--4--
The sound of the gunshot sliced through the air. Brownlow broke off mid-sentence and all the officers heads snapped round at the sound.
Yates immediately broke into a run, yelling orders to his officers to hold their fire.
"Bloody hell!" Meadows cried.
---
Time crashed to an almost halt. Mickey felt warm blood on his chest, splattered on his face, red in his eyes. But there was no pain.
No pain.
No…pain.
And then the world crashed back into focus again and he heard screaming. Weight hit him, square on the chest, knocking him to the ground. The builder grunted as he fell onto Mickey, the stench from his blood and ruptured organs surrounding the young DC, making him want to gag.
Mickey thudded to the floor, hitting his head. Jackson stood over them, staring down at the carnage he'd created.
---
Meadows and Brownlow joined Yates behind the ARV. One of the SO-19 officers was at his side, using the relative cover of the van to scan the café with binoculars.
"Any movement inside?" Jack asked.
Yates looked at his officer. The young man broke from the eye pieces for a second and shook his head.
"Damn." Brownlow muttered.
---
Mickey shrugged out from beneath the heavy man and pulled off his jacket, balling it up to press against the hole in the man's stomach. The builder was making gurgling noises, drowning on his own blood.
"Jesus…" the other gunman was saying, "Jesus fucking Christ, Jackson!"
Jackson was breathing rapid, almost shaking. He stumbled back from the bleeding man. The little girl continued to scream and Jackson went to cover his ears, obviously disturbed by the noise but stopped halfway as the shock cleared and pointed the gun at her. Her mother covered her child's mouth and rocked her, shaking her head 'no' to Jackson over and over. Her lips moved as if she was pleading, but no sound came out.
Boulton made a croaking noise but that was all the protest he could make. But Mickey understood what he'd tried to do and did it for him.
"Let me call an ambulance." Mickey said, drawing Jackson's attention away.
Jackson moved his arm, pointing the gun down, aiming right for Mickey's head. He indicated the bleeding man, "leave him!"
Mickey looked up, tried to look anywhere but at the gun. His jean jacket, pressed against the builder's stomach, was now red and soaked. So were his hands. He was dimly aware of the other hostages around him, scared witless and had to force himself not to look at anyone but Jackson. He could have done with some guidance from Duncan or Boulton right now.
"No." He found himself saying.
Jackson pushed the gun right into Mickey's face.
"For fuck's sake, Jackson!"
"Shut up, Carter!" Jackson snapped, not taking his eyes from Mickey. "Get away from him." He told him.
Mickey glanced down at the man he was tending. "E's dying."
"So?"
"So its murder!"
Jackson jerked his head in the direction of the wreakage outside the café. "What the fuck d'you think that was?" He sneered. "One/two, what's the difference?" But he was still shaking, still shocked by what he'd done. That gave Mickey something to work with.
"This time you have a choice, yeah?" Mickey told him. "You let me call an ambulance and this'll all be over."
The builder was moaning, sounds growing quieter with each gasped breath. He didn't have long.
"Yeah?" Mickey prompted.
The builder's body lost its tension. Mickey felt him go limp beneath his hand but he couldn't check to see if he was dead or just unconscious.
The other gunman wavered. "Jackson…?"
"Shuddup!" The gunman yelled, finger tightening on the trigger. "Shut the fuck up!"