John couldn't help but stare at the man's almost unnatural wide mouth. In combination with the angular face and the blue boiler suit he reminded him in a sickening way of a ventriloquist he had once seen at a cabaret he had visited when he had been at school. The ventriloquist had scared him
"Who are they?" Charlie demanded to know, as he stepped into the room, blocking the door with his body.
"I'm John Watson, I'm a doctor," John began to introduce himself, hoping he could calm the upset man. "And this is ..."
"I'm no-one," Cyrus interrupted him, clearly not wanting Charlie to know his name.
"He," Martha pointed at John, "came here for Billy."
"What do you want with our son?" Charlie growled.
"Like I said. I'm a doctor and I wanted to see if Billy was all right." John tried again to explain.
"That's what he told me too," Martha said. "But he's lying. Billy drank and then he came," Martha pointed at John accusingly, "and now Billy is dead."
John felt the blood drain from his face. The way Martha was talking implied he had killed the baby and a look at Charlie's face revealed that he believed every word he was hearing from Martha.
Before John could utter another word, Cyrus made a dash for the door. With amazing speed Charlie's hand went inside the knapsack and pulled out a knife. Cyrus hadn't even reached the door when the knife was thrown, burying itself into the man's back. Cyrus yelled in pain but he kept going. And Charlie returned his scrutiny back to John.
The doctor's thoughts were racing. He hadn't brought his gun and even if he had, a gun was not for combat at a short distance. The only option he had was fight Charlie with his bare hands, maybe hit him with the handle of the torch. Very slowly Charlie reached inside his knapsack again to pull out a combat knife. John didn't need to look closely to see that the blade was extremely sharp. His opponent still stood between him and the door, the only route of escape. Studying the man, John felt his inner self shifting, changing from 'kind medic' to 'bad ass mother fucker soldier'.
Charlie must have seen it too because he took a step back. The step back gave John the chance which he promptly took.
With three steps he reached Charlie's personal space. He stepped onto his left foot as hard as he could, rammed his shoulder into the man's stomach and used his momentum to swing his fist in a hook into his jaw. Charlie stumbled backwards, fell and John ran for the door. Before he reached it though, he saw something flying towards his head. It was nothing but a ceramic mug Martha had hurled but it hit him in the side of his face. The mug broke and a shard left a cut at one eyebrow but John kept going.
He slammed the door shut behind him and ran towards the staircase. Before he could reach the stairs he heard the sound of his pursuer. Still, he had a bit of a head-start and desperation made him run only faster. Unfortunately, the narrow staircase was blocked by the slumped body of Cyrus. Climbing over the body would take too much time, so John turned left and ran through the open door of the bunker, hoping that Charlie wouldn't follow or that he could hide and make his escape later on. He ran into the darkness, not wanting to give away his location by using the torch.
By sheer luck he missed an open shaft in the floor, went around a corner and found himself in a long corridor. Stopping to catch his breath, John strained his ears. The sound of running feet was clearly audible, stopping ever so often.
"Eight, nine, ten, coming!" he could hear Charlie's voice that sounded like the voice of a child that was playing hide and seek.
Feeling goosebumps rising, John took off his shoes and socks quickly. He put on the shoes again and pulled his socks on top of the shoes, muffling his steps efficiently before he hurried further into the darkness of the bunker.