muzzle flash made it obvious. The bullet sparked off a metal pillar to Victor’s left. He headed right, not risking firing back again at this range with only one bullet in the Glock.
Forty-five feet and the gunman fired at him again. He hadn’t changed position, somewhere near the sink. The bullet didn’t come close. He was shooting at noise only and Victor was a fast target. He headed back to the right, clipped a crate with his leg and stumbled. The next round blew a hole through a windowpane.
Less than thirty feet. His enemy fired again, this time from a different position, behind a pillar. The bullet came close enough for Victor to hear the sonic snap. Fifteen feet. Another shot missed and Victor braced for the next one that he felt sure was going to hit.
No shot. Empty gun.
Victor heard the magazine clatter on the floor and the gunman frantically trying to reload. Victor closed the last few yards fast and the gunman came into view – a blurry shape of near black against the darkness. Victor heard a new magazine slammed into place and the shape moved, collapsing backwards, Victor’s last bullet embedded in the gunman’s chest.
Victor stopped, took a much-needed deep breath, and listened. He heard one man groaning somewhere in the dark. Everyone else was dead or dying silently. Victor dropped the empty Glock and prised the fully loaded one from his enemy’s hand. He checked the corpse’s pockets, finding a wallet and a lighter. He took both, glad there hadn’t been any cigarettes as well to test his resolve.
He followed the map in his head to where his shoes lay, slipped them on, and then to where Georg had fallen, the groans growing louder the closer he got. Victor used the lighter to push back the darkness and saw Georg lying on her back, hands pressing down over the bloody mess of her abdomen. Blood pooled on the plastic sheeting beneath her and trickled on to the floor and drained through the gaps in the narrow boards. She stared up at Victor, her ghost-white face contorted by agony. Tears glinted on her cheeks.
‘
Please
…’
Careful to avoid the blood, Victor checked Georg’s pockets. ‘Please what?’
‘Help me.’ Georg’s voice was thin. ‘I’ll pay you … Anything you want.’
Victor held open Georg’s empty wallet. ‘What with?’
Georg didn’t answer. Victor put back the wallet, ignored a cell phone, and pocketed a set of van keys.
‘
Help me
,’ Georg begged again.
‘You’re wearing body armour,’ Victor explained, ‘which is why you took a twelve-gauge to the gut and are still alive. But it’s a concealable vest, so it has maybe nineteen layers of Kevlar. Enough to stop a nine mil travelling at twelve hundred feet per second, but not nine pellets of buckshot at the same speed. Maybe absorbed fifty per cent of the energy though, so none of those pellets reached your spine, but plenty of power left to shred your intestines. And that’s without the slug in your shoulder. You’ll be dead in fifteen minutes maximum. There’s nothing I can do to stop that.’
‘Phone … an ambulance.’
‘And have my voice recorded by the emergency services? I don’t think so.’
He found the guy he’d stabbed and pulled the knife free. Custom-made, all ceramic, with a kris edge and gladiator point. Far too good a weapon to waste in a corpse even without its sentimental value. Victor wiped the blade on the dead man’s jacket before folding it away.
‘I’m sorry … this … happened,’ Georg said.
Her tone of voice really did sound sincere, but in Victor’s experienceexcruciating pain had a habit of making people very apologetic. He stood.
‘Help me … please,’ she spluttered between grunts, ‘or kill me …
it hurts
…’
Victor approached and stopped a few inches short of the blood pool. He angled the Glock.
Georg’s gaze tracked the gun, but her eyes closed so she didn’t have to watch. Not that there was enough time to register a muzzle flash and fear the
Forty-five feet and the gunman fired at him again. He hadn’t changed position, somewhere near the sink. The bullet didn’t come close. He was shooting at noise only and Victor was a fast target. He headed back to the right, clipped a crate with his leg and stumbled. The next round blew a hole through a windowpane.
Less than thirty feet. His enemy fired again, this time from a different position, behind a pillar. The bullet came close enough for Victor to hear the sonic snap. Fifteen feet. Another shot missed and Victor braced for the next one that he felt sure was going to hit.
No shot. Empty gun.
Victor heard the magazine clatter on the floor and the gunman frantically trying to reload. Victor closed the last few yards fast and the gunman came into view – a blurry shape of near black against the darkness. Victor heard a new magazine slammed into place and the shape moved, collapsing backwards, Victor’s last bullet embedded in the gunman’s chest.
Victor stopped, took a much-needed deep breath, and listened. He heard one man groaning somewhere in the dark. Everyone else was dead or dying silently. Victor dropped the empty Glock and prised the fully loaded one from his enemy’s hand. He checked the corpse’s pockets, finding a wallet and a lighter. He took both, glad there hadn’t been any cigarettes as well to test his resolve.
He followed the map in his head to where his shoes lay, slipped them on, and then to where Georg had fallen, the groans growing louder the closer he got. Victor used the lighter to push back the darkness and saw Georg lying on her back, hands pressing down over the bloody mess of her abdomen. Blood pooled on the plastic sheeting beneath her and trickled on to the floor and drained through the gaps in the narrow boards. She stared up at Victor, her ghost-white face contorted by agony. Tears glinted on her cheeks.
‘
Please
…’
Careful to avoid the blood, Victor checked Georg’s pockets. ‘Please what?’
‘Help me.’ Georg’s voice was thin. ‘I’ll pay you … Anything you want.’
Victor held open Georg’s empty wallet. ‘What with?’
Georg didn’t answer. Victor put back the wallet, ignored a cell phone, and pocketed a set of van keys.
‘
Help me
,’ Georg begged again.
‘You’re wearing body armour,’ Victor explained, ‘which is why you took a twelve-gauge to the gut and are still alive. But it’s a concealable vest, so it has maybe nineteen layers of Kevlar. Enough to stop a nine mil travelling at twelve hundred feet per second, but not nine pellets of buckshot at the same speed. Maybe absorbed fifty per cent of the energy though, so none of those pellets reached your spine, but plenty of power left to shred your intestines. And that’s without the slug in your shoulder. You’ll be dead in fifteen minutes maximum. There’s nothing I can do to stop that.’
‘Phone … an ambulance.’
‘And have my voice recorded by the emergency services? I don’t think so.’
He found the guy he’d stabbed and pulled the knife free. Custom-made, all ceramic, with a kris edge and gladiator point. Far too good a weapon to waste in a corpse even without its sentimental value. Victor wiped the blade on the dead man’s jacket before folding it away.
‘I’m sorry … this … happened,’ Georg said.
Her tone of voice really did sound sincere, but in Victor’s experienceexcruciating pain had a habit of making people very apologetic. He stood.
‘Help me … please,’ she spluttered between grunts, ‘or kill me …
it hurts
…’
Victor approached and stopped a few inches short of the blood pool. He angled the Glock.
Georg’s gaze tracked the gun, but her eyes closed so she didn’t have to watch. Not that there was enough time to register a muzzle flash and fear the
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