Ice Diaries
Page 21
“Get some clean cloths,” he said. “And alcohol if there is any.”
I ran to the kitchen and pulled out drawers with shaky hands till I found a pile of clean ironed tea towels. From the drinks table I grabbed a bottle of brandy and another of vodka and joined David. He’d got Randall on his back, checking him over; he didn’t look good, his face pallid where it wasn’t red with blood, but his eyes were now half open and moving. He groaned. My empty stomach churned. I dropped the things beside him and headed for the door.
“Tori, where are you going? I need my medical bag, you’ll have to get it from the flat.”
“I can’t, I have to help Morgan. Ginger’ll be back any minute with reinforcements.”
I ran down the corridor, David shouting after me, “Tori! He’ll shoot you too. Come back!”
The narrow white-painted staircase looked different in daylight. I trod at the sides of the metal treads trying to make no noise, hurrying, no clear idea in my head of what to do, the shocking image of Randall lying in his own blood blotting out rational thought. Think, think. Morgan had cleared the first turbine and turned it on; he’d be clearing the middle turbine now, most likely. Unless he’d decided to do the left hand turbine next … I wasn’t sure whether you could access the central turbine from there. If not, he’d leave it till last. But if only Mike looked at the wrong turbine first, we might have time to get away.
I’d arrived at the No unauthorized entry Roof access only door that led to the lower level with the telescopic arm. Gently, I pushed it open and peered in. The place was empty, the turbine’s low hum louder than in the penthouse. I couldn’t hear movement or voices; they must be on the next level. I tiptoed up the ladder-like stair on the far side, praying Morgan was clearing the left turbine while Mike checked the one on the right. I reached the top – no one there – and looked towards the access hatch. It was closed, with no snow or puddles or footprints around the floor. That meant he hadn’t got to it yet; he was working on the central turbine. I ran back the way I had come and crept up the other staircase. I saw them as soon as my eyes were above floor level. They stood in a huddle conferring, Mike doing most of the talking in a low voice, Hong nodding and Mac making the odd brief interjection. To their left, daylight shone through the open access hatch of the central turbine housing; like some subtle theatrical effect, the shaft of light illuminated snow drifting past the silver ladder to settle on a patch of floor. An extension lead going up and through the rectangular opening twitched now and then. Morgan was using the hairdryer.
Mike left the others, moved towards the ladder and put a foot on the first rung to climb to the hatch. In a few more seconds he’d fire the gun through it, and Morgan, absorbed in his task and with the hairdryer masking other sounds, wouldn’t even know what hit him. I ran forward.
“MORGAN!” I yelled. “Watch out!”
I was three metres from the hatch when Hong grabbed me round the waist from behind. Morgan had shown me how to get out of this. I scraped my foot down his shin to distract him, did a heel kick to his groin (which failed to connect), flung my head back and hit his nose, but not hard enough as he’d moved in time. I got hold of his fingers and bent them backwards. He released his grip to stop his fingers breaking and I tried to finish him with a jab from my left elbow to his throat, but caught the side of his head instead. It was all less controlled, much clumsier and more frantic than my practice goes. Mike was now nearly to the top of the ladder, his head and shoulders out of the hatch. Hong had seized my left wrist and got his arm round my neck and I could hardly breathe. He was going to hold me captive while Mike shot Morgan – I didn’t even know if Morgan had heard my shout. Desperate, I wrenched the knife from my belt with my free hand, twisted round to face Hong and stuck the blade into his thigh. He grasped my other wrist and wrestled my arms behind me, prising the knife from my fingers. It clattered to the concrete slabs. Unable to escape, all I could do was shout.
“MORGAN! LOOK OUT!”
Unexpectedly, Hong’s hold on me slackened. I jumped away. He stood, head bowed, staring at his leg. Blood was running down his jeans, dripping on to the floor. He dropped to one knee, and sat holding his thigh. Mac hurried to him, the whites of his eyes showing, ignoring me.
