On the Hunt

by Kerry J Donovan

  “Should have stopped when I told you to, dullard!”

  Downstairs, muted by distance and masked by Danny’s receding tinnitus, a man howled in agony.

  “Captain!”

  Danny took off. He hit the landing at full sprint, stepped over the tripwire, and vaulted beyond the dead Shaggy.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Wednesday 3rd May – Midday

  Amber Valley, Derbyshire, UK

  Kaine headed for the kitchen. With the smashed glass door leading to the garden, it was an obvious easy point of ingress. Conversely, he’d already set up its defences.

  He hurried across the open hallway and slammed to a stop against the wall leading to the kitchen, using his shoulder to break his momentum. Sig raised, Kaine dropped to one knee and peered through the opening.

  From his new position, the glass oven door acted as a perfect mirror, reflecting the skewed rectangle of sunlight flooding through the bifold doors and showing the green of the garden beyond.

  Water bubbled merrily and thin clouds of steam rose from the two large saucepans he’d set on the hob. Their handles crossed each other, and overhung the front of the cooker. Earlier, Kaine had tied the handles together with string he’d taken from a ball he’d found in a kitchen drawer. The string dangled down from the handles, trailed across the floor to the door, and ran straight into Kaine’s fist.

  He waited.

  Upstairs, floorboards creaked, a door slammed open, and Danny’s Beretta barked. Rapid gunfire from multiple weapons in the garden peppered the shutters and smashed windows.

  For all the world, Kaine wanted to rush to Danny’s aid, but he had his own ground to defend. Marian Prentiss’ life depended on him and Danny working as a team, separate but together.

  Seconds ticked slowly, turning into minutes.

  Dark flecks appeared in the reflection. Raindrops on the glass of the unbroken door. Only a few, but they interrupted the reflection’s clean lines.

  A dark shape broke the vertical line of the sunlit rectangle—the oval of a man’s head. It wore a green beret.

  A Commando!

  Cautiously, the Commando leaned further around the edge of the bifold door, revealing a broad shoulder and the triangle of his upper body. He extended his right arm and the Beretta in his hand entered the kitchen first, probing forwards into the empty space. He stepped fully into the kitchen, head turning, swivelling left then right. The guy was on his guard, tensed for danger.

  The concussive punch of a huge explosion hit them hard. Loud enough to shatter eardrums and punch air from unprepared lungs. Protected by the thick stone of the kitchen wall, Kaine did nothing but blink.

  The Commando spun towards the noise and his feet flew out from under him. He fell backwards and struck the floor hard. A fraction of a second later, the elbow of his gun arm hit the tiles. The Beretta erupted and the oven door shattered, the shot barely audible after the huge blast.

  Kaine grinned. Danny must have finally found a way to ignite the propane.

  The Commando flipped over onto his front. He tried to stand, but his boots slipped and slid, unable to find traction on the oil Kaine had poured over the floor when he set the water to boil.

  With the explosion still ringing in his ears, Kaine stood, string in one hand, Sig in the other.

  “Don’t move!”

  On Kaine’s barked order, Commando froze. His gun pointed at the shattered oven door, well away from Kaine.

  Commando’s head dropped, forehead rested on tiles. He sniffed.

  “Cooking oil?” he said, half to himself, half to Kaine. “Fucking cooking oil?”

  “Sometimes, the old ones work the best.”

  “Wouldn’t have worked without that fucking bomb distracting me. No one said you had explosives.”

  “We didn’t. Where’s the other one? Your mate.”

  Slowly, the Commando turned his head. “Can I get up? It’s uncomfortable down here and this oil stinks.”

  “Nah, you’re okay as you are. I’m a nervy sort of bloke.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Yep, I’m one of them, too.”

  Kaine glanced over his shoulder into the entrance hall. Where was the other flanker?

  “You got a gun on me?” Commando asked, face down, nose grazing the oily floor.

  “Yep.”

  “Really?”

  “Want to find out? Move your head, but keep your movements slow and easy.”

  Slowly, the Commando turned onto his side, keeping his gun pointing well away. His gaze alighted on the muzzle of Kaine’s Sig. His lips stretched into a thin smile.

