by Mark Ayre
"Shooter’s still inside. Time to put our differences aside and work together. What do you say?"
It was clear from Kilman's expression he was not on good terms with reason, logic, or goodwill.
"This place'll be crawling with armed units any second," he said. "We'll get your shooter friend, but, for now, it's just you and me."
"Oh cool," said Abbie, "so you're sticking with the moron schtick, are you? Well, how about this..."
More shots fired. Bullets exploded through glass and wood.
Abbie span towards the second set of double doors. Without finishing her sentence, she sprinted past the windows on this side of the building, gun outstretched.
Bursting past the end of the L-block, she saw Smoker disappear around the back of the grey building next door. Tracking him with her gun, she fired twice more. One of the shots smashed the building's wall, the other sailed into the distance.
Smoker took cover.
Abbie took another step to the left. Stopped.
The grey building was small. Abbie could position herself in such a way that Smoker couldn't appear around either side of the building without stepping into her sights.
Then she saw Gary.
Abbie had told the teenager to run. Though he had betrayed her, she didn't wish him ill. Though it was the people he was ostensibly working for firing, Abbie had never expected them to spare him. She'd told him to run because she wanted him safe. She'd meant for him to bolt across the field towards the tree line. Smoker would have had no incentive to follow.
Instead, the lanky teenager who Abbie had last night saved from a savage beating at Ndidi's hands had run past the same L-Block double doors through which he had earlier tried to convince Abbie to walk.
Smoker had seen movement. There was every chance he hadn't know who was passing the door. Whoever it was, he didn't care. Several times he'd pulled his trigger. The long glass panes in the door had exploded, and at least two bullets had smashed into Gary as he ran. They had tossed him from his feet towards the grey building. Now he lay in its shadow.
Kilman appeared at Abbie's shoulder.
"Gunman's behind that block," Abbie whispered, nodding to the grey building. "Cover it, I'm going to Gary."
"No," said Kilman. "You're under arrest."
Ignoring the detective, Abbie rushed towards the grey building and dropped into its shadow beside Gary.
"I told you—"
"Shut up," said Abbie, cutting off the end of Kilman's sentence. "If you're a proper police officer, you want to protect people, first and foremost. Gary's a teenager. Whatever you might think, I was never going to hurt him. Now he's been shot, I'll do what I can to save him. You decide what kind of cop you want to be, but if the answer you reach means you can't let me tend to Gary, you'll have to shoot me dead cause that's the only thing that'll stop me trying to save his life."
For at least a few seconds, this speech stunned Kilman into silence. Good. Gave Abbie time to think. Gary was lying on his back but had been side on to the door when he had tried to race past the L-block. Not a good position to be in when passing a decent marksman. A shot through your side was much less likely to miss your valuable organs than a shot through your chest.
But Gary had been lucky.
He lay on his back, wheezing but not crying or screaming. His eyes were unfocused. When the bullets had hit, his brain had entered pain overload. His body had gone into shock, which for now was dampening both fear and pain.
"I'm in trouble," he whispered.
"Don't worry about it," she said, already whipping off her jacket. "I think you're going to be okay."
Somehow, he managed a smile. "Is that a lie?"
Abbie shook her head. "Some things I won't lie about."
"What's happening?" Kilman hissed. "What's the damage?"
Abbie was touched to hear actual concern in the cop's voice. Maybe the arsehole act was a front, which was a comforting thought.
Speaking with enough volume to carry to Kilman as well as Gary, but low enough that the shooter wouldn't hear, Abbie said, "You've taken one bullet to the shoulder and another..." she eased Gary forward a little. He winced but didn't cry out. "...in your lower back. No exit wounds, which is probably good in this instance. Stems the bleeding. There's plenty of damage but not loads of blood. We've got some time to get you to a hospital. I see no reason you won't live."
