Chapter Thirty
Bridger heard the loud retort of the flash-bang doing its thing as it announced their arrival, then watched as Steve and Simon disappeared into the open front door arch, the shouts of warning echoing over the receding explosion. He had to slow his breathing a little, as he looked over at Brian who nodded back, indicating he was ready. Climbing up into the empty concrete window frame, he dropped inside the dank bowels of the ruin. A musty damp smell laced with human urine hit his nostrils instantly. The acidic odour burnt at the back of his throat. The room he landed in was empty but shouts of unknown voices came from further inside the castle.
Bringing his Glock pistol up into the action position, his master eye looking over the iron sights at either end of the short weapon, he moved through to the next room and into the chaos. It seemed to be some sort of central area with various openings off each wall, some had doors, and some did not. He saw Brian emerge from a door on the opposite side; his Bushmaster rifle was up and scanning from left to right. Steve and Simon had taken up positions on the other side from them both; one of them had his rifle pointed squarely at what lay between them all. The other was moving his attention between the various openings in the room in case of anyone surprising them. He could not tell them apart dressed in their black gear with their faces covered. It would be a foreboding sight for anyone and obviously was for the pack of dogs who now sat cowering in a huddle in the middle of the room.
A strange silence had descended now they had made the initial entry and Bridger could hear his own breathing, which was surprisingly steady in the excitement. It had taken less than a minute to reach this point but the adrenaline was still pumping through his body. He scanned the leather clad pack in front of him, a few faces he recognised, some he did not. Most of them looked pretty strung out under the fear of a faceless man wearing black threatening to shoot them. It took less than a split second for him to realise that Joseph was not amongst the pack, and there was no sign of Laura, John or Jo.
Shit…They had to be in here somewhere… The others had come to the same unspoken conclusion just as Gillian came through the door at the rear of the room, followed by Matthews who was breathing heavily, his face almost purple with exertion. “No one came out the back Mike, they must all still be inside” Gillian said.
No one needed any encouragement to complete what they came for. Bridger took the initiative, “Clear these rooms… Kingi is still outstanding, he knows we are here now and he might be with them, so be careful.” He watched them move along the walls closest to each, before he made a move himself.
The first room he came to was empty except for a pile of old newspapers and some fast food containers, the food inside decomposing. He moved further along the wall, this one had a door that was slightly ajar. He could feel a slight boost in his adrenaline, which he knew from experience, was his sixth sense telling him that something was amiss. There was something behind this door…
He took a deep breath then kicked at the base of the door causing it to swing inwards; moving into the room in time with the door he quickly scanned left and right working on autopilot, his vision at head height. No threats… dropping his eyes to ground level the sight of what lay there slammed into his senses making his leg muscles weaken involuntarily and he dropped to his knees, pistol clattering onto the concrete floor as it dropped from his useless hands.
The floor was sticky with blood, the coppery stench making him gag. Detective John Mouller was laying on his back, eyes swollen and closed, purpling bruises mottled the rest of his face, his jaw was set at an improbable angle, and blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. His breathing was so shallow that Bridger could not see any movement from his chest. His outstretched arm disappeared under an old grey blanket that was lying next to him. The blanket covered something bulky, it had dark wet stains in various places… there was someone under it… Images of Laura flashed through his mind… it couldn’t be… he couldn’t breathe, Jo or Laura…? He did not want to find out, but he knew he had to look.
With increasing panic, he reached out and took the corner of the blanket in his shaking hand, pulling it back slowly he saw straight away. All he could see was death, inflicted in such a rage that he could not see them making a conclusive identification. He took a deep breath exhaling slowly trying to get a hold on his emotions; he could feel his stomach tightening. Looking upwards through the roof, open to the sky, he noticed it was a beautiful hazy blue, he hoped it was the last thing seen before death, and then he looked back at John and wondered if he had offered any comfort in the last moments.
Wasted Lives, a Detective Mike Bridger novel Page 32