  “Okay, you got me. What next?”

  “Put your gun on the floor and slide it over to me.”

  The Commando’s eyes flicked up to a point over Kaine’s shoulder. He screamed, “Behind you!” twisted, and jerked his gun arm up and around. The Beretta’s muzzle caught on the string dangling from the saucepan handles. He tugged. The gun fired, and the bullet smashed into the door of a base unit.

  Saucepans tumbled. Scalding water showered down.

  Commando screamed. Hands flew to his face. He writhed on the floor, howling, thrashing.

  Keeping as clear of the oil and water mix as he could, Kaine entered the kitchen. He ripped both teacloths from the handle of the oven and spread them over the floor for added traction. Then, kneeling, he ripped the Beretta from the Commando’s red-raw and already blistering hand and patted him down. One full magazine and a throwing dagger. Nothing else to concern him.

  Kaine stood. Keeping his ears open, Kaine stared down at the thrashing man. He winced and sucked air between his teeth.

  “Should have stayed down. The old tricks don’t always work.”

  “Bastard!” the Commando screamed from behind his par-boiled hands, squirming, rolling. “You fucking bastard! I can’t see! Help me.”

  Picking his way around the mess, Kaine turned off the gas and made his way past the cooker to the sink. He opened the mixer tap full. Cold water flowed, splashed into the sink. He returned to the doorway.

  “Follow the sound of the water. It’s cold. Douse your face and hands. It might help.”

  The Commando stopped writhing.

  “Thanks,” he said through his hands. “Thanks … mate.”

  More floorboards creaked on the first floor, directly above Kaine’s head. A door crashed open. Furniture toppled. Gunfire. A Sig, not Danny’s Beretta.

  Damn. A breach!

  Chapter Nineteen

  Wednesday 3rd May – Midday

  Amber Valley, Derbyshire, UK

  Kaine called to Commando. “If you try to leave the kitchen, I will kill you.”

  “I-I won’t,” he mumbled, crawling towards the running water. “I promise.”

  Kaine believed him.

  Footsteps. Running footsteps. A scream followed by thumping and tumbling on the staircase.

  Danny!

  Kaine checked the Sig’s load and raced towards the entrance hall, alert for anything. He met Danny at the foot of the staircase and lowered his weapon.

  Thank God.

  “Everything okay, sir?” Danny asked, panting from his exertions and reeking of woodsmoke. Behind him, towards the foot of the stairs lay a body, its neck twisted and its head leaking blood. It didn’t move.

  “I’m fine, Danny. You?” he asked, nodding at the mess on the stairs.

  “No problem here, sir.”

  “The fishing line held, I see.”

  “Certainly did.” Danny nodded. “I heard some clattering in the kitchen. Any issues?”

  “One poached flanker.”

  “The boiling water trick actually worked?”

  “Told you it would.” Kaine wiped his chin with the back of his hand. “Eyes open, Danny. There’s still at least one man unaccounted for. The second flanker.”

  Two gunshots exploded. Fired from the front garden. Men yelled at each other in guttural Hungarian. A third shot rang out.

  Seconds late
r, a man screamed, more gunshots erupted, and the intact window on the near side of the double doors blew in. Bullets flew, hitting the far wall.

  Kaine and Danny turned together and fired in unison. Four shots each. No target. Blanket fire at the window.

  A man wearing a black beret tumbled through the shattered glass, bleeding from the shoulder, arm, and hip. In reflex, he squeezed off a shot on the way down. The bullet struck one of the chess pieces, a knight. It removed one of the horse’s ears and buried itself into the wall.

  The man hit the floor, tried to roll to his feet, but the leg with the damaged hip collapsed beneath him.

  Danny and Kaine fired together. The man in the black beret spun and fell onto his back. This time, he stayed down. One of the bullets had torn through his cheek, another blew out his throat. Blood spurted through the ugly holes. Hands grasped at his throat, trying to stem the flow. His right knee bent upwards, the foot twitched, trying to help him stand. It faltered and the leg straightened as the foot slid along the floor. Seconds later, the man’s fight for life ended and his arms dropped to his sides. Blood pooled around his head.

