything rash, Elin. I’m not sure...’

  ‘What you’re going to do?’ She said quietly, her voice finding strength. ‘What’s going on Oskar?’

  He looked at Conrad Baron. She glanced across to see him who had walked backwards with his gun now pointing at her.

  She still hadn’t asked him the why question. ‘Hasse? Who killed him?’

  Lindgren sighed, waving his gun. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Was it you?’

  ‘The gun please, Elin.’ He said as he raised his arm without answering her question, pointing his firearm back at her. His voice changing, signaling the moment. ‘I need your gun, Elin.’ This time it was an order. He threw a look in Baron’s direction, as if he expected to find some kind of support remaining hidden as Baron lowered his weapon.

  She looked him in the eye. ‘You... what, who are you Oskar?’ She shook her head, words constricting in her throat.

  ‘Now. Just do what I ask,’ he said, his voice agitated. He took a step forward. ‘Lower your gun.’

  ‘Just take it easy,’ Baron said to her left.

  ‘Now, Elin, your gun...’

  She didn’t know if Baron was talking to her or Oskar, hesitating.

  Oskar took another step, leaning forward, his fingers tightly clasped around his weapon. ‘I won’t ask you again Elin!’ he shouted.

  Seeing no other way out of it, other than to face a stand-off that was likely to turn sour she resigned herself and lowered her gun, moving it to the side, slowly, so it was no longer pointed at him, then raised her other hand into the air as she bent her legs to place it on the ground, slowly.

  ‘Over here, kick it over here,’ Oskar insisted, his voice betraying his discomfort.

  Vikland disobeyed, keeping eye contact. She moved her foot back and kicked the gun; instead of kicking it towards him she sent it flying along the floorboards, until it rested under the middle of one of the pews. For a moment she thought he might shoot her, then Lindgren gathered himself and took a step backwards, back to the front, closer to the pews under which her weapon now lay.

  ‘That was a stupid thing to do,’ he said from behind gritted teeth. He looked across to the pew but couldn’t see it. She hesitated, unsure what to do next, glancing across at Chivers who had become still, just watching. He would have to take his eyes off her to reach it. He needed Baron to cover for him, but Baron wasn’t making any move. Oskar looked at her, then back at Baron who remained motionless. Finally, Oskar said, ‘Okay, let’s talk,’ motioning to the end of the pew, glancing back in the vicinity of the pew under which her gun rested.

  Vikland stepped to the side away from her gun, gauging the distance ahead to Chivers. ‘Why did Hasse kill himself?’ She demanded, changing the focus, drawing his attention upon her.

  ‘We don’t know,’ Baron answered on Oskar’s behalf, looking more relaxed than he had done a moment before, stepping forwards to gather up the painting, wrapping it in the blanket laid across one of the pews.

  Oskar looked at her pitifully. ‘Hasse wasn’t who you thought he was.’

  The first stab of doubt. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He buried the draugr investigations.’

  Then the first tremor of uncertainty. Hasse?

  ‘He stalled his own work Elin. He took a backhander.’

  She wanted to shut out the words, his lips moving, words hurting her.

  ‘He never meant to solve the draugr investigations.’

  ‘What do you mean? What about Denisen? If he hadn’t had the painting copied, none of us would be here.’ Vikland shook her head, trying to block it all out.

  ‘Almquist was shot before he killed himself.’ Baron said, reading the look in her eyes.

  ‘I know he was shot!’ She said, lowering her voice. ‘I saw the mess of what was left of him.’

  ‘There’s a lot to discuss...’ he nodded at her, ‘come on Elin,’ he said, gently this time.

  Vikland shook her head, eyes pleading. ‘Discuss what?’

  ‘Not here.’ He nodded to the door leading outside.

  She needed to buy precious time.

  ‘Discuss, what is there to discuss?’

  ‘Your part is over now,’ be beckoned to the door.

  ‘What part is that?’

  ‘I’ll explain when we have a little more privacy.’

  She heard the words as if they were according to the book, yet the look in his eyes told her all she needed to know; as if he had to perform a job he’d rather avoid.

  He was going to kill her.

  ‘No Oskar – no, not like this,’ she said quietly with dread. She looked over to Conrad Baron, who seemed on edge, unsure of what to do.

  ‘There’s nothing to discuss,’ he said, sending Oskar a look.

  Then she knew, whatever she did it would have no influence on the outcome. Whatever she did, whatever she said, it wouldn’t make any difference to anything. Oskar moved away from the pews, moving past Chivers back towards the door, his gun pointing once again towards her. She scanned the floor, disguising her action by turning as if reluctant to leave. There it was. Lying on the floor, under the pew just three meters in front of her. Oskar was moving up to the row, about to bend down and retrieve it. Seconds ticking. Soon it would be too late, knowing with the dread of certainty which direction this was heading, of what he felt compelled to do. She could read that look in his eyes as if it was an instruction manual. She looked around, looking for anything that could give her the opening, standing up slowly, starting the walk down the aisle towards the end. Soon, she knew he would take her outside and execute her in cold blood. Like the Pastor; like Hasse. She walked to the end, eyes downcast, stooping her shoulders in a gesture of defeat.