Having taken off her jacket, Abbie placed her second gun on the ground beside Gary. The coat she folded up small before asking Gary to tilt to one side again. She put her jacket beneath the gunshot wound in his back and asked him to press down as hard as he could.
"Got to keep that pesky blood inside."
As Gary did as asked, Abbie turned to Kilman.
"I need your jacket."
Despite the compassion she'd heard in his voice mere moments ago, Abbie half expected Kilman to argue against this directive. If only because he didn't like taking orders.
But he didn't argue. While he jerked his jacket from his back, Abbie raised her gun and pointed it to the building. How patient the shooter was being. She could hear him shifting. Knew he was as close as ever. Was he waiting, plotting? Or had he stopped for a cigarette break?
Kilman chucked over his jacket. As Abbie began folding it, the cop took a step forward, his gun still pointed at the building.
"I'm giving you one chance," he roared. "Armed response teams are seconds away. When they arrive, you're cooked. But if you drop your gun and come out with your hands above your head, we'll go easy on you. We'll take your freedom, but we won't take your life."
Silence fell. After a few seconds spent wondering if Kilman knew he was reversing the famous Braveheart quote, Abbie listened instead to the silence. There was a light breeze. The buildings around them were low. Abbie was sure she could hear cars driving to and fro over a mile away.
Having folded Kilman's jacket and pressed it to Gary's shoulder, she now took the hand of his uninjured arm and pulled it across his body.
"Seconds away," she whispered, loud enough that Kilman could hear. "That's what you said back there as well, but how far is the station? How long does it take these units to mobilise? It's been almost fifteen minutes since you made the call."
There was a pause from behind. Then Kilman said, "They'll be here."
Abbie had pressed Gary's hand to the jacket over his shoulder.
"I know it's difficult," she said. "But hold this as tight as you can." He did as he was told.
Her mind whirring, Abbie removed the almost spent clip from her gun and hit home a spare magazine. The second gun she collected and checked. As expected, it was fully loaded.
"I'm going out on a limb and assuming you're not corrupt, Kilman," said Abbie.
"I'm not corrupt," hissed the detective.
"Good, we're on the same page, which means we agree the uniform who told you they saw me wandering this way, waving my gun around for all to see, is corrupt."
"I'm not saying I agree with anything," said Kilman.
"But you're surprised we can't yet hear the armed response units racing our way. It's been over a quarter of an hour.”
This stumped Kilman. He was frustrated but didn't know what to say. This allowed Abbie to continue, all the time with her reloaded gun aimed towards the grey building, to the spot where she suspected Smoker might any second reappear.
"You won't agree this uniform is corrupt but let's agree they're under suspicion," said Abbie. "Either way, when you radioed, requested armed back-up, tell me the same person who told you I was here didn’t receive that request?"
Kilman's lack of response, that heavy silence, spoke volumes.
"Maybe now you'll agree they're corrupt," said Abbie.
"Armed response teams will be here any minute."
Someone laughed. It wasn't Abbie, Gary or Kilman.
"They want you as well," said Abbie.
"What?"
Taking her second gun, Abbie pressed the handle into Gary
's hand, the one at the end of the injured arm. She slid his finger onto the trigger.
"It'll hurt like hell," she said, "but if anyone comes at you except Kilman or me, try to shoot them until their very, very dead. Or at least immobile."
Gary managed to nod but couldn't speak. Abbie still thought there was a good chance he would live if left alone. If someone approached him, she was far from sure he would have the strength to lift his arm, let alone focus on and shoot dead the oncoming threat. He might not even be able to pull the trigger.
Rising, Abbie pointed her reloaded gun at the back right corner of the grey building. Looking at Kilman, she nodded towards the building's other side, indicating they should try to flank Smoker.
For a brief moment, Kilman looked annoyed that Abbie had given him another order. Looked as though he might argue. Then he found the strength of character to accept her idea was a good one, and nodded.
Abbie was already facing down one side of the building. Because Kilman had to cross the front to reach the other side, Abbie remained still, waiting for Kilman to move.
