Authors: Richard Parry
Val was running again.
He didn’t try the buzzer for Mandy’s apartment, throwing himself at the locked door of the brownstone with his full weight behind his shoulder.
The hinges of the double doors popped clear of the frame, wooden splinters spraying into the lobby area.
She was on —
Climb.
Scramble against mud and stone.
The prey is above us.
— the eighth floor.
He hit the door of the stairway like he’d hit the main door, the wire mesh glass of the fire door popping free of the frame.
Val hit the concrete wall opposite the door and looked around.
A soldier was standing on the landing above him, rifle already firing.
Val’s feet slipped on the debris on the floor, a hand reaching out to snare the bannister railing.
A bullet hit him in the shoulder, and he yelled —
Clever monkey.
Dead monkey
.
— before he gained his feet.
He launched himself up the stairs, taking the first three steps in one bound.
The second bullet hit his chest, but he was still yelling, his feet taking himself up the wall as he got out of the way of the chattering of the gun.
The soldier’s eyes went wide behind the visor as Val ran against the wall, springing off at the top into a dive that slammed him against the soldier.
The man’s gun was still firing but Val was too close, the rounds chipping the concrete walls around them.
Chunks shattered off the roof, a tiny cut appearing above Val’s eye.
He bashed the man’s gun arm aside and brought his fist down into his visor, cracking the glass.
The man’s head bounced against the floor as Val hit him again and again.
He stopped hitting when the gun stopped firing.
He got up and ran again, up the stairs, the blood from his shoulder and chest making his shirt stick to him.
He checked the numbers written large against the doors as he ran up the stairwell.
Val grabbed the bannister rail as he rounded the flights of stairs, keeping up his speed by throwing his momentum around each bend.
The building was silent above him as his breath ran ragged in his lungs.
His throat burned, and he felt sick.
Val remembered Amy at the —
No.
— at Doc Phillips’ place, about how her —
It will not happen to Pack.
— life had fluttered out.
She’d been alone, and hurting —
We will be make it in time
.
— Val slammed the door of level eight open, then pulled his head back as bullets tore into the door frame.
He panted in the stairwell.
“Adalia!”
Val’s voice was hoarse, and he tried again.
“Adalia!
Can you hear me?”
“Val!”
He could hear her voice from the corridor.
He tried poking his head out again, but the chatter of bullets pushed him back.
He leaned against the cool concrete wall of the stairwell.
Why would they be going after Adalia?
“What do you want?”
There was no reply.
He heard the chime of an elevator, and risked ducking his head back into the corridor.
No shots came this time.
He could see down the corridor, Mandy’s door at the end standing open.
There were two elevator doors; one was closed, the other just opening.
He launched himself up the corridor, rounding on the open door as —
Pack mate
.
— Danny stepped out.
She started at the sight of him.
He glanced at her, then at the closed elevator door.
“Val, where’s —”
“They’ve taken her down!”
He grabbed the edges of the elevator door, clawing at it.
He heaved, the elevator doors sliding open, clanging into the frames.
He jammed himself into the opening and risked a look down the shaft, the cables spooling out in front of him as the car descended.
Val looked over his shoulder at Danny.
“I’m sorry.
I’ll get her back.”
He looked into the elevator shaft, then back at her.
“I love you.”
Her eyes widened, and she started to say something.
The cables stopped moving.
The elevator had hit the ground.
They had an eight-floor lead on him.
He dropped into the shaft, the doors sliding closed behind him.
Whatever she’d been about to say was lost in the darkness as he fell down.
The shaft was pitch black, occasional glimpses of light licking out as he fell past each floor’s elevator door.
Val felt the wind of the fall in his face.
When Val hit the top of the elevator, the shock ran through him and he lay stunned for a moment.
The top of the elevator creaked then fell in, dropping him into the floor of the car.
He lay in a tumble of metal and wires, a fluorescent lighting tube dangling above him.
It flickered, then went out.
He had time to glance outside the car before the doors slid shut.
He saw men —
Dead men walking.
— one of them dragging a small form —
Pup!
— to the door.
As the elevator closed, he saw guns being raised towards him.
Val crab-crawled sideways as the bullets shredded the metal of the car, the noise of it deafening inside the small space.
Chips of veneer and plastic and metal rained down around him.
Silence.
Run
.
His hands reached for the doors of the elevator, shafts of light coming in through the holes.
His fingers caught and cut against the sharp metal of the holes, and he could feel something wet on his hands.
Val’s scrambling started to become —
They have pup!
— frantic before his hands found the edges of the doors.
He yanked them open, seeing the last of the soldiers leaving through the main door of the lobby.
Val was moving towards them as a small black —
what the fuck, a hockey puck? —
object slid across the floor towards him.
The flash grenade went off, the light activating all the photoreceptors in his eyes in single, brilliant instant.
The sound was more force than noise, the pressure of it making him clamp his hands to his ears in pain.
Val stumbled, falling to his knees, a hand flailing out for balance. He blinked —
God, I’m blind
— and a bullet took him in the side.