  ‘Oskar...’

  Oskar stopped and turned to watch her as she walked to the end of the row. She paused, just long enough for him to start to walk back towards her, Conrad Baron staying where he was off to one side. Chivers had remained almost unseen, loitering to one side, keeping to the edge of the gallery of columns. He tried to get past, shuffling past the end of the pew, then withdrew as soon as Conrad Baron flashed a look of agitation in his direction that told him to stay put. Then Oskar looked at her with such uncertainty in his eyes...

  In that moment Vikland acted swiftly, stepping out she rushed Chivers, placing him between h
erself and the others, then pushing him in the back towards Oskar. They collided, Chivers uttering a grunt of indignation, forcing Oskar back just as Conrad Baron moved up the aisle, backing into him, buying her a few precious seconds. She threw herself back down onto the floor, rolling under the pews, one row, two, closer to the entrance, finding and taking her weapon. Pushing any other thought to the back of her mind she searched for cover, any cover, before Oskar recovered from the surprise to aim and fire his weapon.

  Oskar was the best shot in the Department.

  Her back to the door, unaware of the shadows entering the hall, all she had time for was to register the altered expression in Oskar’s eyes before all chaos was unleashed.

  Fabian raised her hand, clutching her 9mm SIG Sauer automatic, feeling some new sense of satisfaction that the Swedish invention of laser targeting could make a difference she hadn’t really anticipated, removing it from the pouch at her waist.

  She sprung silently to one side, pace by pace, gun trained on them at all times as she moved around to the end of the church, out of sight, laser turned off. In front of her, the two intruders taking position next to an inside door, making ready. In front of them, within, looking down a row of church seats she glimpsed the back of two figures talking to lady or somethin’, murmured voices coming at her out of the gloom.

  They were going to attack.

  One of them had a gun in his hand. The tick-tock clock tickin’, Fabian frowned and pressed herself back into the shadows, processing options.

  Little Missy should be dead. The odds had been stacked against her, Missy. Three people, no, there was another man, that make four inside. Four people who soon be dead, two against four who didn’t know it was comin’.

  The intruders stepped closer to the inside door, a silent agreement passing between them. The one with the pistol raised it, cupping the bottom of the butt in his hand. He looked to his bald-headed companion who nodded. The man with the pistol raised it, taking careful aim, then fired once, entering the church.

  And now, the odds were stacking up against her too.

  Fabian inserted ear plugs into each ear sensing her adversary’s finger tighten, attention directed down the length of the barrel, removing the pin, clutching the lever to the side of a small black canister, throwing it inside.

  The window of entry...

  An intense flash of bright, white light erupted within, the room exploding in a deafening explosion, followed by the reek of thick white smoke. Then Oskar was spun to his side, another explosion ripping the air apart his knees were buckling, astonishment written all over his features as he collapsed to the floor. Vikland was turned towards Conrad Baron, who was looking over at the open vestibule door.

  Fear is a basic survival mechanism that heightens the senses.

  Her heart expanded, beating wildly, so hard it hurt. It filled her throat, shaking her chest, hard, big rhythmic thuds that affected her breathing. There, standing in the entrance was a man she had never seen before, murder written in dark eyes glittering in candlelight. He walked forwards in a crouch, swinging his gun around, seeking, confirming her as his next target. She moved backwards, aiming for a leg shot, her arms and legs moving as if caught in slow viscous motion as she raised her hand, finger already tensing on the trigger, head moving, confirming the action she was already committed to...

  Fear is an emotion induced by a perceived threat.

  She noticed a second gunman, one she hadn’t seen before. He had a rifle and a cap on, standing behind the other one, both with camouflage paint on their faces, the former holding the smoking gun that had just shot Oskar in the shoulder, the latter a rifle moving again, moving in an arc behind him to....

  The reverberation of multiple shots, seeing Chivers hit as he made a move to the end of the colonnade, stumbling, falling, the clatter of something falling. The gunman turned, hidden in the smoke with red, all those red lines, trying to aim as Conrad Baron swung around to meet him. The acrid smell of gunpowder as the blinding light filled her from within, a hot sensation down the side of her head. The sound of two shots, three, four, almost simultaneously, watching the gunman hit repeatedly, first in his leg, then his middle and last the middle of his chest.

  Fear gives us the ability to recognize danger and react to it, fight or flee.

  Elin Vikland was falling, not knowing what the hell it was that was happening. She fell, fingers releasing her sidearm, falling to the floor as she heard the clatter of her gun hitting before she fell, lost somewhere within the confusion of smoke, red light, noise and searing pain.

  Fear is our friend, welcome it.