  “Jesus,” Danny said, scanning the hallway and landing, leading with his Beretta, “what a bloody mess.”

  “I’ll give you this, lad,” Kaine said, sliding a fresh mag into his Sig. “You do know how to throw a party. Loved the fireworks show.”

  “Thanks, sir,” Danny said, throwing Kaine a pained smile.

  “How’d you manage to ignite the propane?”

  “I didn’t. One of the attackers ended up inside the shed. The gas ignited when he shot at me.”

  “How ironic. Same thing happened with the boiling water. Self-inflicted injuries.”

  Danny’s smile widened. “Who the hell are we facing here, sir? A platoon of the Kamikaze Highlanders?”

  “Seems that way.”

  Danny’s grin widened. “Are we done here now, do you think?”

  Kaine grimaced and shook his head. “There’s at least one more by the gates. Vadik Pataki. Could be others in the cars.”

  Out front, an engine fired up, wheels spun, and gravel rattled on metal and brickwork. Kaine and Danny raced each other to the shattered windows next to the front doors, and reached them in time to see the bonnet of the right hand BMW reverse into the road and scream off.

  “Fuck,” Danny shouted, “he’s getting away.”

  He turned towards the front door and reached for one of the upper bolts.

  “Leave him, Danny. Let’s see to Mrs Prentiss.”

  Danny threw the upper bolt and turned the key in the lock. “Vadik Pataki set all this up and murdered Robert Prentiss. While he’s alive this isn’t over. Marian Prentiss will never be safe.”

  He turned the lionhead handle and tugged on the door. It didn’t budge. He looked down, shook his head. He’d forgotten the lower bolt.

  “No, Danny,” Kaine said, dropping a hand on Danny’s shoulder as he bent to work the bolt. “I meant leave him for now. We’ll catch up with Vadik Pataki later, on our terms. We’ll know where he’s heading. Corky’s going to be on it the minute the comms are back online.”

  Almost as though he’d been listening, Kaine’s earpiece clicked active.

  “…you there, Mr K? Come back.”

  Kaine tapped the earpiece. “Alpha Two to Control, receiving you. Over.”

  “’Bout bloody time you answered. Some armpit’s been blocking your signal, but it’s just freed up. Corky ain’t a happy bunny.”

  “You’re not happy? I thought this system was bulletproof? Over.”

  Danny was having trouble with the bottom bolt. He rattled the arm, but it obstinately refused to release. He leaned a shoulder against the door and tried again. This time, the bolt slid free and snapped open, catching Danny’s thumb as it slammed against the retaining block.

  “Shit!”

  He stood, stuck his thumb in his mouth, and sucked.

  Kaine coughed out a laugh.

  After such an intense firefight where neither of them had received as much as a scratch, for Danny to cut himself opening a door was a hoot.

  After a momentary frown, Danny saw the humour in it and smiled, too.

  “Yeah, yeah. Very funny.”

  Danny tugged on the handle again and the door popped open. Kaine followed him out into a much gloomier morning than it had been when he’d arrived. The rain had increased in intensity, sucking warmth from the day. It hammered down, forming puddles on the gravel drive.

  Danny’s head snapped to the left.

  A man, clothes smouldering, manic blue eyes shining through scorched skin, staggered around the side of the house, a gun in each hand, both raised. He started shooting. Bullets flew.

  “Look out!” Danny screamed.

  He dived across Kaine and fell hard against him. They collapsed in a tangled mix of legs and arms. On the way down, Kaine fired three times. Reflexive, instinctive. Three shots, two hits.

  The man’s head jerked back. He fell in a heap.

  Kaine struggled to stand, restricted by Danny’s unmoving weight.

  “Stop messing about, Danny. Get off, will you.”

  Danny coughed, a weak, wet, bubbling hack.

  Oh Christ. No!

  “Mr K, are you alright?”

  “Danny?”

  Another bubbling cough.

  Jesus. No. Please, no.

  Kaine heaved.

  Danny’s weight shifted, and he groaned as Kaine gently eased him aside and onto his back. He cradled Danny’s head, made sure it didn’t thump onto the black and white tiles.

