by Stuart Keane
Blood was everywhere and nothing moved. Beyond the bodies was a closed door.
To the left of it was a small window. Beside this window was a huge garage door. Kieran realised that this was a loading bay entrance. For a full minute he waited. Nothing moved. The bodies remained still, and no one was present. After thirty more seconds, he moved silently up to the first corpse.
He grabbed the clips from his belt. This guy only had two pistol clips left. However, his sidearm was in his holster. Beside his body was an H&K submachine gun, and he realised that his assessment of their weaponry had been correct.
Kieran unclipped the holster and laid the pistol down on the ground. He collected both weapons and stuffed them into his rucksack, along with the ammo clips. Placing the rucksack on the ground, he balanced it against the wall. With a sigh, he stepped over to the headless body. This man’s pistol was also in his holster and he had the same ammunition clips as those of his fallen colleague. Seven clips in all. But unfortunately, this guy had no submachine gun. Finally, he stepped over to the body that had been pinned to the wall. This soldier possessed no pistol, but his H&K was slung around his shoulder, stuck behind the body.
Checking the rucksack, he confirmed that both guns were loaded, and returned to the body that was pinned to the wall. As he unclipped the belt it came away, holster and clip storage attached. Perfect. He slung the belt over his shoulder and walked back to the rucksack. He looked back one final time, aware that the three of them would have to pass through here eventually. He picked up the heavy rucksack and walked back to Heather.
Heather saw him coming. Kieran stopped beside her and placed the rucksack against the wall. “I got a couple of guns, some ammo and a belt. Any luck?”
“His belt is busted, the latch is fucked, so no go there. He had the seven clips you mentioned and some handcuffs, but no guns. Did you get anything?”
Kieran took the belt off his shoulder. “First of all, Heather, take this guy’s bulletproof vest off. I don’t think it’s compromised, that could certainly be useful if we come under fire. You put it on, then this belt.”
Kieran dropped the belt to the ground, looking beyond Heather. Abel was still crouched and alert. He wondered if Abel was scared or if the drugs had some calming effect that precluded fear. The younger man lifted the corpse so that Heather could unfasten its protective vest. She was right, he realised. The dead man’s belt was only held together by frayed strands and bullets had torn into his side, rendering the body a bullet-torn mess.
Heather removed the bulletproof vest and then checked it for bullet holes, finding none. The bullets had missed the vest altogether. The garment slid over her shoulders easily: despite being too big for her, it would serve its purpose. She took the belt from the floor and fastened it, then slotted two of each types of ammo clip into the belt. Kieran then handed her the pistol, which she holstered, and latched the clip shut. Kieran slipped the H&K submachine gun into his bag. Looking at Heather, he realised that she looked like the newest member of a makeshift SWAT team.
“Check the clip, is it loaded?” Kieran asked. “It shows you on the side of the pistol, there’s an indicator.”
Heather did as she was told. The clip was full, meaning that no bullets had been used. “Full clip, none used.”
Kieran nodded. “Good. You’re all set. Those clips are all full, I checked them. Heather, draw your weapon, check you can draw it fast.”
Heather drew her weapon in one smooth motion; it worked just fine. Kieran nodded, saying, “Good.” He leaned in close and spoke in Heather’s ear: “There are three bodies up ahead. In fact, I think it’s a miracle that Abel came through here unscathed. If the bodies were here when he was on his way here, he would surely have bumped into them. I think this is a bit suspicious, so keep quiet about it, okay?”
Heather nodded. “Are all the dead men in SWAT uniforms?”
“Yep. And they were all armed.”
“Doesn’t it worry you that a SWAT team are here? And that armed, trained people like this have been killed so easily?”
“Of course. But what also worries me is the ballistics. They have ammo in their guns, yet some haven’t used any bullets at all. What sort of enemy can kill people who are wearing bulletproof vests, when there’s no head wounds apparent, and kill them relatively easily? At least two of the men were attacked from behind, judging by the way they fell. And one was decapitated. If these guys were ambushed so fast that they couldn’t get any shots off, what kind of enemy were they fighting?”
Heather didn’t say anything. She looked at the body on the floor. “Does getting stuck between a rock and a hard place sound like our situation to you? We either move on, into potentially dangerous territory or we stay here and die anyway. If we don’t get out, there isn’t enough food to last that much longer. Kieran, we have no alternative but to move.”
Kieran knew she was right, there was no choice. “Abel? Would you come over here?” he called out.
Abel walked over, holding his hands out in front of him. Heather grabbed his hand and guided him back to the younger man. “Yes? What is it?”
Kieran swallowed. “Abel, when you came down this hallway, do you remember noticing anything out of the ordinary?”
Abel thought about it. He scratched his head. The rag around his face made the everyday action appear almost comical. After a moment of silence he responded: “Not really. I kept to the wall. There were warm spots on the walls, which I assumed to be lights of some kind.”
“Did you trip over anything? Or walk into anything?”
Abel shook his head. “I didn’t trip on anything. I walked around what seemed to be boxes. There was a strong coppery smell too, a bit like rust, I suppose. Sorry if I’m not being any help.”
