Grin

by Keane, Stuart

  Furlong pulled his pistol and aimed. “Why won’t you fucking die?”

  Dani grinned and pointed her weapon. “Why don’t…you…why don’t you tell them how you helped me?”

  Furlong paled, the blood rushing from his face. “Wh…what are you talking about?”

  “Tell them. You led them into this ambush; you did it because I told you. You betrayed your boss,” she uttered, a dribble of blood slipping from her lips. She looked beyond Furlong, goading the other soldiers. “He sold you out, lads.”

  The four men looked at one another quizzically. Furlong span slowly, his face still throbbing from the broken cheekbone, his heart pulsing through every inch of his terrified body. He held up a hand in surrender. “Don’t listen to her, guys.”

  The four men nodded, looking down the hall at their fallen comrades, and then stared at Furlong. Dani closed her eyes and breathed deep, blocking out the throbbing agony. Ignoring the sweat and burning pain, she stumbled forward, leaning against the wall, pushing away from Furlong. Away from the line of fire.

  Seconds later, the four men unloaded on Furlong with their weapons, gunning him down in cold blood. Portions of ragged flesh spiraled from his corpse as he flopped and spun on the spot, the bullets tearing chunks from his body. His destroyed left arm slopped to the ground beneath the unforgiving blow of a shotgun blast, squelching as the red fluid sprayed from the shredded stump. The exposed, broken bone stuck in the carpet, pinning the arm at a sickening angle. Furlong howled as his life sprayed from his body in a hail of brutal gunfire.

  Dani lined up the shot and killed the nearest soldier, the bullet mashing through his eye. He collapsed backwards, plunging into his colleagues. The four men stumbled, their weapons knocked to the ground, bullets still spewing. Furlong’s bloody body, the skin merely a montage of blood and shredded gore, slumped to its knees. Dani hoisted herself from the wall with a grunt and stood behind him, shoving her injured arm into a fist-sized hole in his back, forming a human shield. Pain screamed up her shoulder as she lifted the injured limb, but she felt the adrenaline slowly kicking in.

  Kill or be killed.

  Grimacing, she pushed forward, sending the corpse into the soldiers. One fired from the ground, taking Furlong’s head clean off, the severed neck muscles no longer supporting it. The blood-soaked skull ricocheted into the air, arced and bounced down the hallway like a football. Dani emerged from behind the headless corpse and fired, killing the second soldier with a double tap to the chest. With startling precision, she shot the remaining soldiers in the head and collapsed to the floor. The splatter of brain and bone filled the air as the violence came to a halt.

  Opening her eyes, breathing into the rough carpet, Dani felt an overwhelming urge to vomit. Her battered body throbbed; her left arm – now coated in Furlong’s entrails – was totally numb and she was slowly losing a lot of blood. With reckless abandon and irritation, she unzipped her hoody and tossed it aside. She then wrenched the strap of her bulletproof vest, dropping the compromised armour to the ground. She winced and groaned. She slid her good hand beneath her skintight top and gently touched the bruise above her left nipple. The skin was soft, tender.

  Her hazy eyes fell to her bloody arm. The skin, ragged and dark crimson beneath the sleeve, oozed blood freely. The sound of a bloody pitter-patter from her fingertips made her groan.

  Fuck, she thought. This is going to kill me.

  Scooping the hoodie from the floor, she wrapped it around her arm, tying the sleeves tight against the bullet groove. It wasn’t the best dressing, but it would do. With the slight pressure applied, she found she could move it a little easier. She picked up the bulletproof vest and slipped it over her head and on to her shoulders, not tying the waist straps. The armour, though compromised, would still be better than the thin cotton that currently covered her battered body.

  For the first time, Dani realised that death was a formality, almost a certainty.

  She closed her eyes once more.

  You have nothing to lose.

  She opened them and glanced at the wooden double doors before her.

  The nameplate read Ross Rhodes – CEO.

  She smiled; her crimson-specked teeth forming a hideous, malicious grin beneath a visage peppered with gun residue and spilt blood.

  The moment of truth.

  Dani walked forward, gun cocked, ready for anything, including death.

