Chapter 58: With a Bang
Bang.
Thwap.
Schnick.
Thwap.
He had expected gunfire.
He had expected shots.
But not away from him.
Not from an unrealized source.
An underestimated source.
Mickey had, once again, seemingly raised from the dead.
His gunfire was enough to tip the balance in their favor, taking out the guards surrounding Clyde.
And Alex's aim had held true.
A far, distant part, realized what he had done, but now… now wasn't the time to process it.
"Alex! Come on!" Mickey's face was drained of all color, but he was gesturing frantically in Alex's direction.
Alex just stood there.
He had done it?
Had he?
Was he dreaming again?
"Alex!" The shout broke through, drenching reality back in shocking clarity.
The fight wasn't over yet.
Not until Mickey was safe.
Alex stumbled forward, discarding the now empty gun.
Besides, it wasn't like he needed it anymore.
The courtyard looked like… He cut the thought off and all but ran to Mickey's side.
"Are you okay?" He asked, breathlessly.
Hysterically.
"Sure." Mickey grimaced, pressing a hand to his shoulder that was still bleeding. But not gushing.
That was probably a good sign.
Alex took the lead.
There were probably a million reasons why he shouldn't but… Mickey was in no condition to fight anyone. And the gunshots had likely alerted everyone within a mile radius that some bad shit was going down at the location. Either the locals would avoid the place like the plague, or it would be overrun with law enforcement in a matter of minutes.
Which… may or may not result in the outcome Alex desired.
He didn't trust anyone in the area.
But they had to be in Lima…
Mickey stopped just outside the gates, putting a hand against the wall to support himself. "I'm… not going to make it very far, fast."
Alex swallowed. "No."
Mickey turned bright eyes on him. "You need to get away."
"No!" He wasn't going to leave anyone behind.
Not Mickey.
Mickey needed to get to safety.
He needed medical attention.
"I… sent the… geotag to MI6," Mickey breathed, breath coming out in harsh pants. "Someone'll… be along soon."
"We're not splitting up." Because that had gone so well during his last escape attempt. It had only resulted in Maria's death and his own recapture.
Not that Clyde would be recapturing him.
He had made sure of that…
Alex slung Mickey's good arm around his shoulder. "Together, or not at all."
They took several stumbling steps together, heading out into the streets. Alex desperately searched for any landmarks and tried to engrave the location into his mind.
Maybe someone would be able to send a cleanup team.
Maybe, just maybe, they had a chance at surviving this.
"Take us to the British Embassy, as fast as possible."
It had taken a little to convince the taxi driver that they were reputable business. Alex had no doubt that their smell was rather off putting, but it wasn't his fault neither of them had showered or bathed in the past several weeks beyond occasional hose-downs from Clyde's guards.
And they probably looked mostly homeless, given the state of their clothes and lack of footwear. And the small little fact that Mickey was still bleeding out from a rather visible bullet wound.
Those were certainly all points in the taxi driver's favor to not taking them to their destination.
But somehow – perhaps it was the desperation that Alex let thread through his voice – the man had agreed to take them.
For a small sum of several hundred soles.
But that wasn't Alex's problem.
He didn't have any money.
He had just guaranteed that someone at the embassy would reimburse the taxi driver.
It would probably be an international incident or something if that didn't happen…
"We're almost there," Alex murmured in low French. Mickey had steadily gotten worse and worse – bleeding out, after all – until he was slumped heavily against Alex and was hanging on to awareness by a thread. "You don't get to die on me now."
The flashing of headlights on the roads were enough to disorient him. It had been weeks – almost a month, or longer perhaps – since he had last been out in the real world.
The last time had been when he thought he was going to his death.
It probably would've been easier if he actually had.
Now Mickey was hanging on by a thread.
Just another person he could chalk up on his mental death count.
One that had already gone up by a significant number earlier that evening.
"How much further?" Alex asked the driver. He had only a vague idea of where the embassy was located – mainly so that he could stay as far away from it as possible. He didn't like admitting a lack of knowledge in front of a local – there were still random kidnappings and ransoms that were possible if someone thought they had a good target – but there wasn't anything he could do.
"Two minutes." The driver's gaze flicked back at the two in the back. "Your father will get help."
Alex wasn't about to correct the assumption that Mickey was his father – there was a distinct lack of familial resemblance between them, but he wasn't going to argue if it was going to get them to their destination faster.
They had already driven for thirty minutes – not that long in the scheme of the city – and the driver was definitely speeding.
It was also the middle of the night.
He had been amazed to learn that it was well past two in the morning.
That there had been any taxis out near their location had been a miracle. That it had been one that didn't immediately try to kill them… well that was just a bonus at that point.
The lights of the city flickered around them as they drew closer.
Really, beyond getting to the embassy, Alex's plan hadn't gone much further.
Mickey needed help. Going to a hospital would just make too many questions. And be too insecure.
Anyone could come after them.
Even if the embassy didn't recognize a member of S-unit, well…
Maybe Alex would be able to clear things up if they hadn't already.
Mickey deserved to have a chance at life again.
He would get better.
