PART ONE: The Shadow Before
Chapter Three: Sealing My Destiny
I leapt out from my hiding place.
I had a few mere seconds, the briefest moments in time, ahead of them. I had the weight of surprise. And by god, I was going to take it. Time seemed to slow down. The moment dragged out, and I could have lived a lifetime in those few seconds. One of the cops reached for his Kalashnikov, and fell into the sights of my Beretta. I slammed my finger on the trigger and felt the rumble of the gun in my hand, felt it reverberate up my arm, felt the flash of heat.
The cop's upper body was flung back in a spray of vivid red blood and his mouth opened in a helpless cry. I pulled the trigger again, and again. A bullet went wide, vanishing into the wall somewhere. Another caught him in the eye, throwing his head back and seeing him slump to the floor.
His companions were starting to react, reaching for their arms. I leapt for the cover of the far wall, spraying them with bullets, emptying the clip. Most of them ripped through the nearest goon, who swung around in a wild bloody death dance before landing hard on the wall.
As I hit the cover of a nearby alcove I caught his body slumping against the dirty wallpaper in the corner of my eye, watching as he slowly slid to the floor, leaving a trail of blood streaked on the wall.
The final goon unleashed a burst of fire in my direction. A few bullets clipped the side of the alcove, spraying me with paint and plaster chippings. I waited until I could hear his panicked advancing footsteps before swinging out from the alcove. I didn't give him a chance to react.
Instead I raised the Beretta high and aimed directly for his head. He opened his mouth to cry, but the sound never slipped out. Instead I silenced him forever with a bullet straight between the eyes. He slumped to the floor.
As silence reverberated down the crumbling corridor, I stood over three fresh bodies, my hands shaking, the taste of adrenaline fresh in my mouth. Already the coppery stench of fresh blood was rising in my nose, mingled with the scent of cordite. The last brass shell fell to the carpet.
What had I done? No time to think, no time to look back. No time to contemplate my crime. Run. Get out.
I turned away from the corpses, holstering my still-smoking gun. Somewhere up ahead was Mona, and my way out. I began to walk, to break into a run. My legs were shaking. I fell deeper into the nightmare.
Around the next turning lay three more bodies, and a lot of blood. The air, thick with cordite. Mona's handiwork. She'd shot like Annie Oakley. Two guards had neat bullet holes in their heads, the other a shot in the heart. Scattered around their fresh carcasses were hundreds of empty Kalashnikov shell casings. They'd had the numbers on their side, and they'd failed.
I stepped over them and stalked away. Silence everywhere. However, that didn't mean the corridors ahead were deserted. Come on, old man, I thought to myself. Make it to the staircase ahead. If you manage that, you're halfway there.
I began to break into a stride. I reached for my Beretta, still warm. So far, so empty. And far too quiet. Behind the peeling wooden doors the silence seemed deafening. In the dim twilight I couldn't help thinking of the dead men lying in those dark rooms, choked on their own blood, fallen in the grip of Miasma. Net curtains gently billowing open, trying to fill the stale rooms with fresh air, but always failing to carry out that sick smell – that cloying smell of death.
A single creak. I froze up. From behind.
I gently pushed up against a door and peered behind me. Three more of them. How long had they been following me? How long had they had the drop on me? My heart pounded in my chest. They could have pulled the trigger at any time. God, how did I let them follow me for that long?
Then, a choice. Face them… or run for the corridor.
I clutched my Beretta. Took a deep breath… and ran.
A hail of bullets flew past me as I rolled into view. I rolled out the way, and broke into a run. Come on, old man. Just a few more inches. The staircase could have been a million miles away. Keep them occupied.
I threw a few bullets in their direction, pressing my body up against the wall. That halted the barrage, if only for a second. I needed a gap through that wall of lead. I had it.
I leapt for the staircase, and burst into a full on sprint. Already the punishing barrage had started up again. Bullets whistled past, taking chunks off the staircase and the wooden rail, just inches below me. Make it up to the first floor. Make it that far, and you're almost there.
Then I felt my toe jam in to the edge of the step, and suddenly I was flying across the carpet, just as my fingertips brushed against the edge of the first floor. I hit the floor hard, the air rushing out of my chest.
And the footsteps were getting closer. And I was now in range.
To be continued…