Night's Favour (17 page)

“What’s that noise?”

Carlisle looked at him.
 
More popping filled the air, a little louder this time through the open stairwell door.
 
“Unless I miss my guess, that’s a firefight.”

Val stared at her for a moment, then lurched down the corridor after her.
 
He needed to get the hell out of this crazy place.
 
And he needed to find out what had happened to Danny.

☽ ◇ ☾

The gunfire was unmistakable now.
 
The sound was harsh and brutal, a hammering of heavy weapons.
 
Val hadn’t heard anything like it before in his life.
 
It had become more sporadic as they’d descended through the building.
 
He didn’t want to think about the implications of that.
 
Someone was winning, but he didn’t know if it was the good guys or the bad guys.

Come to think of it, he didn’t know who the good guys were.
 
He wiped face again — the sprinklers were still bucketing water everywhere.
 
The emergency lighting washed the colour out of everything.
 
“What’s the play?”

Carlisle nodded at the closed door.
 
“Behind that door is the muster room.
 
We should find someone in there who knows what’s going on.”
 
She checked her cellphone.
 
“Still nothing.
 
You wait here.”
 
She patted the top of the table they were hiding behind.
 
“This won’t stop anything except you being seen, so stay the fuck behind it.”

“Got it.”
 
Val looked around the break room they were crouched in.
 
A cup of coffee stood, diluted by the sprinklers, overflowing tan water onto the table.

Carlisle reached the door, gripping the door handle.
 
Very slowly, she turned it, pushing it open a crack.
 
Her shoulders slumped, and she slowly pushed the door open wider as she lowered her gun.

Val joined her at the door.
 
“Holy fuck.”
 
The room was a mess, the desks in fragments, wood chunks scattered about the room.
 
Chairs were tumbled haphazard through the room, sometimes with holes through their backs.
 
And there were bodies.
 
“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Carlisle walked into the room slowly, turning around to take it all in.
 
She crouched down beside one officer.
 
“Christ.
 
I went to Evans’ birthday drinks last week.”
 
She checked for a pulse, then tapped Evans’ chest armour near the hole in the front.
 
“They’re not using guns you get from eBay.”

“Why’s that?”

“Chest armour’ll stop a standard round, say from a pistol, right?
 
This one’s right through.
 
I’d bet some kind of armour piercing round.
 
Assault rifle.”

“Carlisle.”

She looked up from beside the downed officer.
 
“Yeah?”

“What’s going on?”
 
Val was staring around the room.
 
His voice cracked.
 
“What happened to these guys?”

Carlisle sighed.
 
She looked like she didn’t even have the energy to swear.
 
“I don’t know Val.
 
Come on.
 
We’ve got to get out of here.”

The door opposite from where they entered crashed open, the wood splintering as the bolt tore through the jamb.
 
A soldier was framed in the doorway, his face obscured by a helmet.
 
Val took in an all-black uniform under a flak vest before his eyes were drawn to the rifle.
 
Something inside him
snarled
at the weapon, and his lips pulled back from his teeth.

The soldier dismissed Val, drawn to the gun in Carlisle’s hand.
 
Slowly, impossibly slowly he started to turn his rifle towards Carlisle.

Val barged forward, grabbing a chair with one meaty hand.
 
Without slowing his forward momentum he spun, whipping the chair around and tossing it at the soldier.
 
He didn’t even pause when he released it, vaulting a shattered desk between them.
 
The chair hit the soldier in the top of his chest, knocking him clean off his feet.
 
His rifle sprayed bullets as he fell backwards.
 
The bullets seemed to be firing slowly, each one a distinct flash of sound and light.
 
Val could see the shell cases peeling away from the breech of the weapon, cascading as slowly as falling blossoms.

Then Val was on him, tearing the rifle from his hands.
 
He raised it above his head, ignoring the heat from the barrel.
 
He swung the rifle like a club, smashing it into the soldier’s helmet.
 
The stock bent with a squeal of metal.
 
Val raised the rifle again, smashing it down harder.
 
The rifle twisted apart as the soldier’s helmet crumpled.
 
The man twitched, then went still.

Val dropped the rifle and stood over him, panting.
 
He held his hands up in front of his face, turning them one way then the other.
 
Did I just do that?

“Everard.”
 
Carlisle’s voice was strained.
 
“Everard, a little help.”

Val turned to see Carlisle on the ground.
 
Her gun was nowhere to be seen, but a red stain was spreading through her shirt.
 
“Aw, man.”
 
He bashed a broken desk aside to come stand by Carlisle.
 
“What do I do, Carlisle?”

Carlisle beckoned Val closed.
 
“Whatever the fuck —”
 
She coughed.
 
“Whatever the fuck you do, do not point a gun at these assholes.”

Val stared at her, then started to chuckle.
 
“Sure.
 
I meant, about, you know.”
 
He gestured at the spreading stain on Carlisle’s shirt.
 
“Does it hurt?”

“Are you fucking retarded?
 
It hurts like seven bastards.
 
Help me up.”

“Look, on my First Aid course they said not to move people who were bleeding.”

Carlisle stared at him.

“Seriously.
 
Apparently —”

“Everard.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s probably a hundred guys in here who want to shoot me in the face.”
 
On cue they heard another blast of gunfire.
 
“The station’s overrun.
 
