PART ONE: The Shadow Before
Chapter Seven: Run Down and Derelict
"Where the hell did they go?"
A tall man, with a close brown crew cut. Steely grey eyes. Chiselled features. Looked like a former army brat. And beneath the brilliant white of a lamp-post, the anger on his face was clearly visible. As was the semi-automatic he held in his beefy hands.
"This has gotta be the car, Lenny," another man said, standing over the bullet riddled hulk that had once been a beloved, reliable family car, a hundred years ago. This man was shorter, blonde, and his eyes betrayed a very different emotion: fear. Of what, wasn't quite clear. His boss, maybe. Or maybe something else. Something lurking out there, in the darkness.
A third man – faceless, nameless thug – yanked the car door open and shone a pencil-thin torch around inside. Brief flashes of light, illuminating for a second shards of broken glass, torn rug, patches of broken leather, old discarded bottles and wrappers.
The leader circled the car, then grunted and kicked a door. His hefty black boot left a dent in the rusted metal. "Bastards!"
"Oh man," the blonde man croaked. "The boss is gonna kill us. Man, we're… we're dead men. Jesu…"
"Shut up!" the leader balked. He scanned the area, peering into the shadows. Allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Careful not to make a noise, he crept on to the grass. Into the darkness. And he surveyed the whole scene – every branch, every bench, every shrub that could conceal a man. And then he saw a flash, and suddenly his eyes were staring straight into mine, and escape seemed a distant impossibility. For a long time – for a thousand years, it seemed – those steely grey eyes focussed on me. Then he whispered something to his men. Holstered his gun.
"Mona!" I whispered. "Go! Now! Over there!"
I pointed to an old birch with long, drooping branches. Enough shadow.
She wasn't listening. She was reaching for her gun. "I can take them, Max."
"Not in your condition," I replied.
She slammed a clip into the Desert Eagle. "What condition?" she snapped.
"You're not well, Mona," I replied. "And you know it. If your senses are cloudy, there's the chance you'll miss. That's a chance we can't afford to take."
"Max…"
"Don't argue with me, Mona! Just go!"
She sighed, holstered her gun and slunk off into the shadows of the birch. The goons were getting closer now, all three taking up formation on the grass, guns close to hand. I reached for my Beretta and began to back off.
My heart pounded in my throat. I willed my feet to hurry, to not hit any branches, or snag a bush. The goons stopped at the bush just as I reached the birch and pushed up against it.
Suddenly the silence was interrupted by the deafening 'rat-tat-tat' of automatic fire and bursts of flame. I didn't dare turn around, but I could see the flashes, and the roar pounded in my chest.
"Come out, you son of a bitch!" the leader cried, after unleashing his clip. He slammed another home, mumbling "Damn."
The road lay just yards away from my hiding place. Mona was looking optimistically at the old theatre. I wasn't quite as enthusiastic.
The old theatre looked as if it had been out of use since the eighties, but probably hadn't seen its heyday since it was a vaudeville in the thirties. Those windows which weren't boarded up were shattered, revealing gaping holes of dusty, forgotten darkness. An ancient marquee still bore a few black letters that had once advertised a show. It was a big building, housing several auditoriums by the looks of it. An ancient and forgotten FOR LET sign was nailed above the marquee. Old, dark, forgotten – and, doubtless, full of crumbling architecture and a thousand broken legs waiting to happen.
Before I could stop her, Mona was on her feet and sprinting across the road, for the theatre. I went to cry after her, but sharply bit my tongue and fought it back. You give away your position now, and you're dead. Damn it.
I followed her to the theatre.
By the time I arrived Mona was already surveying the old broken windows, hidden beneath the shadow of the marquee. It had been locked and bolted up years ago. The windows were coated with dust and a huge spider web crack covered the bottom left of one. Beyond the foyer looked worse – a threadbare red carpet, littered with hunks of white plaster and rubbish, sat forgotten in the darkness.
"Cover me," Mona said, steadying herself against the door.
I reached for my gun and scanned the park. The goons were spread out now, searching the park. One flashed his torch around. Time was running out. They'd soon realise we were gone, and the theatre would be their first target.
There was a loud thud and the clatter of broken glass as Mona kicked open the door. The spider web had given in, littering the floor with broken glass.
"Come on," she said, gently pushing open the door and ducking into the shadows. I followed her and entered the old theatre, gently closing the door behind us. It would buy us time, maybe.
The lobby was in a sorry state. A crumbling food counter sat in a corner, the shattered popcorn machine gathering dust, the drinks towers rusting. The fluorescent street-lights outside cast long shadows across the torn carpet. I could make out Mona's dark shape, slightly hunched over, making her way to the nearest auditorium.
"I'm going to look for a back exit," she said. "Try and find some light."
I nodded and began to walk away, just as three dark shadows cast themselves across the lobby, and a familiar voice cried, "THERE!"
To be continued…