Mike was no longer visible. I heard the gun go off, twice; I ran to the ladder and climbed fast and silently through the hatch. I noticed there was blood on my hand.
A different world up in the sky; cold and white with whirling snow, Mike silhouetted against it, facing away from me. Beyond him was the turbine column with the fixed ladder, twice a man’s height; behind that to the left, the curving wall of the turbine tunnel reared up like a giant wave about to break. The hairdryer lay in the snow, hot air still blasting out of it, covering the sound of my advance. I could see where Morgan had swept a path which was now shrouded by a thin layer of white. One of the turbine blades was out of alignment with a bullet hole through it.
No sign of Morgan. He’s been shot and fallen over the edge. No, no …
I felt sick. Denial battled with shock, grief and rage. Through eyes blurry with tears I watched Mike move slowly to his left, head craning, then a few paces to his right before I realized the significance of his actions. Hope flared up in me. Suddenly he fired three or four times, the bullets ricocheting off the steel column, leaving pock marks. Morgan was alive, sheltering behind the turbine. I no longer had my knife … if I had something heavy I could sneak up and hit Mike over the head, but I had nothing. Nothing but surprise and what Morgan had taught me.
One step at a time I closed the gap between us, trying to decide which move to try. Morgan had taught me a couple that might work, but I doubted my competence. One chance was all I’d get – or so I thought. Then the hairdryer coughed, sparked and burst into flames, expiring in its own small funeral pyre, the smell an unpleasant reminder of my burning flat. Glancing at the fire, Mike noticed me and swivelled in my direction. My chance had gone.
“Tori, we’ve got to stop meeting like this.” Smooth and genial as ever, he smiled at his own quip. “As usual, I don’t want to shoot you but I’ll have no hesitation if you don’t do as I say. This is your last chance to turn round and leave.” He checked quickly over his shoulder. Nothing to be seen.
I have to distract him.
“Please don’t shoot me. I’ll do anything you want …” I threw my hands up as if to ward him off and made my voice go up a notch. “Don’t fire, I’m begging you, please let me live …” No doubt irritated by my girly histrionics he pointed the gun at me, probably hoping to shut me up. I shrieked, “No! Don’t shoot!” Behind him, Morgan came out of cover, ducked beneath the broken turbine blade and moved fast and stealthily towards us. I stepped forward, maintaining eye contact. “Please Mike, I’m too young to die, it’s my birthday next month, I’m only twenty-three, I have my whole life ahead of me …”
He checked behind him again, too late. I dropped to the floor as Morgan flung himself at him and the gun went off. I picked myself up, wondering if I’d been hit, testing my limbs … everything seemed still to be working and I didn’t appear to be bleeding. The two men were grappling on the ground far too near the drop. I didn’t want to look, but couldn’t bear not to. I told myself that Morgan, being bigger, stronger and a professional fighter would win – as long as he didn’t get shot or they both rolled over the edge. Mike was trying to point the Glock at him – I ducked as it veered my way – but Morgan had his wrist in a steely grasp, forcing it aside. He pinned Mike down with his knee and prised his fingers from the gun. Once he’d got it he tossed it away then punched Mike. Every time Mike tried to get up or fight back Morgan hit him again. It was completely one-sided and hard to watch – if this was a cage fight I knew from what Morgan had told me the referee would have intervened after the first punch.
Within a minute Mike lay still. Morgan went through his clothes, searching until he found the sled keys together on a ring in an inside zipped pocket. After taking them he stood, walked
over to the gun and picked it up. Relief swept over me and my legs felt weak. We had won; Mike had lost his gun, Hong was injured and Mac hardly a threat on his own. No longer in fear for Morgan’s life or mine, I became acutely aware I was standing on a slippery curved surface in a snowstorm a few metres from a lethal drop with no barrier. I couldn’t help shuddering.