  It’s almost over.

  TWENTY

  Scott glanced steadily around the lobby, observing the bloody massacre before him. Howes, inexperienced in such fieldwork, held a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream or potential vomit, her eyes wide in absolute horror. The acrid stench of sulphur, blood and death made her eyes water.

  Scott checked all three bodies. “Male, all wearing similar outfits. Expensive suits, matching shoes, carrying firearms. Whoever did this was good, precise. Two shots per person, no double taps.” Scott tapped their chests gently with a knuckle. “No bulletproof vests.” He gazed high and wide, scanning the entire room for damage. “No stray shots. This was done quickly and efficiently.”

  Howes grimaced as she walked over. “Still think your girl did this?”

  Scott shook his head. “No, this was done by someone with firearms experience.”

  “A year is a long time,” Howes interjected.

  “Meaning?”

  “She could have had lessons, taught herself. Even in London, that shit goes down everywhere. I’ve been to a few illegal ranges myself, closed some down.”

  Scott nodded, agreeing with his colleague.

  “What shall we do?”

  Scott rubbed his face. “Call backup. Get armed response down here. I think the carnage is just beginning.”

  *****

  A second bullet thudded into the open door, chipping away shards of polished wood. They fell to the carpet harmlessly. Dani sighed, stood behind the second of the double doors, itself closed and reinforced, something confirmed by several bullets thudding harmlessly against the other side. She could feel the vibrations trembling up her back.

  Silence filled the hallway, the tension paired with the stench of sulphur and body odor in the musty air. The sweat trickling down her back and sides, the slick nape of her neck, her soggy hair – they were all commonplace now, Dani blocked them out. The pain rocking her injured arm had started to subside, the occasional spike of agony forced her to grit her teeth and curse loudly.

  It didn’t matter. They knew she was there.

  “I’m here for Ross Rhodes.”

  A bullet screamed into the carpet, puffing black shreds of nylon and polyester into the air. No one said anything. Dani suspected that Rhodes would have an A-team as such, dedicated, trained soldiers who existed solely for his protection detail. Unlike the soldiers she’d faced thus far, these were a lot more organised, taking up a formidable position, one easily and safely defended against a vengeful teenager.

  Dani patted her waist, her trembling fingers tracing the contours of her ammo belt, a thin strap of plastic stitched with small pockets. Previously hidden beneath her hoodie, which now acted as a makeshift tourniquet on her bullet-shattered arm, she felt the familiar metal rims of several magazines. Three pockets were empty because of her shooting thus far. After finding what she wanted, she nodded to herself.

  “I’m here for Ross Rhodes,” she repeated.

  Still, she heard nothing. The audible sound of breathing was faint on the air. Remembering the images on the monitors, she knew that three people stood between her and Rhodes. Three people intent on waiting her out.

  She spat on the carpet, the phlegm pink with blood. The movement agitated her arm, made her wince. Despite the makeshift tourniquet, the blood was soaking through and beginning to drip from her fingers once more.

  She knew she didn’t have much time. Waiting wouldn’t benefit her.

  “If you let me through, I’ll let you live,” she goaded, her breath starting to rasp. Dani shook her head groggily,
and dug her good fingers into her leg, drawing an ounce of pain to spur her on. “My business is with your boss.”

  “The only way you’re leaving here is in a body bag.” The taunt was final, clerical. These people meant business.

  Dani smiled. “Have it your way.”

  She slipped a hand grenade from her belt and stared at the green sphere, trying to remember how it worked. Pull the pin, flick the spoon off and toss. Simple enough. The woman looked down at her torn, bloody arm and sighed. She placed the pin between her teeth and yanked with her good hand. Her teeth groaned and creaked with the pressure of the grip, the pin slowly easing away from the device. After a few seconds, the pin squeezed loose with a metallic screech. She spat it out and held the device before her, flicking the spoon with her thumb. It rang loudly, flicking off the grenade, bouncing to the carpet below.

  “You had this coming,” she uttered, and tossed the grenade around the door. Dropping to a crouch, she shoved into the corner formed between the protective door and the wall.