  “Mr K?”

  “Not now, Corky!” Kaine screamed. “Not now!”

  He laid Danny flat, kneeled alongside, and checked him for injuries. His head and face looked clear, unhurt. Arms and legs, too. He pulled down the zip on Danny’s dark jacket. Nothing. No bullet holes.

  Thank fuck.

  Probably hit his head and knocked himself out. Kaine blew out a sigh.

  Danny coughed again. Bloody bubbles frothed out of his mouth.

  Christ!

  Kaine ran a hand over Danny’s chest, along each side in turn. Found a warm, wet patch under the left armpit. He pulled the arm away. A tiny hole punched through the dark blue polo shirt. Blood spurted through the hole, spread quickly, saturating the cloth.

  Danny struggled for breath. Each time his chest expanded and contracted, frothy blood oozed out through the hole. Kaine clamped a hand over the wound and pressed hard.

  “Danny! Oh Jesus. Danny!”

  “Mr K. Want Corky to call an ambulance?”

  Kaine tapped the earpiece into silence and squeezed his eyes tight shut. He’d seen similar chest wounds before. A punctured lung. A nicked pulmonary blood vessel. Danny was drowning in his own blood. He had minutes only. Maybe less. This far out in the country, no ambulance could reach them in time. Not that paramedics could help, anyway. Danny needed a fully equipped and fully prepped operating theatre, and the nearest was over an hour away. Even if Kaine dragged him into a car and broke all the speed records, they wouldn’t even make it halfway.

  Danny’s eyes flicked open. Again, he coughed, this one weaker than the last. Wetter. Even more horrible.

  Oh Danny!

  On his knees and with his hand still clamped over the seeping wound, Kaine worked his way around to Danny’s head. He slid his arm under Danny’s limp shoulders, pulled him into his lap and hugged him tight, compressing the wound. Together, they leaned against the stone wall of Prentiss House.

  A groan escaped Danny’s blood-soaked lips. More blood frothed out. He winced, clenched his teeth.

  “Easy, lad. I’ve got you.” Kaine spoke quietly, trying to ease his own pain as well as Danny’s.

  Danny smiled. “No worries, Captain. Doesn’t hurt. Not really.”

  “Bloody hell, Danny.”

  An engine roared along the road on the far side of the wall. Tyres squealed as the driver locked out the brakes. A white Ford Focus shuddere
d to a stop alongside the parked BMW.

  Jesus, what now?

  Kaine raised his Sig, but lowered it when the Ford’s front doors flew open and Cough and Stefan jumped out. They slid through the part-open gates and raced along the driveway, weapons drawn, scoping the area for bogeys. On spotting Kaine and Danny, the blood, and the carnage, they skidded to a stop. Gravel crunched and scattered beneath their military boots.

  “Oh shit. No!” Cough gasped, breathing hard, his rebuilt left shoulder hitched characteristically higher than the right.

  Beside him, Stefan stood silent, eyes wide, defensive. He searched, checking the sightlines, always on guard. A good, solid soldier.

  Danny tilted his head to face them.

  “Hi … guys,” he said, “’bout time you got … here.” He paused long enough to spit blood. “This isn’t … what it looks like. The Captain and … I … we’re just good friends.”

  Stefan resorted to his default expression—a confused frown—but said nothing.

  Cough forced a thin smile. “Yeah, yeah. Pull the other one, Danny-boy. You two go get a room, would ya?” He dragged his eyes from the blood patch on Danny’s chest and stared through the smashed window into one part of the kill zone.

  “Stefan, check the grounds,” Kaine said, pointing towards the kitchen and refusing to use the man’s unfortunate nickname. “Danny and I are the only friendlies outside. Take care, some might still be alive. No second chances, understand? Cough, secure the house. Mrs Prentiss is in the front room. She’s in the far corner under a couple of mattresses, unarmed. Announce yourself as Danny’s friend. She’ll be terrified.”

  Stefan headed off, hugging close to the side of the house and pausing to glance around the corner before continuing. Cough climbed the steps to the portico. He stopped and bent to touch Danny’s shoulder.

  “Good luck, Danny,” he said, choking on the words before entering the house.