But at first, he hesitated.
"In answer to your question," she said, hoping to cover his footsteps with her voice if ever he decided to move, "Someone sent Gary to lure me to this L-block." She nodded, though Kilman wasn't looking. "He was supposed to lead me inside. At the same time, it seems, a corrupt uniformed police officer was told to lure you here, using my presence. The plan was for you to follow me into the L-Block’s long corridor, at which point our shooter would burst in and gun us down. The classroom doors would no doubt be locked. We'd have nowhere to hide."
"Like ducks in a barrel," said Kilman, which confused Abbie for a few seconds.
"Sitting ducks," she said. "Or fish in a barrel. Although, arguably, it would be easier to kill ducks in a barrel than it would fish.”
"Whatever."
At last, Kilman moved. Stepping away from Abbie, he started towards the front left corner of the building. Moving with slow, quiet steps, the detective aimed his gun at the corner he approached. As the cop walked, Abbie went on.
"The shooter lured me here because I'm a perceived threat to his employer's plan. I imagine it’s the same for you."
"And what is the plan?" said Kilman. He had reached the double doors that led into the grey building. The halfway point of his journey to the corner.
"As far as I know," said Abbie, "to rob a casino on the outskirts of town. A place run by crooks. Lucky Draw."
Kilman stopped in line with the second door in the double. His head twisted towards Abbie's. She saw suspicion in those eyes and knew it was no longer suspicion of her.
"You know why they want you dead, don't you?" said Abbie.
Kilman looked unsure. "Maybe," he said. He puzzled over the situation for a couple of seconds. Then nodded. Abbie saw he'd decided to talk. To let her in on his thoughts.
He opened his mouth.
And was thrown from his feet as three bullets smashed through the window of the grey building's double doors, each one hitting its target, tearing through skin and bone and muscle before discarding the detective to the concrete like a child's forgotten teddy.
Twenty
As bullets smashed glass, time slowed down.
Or that was how it seemed to Abbie.
She was not having a good day. As Kilman's presence had allowed strands of this mystery to tie into a pattern that began to make sense, Abbie had become distracted. Rather than on the building they were supposed to be covering, she focused on what Kilman had to say. Minutes ago, she had expected Smoker to appear around the side of a building when he was actually going through.
She'd just fallen for the same trick again, and for the second time, Smoker had taken out an ally by firing through a door.
The bullets hit Kilman. Still in slow motion, Abbie watched his feet leave the ground as he was tossed backwards.
By this point, her mind was no longer whirring. Speculation became action. Already, her gun was raised. As Kilman flew through the air, Abbie took swift side steps, moving closer and closer to the shattered window of the grey building's double doors.
Kilman crashed to the ground. Abbie fired two shots through the grey building's doors.
Into an empty corridor.
It was a short block, with only two classrooms on each side. At the end of the corridor was another set of external-facing double doors. These were closed, but Abbie didn't doubt for a second they were how Smoker had entered the building.
The corridor was quiet. All four classroom doors were closed. Abbie didn't know which of these Smoker had escaped into. She was only sure he hadn't had the time to exit through the back doors before Abbie gained visibility of the building's interior.
Behind Abbie, Kilman groaned. Abbie didn't look around. Couldn't afford to. From what she'd seen, at least two of the bullets had entered Kilman's chest. His chances of survival were no doubt lower than Gary's. Still, Abbie couldn't be sure until she had the opportunity to examine the detective's wounds.
When Abbie had detailed what she knew of Becker's plan to rob the casino, without mentioning Becker, understanding had hit Kilman. He knew why a corrupt police officer might want to kill him, and that information could prove invaluable. Abbie needed to speak to him. Preferably soon, definitely before he died.
But she couldn't do anything until she'd dealt with Smoker.
