Z-Series | Book 6 | Z-Endgame

by Hatchett

  The pressure of the knife on her throat increased.

  “Or the fact that they are expecting a little boy?”

  She heard Mamba take a deep breath and felt a single drop of blood trickle slowly down her throat.

  “Ya always knew what buttons ta press ta wind me up,” Mamba admitted.

  “Don’t you want to know what they’re going to call him?”

  “No.”

  “Basir.”

  Mamba closed his eyes, as if in pain.

  “So, now you’ve proved your point, what’s next?” Issy asked. “You going to kill me right here, right now?”

  “Eventually, mebbe, but it ain’t gonna be that easy. We got some catchin’ up ta do.”

  Mamba squeezed Issy’s breast for emphasis.

  Issy was sort of relieved, but then considered the alternatives and almost wished that he would kill her.

  Mamba let go of her breast and in the same movement snatched her knife from its sheath and flung it away. He moved his leg back and lowered her head and shoulders to the ground, keeping his knife at her neck.

  “I’m gonna give ya somethin’ ta remember me by.”

  Issy was thinking through her options for fighting back when her arms were suddenly grabbed and pinned down. She looked from side to side and saw the twins and nearly retched. She hadn’t seen or heard them move.

  She started bucking and struggling but it wasn’t making any difference. Mamba removed the knife from her neck and stood up, making a show of putting the knife away as if he didn’t need it anymore. He walked around to stand at her feet, and looked down the length of her body, licking his lips.

  “Fuck off!” Issy shouted, and immediately tried to kick him, but Mamba had anticipated what she would do and had made sure he was out of range.

  He laughed.

  “I’ve bin waitin’ a long time fer this,” he said, rubbing his crotch for emphasis. “Shoulda done it when I first had the chance. ‘N that fuckin’ Princess, but she can wait a bit longer.”

  Issy was instantly thrown back in time to her formative years and her drunk and abusive father. This couldn’t be happening to her again.

  Mamba took a step forward as Faruk’s head seemed to explode. Then he heard a shot and immediately turned and started running.

  Fractions of a second later, Ismet’s head also exploded and was followed by the sound of a second shot.

  Issy felt more than saw the twins’ heads explode on either side of her as the grip on her arms loosened and was followed by hot blood and brains raining down on top of her. She pulled her arms free, scrambled onto her front and quickly crawled into the stream as more shots rang out.

  76

  Mamba ran for his life. Literally.

  As soon as he saw Faruk’s head explode, he’d automatically turned and started sprinting away, forgetting all about Cobra and realising that he might’ve made a fatal mistake this time. At least he now knew what he’d been saying for years was true; that you’d never hear the shot that killed you. Seeing Faruk’s head explode like that without any warning was surreal. In every film he’d ever seen, you heard and saw the shot being fired before the bullet struck and the body went down. The difference between reality and fiction.

  He’d heard the second shot, but not bothered to look around. He just assumed that because he was still alive and running that it must have been meant for Ismet. His suspicions were confirmed when a second later a tuft of grass was thrown into the air near his feet and was followed by the sound of another shot.

  He ran hard and dived over a small rise as another shot rang out. He crawled forwards a few metres, then chanced a quick look back. Satisfied that he was shielded by the rise, he rose to his feet and started running again, scanning the path ahead. With some relief, he saw trees fifty metres ahead and knew that if he could reach cover, he’d have a good chance of surviving.

  He ran and ran, his heart thumping and sweat breaking out from what seemed like every pore in his body. With each step he half-expected a bullet in his back, but kept running, a maniacal laugh beginning to escape from his lips. Not far now, not far now, he kept repeating to himself like a mantra, willing himself on despite the growing feeling of cramp in his calf muscles.

  He almost shouted in glee as he entered the tree line. He’d done it!

  77

  Issy edged to the side of the stream, scanning the ground for her knife, but struggling to locate it.

  She spotted a tall figure strolling nonchalantly in her direction. He was wearing a cowboy hat with shoulder length hair, jeans, cowboy boots and carrying a rifle. Andy.

  She’d never been more pleased to see anyone in her life. She was tempted to get out of the stream and run to him, but she didn’t know if Mamba was still nearby, so she waited, glancing at the fallen bodies of Faruk and Ismet and turning away.

  “You going to stay in there all day?” Andy asked, as he got closer.

  Issy pulled herself out of the stream, water cascading off her.

  “What are you doing here?” Issy managed to ask.

  “Hi to you too.”

  “No, I mean why are you here. How did you know I was here?”

  “I’ve been keeping an eye out for you.”

  “Why today?”

  “I follow you every time you come out here.”

  Issy thought about it.

  “Bastard!” she said, then ran up to him and flung her arms around him and kissed him hard.

  Andy responded, and was a little disappointed when Issy drew back and stared at him.

  “Don’t you dare ever follow me again!” she said.

  Andy looked like he’d been slapped, and he supposed he had been.

  “But, if I…”

  “Don’t go there, cowboy, I’m not in the mood,” Issy said, and started pulling on her shoes and boots.

  Andy shrugged, not sure what he’d done wrong.

  When she was done, she looked around for her knife.

  “You got another gun?” Issy asked, as she saw her knife and retrieved it.

  “Of course. But what do you want a gun for?”

  “What do you think? Mamba’s getting away and we need to get moving if we’re going to catch him.”

  “He isn’t getting away,” Andy replied confidently, and held up a walkie talkie.

  As he started walking in the direction Mamba had taken, another shot rang out and they both started to run.

