Banshee Hunt (2 page)

“Seven? Eight maybe?” The man started stammering in terror even as he was gasping for breath. And then he started begging. “Please!”

James kicked him in the head, knowing he didn't have time for anything more. Seven or eight more. Or not. The man didn't know how many were down already. It was still a lot. More than he'd counted on. But it didn't matter. They still had Matti. They were going down and he was going to get her back. It was time to think tactically. And tactics always began with being prepared.

James reloaded his gun, stuffing as many shells as he could into the shotgun's slide. He had no intention of running out of shots in the middle of a fire fight. He then checked the carry bag to make sure just how many of each canister and grenade he'd brought with him. Finally he took a moment to listen for the sound of sirens. There were none. The distance, the lack of people in this area and the distant traffic noise had protected the battlefield. Having the gunfight inside a structure had probably helped as well. Though of course he knew, they could be on their way.

As he worked, preparing himself for the battle ahead, James had to try and keep the overwhelming wrongness of what he'd just done from getting to him. He'd never done that before. Deliberately shot a man. And ever part of him wanted to scream out that it was wrong. He was a cop. But he couldn't be one just then. He couldn't even call his fellow cops now. Forget Francis, dying on the floor of his flat, he'd literally just tortured and possible killed a helpless man. But his daughter was still a prisoner, and James knew he had to focus on saving her. Nothing, absolutely nothing could come before Matti. So as much as he needed to give in to his emotions, he couldn't. And somehow as he worked, he squashed them down and pushed them away.

Once he was more or less in control of himself again James headed out, crossing the open space between this building and the next, and then started scouting out its perimeter before going in. He had to know what he was getting into. He couldn't afford to get himself killed in another surprise attack. Not before Matti was safe.

The first thing James discovered was that the man had been wrong. The building didn't have a cellar as he claimed. That had made no sense anyway. What it had was an underground basement for car parking. But no cars would be using it ever again. Because when he found the drive way leading up and out of it, he found not only the roller chain fence down and locked, but the ramp itself blocked with what looked like part of the building's roof. No one was getting out through it. There was light inside though, shining out through the rubble. Clearly someone was home.

Inside the building he didn’t find anyone waiting. But he'd expected that. The gang had set guards upstairs just in case someone came, and when he'd opened fire on the first one, the others had come running from the other buildings. Those below clearly hadn't heard the battle. The chances were that they had no idea what was happening. That gave him an edge. But only if he used it correctly.

It began with half a dozen smoke canisters. They were too big to fit through the gaps in the roller fence, but he could set them off against it and watch the smoke billow in. Air was flowing in the right direction underground, suggesting that while everything else was dead and decaying, the ventilation system still worked down there. It would have to or the gang wouldn't be able to stay there.

After that it was simply a matter of going inside, taking position and waiting for them to come up. Fortunately he had a perfect position. The building was exactly like the first one with the single exception that there was a basement. And there was a stairway leading down to it housed in a four by six yard concrete block structure. It was simplicity itself to simply take up position on the outside of that structure, peering around the corner at the open space in front of it. Soon he knew, worried slavers from the basement would be rushing up the stairs thinking there was a fire outside. They would come flying out of the stairwell door and run straight out into the open. And just to be sure they wouldn't put up too much of a battle, he tossed a tear gas canister just in front of the doorway and pulled down his mask.

His trap worked perfectly. The first two men came running out at high speed thinking there was a fire somewhere, and immediately ran into the cloud of gas that had filled the ground floor. They never had a chance. He shot them both in the groin as they stumbled around wiping their eyes, their weapons forgotten. After that while they lay on the ground crying out in pain and when he'd made sure that no more were coming up the stairwell, he kicked their weapons away and then kicked both of them in the head. It wasn't what he would have done as a cop. Instead they would have been arrested and carted off to the cells to await trial. But he wasn't a cop. He was alone. And they wouldn't be causing him any more trouble.

Five down now he figured. Perhaps three more left. Maybe more. Either way the odds were shifting in his favour.

But anyone in the actual stairwell would have heard the blasts. He was sure of that. And anyone who had, was now taking up positions below. Preparing for him. After all they would also have come running out if they hadn't. And that meant that it was time for phase two of his plan. A phase that began with him stepping out in front of the stairwell, cracking open the door a fraction and then rolling three tear gas canisters through it.

They rolled and then clattered as they found the stairs and fell down them, spraying their gaseous contents everywhere as they did so. The sound they made was greeted by the sound of at least one assault rifle spraying bullets as whoever was below tried to kill him. As he'd expected someone had been left in the stairwell to guard things. But that was alright. They'd left themselves with one other weakness. They had light below.

It was the work of seconds to open the door once the assault rifle had stopped and rush through, keeping his head down and then aim at the fluorescent lights in the ceiling. Once they went dark, the only light coming in was from the window in the heavy door connecting the stairwell to the basement. James was a little blinded from having stared at the light for a couple of seconds. But whoever was below was completely blind. His eyes hadn't had time to adjust to the darkness and they were no doubt now filled with tears.