  Dani heard the grenade bounce off a wooden surface. Screams immediately rang from the room, panic and fear overwhelming the soldiers.

  “Grenade!”

  “What the fuck?”

  “Where is it?”

  “It bounced over there.”

  “Grab it, toss it back.”

  “Fuck that…get down.”

  An explosion rocked the hallway, sprawling Dani to the floor, the blast blowing the door off its hinges and launching it down the corridor, inches above her head. It crashed into a window, cracking the glass. Immense heat filled the hallway and Dani yelled, the sound lost on the force of the explosion. Dani felt herself passing out from the heat and exertion, her crippled arm pounding spikes of agony into her weakened brain.

  She closed her eyes.

  *****

  Sowder groaned loudly and coughed, spraying dark blood down her front, the red fluid dribbling from her lips. Every inch of her skin burned and sizzled, her hair felt like it was made of lava. She opened her eyes and immediately closed them, blocking out the bright flames before her. Blindly, she patted her outfit, her arms and legs, testing for rogue flames.

  There were none. She was okay; the heat causing her discomfort was from a different source. Fingering the floor, she rolled over onto her front, groaned, and opened her eyes again, this time under the protection of darkness provided by her body.

  Opening her eyes welcomed her to a new level of hell.

  As if clearing a distorted signal, her ears began to function again. She heard the sizzling of various materials, scorched and destroyed by the blast of the device…a hand grenade. She heard wood creaking, various structures compromised by the annihilation caused by the weapon.

  What the fuck is that bitch doing with a hand grenade?

  The entire room was a collage of deep reds, casual oranges and bright yellows, the three shades providing a pleasant, attractive colour to the obvious devastation that surrounded her. Shoving a shattered chair from her leg, she stood up, hobbling from behind the desk that had saved her life. As she rose, she noticed the desk was nothing more than a charred mess, the lapping flames from a stray, destroyed monitor working on its surface. The air was thick with dark smoke and she coughed, dropping to a crouch to avoid the deadly mist.

  Rinaldi’s exposed skull greeted her as she dropped, her knee squelching in the splattered brains of her comrade. His face had disintegrated in the explosion, his face no more, the front of his skull a cracked opening that allowed the charred cerebral matter and sinew to flow to the carpet freely. His hair, or what remained of it, burned, filling the immediate space with a noxious smell, one that soon dispersed on the heat of the overall destruction. The remainder of his body lay crippled beneath collapsed ceiling tiles and an overturned, burning desk. The telephone transformed before her very eyes, became an oozing puddle of black plastic that dripped onto his scorched flesh.

  Sowder retched, crawling away from her fallen friend. She scoured the room for Gilson and didn’t see him anywhere. As the smoke began to clear, the explosion no longer ringing in her ears, she saw a shattered arm sticking out from a black mess of wood and concrete. The wall had collapsed inwards, crushing Gilson beneath it. His broken arm, the skin seared and bubbling, lay upturned, the bloody fingers grasping at nothing. The shattered radius protruded through the flesh, the bloody skin stretched and torn on its sharp point.

  She tried to imagine the trajectory of the device and realised it must have bounced off the desk before her and rolled into the corner, obliterating Gilson and the surrounding wall. She was surprised that any part of his body had ‘survived.’

  The question returned again.

  What the fuck is that bitch doing with a hand grenade?

  Bradley had a lot to answer for.

  Just a teenager my arse.

  Sowder winced, her bruised leg nearly collapsing beneath her. She ambled past the desk, seeking the bright opening of the hallway, the doors no longer hooked to the hinges. Reaching to her waist, she pulled her pistol from its holster.

  Where the fuck are you?

  Stumbling through the demolished doors, Sowder squinted, the smoke receding somewhat. Small pieces of flaming wood peppered the carpet like misshaped candles. The blackened carpet in the doorway burned, wisps of smoke curling from the singed fibres, the grey tiling beneath showing through. She stepped over it.

  Halfway down the hallway, at the crux of the corner, she saw a woman crawling away. She lay on her front, her left arm inert by her side, the right arm working hard to pull her away from the heat. Light from a nearby window shone down on her, showing the extent of her injuries. A blood-soaked hoodie lay strewn on the carpet behind her. Sowder smiled, realising she had a prime advantage. She holstered her weapon slowly.