  78

  Mamba slowed as he entered the trees and let his eyes adjust to the gloomier conditions. The last thing he needed was to trip over and sprain his ankle or worse. Even though he was being pursued, he didn’t think anyone would be able to shoot him through the dense foliage…unless they got up real close, and then he’d be able to introduce them to Mr Bowie. He smiled at the thought and withdrew his knife.

  He paused and looked around, trying to find a path of some sort, but there was nothing immediately obvious. So, he ploughed forwards, pushing low hanging branches and lots of other green, prickly stuff out of his way, getting scratched and whipped in the process. Fleas or flies or some other shitty little insects were flitting around his face, leaving him no choice but to try and swat them away without much success. It reminded him why he hated the fucking countryside so much, and almost regretted coming here. Almost.

  He’d gone twenty to thirty metres crashing through the undergrowth when he came to a small clearing. A shot rang out and he froze on the spot. He was still alive, so that was good, but the sound of the shot seemed pretty close. Too close.

  “Good of you to join us,” came a scouse accent to his right. “Drop the knife.”

  Mamba cautiously looked towards the sound and saw a large, tall man with ginger hair leaning casually against one of the trees a few metres away holding an MP5, currently pointing at the ground. Bear.

  “Yeah, about time,” came another voice from his left and Mamba’s head quickly swivelled in that direction.

  A shorter, thinner man with da
rk hair was standing there with an MP5 pointing at his body. Irish.

  Mamba raised his hands, letting his knife fall to the ground, his eyes darting around looking for an escape.

  “Don’t bother,” Irish said, seeing what Mamba was doing. “There isn’t any escape this time.”

  Mamba smiled, frantically considering his options. He quickly realised that they weren’t looking too good. He heard some twigs and branches snapping behind him and half turned to find Issy and Andy heading towards him. Shit.

  “Why don’t you move forwards a few steps, away from that knife?” Bear suggested, and Mamba did as he was told, lowering his arms.

  Issy and Andy stopped a few metres away, Issy glowering in anger.

  “Why couldn’t you just leave it alone and stay in fucking London?” she hissed.

  “What can I say? I’m a man of me word.”

  “And look where that’s got you.”

  “Comes wiv the territory. Ya win some, ya lose some, but at least I’ve won more’n I’ve lost.”

  “Until now,” Bear pointed out.

  “Yeah, until now. So, ya gonna kill me in cold blood or what?” Mamba asked.

  Issy hesitated, thinking about it.

  “Issy?” Andy asked, with Bear and Irish looking towards her.

  “Will you promise to fuck off and stay away if we let you go?” Issy asked, drawing short surprised gasps from the men around her.

  “Are you serious?” Andy asked incredulously. “This bastard was going to rape you then kill you just a few minutes ago.”

  “He wouldn’t have killed me,” Issy said, with certainty.

  “Oh, so the rape would’ve been fine then,” Andy shot back. “I should just kill him myself and be done with it,” he said, raising his rifle.

  “No!” Issy ordered harshly, causing Andy to pause. She looked at Mamba. “Well?” she asked.

  “Anythin’ ya want, Cobra,” Mamba said, smiling.

  “Issy…” Bear counselled.

  “He’s fucking lying!” Andy shouted. “Can’t you see that?!”

  “Prove it,” Issy said to Mamba.

  “How?”

  Issy threw him her knife.

  “Cut your palm.”

  Mamba picked up the knife from where it had fallen and looked back at her.

  “Ya serious?”

  “Ahmed told me a long time ago what being a blood brother meant to you.”

  Mamba considered it.

  “OK.”

  He placed the blade against his palm and drew it across the flesh, opening a shallow cut which immediately swelled with blood. He threw the knife next to Issy’s feet.

  Issy stooped and picked up the knife, running her finger along its bloody blade.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Andy said in horror.

  “It’s the only way to end this without executing him,” Issy replied as she cut her own palm.

  “Shooting him would end it,” Andy argued.

  Issy stepped forward, raising her arm to take Mamba’s hand.

  “Don’t do this,” Andy begged, but Issy ignored him.

  When Issy’s hand was less than a metre away from Mamba’s, a shot rang out and Mamba’s body jolted before he slumped to the ground.

  Issy’s head snapped around to stare at Andy, but she immediately saw that his rifle was pointed at the ground. She quickly looked towards Bear and Irish but neither of them had their guns up.

  “What the fuck?” Issy began, before they all heard more twigs and branches snapping nearby.

  Issy turned to look for the source of the noise and was surprised to see Zak, Isaac and Grace pushing their way through the undergrowth towards them. She saw that Zak was carrying a rifle and they were all smiling.

  Bear, Irish and Andy moved forward until they were standing next to Issy, all of them grinning at the newcomers.

  “Why?” Issy asked.

  “Couldn’t let ya make a deal wiv the Devil,” Zak replied easily.

  “’N he deserved it,” Isaac added.

  “No doubt ‘bout that,” Grace agreed.

  There was a groan and a sharp intake of breath as Mamba moved and struggled to sit upright, his left hand clamped to a spot on his chest where blood was seeping through his shirt. He forced a smile and looked at the people in front of him.

  “I ain’t…” he started, but another bullet hit him square in the centre of his forehead and he toppled backwards.

  “I don’t wanna hear it!” Zak shouted, before putting another round into Mamba’s body. And another. “That’s fer me Mum ‘n all the people ya killed. Bastard.”

  He turned and stomped back in the direction he had come from, Isaac and Grace following closely behind.

  Issy, Bear, Irish and Andy stood looking at each other in silence for a few seconds before shrugging and following.

  “Who’s fetching the shovel?” Bear asked innocently, and all but Issy started laughing.

  She knew that someone – her – would have to tell Ahmed. Not something she was looking forward to, but she’d been through worse.

  The End

  Author’s Note

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