The man at the bottom of the stairwell responded exactly as James would have expected, firing straight up the stairwell, spraying bullets everywhere. But none of them could hit him as they smashed into the concrete undersides of the stairs. A few ricochets came close, but soon the man had emptied his weapon and James knew he had him.

That was his signal to advance down the stairs, and when he reached the bottom to blast another round into the man's groin.

Those inside the basement immediately responded, firing scores of rounds into the door leading to the stairs. But the door was a heavy wooden affair, and James wasn't standing in front of it. He wasn't that stupid. So as the bullets streaked through the door and bounced off the concrete block walls, he headed back up the stairs a little way and waited. This time he got hit. One bullet ricocheted off the wall to smash into his vest and another grazed his leg. But they weren't serious problems, the bullets having lost most of their power from blasting through the thick wood and then bouncing off the concrete walls. They hurt but he ignored them.

Twenty seconds or so later the gunfire stopped, and James could almost hear what the men inside were asking themselves. Was he dead? Or was he coming through shortly? They were scared and panicking; and frantically reloading. But they weren't prepared. He could also hear the sounds of children screaming in terror as the bullets sprayed. And one of them he knew was Matti. But James' only question had to be how many were there?

James walked carefully down the stairs once more, reached into his bag for all his remaining tear gas canisters, and tossed them through what had been the door's window and waited. It wasn't long before he heard the men opening fire again as they realised he was still alive, and he had to retreat back up the stairs once more. But it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that the men were being overcome by the tear gas.

Eventually the weapons fire stopped and he could hear the sounds of men choking and calling out to one another in fear. He also heard the sounds of frightened children screaming. And he knew that was his doing. The gas would have reached them too and the sounds of gunfire must have terrified them. That had always been inevitable.

With a rush James burst through the remains of the door and ran for cover, turning to shoot the man nearest to him as he did so. The man was a perfect target. He was standing there desperately trying to reload his weapon with eyes streaming tears. He went down in a heap, screaming in pain and terror and dropping his weapon in the process. It went sliding away and James knew he was no longer a threat. He'd shot low, so the chances were the man wouldn't die, but he was incapacitated.

Seven down. How many more did that leave he wondered? One? Two? He didn't know. But he did know as he started pushing more shells into the slide that he had to take them down.

Then things took an unexpected turn for the worse when suddenly he caught sight of children not just screaming but also running. Blind, terrified children were running in all directions. The remaining men must have released them, no doubt hoping to use them to add confusion and perhaps cover his escape. It was a clever strategy. It meant that James had no clear shot. He couldn't shoot with children in the line of fire.

That left him with the unenviable task of having to hunt down the man without being able to shoot. But that was simply as it had to be, and he still had the advantage that he could see.

The basement was fairly typical of underground car parks. There were a number of concrete pillars, and the walls, floor and ceiling were also made of concrete. It was built like a cold war bunker. And he knew as he started searching that the next gun man could be anywhere, hiding behind any pillar, just waiting to shoot him. He could also be behind one of the trucks, of which there were several. They were old and wrecked, and the chances were that they had been left behind when the warehouse had closed because they were already beyond use. Time had just added to their decay. But there was still a lot of metal in them and they made good cover.

In the centre of the car park was a large iron cage, something that looked like it had come out of the middle ages. But it was probably serviceable. There were buckets in the corners for the children to do their business. Scraps of food – bread mostly – on the floor. The children had been penned up in it like animals. And he had no idea how long any of them had been there. Worse though was its size. The cage could hold thirty or more children in it. That angered him. Obviously this was no small operation, and he doubted it had just started operating. How many children had already been sold by these scum over the years?

However many children there had been locked up in the cage, they weren't there any more. The iron door was wide open and the cage was empty. The children were running around, screaming and crying, tears streaming from their eyes, and crashing into one another. And they were all so young. He was looking at eight year olds like his daughter. Some were even younger. They should never have been gassed.

But he'd had to use the tear gas. It was the only way he could have taken the basement, especially when he didn't know how many enemies were down there. But it had been a cruel thing to do when it impacted the children as well, and he hated himself for it. He hated himself even more when he knew that his daughter was one of the children running around in blind terror.

He wanted to go to her. He knew he should be comforting the children and getting them to safety. But he was only one man and there was at least one shooter still out there trying to kill him. If he'd tried either of those things the man would have killed him and maybe some of the children too. And then everything fell apart. The men would recover, lock the children away again and the operation would continue. Matti would be sold. It was a hard thing, but he had to ignore the children and concentrate on the gun men.

James began with a simple quarter search. Darting from one pillar to the next, avoiding the panicking children, and little by little clearing the part of the park closest to the stairs. It took time, and whenever any of the children spotted him through their tears, they gave his position away as they screamed. They had no idea that he was there to rescue them. And what they would have seen through the tear filled eyes was a big man in a black mask. A monster.

But he was more worried when he saw that many of the children had started climbing on to the trucks' roofs. They were blind, far too young to be up so high, and the floor was hard concrete. But there was nothing he could do about it. Not without frightening them anymore and giving his position away which he had no doubt would result in a hail of badly aimed bullets heading his way. He had to ignore them as he continued clearing the car park.