  As her knees impacted the floor she noticed the intruder’s feet, recognizing combat boots laced high, all the way to the upper shin as another shot hit him just above the top of that boot. It was an odd detail, black laces hanging in a double knot caked in mud, seeing the shattering of cloth and bone, her head hitting the floor sideways to darkness so she never even felt it.

  There was a bright, intense flash of hot blue-white light, followed by the explosion. The thinking side of her disappeared as she heard herself scream. Except, no sound escaped her, lips drawn taut across large white teeth in a grimace. No words were uttered. Instead, she moved lithely, silently stepping sideways to enter a smoke-filled space beyond description. Before her, a target holding a 9mm arcing towards the female police officer who had only moments left to live, precious seconds passing as the rifleman swung to his side.

  She selected the first gunman with the pistol to her left, the other with the rifle behind him to the right, covering him. Ahead, a cloud of gun-smoke hanging like a shroud. A police officer was on the floor, blood staining the side of his shoulder dark red. Another, a fat man, the one from the car in the ravine, moving away towards the door with a hand on his stomach, head turning rapidly, first to one side then to the other, unsure, panic stricken, not knowing what course of action to take, slowing to a stop. The third man she had seen at the homestead was retreating back within the depths of the church. Then the lady... lady still had a chance.

  Mouth dry, muscles tensed, Fabian’s hand moved forwards, to the laser attachment clamped underneath the barrel. She twisted the activation lock in one fluid movement and sighted, a thin red line of laser light appearing. It appeared on the back of the lead’s right leg, timing critical as he turned to face the female police officer, his hard features set in a look of grim determination to finish what he had started.

  Ten paces away... nine... eight.

  Her first target, the gun on the left turned on seeing the laser as it drew a perfect line through the smoke, seeking its target. Her only thought was a singularity of consciousness, calmly acceding to the realization that her timing was critical, that she had not one single, precious second to lose.

  The rifleman was swinging around towards Conrad Baron who had jumped right to the end of a pew nearest the colonnade. He missed, hitting the fat man who screamed, knocking the brochure table to the floor. As he scrambled away he collided with a candle stand, candles falling, scattering them across the floor, feet thrashing desperately in all directions in his bid for escape, clutching at his side with bloodied fingers.

  Fabian saw the flash from her gun before she registered the sound, pumping the trigger once, twice, three times in quick succession. She aimed higher with each shot, the church exploding with the sound of gunfire. It was her preferred killing pattern, starting low, using the natural tendency of a handheld firearm to rise progressively upwards, confirming hits to the side of the knee, the groin, the side of the chest as she had predicted. Then too late, the moment of not being in control as she registered the kick from his handgun, moments before her own burst. She jumped to the side as she registered a hit to the side of the lady’s head, hitting the floor in time to see Conrad Baron hit the rifleman in the leg. He went down as Fabian glanced towards the wounded fat man. The lady was down.

  At the same moment the rifleman standing to her right spun left, towards her as
the man called Conrad Baron brought his weapon to bear and fired again, missing.

  Fabian proceeded to move forwards, not running, not walking, keeping low, balanced. She reached Lady on the floor, throwing herself down, blood seeping from the wound across the side of Lady’s head. Already, the rifleman was getting up, on one knee.

  The diversion of the rifleman’s attention bought Fabian the three precious seconds she needed. Another shot, from the rifle, missing the English, passing to shatter the wood of one of the columns. Fabian’s every conscious thought focused on the end of the rifle now pointing in her direction, the rifleman trained: fast, aware of everything that had gone on around him, reading the chaotic scene as only a trained professional could. She didn’t wait for the next shot and rolled, marking the target, seeing it in her mind’s eye as she shifted position, rising upwards, arms outstretched.

  Priority one: She fired and continued to fire at him the rifle, sighting with each shot, one, two, three, four, following the line of laser light illuminated by the smoke filling the air around them. She hit the floor, then narrowly missed his foot, his thigh, ending with a hit to his abdomen. Out of the corner of her eye she registered Fatman, blood spreading like a crimson cushion over the taut fabric covering his belly, scattering the candles lying spread across the floor as he crawled forwards, for the doorway.

  Priority two: She reached the gunman, his leg shaking uncontrollably. Fabian kicked the gun, sending it sliding across the floor towards the altar through the pool of blood. A hit to an artery, blood seeping out of the fabric of his trouser in thick pulses, eyes closed in pain. He had moments left to live, moving on...

  Priority three: Fabian ran forwards at a crouch to the rifleman. He was crawling using his arms, one leg leaving a smear of blood over the wooden boards. She reached forwards, taking his rifle, casting it aside as she walked to a mess-free distance, brought the laser down to bear so it illuminated a little red point in the side of his head and fired once. He lay still. She never paused to think, the decision already made the instant she kicked the rifle away, moving her red light until it shone on the other head, squeezed off one more round confirming the time of his friend too was over now.