  I’m going to enjoy this.

  Sowder hobbled forward and leant down, grabbing the woman by her damaged arm. Dani screamed in agony and rolled over, kicking Sowder in the stomach, partially winding her. Sowder lurched backwards, landing on her rump. Dani struggled to her feet slowly, her arm still inert, her weary eyes glazing over.

  Sowder looked at the teenager and smiled, impressed. “I have to give it to you, you got this far. Not bad for a kid.”

  Dani said nothing.

  “On another day, I might even offer you a job. Thing is, you just killed two of my friends, absolutely massacred them. Who throws a hand grenade into a gunfight? What a lack of fucking respect.”

  Dani wobbled awkwardly, her legs weak beneath her unbalanced weight. Again, she said nothing.

  “Not much of a talker, eh?” The air began to clear, the fresh air from the cracked window filtering the acrid smoke from the room. Sowder narrowed her eyes and noticed the scars, the wounds on Dani’s face highlighted by the natural light spiking through the glass behind her. She shook her head. “Damn. You really aren’t having a good day.”

  With that Sowder charged, her head low, her arms wide. Dani saw it coming and lifted a knee, ramming the tough bone into Sowder’s face. Her nose exploded, blood and bone sliding across her sweaty, sooty cheeks. Sowder staggered back, coughing loudly.

  Dani didn’t wait.

  She stepped forward and hooked her arm around Sowder’s neck, grasping the woman in a front facelock. Pulling upwards, pressing her forearms into the woman’s neck, Sowder began to choke as Dani applied leverage to her throat. The female soldier began to flap, her arms slapping at thin air in an attempt to push Dani off her, to no avail. Dani glanced behind her and grinned, moving backwards, dragging the woman’s unbalanced weight with her.

  “I’m not much of a talker, but actions speak louder than words.”

  Dani hoisted Sowder to her feet and launched her against the window. She hit the glass with a thud, which soon followed with a loud, splintering crack. For indeterminable seconds, Sowder found gravity holding her, balancing her body in the air, the fragile glass supporting her weight. “No, no…no,” she found herself saying, h
er arms outstretched to spread her weight.

  Dani stepped forward. “Yes.”

  She collected the Beretta from the carpet and fired several times, the bullets hammering into the woman’s chest and shoulder. The bullets piled through, spraying blood and tissue against the glass, shattering the already fragile window. The glass began to fall away in rivulets, glittering in the emerging morning sun as they dropped silently to the street below. Dani leaned in close and sneered, blood and sweat dripping from her face. “I told you, I wanted Rhodes, that you didn’t have to die, but you didn’t fucking listen.”

  She punched Sowder in the face, smashing hot vermilion across the glass, and kicked the woman, finally breaking the webbed pane behind her. Sowder screamed as she found herself falling, ejected through the empty pane into the chilly air. Her scream dwindled as she hurtled to the street forty stories below.

  Dani fell to one knee and gasped, holding her chest. The cool air soothed her face and she closed her eyes. Mustering all of her strength, she straightened up, checked the ammunition on her Beretta, collected her weapons bag, and struggled down the hallway, passing through the shattered wooden doors. The fire warmed her skin as she walked, navigating the carnage, the subsiding flames harmlessly dancing on the furniture. Walking through the destroyed room, she came to a final set of double doors, embroidered with massive gold letters. RR.

  Shooting the handle, the lock shattered and clunked to the floor. She kicked the doors open and stepped through, screaming as she did. The bloody, battered woman emerged in a vast office, one minimal in décor, the centerpiece being a huge oak desk backed against a wall seemingly made of glass. She realised it was one huge window, which provided an exquisite view of London. The room smelled clean, with a hint of bourbon in the air.

  The leather chair behind the desk swivelled around to reveal a man with slick black hair and a scar on his forehead. A smile spread across his face, the flesh pockmarked with deep acne scars and decorated with a dishevelled beard. His hands interlaced before him, his elbows positioning them in front of his face. The leer was one of utter confidence and power.