Sanctus

Chapter 117

Arkadian’s ears were ringing from the gunfire and his shoulder hurt like hell, but he still felt sharp. He reached up. Pressed his hand against the wound. Felt the wet hole in his jacket where the bullet had passed through. Took it away and examined it. The blood on his palm was dark, not bright. It wasn’t arterial. He wasn’t bleeding too badly. He looked across at Gabriel, crouched low by the shot-out window, his eyes scanning the silent warehouse for movement.

‘You OK?’ the woman’s voice asked. He turned to look at her. She was hunkered down next to an open box of cartridges, her black hair tumbling over her face in a silken wave as she dexterously refilled the clip from his gun.

‘I’ll live,’ he said.

She looked up. Nodded towards the corner. ‘You should go look after her,’ she said. ‘This isn’t your fight. It’s not hers either.’

He followed her gaze to where Liv was still huddled beside the photocopier. From his new angle he saw something else. Underneath the ruined TV set there was a door set into the wall with FIRE EXIT written across it in bold green letters.

‘I wouldn’t do that,’ the old man said, reading his thoughts. ‘They’ll know there’s a back way. Anyone heading through that door will be walking straight into trouble.’

Kathryn snicked the last cartridge into the clip and smacked it back into the stock of Arkadian’s gun. ‘Just watch the exit and keep your head down,’ she said, holding it towards him by the barrel. ‘You got a mobile?’ Arkadian nodded and instantly regretted it as another sharp pain shot through his shoulder. ‘Then call for backup. They’ll respond much quicker to an officer in trouble.’

He held her gaze for a second then reached out with his good hand and took the gun, feeling for the safety catch with his thumb and discovering it was already off.

Johann knew the walls of the office would dampen the blast from a grenade. He needed to get closer, or wait for the people in the office to come out. He figured the girl would stay in the office. She might be stunned by the explosions, or suffer shrapnel injuries, but she’d live. He could feel a numb coldness spreading from the ends of his fingers and feet.

At the far end of the warehouse he could hear the tinkle of glass and the scuff and crunch of cautious movement. His eyes dropped down to his gun lying on the painted concrete floor. He reached over and picked it up. It felt ridiculously heavy. Not a good sign. Slowly he unscrewed the silencer to make it lighter. He placed it on the floor beside him and felt the cold reach his knees as the heat continued to pump out from his neck.

Time was up.

He picked up the first of the two grenades.