Kieran looked at Heather. “Abel, the coppery smell was blood. I just found four bodies, all wearing the black uniforms of the American elite SWAT unit. So before they blinded you, do you remember seeing those bodies?”
“No. I mean, I saw people in black. However, the ones I saw were wearing balaclavas and masks over those, as if they wanted to hide their identities. They had guns, like machine guns or assault rifles. But they didn’t have armour, they had normal black tunics on, if I remember rightly.”
“There’s a chance that the bodies I found were of those men you saw, or they could be different people entirely. The point is, they’ve been killed, so we need to proceed with caution. It’s good that now we’re armed, though whether having weapons will make a difference to our chances is something else. The condition of the bodies indicates to me that they confronted a powerful foe, guys who weren’t fazed by semi-automatic weapons in the hands of highly trained combat troops – that is, assuming the dead men were members of a genuine SWAT unit. Abel, you stick with Heather, okay, keep to the same routine. Keep it quiet and slow.”
Kieran hitched the rucksack up onto his back, and checked that Heather was prepared to proceed. He looked at Abel. “Abel, leave the string here. I don’t think we’ll need it anymore.”
Heather realised Kieran was right. The string gave them a means of retracing their steps, but whether this would be advisable was a moot point. They had to proceed, regardless of the complications. Abel dropped the ball of string. It rolled and nestled against the corpse.
“Up ahead is a loading bay entrance. We need to go through it,” Kieran told them. “On the way through, we’ll check the bodies once more. Then we go onwards. I don’t know what lies ahead, guys, so be quiet and stick with me. Let’s do this!”
Kieran took the lead position once more, followed by Heather leading Abel.
As they moved ahead, they failed to spot the movement in the shadows.
Someone was watching them.
Stalking them.
It followed silently.
***
Delta liked the way that the situation was playing out. He’d viewed a few incarnations of The Game in his time.
Ever the voyeur, he always paid the
twenty-thousand pound price tag to watch the event every five years. He had seen three thus far. Participating in this one was his fourth in all. One requirement for being allowed to play The Game was that you had to have viewed The Game on at least two occasions. Delta realised that it was a bit like paying a fee to partake. You needed to know how The Game worked and you needed to be prepared for its content. The Game could get brutal, violent, and emotional. It wasn’t for those with weak wills, or anyone who was overly sensitive. However many might watch it, very few of them were permitted to actually take part. The selection process for players was specific. Delta smiled as he remembered passing with flying colours.
He’d been confident that he would be accepted. He knew that he had a knack for that sort of thing.
Delta was keeping track of the competition. He knew that the rivalry was very close at the top. In another Game, the Choice had taken out of one his opponents in unique style. A reverend with a mean streak was the headline going around those in the know. The other competitor had taken his own life, so no matter what happened subsequently in that Game, that candidate wouldn’t win. Now one of the final two with a chance, Delta was edging it so far. He had a lot going in his Game: human connections, mystery, elements of surprise. The blind guy was a nice sympathetic touch. He reminded himself to reward his Insertion Team later on, for thinking of it.
He tried to contact his team, but to no avail. They hadn’t responded to his last four messages. He knew they were busy, so he didn’t worry about it too much. This was The Game. People didn’t ignore your calls unless they had a good reason to.
Delta sipped his drink. His Game had become interesting. The Choices had continued going forward. They had discovered bodies. The dark hallway they had entered was a loading bay – he knew that containers were carried through it every day. There were four bodies in the hallway, all mutilated. Nice touch. His team had laid some fake bodies in their path. To creep them out, perhaps? Excellent idea. Delta checked his phone. No response yet. Oh well, he thought, they will call back eventually.
Delta noticed that the man had collected a couple of firearms from the bodies, and this worried Delta. He hadn’t instructed his men to drop weapons off for his Choices to use. That was potential Game suicide. Delta’s mood went from happy to grim within seconds. He dialled his team again and got no answer. Fuckers.
Where were they?
As the Choices proceeded forward, a horrible realisation dawned on Delta. From the angle he was watching at, he realised he couldn’t make out a lot of detail. He pressed a button on his keyboard. The camera turned to night vision, giving the image on his screen a green glow. He zoomed in and realised what must have happened. The bodies were his team.
They weren’t fake after all. The bodies were real.
Delta choked on his drink.
Impossible!
The Choices couldn’t have killed them, surely? He would have seen it on the screen.
Looking at the corpses, he realised that they hadn’t been killed by gunshots. One body was headless. Two had been disembowelled and the fourth was pinned to the wall with a knife: a knife that had penetrated a bulletproof vest! Stabbing like that would take a lot of strength. There was no way the Choices could have done such a thing.
Delta stroked his chin. Then he realised what he had to do.
He dialled a number on his phone. Three seconds later, he received an answer. “Yes… Delta… Yes, I need another team. My old team? Have you not been watching? Oh that’s right, you just work there. Okay, yes, another squad. I had four people, they were armed. They were killed in The Game. No, I don’t know what killed them. Yes. Thanks.”
Delta was sweating. He was not at all sure how this might affect his Game. He swallowed the remainder of his drink and breathed deeply.