She was still aiming at the entrance ahead. Each door in the double was split into two segments—a glass pane at the top, a solid panel of what looked like plastic at the bottom. Smoker had blasted through the glass pane in the left (his right) door. The other remained intact.
Ruling out an escape through the back set of double-doors left a couple of options. It was possible Smoker had slipped into one of the four classrooms, though that would rely on him knowing which, if any, were unlocked. The only alternative was to remain by the front doors. His back pressed against the plastic panels. If he was on his bum or crouched low, Abbie wouldn't see him through the shattered glass.
Bullets were at a premium, but Abbie couldn't risk getting too close to the door if Smoker could, at any moment, pop up like a Jack-in-the-box.
Lowering her gun, Abbie fired into the centre of the left plastic panel, moved her gun to the right panel, and fired again.
The bullets disappeared, leaving a hole in their wake. Abbie rushed immediately to the left of the double doors, pressing her shoulder to the wall.
From this angle, she could see into the corridor, see the space behind the double doors, and see Smoker was not hiding there.
In which case, he had to be in one of the four classrooms. Given the time he'd had, one of nearest two. Going to the back two would have been a risk. Abbie almost certainly would have seen the door swing shut.
Within the classrooms, there would be windows. Abbie could hear nothing but knew Smoker could even now by searching for a window he could open and through which he could escape outside.
Moving from the wall, shoving her gun through the shattered glass pane, Abbie tried the door handle but had no joy.
The lock would take no more than a few seconds to pick.
Abbie didn't have time for that.
Stepping back, she fired into the lock. Stepping forward, she grabbed the handle of the left door and yanked it open. Stepping forward again, she used her back as a doorstop as it tried to swing closed.
She kept both feet outside the building.
On each side of the corridor, a flimsy, carpeted wall rose to about waist height. Above this, windows into the classroom took over. The only break came at the end of each room, where could be found a door into class.
From her position in front of the open left front door, Abbie could see into the first classroom on the right. It looked as one might expect a classroom to look: rectangular tables, hard plastic chairs, an interactive whiteboard, a teachers desk, and plenty of student work on the wall. Tacked up around the board were large cut-out letters spelling bonj
our, merci, je m'appelle, etc. It didn't take a genius to work out this was a French classroom and probably a languages block, which was unfortunate. Abbie had hoped for a Chemistry lab filled with test tubes of experimental solutions. One such solution would prove corrosive only when it came into contact with the skin of habitual smokers.
No such luck. If Abbie ran out of bullets, the next best weapon would be a French to English dictionary. On the flip side, this limitation also applied to Smoker.
The classroom she could see into was still and silent. She could see the width and breadth of it, and there was no sign of Smoker. This didn't rule out his presence. He could be hiding beneath a table or behind the teacher's desk; he could be pressed to the wall with his head beneath the window. There was no chance he hadn't heard Abbie break in. Somewhere nearby, he was plotting his next move.
Abbie prepared to kick open the other door and check the classroom opposite the one she could currently see.
Before she moved, she heard something.
Not from inside the building. From further away. The wind picked up pace, and it was as though it had done so specifically to bring warning to Abbie.
Sirens.
Distant but growing louder by the second. The speed with which the volume increased indicated the cop cars weren't interested in speed limits. Something had grabbed their attention, and they were keen to reach the party as soon as possible.
They were racing in Abbie's direction, but Abbie had no evidence it was her they were after, that they wouldn't swoop past the school en route to another crime.
Nonsense. They were coming for her.
Either someone nearby had heard the gunshots and called the police, or Kilman's contact had finally mobilised the armed response teams. Abbie's money was on option two. Perhaps the corrupt uniform had delayed until he or she received word from Smoker: Kilman is down. If Smoker feared he couldn't kill Abbie, what was the next best move to get her out the way while they carried out their heist?
Ensuring she was arrested for murdering a police officer would probably do it.
Time was running out. The sirens grew ever closer. Grabbing the second of the double doors, Abbie prepared to switch sides.