Morgan put his arms round me, breathing fast. His jacket was damp with snow. “Tori … That was quite an act. I heard you shout just in time to dodge behind the turbine. Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine once I stop shaking and get down from here. How about you?” He nodded. “And him? Is he dead?”
“No. Just a bit beaten up.”
“You told me you’d have to kill him.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Morgan’s pale blue gaze met mine and he half smiled. “I changed my mind. Maybe I’ll send him a solicitor’s letter after all.” He considered his fallen enemy, contempt in his eyes. “He can go on his scumsucking way as far as I’m concerned. Without a gun he’s nothing.”
“He can’t go on his way – you just took his sled key.”
“He can have it back. I’ll give it to Serena.”
“They’ve split up, David told me. He took her sled away. She’ll be really pleased to get it back. In the circumstances she might be tempted to swap Mike’s sled for a load of greenies.”
“Whatever.” Morgan shrugged. “Her choice.”
Blitzed by recent events my brain had slowed. I thought of something else Morgan didn’t know. “Mike shot Randall Pack. I think he may have killed him.”
As if summoned by my words, at that moment a head appeared through the hatch. To my amazement, Randall, his skin greyish and blood-smeared, heaved himself carefully over the rim and joined us. He had a bloody bandage round his head made from a strip of tea towel and looked older and gaunt, the graven lines from nose to mouth more apparent. He took in the scene, snow spattering his black jacket and settling on his shoulders; his frown deepened when he saw the damaged turbine blade.
I said, “Are you all right?”
“I’ll survive.” Behind his offhand manner anger smouldered. “I’ve lost the top of my ear and some of my scalp. I’m bleeding like a stuck pig and it hurts like hell. David wanted to stitch it, but I told him it could wait till I’d sorted this out.” He turned to Morgan. “Guns aren’t allowed in Strata.” He held out his hand. “You can have it back when you leave.”
“Here.” Morgan handed him the Glock, and Randall put it in his jacket pocket.
“Tell me what happened.”
Morgan kept his account short. “I was clearing snow off the turbines for Ginger. Mike came to shoot me, Tori showed up and distracted him, we had a fight. I won.”
“Is he dead?”
“People keep asking me that. No. He’ll have aches and bruises for a while, that’s all.”
Randall nodded, turning to me. “And what about the man in the turbine room, Hong, is that his name?” I told him I’d gone to help Morgan, Hong had restrained me and in desperation I’d stabbed him to get away.
His dark eyes regarded me speculatively. “Hong’s dead.”
“He can’t be.” I was incredulous. This couldn’t be true. “If he’s dead, someone else must have killed him after I left. I only stabbed him in the leg, the knife wasn’t very long. How can he be dead?”
“The blade slit his femoral artery. Mac did his best to put on a tourniquet but he bled out in minutes.”
I felt faint and giddy and had difficulty getting my breath. If Morgan’s arm hadn’t tightened round my waist I’d have fallen over. “I didn’t mean to kill him.”
“He’s just as dead as if you had.” Randall’s eyes went from one of us to the other, his expression bleak. “I won’t have weapons or fights or killings in Strata. I won’t have people bringing feuds here. In my book you two are troublemakers. I take it you’ll both be leaving today?”
Morgan said, “Yes.”
“Make sure you do. Find me before you go and I’ll give you your weapons. Don’t come back. You’re no longer welcome here.”
Having dealt with us, Randall walked over to Mike and nudged him with his foot. Mike stirred and his eyes opened. Groggy, he raised himself on an elbow and looked around, blinking and frowning, wiping snow from his eyelids. Impassive as a judge, Randall waited until Mike’s gaze travelled upwards and took in that he was alive; waited until Mike’s eyes widened in alarm at what he read in his face. Then Randall said,
“You shot me. That’s not allowed in Strata.”