Mickey slumped against Alex's shoulder, suddenly boneless. Panic fluttered in his chest as he maneuvered a frantic finger to his neck, searching for a pulse.
Weak.
Thready.
No response.
Mickey was all but dying in his arms.
They were so close.
Was help going to be too far away?
The taxi skidded to a stop, nearly bowling over a parking cone. The bright lights from the front entrance of the embassy were enough to give Alex a bit of hope.
The entirely unfriendly guards were another story.
But this was different.
These weren't Clyde's people.
And even if they were… Clyde was gone.
Gone.
Gone.
Gone.
They would have to help.
They couldn't just shoot them all.
It was liberating.
It was terrifying.
The guards started shouting orders at the taxi driver.
The driver, to his credit, started shouting back at them. Despite the fact that their guns were all aimed at him.
"You have ten seconds to remove yourself!" The guard shouted, keeping a healthy distance away from the taxi. Alex spied another in the background frantically barking orders into what could only be a radio.
It was an international crisis of his own making.
Alex pushed out of the car, letting Mickey slump to the side. The guns were immediately trained on him, but, for once, his lack of resemblance to any of the native peoples was working in his favor. "I…" The words caught in his throat, suddenly afraid that they wouldn't listen. That they wouldn't care.
That they'd just send him away.
Or worse, lock him up.
Condemn Mickey to his fate.
"I'm… I'm Alex Rider…" He swallowed thickly, letting the unfamiliar English words roll off his tongue. Everything with Clyde had been in Spanish. Everything with Mickey had been in French. He hadn't spoken English in weeks. "I was kidnapped nearly a month ago." The timeline was fuzzy, but that should at least jog some memories.
If they had even shared his real name.
"I… You've… got to help him…" He let a hand splay back in Mickey direction. "He's SAS." If anything, maybe that would spur them into action. "Mickey… Mickey…" He didn't even know Mickey's last name. Or if Mickey was even his real name. Maybe it was a nickname and it wouldn't mean anything to anyone.
The guard that had been frantically passing on messages, froze at the name.
"What happened?" The yelling guard asked.
Alex choked back a hysterical laugh. "We escaped."
They had escaped.
Escaped successfully.
But Mickey was dying.
Dying.
Dying.
Dead.
He hadn't really escaped.
"Why's he need help?"
The energy that had kept him going for hours was suddenly zapped from his body.
No more.
Too much.
"They… shot him."
His legs were getting rubbery.
He needed to sit down somewhere.
Let the adrenaline wear off.
Surely, they would help.
Save Mickey.
Alex swayed, vision suddenly going blurry.
"Woah, kid."
A hand touched his shoulder and Alex flinched away.
His hand went for the non-existent gun in his pocket.
He had no way to defend himself.
Not now.
"Alex!"
A familiar voice.
Far away.
Alex found one of the convenient stone posts, propping himself up on it. Tried to get his vision back under control. Tried to make sense of his surroundings.
There were too many people all of a sudden.
Too much at once.
They just… needed to help Mickey.
"Alex, come on." This time a gentle hand rested on his shoulder.
Alex blinked the blurriness away until there was a familiar face in front of him.
Ben.
"Huh," Alex sighed.
Help was here.
"Let's get you inside." Ben tugged him forward, not seeming to care that Alex's legs weren't working properly anymore. "They're seeing to your friend over there."
"'Is Mickey," Alex forced the words out, even though it was taking all his concentration to put one foot in front of the other. "Gotta… you gotta…" He blinked, trying to force the words straight. "Investigate over by… Call… Callao. Industry area." It had been the best he could gather. Somewhere in Callao. Identifying signs were few and far between.
"Yeah, funny story, we got a tip for that a little over an hour ago. Along with a large data dump of encrypted files." Ben wrapped an arm around Alex's shoulder, taking over all the guiding and firmly pulling him into the light of the embassy. "You did good, kid."
Alex bobbed his head mutely, as if he understood what that meant.
It was probably a Mickey thing.
"Is any of the blood yours?" The question sounded like it was coming from a million miles away.
Alex shrugged. "Dunno." He glanced down his shirt, which had taken on a new color in the past several hours. Flaked and coated in blood.
The blood of his enemies.
The blood of his friends.
His legs gave out.
Too much.
"Woah, woah." Ben's arms kept him from face-planting, but did little to slow his decent to the floor.
Alex sprawled bonelessly on the floor, lightheaded and nauseous.
So much blood.
Not his.
Theirs.
Mickey was going to die.
Too much blood.
The fact that his arms and legs just weren't responding any more didn't matter.
They hadn't been fast enough.
There was no way.
He barely registered Ben calling someone for help. Hardly noticed as Ben pulled him to the side of the entrance and cushioned his head from the ground. Barely felt the fingers on his wrist, searching for a reliable pulse.
"Hey, Alex?" Ben asked, softly.
Alex let his eyes flick upwards, meeting the man's eyes for the first time. There was stark relief on his face.
"I'm really glad you made it back."
Alex wished he could say Mickey had made it back too.
And Nico.
And Cameron.
And Jacobs.
So close, but so far.