- Chapter Nine -

Zurich is sure that you are not picking up the right news stations; that somewhere out there, someone still shows your pictures. He sends Hassam up to the room, to check each receiver.

Not long after, you hear glass shatter, followed by a dull thump.

You jerk. Zurich blinks at the ceiling, and does not seem startled.

Silence.

Zurich sits, and seems very calm.

You ask if perhaps he is keeping still. He tells you Hassam is dead.

He gets up slowly, turns off the monitors to the news stations. Only the grey images of the woods outside to watch you. His eyes have changed; the light's back. Candle beneath water, shining out of nothing.

"They've been playing a game. By not acting, force us to react. We shall not follow, will we?"

You don't understand, but he doesn't want an answer.

"We're all playing the waiting game. Time to give them something better."

Zurich shuts his eyes, thinking. You wait for a while, then sit and watch the cameras. Something's moving in the trees, but when you tell Zurich he's not listening.

His eyes open. Turns to you.

"The general who is skilled in defense hides in the most secret recesses of the earth," he says.

You perk up. You remember the game he and Hassam used to play, and you give the returning line.

"He who is skilled in attack flashes forth from the topmost heights of heaven."

He smiles, nods. "Exactly. Get the camera ready." He moves away, between the curtains.

You glance up at the roof. Quiet.

Yells.

You jump at the gunshot.

A door slams. You stand frozen. You can hear the American yelling inside the cupboard, hear him pounding his fists.

Zurich drags the Israeli woman in, ties her hands roughly. She is barely conscious.

"Get the camera ready," he repeats. He's still smiling. As you set up the camera, he drags her so she's on her knees.

Swaying slightly, her eyes waver towards you.

You look away.

The message is short and fairly abrupt.

It is the actions. They are the true mark of intention; compared to them, words are meaningless.

He reaches down beside her, picks up a carton. The smell hits you.

Fuel.

You cannot pull your eyes away. Her bound hands are before her like prayer as she sees that thing above her and understands what it means. Like the goddess Sati, like the Divine Madonna of the heathens.

You stare because you can taste in the air the countless, millions of eyes. This picture that will concrete you in history, with Zurich wild eyed and livid with the thought of being ignored, and the woman staring up at that red container.

Liquid falls, and she jerks away.

You stop the tape.

It doesn't stop him. He drenches her with it. She tries to move away, and he hits her. Something seems to have snapped in him, because he hits until she falls. Irritated, he shoves her roughly with his foot.

She doesn't move. You stare at her, prone against the dirt as she oozes fuel like blood.

He turns to you. "Get the man."

His eyes are all whites and tiny pupils, and there's blood on his face. His lips are pulled back into a smile that's all teeth and fury.

You don't know what to do. Hassam would know, but Hassam is dead.

Zurich steps forward, and you back away. He's between you and the door.

You need Hassam. He would know. He always knew how to stop Zurich when he couldn't stop himself. You don't know.

You obey. That's what you're here for.

So that's what you do.

The man is groggy, bewildered as you drag him into the room. His eye rolls and focuses on you, and there's the dull fear of a dying animal in them as you bind his hands.

Zurich looks at him, asks him something softly.

The man looks up, uncomprehending. Stares at him with nothing in his expression. Of all the things his face could have worn, that is the worst.

So Zurich beats him. You stand paralysed, telling yourself to do as Hassam would do and throw him off, but you're scared of that mad light in his eyes and your limbs just tremble. The man cries out, and you stay still and silent.

Zurich only stops when an alarm goes off; the man vomits into the dirt. Zurich steps back, disgust on his face. He looks down at the groaning man, then at the woman who lies where he dropped her.

"Weak." He snarls it. "By God, how can they be so weak?"

The alarm whines through the shadows, unfamiliar and shrill. It takes you both a while to find the reader, to realise what it indicates. A change in the concentration of the air.

You take in a breath. There's a bitter taste in your mouth, and you feel dizzy.

Zurich stares at the reader, mystified. The man moans.

The sound jerks him back. "Gas. There must be a hole. Find it." He ties a cloth around his face, makes you do the same.

You run your hands over the walls, searching for cracks. Roots brush against the concrete, and you shudder at their gnawing. But they cannot get in.

Nothing can get in.

You stop.

Nothing can get out then, either.

The thought never occurred to you before.

"How will we get out?" you ask him.

Zurich ignores you. He picks up the gun, shoves it roughly in his belt.

You look at the man. His hands are moving, light flickering in his fingers. He's holding something.

You look at the blood oozing down his face, and say nothing.

The smell of gas is getting stronger. Your legs feel shaky. You get around to the computers, and glance at the screen.

The woods are alive with shadows.

You turn to speak, but the words die in your mouth.

The man has untied himself.

"Zur…"

Too late.

He kicks out, sends Zurich flying off his feet. Face covered with dust and blood and teeth bared, he's on him in a second. Being in that room has turned him feral.

You jump forward, then stumble.

The woman has wrapped a hand around your ankle. You try and shake free, but her grip does not falter. You stamp on her wrist, and the hand breaks off.

Just in time to turn and see Zurich smack him in the jaw, kick him away into the wall beside you.

Wrenching the gun from his belt, he fires wildly.

You hear the noises of metal breaking skin. That funny grunting noise. It makes your stomach jolt.

He falls, and does not rise.

The smell is getting stronger. You can pinpoint it now, see the hole broken in the corner of the basement.

"You idiot!" he gags, face still red. "Cover it up!"

He grabs the blankets, shoves them in the corner where the smell hangs malevolently to plug the hole. You drag the mattress, and as you get close you feel light headed.

Above you, there's the sound of splintering wood.

Zurich's face becomes still.

It's funny. Your knees have buckled and you're on the floor, but you can't remember either happening.

You call out to him, but he walks away from you, towards the blue cables on the side of the wall.

Your abdomen hurts. Look down…

Oh.

You had felt that impact, but assumed it was fear. Being shot should hurt more.

You can hear them, upstairs. Voices, shouting.

Zurich waits as the room above fills. He's by those cables, slicing the centre cord, and the insides look wrong. There's a crack as he lights it. You watch the spark shoot along the wall, following the cable into the ceiling.

Sounds that blow out your eardrums roar above you. A shuddering crack of electricity; flashes of light. Like disco.

You smile, because that's a silly thought. You can hear yelling, but the loudest is Zurich's scream of rage.

Wood groans; above you, the roof splits. Shouts of panic, and someone falls. The beams start to topple, bringing down the floor and then the roof far above you.

You shut your eyes.

An image follows you into the dark.

Silence, and long shafts of light. The shadows gnaw at the edges of your vision, and one stands above you.

You look up into pale eyes the colour of winter morning. A gun stares at you from his hand, eye dark with retribution.

Then you know nothing.