Eeny Meeny

95

Pain seared through him. Mark closed his eyes as the agony took hold and then he collapsed to the ground. What the hell had happened to him? Instinctively his hand went to the back of his head and he winced as his fingers probed the deep, bloody wound. His head hurt like hell, but in truth so did the rest of him – it felt like he had sustained a savage and prolonged beating.

Slowly it came back to him. The hunt for Tanner, the chase through the hospital and then… a nasty blank. He vaguely recalled a nanosecond of alarm, a sense of something or someone behind him. Stupid bastard – he must have turned his back on Tanner and paid the price.

He scanned his surroundings. The place smelt antiseptic, but also musty. He tried to lift his head again, acclimatizing his eyes to the gloom. He was in some kind of boiler room. Was this the basement of the hospital? If so, how had they got down here?

‘Mark.’

Charlie. Thank God. Mark craned his neck round slowly, ignoring the shooting pains that accompanied every movement, to see Charlie huddled in the corner. She was cradling a battered camping light, which was their sole source of illumination.

Even as he began to take in this strange image, mental alarm bells started to ring.

‘She’s got us, Mark.’

‘Tanner?’

But Charlie just shook her head and buried her head in her hands. Eventually, she muttered:

‘It was a trap. She’s got us.’

Suddenly Mark was staggering to his feet, scanning the room. But he’d got up too quickly, saw stars, then felt himself falling to the floor with a bump.

When he came to, his head was in Charlie’s lap and she was blowing on his face. He was hot and cold, sweaty – and his throat raged sore. He was glad of the comfort of Charlie’s touch. He looked up to thank her, but saw she was crying.

‘She’s got us, Mark.’

It had been an illusion. There was no comfort here.