PART THREE: THE LAST STAND
Chapter Two: Goodnight, Mr Payne
I woke up maybe an hour later, my whole body aching, used up, and in agony. My right eye was blind to the world, the swelling a painful grey throb. The scar on my face pulsed angrily. My broken rib was a lance of fire stabbing me in the heart. My head felt on the brink of explosion. None of my muscles worked.
Someone had cut me down and left me on a bare mattress in the cellar. A lot of good that had done me. My arms and legs were useless. I'd thrown up again.
Come on, Max, a little voice in my head whispered. Push it back. Stand up. Once you get some painkillers down your neck you'll be fine. If Mona's still alive, there's still a chance to save her. West said the vaccine was in his possession, which meant it could be here in his mansion. It's just a case of getting out.
Biting down hard on my broken teeth, tears swelling up in my eyes, I pushed myself up. Every muscle screamed in protest, and I fell back down with a thud. The scars on my chest flared up briefly.
Come on, damn it. Move, old man. Think of Mona.
I pushed up again, a scream of pain growling at the back of my throat, and slumped off the side of the bed, lying on the stone cold floor in a heap, shuddering and crying weakly. You got me, West. You got me good.
My jacket was on the other side of the room, a small black heap near an ancient oak wine barrel. Just a few yards, but to me a million miles.
I started to crawl, dragging myself along on my elbows, working my muscles gradually. Getting used to moving again. My elbows and wrists throbbed protests. Damn it, Max. Come on. It's nothing. Think of Mona.
I collapsed on the floor, just a yard or so away from the jacket, sweat standing out on my forehead. I wanted to lie here and cry, forgetting about Mona, forgetting about getting out of here, just wanting to wait here and die. It'd be better for everything. But there was no silencing that little voice in my head telling me to keep going, because otherwise it's all going to go to waste. You might have talked big in front of West about how it was all over, but that was all BS and you knew it. When I died the whole thing died with me – all the secrets, all of West's scheme. When I died, West won.
As long as I could stand I wasn't about to let that happen.
I reached out with one arm, stretching my tendons to the very edge, my fingertips brushing against the edge of the jacket. Come on, damn it. Just a little further. I pushed myself along the stone floor, grazing my sore chest, and hooked my finger in a fold. Then I dragged the jacket towards me, ignoring the pain now, focussing on nothing but that sweet, blissful feel of victory.
I fumbled greedily through the inner pockets, praying that they hadn't taken everything away. My guns were gone, along with my wallet.
But there, tucked away in the recesses of an inner pocket, was a small plastic vial of painkillers, the painkillers I'd stolen from an apartment near my own a thousand years ago. I yanked off the lid, peering inside. Just a few left at the bottom.
I choked them back, ignoring the stinging medicinal taste freezing the back of my throat, and lay back on the cold stone floor waiting for that comforting buzz to turn all the fire in my veins to a gentle soothing hum. I closed my eyes.
I never had a chance to recover. There were footsteps coming down the stone staircase outside the bolted cellar door. Mumbling voices.
Wincing at the agony, I stood up and pushed myself up against the wall behind the door as two men unlocked it and stepped inside.
"Boy, I'd hate to be in this guy's shoes when he wakes up," the guy on my right said as he stepped into the room. Blinding light from the corridor blasted through the door, and for a second the two men were nothing but shadows to my aching operational eye. I could clearly see the Desert Eagle he held in one hand and the steel pail of water he held in the other.
"Yeah, Scipio says he's got something special lined up for him," the other said, chuckling. "Almost feel sorry for the bastard."
"I wouldn't. Not if you'd heard what he's done. He's getting what's coming to him."
They stopped dead in their tracks, standing just past the doorway.
"The hell?" the nearest guy to me said, and I took my chance.
As the painkillers took effect, I leapt forward, grabbing the goon by the wrist and swinging him in front of me. His colleague cried out, whipped out a Desert Eagle, and in a wild fit of panic pumped three bullets into his friend, who slumped dead in my arms.
I forced the Desert Eagle out of his limp hand as he slumped to my feet and leapt out of the way of the next volley of bullets, shooting the last goon in the gut as I fell. He collapsed in agony and I ended his life with a bullet to the head.
Adrenaline roared through my veins. Behind me the door was wide open.
Time to leave.
I pulled on my dirty shirt, wincing as it shrugged against my wounds, and pulled my jacket over that. I stole a few spare clips from the dead men, and their guns, and left the room, shutting the door carefully after me.
Beyond the basement was another world. An ornate stone and marble corridor, all lit with ambient lighting. Priceless paintings adorning the walls. This was West's mansion, all old money and impeccable lineage.
I climbed up the staircase, enjoying the life running through my stiff muscles again, riding the adrenaline. West's mansion would be crawling with his goons, all heavily armed. And above them all, Scipio, the Senator's right-hand man, and a monster. I had my work cut out for me.
The staircase led to a long marble corridor with a neat series of mosaics set into the floor. Tall windows looked out over the Senator's grounds, now shrouded in darkness apart from the occasional bright white spotlights. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling.
And there was a man walking down the corridor, talking loudly into a cell-phone.
"Hello?" he cried. "Alberto? Mickey? Hey, guys, this isn't funny. I'm getting pretty scared up here. Guys? Hello?"
In his other hand he clumsily clutched a Beretta. Might have shot himself in the foot if he ever had the chance. I wasn't about to give it to him.
I stepped out into the corridor, a dark avenging angel, all flowing dark leather and wild fury.
He fell backwards, went to cry out, and then fell silent as a bullet blew out the top of his head, splattering his brains and blood across the expensive tiles. He fell backwards with smoke rising from his shattered skull. The cell-phone shattered on the floor.
I stole his clip and made my way into the heart of the mansion.
To be continued…