I have no idea where my partner is.
 
Do you think I give two shits about a little extra blood at this point?
 
Just help me out of here.
 
Get me to a hospital or something.”

“Fair enough.”
 
Val reached under Carlisle’s arm, dragging her to her feet.

Carlisle hissed at the pain, swaying a little.
 
“Everard.”

“Yeah?”

“They…
 
These are my friends here.
 
Good cops.
 
I know — I
knew
these people.”
 
Her hand gripped the front of his shirt.
 
“I —”

“It’s ok.”
 
Val nodded.
 
“I know.”

“You do?”

Pack.

“Yeah.
 
Just one thing though.”

“What’s that?”
 
Carlisle pushed herself away from Val, steadying herself against a wall.

“Don’t get blood on my shirt.”

Carlisle tried a laugh, then coughed.
 
“Deal.”

☽ ◇ ☾

Carlisle looked through the station’s entrance.
 
An officer was splayed backward through one of the broken double doors, glass spread out underneath him.
 
A fallen riot shield lay beside him.
 
Carlisle squinted into the daylight coming in.
 
“Shit.”

Val was crouched beside her.
 
“I see them.”

Two vans were pulled up at the bottom of the steps leading up to the station.
 
The drivers — soldiers by the looks — were next to them, each facing opposite ways down the street.
 
One of them fired at something they couldn’t see, a short hammer of sound stabbing down the street.
 
Someone screamed.

They weren’t paying too much attention to the front door.

“I tell you what — where the fuck are you going?” said Carlisle.

Val was already heading towards the door.
 
He scooped up the riot shield in one hand, then stepped over the fallen officer into the street outside.
 
His feet crunched on the glass.
 
The two soldiers saw him, turning their rifles towards him.
 
Val held the riot shield in front of him and charged down the steps.

The rifles coughed into life, bullets tearing into the riot shield.
 
Stray rounds hit the doorway.
 
Carlisle crouched low, covering her head with her arm as splinters of wood and glass fell around her.

Val collided with the first soldier, slamming him with the riot shield.
 
The man fell backwards, rifle scattering away.
 
Val grabbed the front of his flak jacket with one hand, lifting the man clear off the ground and above his head.
 
Then he dropped into a crouch, slamming the man down onto the pavement.
 
The soldier’s helmet fell free, and his eyes were wide as he clawed at Val’s hand.

Val hefted the riot shield in his other hand as if considering something.
 
Then he stood up, lifting the soldier with him, and slammed him against the ground again.
 
The pavement cracked under the soldier, who struggled to draw breath through a collapsed lung and broken rib cage.

The other soldier had almost worked his way around into a firing line where he could see Val.
 
He stood with his back to Carlisle’s position and ejected the clip from his weapon, the black metal rectangle falling to the ground.
 
The soldier grabbed a fresh clip, glancing quickly at it — the new clip was painted red — before slapping it into his weapon, stepping around the front of the van to bring his rifle to bear on Val.

“Watch out!”
 
Carlisle put all her strength into the shout.
 
It came out almost as a whisper, the blood loss starting to take its toll.

It was enough.
 
For just a second, the soldier was distracted at the noise behind him.
 
The thrown riot shield caught him under the chin, crushing his throat.
 
He staggered back, rifle firing into the sky.
 
Val was on him in less than a heartbeat, wrenching the rifle from his hands.
 
He swung it like a bat into the side of the soldier’s head, knocking him clear off his feet.
 
The body came to rest a few feet away.

Carlisle moved slowly down the steps.
 
“I feel like an old woman.
 
Say.
 
Where do you train?”

“Train?”
 
Val blinked at her.
 
“I take the bus to work.”

“No.
 
Train.
 
Like kung fu.
 
You just took out two professional soldiers like a boss.”

“I —”
 
Val swallowed.
 
It just seemed —

We are the hunt.

— natural.
 
“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.
 
Fine.”
 
Carlisle frowned at him, then pointed with her chin at one of the vans.
 
“I’ve seen a van like this before.
 
The case I’m working.”

“Really?”
 
Val looked at the van.
 
“How can you be sure?”

“Last time I saw it was outside that bar uptown.
 
Elephant Blues.”
 
Carlisle scratched behind her ear.
 
“Same make and model.
 
It’s probably still in impound.”

“You always remember vans?”

“I found your hand outside that van.”

Val looked at the van again.
 
Then he looked at his hands.
 
“My hand?”

“Yeah.
 
It’s the weirdest thing.”
 
Carlisle reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out a bloodied packet of gum.
 
She offered it to Val.

“No thanks.”

“I’m not offering you gum.
 
Can you peel me a piece?
 
I can’t feel my arm.”

“Oh.”
 
Val started unwrapping a stick of gum.
 
“Sorry.”

“It’s ok.
 
You’ve never been shot before.”

Val stared at her.
 
Carlisle looked back.
 
“What?”

“What did you say?”
 
Val offered her the stick.

Carlisle popped the gum in her mouth.
 
“You’ve never been shot?”

“Yeah.”
 
Val rubbed his hand through his hair.
 
“I can’t quite —”

“What?”

“Something.”
 
Val grabbed his head with both hands.
 
“I can’t remember!”
 

“Everard?”

“What!”

Carlisle gestured to Val’s hand.
 
“Can I have my gum back?”