He got out the gun and held it in both hands, took careful aim and fired twice. The first bullet hit Mike’s chest, the second ripped his throat apart. Mike coughed a spray of blood and struggled for breath, clutching at his wounds, making terrible gurgling noises as he died choking on his own blood. It didn’t take long. I flinched and buried my face in Morgan’s jacket, afraid I’d throw up. I wished I hadn’t been watching. I was now stuck with an indelible memory of violent death; bullets bursting into flesh; blood splashing and soaking into the snow. I was glad it hadn’t been Morgan who killed him.
Randall pocketed the gun, knelt beside the body and rolled it effortfully over and over until it was on the very edge. He stood, breathing deeply. One final shove from his foot, and all that was left of Mike slid down the steep snow-covered glass slope, bumping and scraping, till the sound cut off. Seconds later a dull thud broke the silence as his corpse hit the ground.
Randall walked away slowly towards the hatch without looking back.
Ice Diaries ~ Lexi Revellian
CHAPTER 29
Meeting the press
There was a long silence after Randall left. Blood beat in my ears and my breathing was all wrong. I stared at the red smear on the white surface, which was already becoming blurred by the falling snow. Eventually Morgan said, “Well, that told him.”
“I can’t believe Randall was so ruthless …” My voice sounded strange, and not just because my ears were buzzing. “He … he executed him …”
“Ginger said he had his own style. See what he meant now. Let’s get out of here ASAP. There’s some stuff I might get from Mike’s flat now he’s dead.” Morgan let go of me. “I’ll just make sure no one’s waiting for us down there.” He picked up the broom and the defunct hairdryer and put them to hand by the edge of the hatch. “Pass these to me when I get down.”
He peered below and descended the ladder warily. “It’s okay,” he called after a moment. I followed him, though I’d have preferred to huddle in a ball on the roof until snow made me invisible and froze all thought from my mind. The rungs felt icy to my gloveless hands, the floor gritty beneath my feet as I climbed from cold brightness to the shadowy floor beneath. The room was empty except for Hong’s body lying on the paving slabs in a pool of blood. Someone had straightened his limbs and put a jacket over his face. Seeing him there I felt very bad indeed; the only time I’d felt worse was when I found Mum’s body. I’d never expected to kill anyone. Before they all vanished, I never even killed insects; I used to think that like me, they only had one life. Now I’d killed a human being almost in passing as others might step on a spider. In Morgan’s words, I’d taken his future away from him. The cold had seeped into my bones. I stopped in my tracks, too weak to walk.
“Tori.” Morgan put his arm around me. I gazed at my boots. “He was a professional fighter, you aren’t. You didn’t mean to kill him. And if you hadn’t, he’d never have let you go and Mike would have shot me. Remember, I told you to hit as fast and hard as you could, and not to worry about hurting your attacker? I said the only rule is to win, and that’s what you did, you won.”
It was nice of him to try to make me feel better, but it wasn’t working. I just shook my head. Morgan gripped me by both shoulders. “Tori, look at me.” He gave me a little shake. Reluctantly I lifted my eyes to his. “You came to get me when you could have let me take my chances alone.”
“Yes, but …”
The front door was now upright, leaning against the wall. The first thing I saw when we walked past into the room was a snow-free streak from top to bottom down the middle of the great sloping windows, the trail of Mike’s last journey, stained in places with blood. I averted my eyes. Ginger was sitting alone on his sofa, feet up, eating. I’d been half afraid Randall would be with him.
He looked up from his breakfast. “Randall told me what happened. Glad I missed that. Sorry he’s kicking you out.”
Morgan shrugged. “His place, his rules.”
Ginger seemed happy to leave it there. “D’you want some toast?”
On a tray was a plate piled with buttered toast, honey and marmalade, a coffee pot and sugar in a bowl. I went and washed the blood off my hand with bottled water in the kitchen and while I was there collected crockery. We helped ourselves. My appetite came back at the smell of the hot coffee. I poured myself a cup and wrapped my hands round it in turn as I ate, thawing gently in the warmth of the apartment.