Dark Zone

86

Karr tried to push upward while the terrorists were still distracted by the helicopters. But his arms wouldn’t move.

The second helicopter roared toward the tower from behind him. Karr closed his eyes, sensing that he was being targeted this time. Flares shot into the air, and then gunfire. The world shook violently.

The helicopter wasn’t firing at him but at the stairway above, where the missile-wielding terrorists were. Another missile shot away from the tower and the chopper wheeled away.

A dozen smells began to choke him. The helicopter buzzed back.

A body toppled past, rebounding in the grid work until it wedged against a pair of V-shaped cross members.

More gunfire.

Another terrorist slid down the steps until Karr couldn’t see him anymore, something clattering with him.

A gun?

Karr had no idea, but he decided it was a gun and that he was going to get it.

“Rockman, if you can tell the helicopter not to shoot me, I’d appreciate it,” he said, starting to claw his way back around the mesh to the stairwell.

“Tommy, get out of there!”

A rocket-propelled grenade whipped from the cluster of terrorists working with the explosions and vests. It exploded right beneath the helicopter’s chin, and the aircraft seemed to rear up and then nose down, plunging to the earth after rebounding against the side of the tower.

Karr closed his eyes and snaked his way through the metal, diving back toward the steps in a tumble. As he was stunned, it took a moment before he could start crawling upward.

As he turned the corner onto the fourth set of steps, a large pole shot through the grid work a few feet from his head. He ducked belatedly, then turned to see where the pole had gone. It was only when he saw the object explode in the sky a hundred yards away that he realized it was a missile, launched by another helicopter.

“Tell the helicopter not to do the job for them!” Karr yelled to the Art Room.

“Tommy, get out of there. Get down!” said Telach.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I’m working on that.”

Two eyes stared down at him as he turned the next corner: the dead terrorist lay across the stairwell, head and body at different angles.

His body lay atop something. A gun.

Karr crawled to the man as fast as he could. The only thing he thought of, the only thing he saw, was the gun.

Except it wasn’t a gun. It was an empty launching tube for a rocket-propelled grenade. He pounded the dead man’s body in his rage, pounded and pounded, felt something hard against his fist.

He clawed at the man, pulling away his clothes.

A pistol.

He grabbed it, made sure it was ready to fire, and turned in the direction of the white coveralls a few feet away.