24. Chapter Twenty-Four #2
I drop to the floor as two muffled explosions rock the air, and thick smoke fills the space.
Gunshots are fired close to where I crouch.
The punch of a bullet hits me in the right shoulder and throws me backwards.
Pain brings sudden lucidity, and I roll onto my side as a red mist lowers.
Even though visibility is minimal and getting worse, I drag myself over to an overturned stainless-steel shelf and pull the revolver from my waistband with my left hand.
Smoke has not completely covered the floor, and I look for legs before raising my gun and firing off a shot.
A body drops to the ground. Random shots are fired in return until barked orders from someone I assume is the troop leader have them hold fire and order a retreat.
By now, the room is blanketed in cloying dark fog.
The sound of what I believe to be a single helicopter grows louder and closer.
Beneath the sound of soldiers’ boots moving out and staccato commands from the leader, I hear Coleman’s voice.
“Gabriel. Over here.”
I don’t hesitate. Using my good hand and on my knees, I crawl towards his voice, keeping my head low. He is crouching at the far end of the room where the smoke is less thick. As I reach him, his eyes widen when he sees my injury. I notice blood already dripping from the fingers of one hand.
“Shit. You’re hit.”
“It’s not too bad.”
That isn’t strictly true. I’m losing too much blood.
“I don’t suppose you have anything in your bag to tie around the wound? Help slow the bleeding?”
He yanks off his small backpack and unzips the top.
Inside he has a thin micro towel, the kind I use to dry myself after swimming.
Coleman doesn’t hesitate, pulling out a box cutter and cutting the towel into strips.
Following my instruction, he pours bottled water onto the wound and allows me to bunch the cloth there to staunch the blood flow.
I press firmly with my good arm despite the pain.
I am about to instruct him to tie another binding around the wound when he pulls out a large roll of gaffer tape.
Nodding my approval, I allow him to secure the injury tightly, wrapping strip after strip around my upper arm while I fight off unconsciousness.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been next to useless—” he begins.
“I’m glad you were here. Did you zap the guard?”
“See? I told you that baby would come in handy,” says Coleman but then stops when he registers my pain. “You know, I think we might have to sit this one out. I’m hoping that helicopter I can hear is Romano coming with backup.”
“No, I think they’re here for the old man. But we need to get out of this hut. We’re easy marks stuck inside. And the fog is already beginning to thin. Thank goodness you brought those smoke canisters.”
“I didn’t bring—”
Two loud explosions outside the hut rock the ground and rattle the windows. Rapid gunfire sounds follow, and muffled cries fill the air.
“Stay behind me and keep low,” I tell Coleman and begin to crawl down the corridor towards an open doorway.
My right hand is numb and useless, and I keep the gun in my left.
Ahead is another entryway into the building, not the door we came through.
Smoke is flowing out of the exit, obscuring my view, but shadows outside appear to be moving erratically.
One of the passing soldiers spots me and raises his weapon.
Before he can fire off a single shot, I hear a distant crack of a rifle, and he is thrown backwards onto the ground.
There is only one person I know who can shoot so accurately.
I look to the highest point, the water tower, where I am reasonably sure Mrs Bellacci is hidden.
Four black-clad bodies are sprawled lifeless on the ground.
Another soldier is unarmed and being tackled in hand-to-hand combat by Lorenzo.
Two flank the old man as he shuffles to an open area with a landing pad.
What has descended is not a helicopter but a six-seater passenger drone, a futuristic design in glossy white curves and like nothing I have ever seen.
Only now do I realise how the soldiers arrived when I spot three AWD-armoured Jeeps parked at the rear of the hut.
I knew there were other entrances into the grounds, but the old man would know them better than anyone.
Just then my gaze is drawn to the two soldiers crouching behind the remains of a brick wall, one who has readied a portable shoulder-launched weapon aimed at the water tower.
They are shielded from Mrs Bellacci’s line of fire.
“Coleman,” I say, rising to my feet. “Kneel down in front of me. And cover your ears.”
Coleman looks horrified. If not for the urgency, the moment might even be comical.
“Quickly. I need your back for support. To steady my left hand when I fire.”
He does what I ask and freezes. I kneel, too, the pack on his back providing the perfect support.
I take a moment to check my aim and fire off three shots.
I hit the soldier holding the launcher in the neck, knocking him against the wall.