He fell, crawling blindly across the floor.
Val’s fingers felt the texture of the lobby floor, the tile edges under his fingertips.
Get up.
He heaved a leg under himself, getting into a half kneeling position.
His vision started to clear, and he could see one of the soldiers yanking another back out onto the street.
He started to push himself to his feet, his balance still off —
they had me dead in their sights, why didn’t they shoot?
— and stumbled after them.
He reached the street as a white van was pulling away from the kerb.
Danny's little car was still on the street, and he started towards it —
It can’t dodge the antlers of the deer
.
— before deciding against it, setting off in a jagged run after the van.
Val touched his ear, feeling the blood from a burst eardrum.
The pain in his side from the bullet was fading —
adrenaline
— and his gait eased.
He started to get his balance back and picked up speed, arms and legs pumping as he ran after the van down the middle of the street.
The van was pulling away from him as the driver floored it, jerking and swerving around traffic.
Val’s running took him past other cars —
it must be slow driver day
— and he followed the van through an intersection.
Horns blared, the van’s tyres peeling off black smoke as it slid around another car.
Val vaulted the same car, one hand on its roof, and landed in a dead run on the other side.
He heard the horn as another car hit him from the side.
He was knocked clear, landing in a roll; he clambered to his feet in the dirt and grit on the side of the road then powered into a sprint again.
Val looked up at the sound of a helicopter.
It was black, running lights off as it flew over the top of him, then banked around to the east.
The van swerved down a street ahead, following the flight path of the helicopter.
Van saw an alley to the east, ducking into it.
He ran past garbage cans, leaping onto a dumpster to vault a chain link fence.
He landed on the other side, his feet slipping briefly in the muck before he caught himself and got up to speed again.
A flash of colour from a doorway caught his eye as he dodged around a woman carrying a —
pail? Bucket?
— the contents spilling into the alley.
Her voice carried behind him, calling out in some Asian dialect.
He didn’t pause, breaking into the street on the other side of the alley.
A car’s lights flashed to his right and Val held his hands out to the screech of tyres.
He looked up and saw the van crossing an intersection ahead of him.
He ignored the incredulous look of the man behind the wheel in front of him, ducking around the side of the stopped car and sprinting off.
He rounded the corner behind the van, seeing it slow for traffic ahead.
Some kind of altercation at the intersection was snarling everything up.
The van slewed to the side around the cars, mounting the sidewalk.
Pedestrians yelled and screamed, one lady with a baby in a pushchair —
They do not hunt
.
—
Val turned his head away at the crash, and his eyes shut for a moment at the anguished scream that followed.
He wanted to keep running, but the cars ahead of him were packed in —
Lambs in a pen.
— close, so he jumped onto the roof of a car.
He used the new height to jump from roof to roof, ignoring the shouts and horns behind him as he leapt between the cars.
His feet were slick against the metal and paint, and he stumbled more than once.
The van was pulling away again as he cleared the traffic snarl, the protagonists in the intersection altercation staring at him dumbfounded, their argument forgotten.
He was past them, running —
Running free.
— down the street.
His lungs heaved.
Val could see a clear parkway ahead, the helicopter set on the ground, rotors thumping the air.
The van’s engine was screaming as the vehicle jolted this way and that before sliding to a stop ahead of him by the helicopter.
He ran up to the rear of it and grabbed one of the door handles, wrenching it —
End this.
— with all his strength.
The door’s bolt popped and it swung free.
Val caught two gun shots in the chest, and fell backwards onto the ground with blood staining his shirt.
He saw a glimpse —
Pup!
— “Adalia!”
he shouted, and started to rise to his feet.
One of the soldiers inside was braced, and fired at him again.
Val twisted aside, then grabbed the edge of the van’s roof and jumped on top.
He could see Adalia being dragged towards the helicopter, her tiny arm outstretched towards him.
He bunched into a crouch, about to leap from the roof when he felt the bright sting of the bullets as they hit his legs from underneath.
He stumbled, slipping on the roof, falling off the van over the front.
Grabbing the grill, Val pulled himself up and looked the driver in the face.
The man’s eyes were wide with terror, and he jammed the accelerator down, the van collecting Val.
He clawed at the grill, one hand reaching up towards the driver.
Val’s hand grabbed one of the wiper blades, and he held on as the rear tyres screeched on the ground.
The impact knocked the breath from him.
The driver had rammed the van against a parked car, Val wedged in between.
The rear tyres screeched, smoke starting to come off them as the driver held his foot down.
Val looked aside and saw Adalia being loaded into the helicopter.
No!
“No!”
His hands pressed against the front of the van, the engine screaming in front of him.
He pressed —
Caught under the rock.
Be free or die
.
— against the front of the van.
He yelled.
The vehicle bucked and tossed like a living thing, the tyres shrieking their way sideways across the pavement.
Slowly, the van started to move backwards.
He braced his legs against the car behind him, the pain so hot and real from the bullets that he wanted to vomit.
He pressed —