Delta pushed a button on his keyboard. His archives appeared on his monitor screen, replacing the live feed of The Game. He adjusted the screen so he could view both panes. Now he could see The Game whilst he trawled back through the archives.
He started to scroll down, searching back through them. Meanwhile Kieran and Heather made their way through the loading bay doors.
THIRTY
“What do you mean, there’s no control? How are we on our own?”
Kathryn was perplexed. Iain loaded his weapon. They were still perched behind the tables, ten minutes after their arrival in the room. They had remained silent for much of this time, taking in the sounds and feel of the space before them. They were anxious not to alert the enemy to their presence, and so far they hadn’t heard any sounds of pursuit or footsteps.
Regardless of this, Kathryn knew that they couldn’t escape their prison, at least not yet. To do so they needed to be on the fourth floor, and without using the lifts, that wasn’t going to happen. Deep down, she knew her pursuers knew this too, which would explain the lack of urgency to chase them. They could hunt around this building all night long and still eventually find her, or rather, them. Iain and Kathryn were seriously outgunned and outmanned. It would take some clever thinking to survive. Kathryn hoped that Iain knew as much about this place as possible.
Iain continued to explain: “The control is the Chronicle. They have the final decision on everything. The type of guns to be used, the colour of the walls, if and when certain people attack you, in fact, everything that happens in their part of The Game. However, The Game has three rules that can’t be broken. You cannot kill your Choice too quickly. The aim is to entertain, so they break The Game into phases. Each phase increases the intensity of danger, but killing your Choice – in this case, you – is a no-no. They can torture you, shoot at you, hassle you in any way they wish – but they aren’t allowed to kill you. The second rule is that after Phase Five all bets are off. This is when they can kill you. Only then can the Chronicle pile on the pressure, it’s basically sudden death. At that point in The Game, whoever is left is permitted to kill you as quickly as possible. This phase normally takes days to reach, though. And most people do survive up to this point. Now—”
“—You said there are three rules? What’s the third?”
“Well, the third rule is this. You can’t, under any circumstances, go into The Game yourself. Meaning that The Chronicle is not allowed to enter The Game personally and confront their Choice. The only way you can do this is if the Choice requests it. Or if Phase Five is in effect and you just want to make your Choice suffer for the fun of it. The problem is, if the Chronicle does enter into The Game, then he has to kill the Choice. Otherwise it’s an instant loss. The rules are a bit strange, but they’re made mainly for the sponsors’ benefit. If people are pumping in millions of dollars, they want their money’s worth.”
“I see. Some of the rules seem stupid in one way, but it makes sense though. If I was paying money to see this kind of spectacle, I would want to get the most out of it.”
“Anyway,” Iain continued, “because of these rules, the people sent into The Game are restricted by an oath. Part of it means that the people we just ran into are not allowed to kill you. The fact that they fired those automatic weapons indicated two things to me. One: they don’t have anyone giving those orders anymore, and all bets are off. And two: they are not getting paid so they know that their time in The Game is up, for this episode anyway. Which means that they have free rein to do whatever they want. Which is pretty bad for us.”
“Great. This is going to be a fun night.”
“You don’t know the half of it. When I played The Game before, I used Sputnik. He’s an outright savage. A Chronicle’s wet dream. He will do whatever you tell him, and he has absolutely no scruples or reservations, which makes him a dangerous man. You can only imagine what he is capable of without his puppet master.”
Kathryn bit her lip. “That’s not good. You said that you know the way out? Or do you know some way to get out of this place?”
Iain nodded. “I do. First, you have to get out of here. When you get down to the street, you should notice t
he theatre nearby. You can’t miss it, there are bright red neon lights.”
“Yep, I saw it on the way in. It’s straight in front of this building.”
“That’s the place. Anyway, next you head past the theatre, turn right, and carry on up that road. That takes you to the outside wall – that’s the end of the built-up area. It’s a long straight road, about ten minutes’ walk. Do you know the layout of this area? I imagine that it’s just your office building interior that they replicated, it could hardly be the whole street.”
“I’ve never seen this street before,” Kathryn replied. “This building yes, the street no. We can find our way though, it shouldn’t be hard. If we can use this building to take those fuckers out, we should be home and dry. It will take some work, though.”
“We should be fine. But underestimating these guys could get us killed. Remember, there’s no one to call them off, so if we go to war, it’s them or us. We only have one pistol. We must try to avoid them and get out quietly—”
“—The lifts take us to the fourth floor,” Kathryn interrupted. “Up there is a fire exit that takes you across the roof and down the other side of the building via a fire escape. If we can get up there, we’re home free. As you said yourself, Iain, there’s no control. If we can get past these guys without being seen, they won’t be able to call reinforcements.”
Iain agreed. “It sounds like a plan. One thing: Phase Four. We haven’t seen it yet. It could be anything. Phase Three was all of the guys at once, that’s what I believe anyway. However, when the guy went ‘all in’ that could mean anything might happen. Getting out of here will be a big step, but just don’t expect it to be easy. There could be more foes on the outside.”