I push Coleman to the ground when the other turns in our direction and fires off a few rounds.
Fortunately for us, Lorenzo has neutralised his opponent and, seeing what is happening, manages to pluck a gun from the ground and take him out with a single shot.
When I look around, the loaded drone is already airborne and heading out of the grounds. Within minutes, they will be lost behind one of the low hills surrounding the camp.
Lorenzo runs over to me and is about to hug me when he sees my arm. Instead, he places his hands on either side of my head, pulls me in and kisses me fully on the lips.
“Romano is ten minutes away. What did he want, this old person?”
“My DNA. He has the other Knights, but wanted mine to complete the set.”
“What for?”
“To clone us.”
“To clone you?” Lorenzo’s gaze swings to the drone, and he utters an expletive.
“He is gone, Lorenzo. The best we can do is to alert Romano—”
“No! Mrs Bellacci can shoot them down.”
“Drones operate by battery. There is no fuel tank to hit. The best she could hope for is to take out one or two of the passengers.”
He is already turning from me.
“You do not have imagination, Gabriel.” He turns to a dazed Coleman and holds out his hands. “I need your backpack.”
Coleman strips the bag from his shoulders without hesitation and hands it over.
Lorenzo empties the contents, then runs over to the bodies of the two soldiers and scoops up the remaining launcher projectiles.
Once the pack is in place, he grabs the portable rocket launcher and heads towards the tower.
When I turn to check on Coleman, he is mesmerised as Lorenzo scales the narrow ladder to the top of the water tower like a monkey being chased into a tree.
“What the fuck?” mutters Coleman. “Remind me that I don’t ever want to get on that young man’s wrong side.”
“You do not, Coleman. Believe me. You really do not.”
Mrs Bellacci’s head appears briefly when he reaches the top. As Lorenzo clambers over and disappears onto the roof, I grab Coleman’s arm and lead him away. I am not sure if it is the sense of danger, but my heart is racing.
“What’s the problem?”
“We need to move. M2 taught me to leave no evidence or traces of what happened once a job is done. And that usually entailed razing a building to the ground. He may well have planted explosives and planned to do the same here now that he’s out of harm’s way.”
We head to a raised spot across the grounds overlooking the landing pad where the drone took off. As I look to the top of the tower, my eyes blur, a moment of double vision. Confused, I rest a steadying hand on Coleman’s shoulder.
“Are you okay, Gabriel? You’ve turned ghostly white.”
Only then, as I watch the trail of a rocket sear the sky, do I realise the dreadful truth. Somewhere around me, I hear an explosion—perhaps the hut or maybe the drone—but my concentration is focused internally because I need to articulate something before it is too late.
“Coleman,” I say, grabbing at his sleeve. I feel a toxin working inside me. “I am losing consciousness. Something on the gloves? Will be traces on my wrist. Must tell Romano. He will know what…”
My consciousness folds, and I slip into darkness.
Visions surface. Running barefoot up a snowy hill, my feet numb from the cold.
Stay with me. Fighting to remain afloat amid blazing flotsam in the middle of a calm, cerulean sea.
Gabriel. The sour smell of sweat from a morbidly obese man, his heavy arm slung around my shoulders.
He’s coming. Screeching metal, broken glass, people and luggage tossed around like clothes in a washing machine as the train compartment tumbles down an embankment.
My love. Skipping away from a black limousine to a waiting Jeep and not even flinching as, behind me, the luxury vehicle explodes in a ball of fire.
Lorenzo’s frightened eyes stare down at me. Or is this real? The noise inside this box where I’m lying is deafening. I can barely hear Lorenzo’s shouted words.
“Romano is here. Try to stay conscious, my love.”
He places a hand on my cheek. ‘My love.’ The words are soothing and also bolstering.
No matter how hard I try, though, I slide back into the dark.
Albert is there this time. We are sitting next to each other, propped up against the headboard on his bed, the way we used to.
He is typing on his phone while I am struggling through the Dickens compendium he gave me.
With his usual fond smile, he shows me his screen.
He has been using our code and tells me to spell out the letters.
I tell him I don’t have the cypher to hand.
He insists that I dig deep and try to remember.
I study the characters and scour my memory.
?????????
FIGHT.
The second line is shorter and easier to decode.
????????
LIVE.