The Rabbit Hunter

50

Joona is standing by the forklift, watching the flames and oil-black smoke twist up furiously towards the sky.

Parisa is hugging her sister, who is curled up in fear. She is covering her ears and sobbing hopelessly like a child.

‘Ask your sister if she can run. We should try to get to the edge of the forest,’ Joona says quickly.

‘We have to find Fatima, the woman who was here a moment ago,’ Parisa says. ‘We can’t leave her. She saved my sister, told everyone she was her daughter so she’d be left alone.’

‘Where is she? Do you know?’

‘She was going to get her things — you see that big boat without any plastic?’ she points.

‘It’s too dangerous...’

Suddenly they hear automatic gunfire, a whole magazine being emptied down by the water. Bullets slam into wood and ricochet off the steel cradles holding the boats.

Joona tries to see where the Rapid Response Unit is.

They hear smaller explosions as glass shatters and boats topple.

He pulls out his phone and calls Janus again, then suddenly sees that Parisa has left her sobbing sister and crept away with the shotgun. She’s running bent over, along the side of the workshop towards the boat she indicated.

Joona draws his pistol and pulls back the hammer.

The fire from the burning helicopter is stretching off to one side, and seems to fade into the dark sky.

Joona sees Parisa slow down when she reaches the end of the workshop. Her shadow ripples across the corrugated metal wall.

Her sister is sitting in silence, her hands over her ears.

Parisa glances towards the water, then steadies herself against the wall and gets ready to run across the open patch of gravel to the boat.

Joona sees her take a step forward and look around the corner, then her whole body trembles, she collapses onto her backside and sits there, a blank expression on her face.

Suddenly she falls backward and hits her head on the ground. Then she’s dragged away by her feet.

It looks like some predator has brought her down and dragged her into the undergrowth.

Holding his pistol close to his chest, Joona runs down the path beside the wall, then stops and raises the weapon as he approaches the corner where she disappeared.

He listens, feeling the billowing heat from the fire on his face.

Glowing fragments of burning plastic are drifting through the air.

He quickly glances around the corner and scans the scene: the concrete ramp, the five-metre-tall doors to the workshop.

The trunks of the pine trees at the edge of the forest are lit up by the yellow glow of the fire.

There’s a white trailer parked a little further into the forest, behind a chicken-wire fence.

Joona runs over to a smaller doorway, pushes the handle, opens it and looks inside the workshop.

Machinery shimmers dully in the darkness, and further away there’s a dark-blue motorboat with damaged bows.

Joona darts inside, checks the corners closest to him, then runs at a crouch over to a large lathe.

The smells of metal, oil and solvents mingle in the air.

The door clicks shut behind him.

The fire is still visible through cracks and tiny holes in the metal walls.

He moves towards the boat, making sure to check dangerous angles.

A man roars: ‘You’re just an animal. You’re nothing. You’re just a fucking animal!’

Joona runs towards the voice, crouches down and sees them at the far end of the workshop.

Parisa is hanging upside down, raised up by her feet with a pulley and tackle. Her thick sweater has fallen around her head. The white strap of her bra stretches across her naked back.

The bearded man’s mouth is still bleeding. Parisa is trying to hold onto her sweater, and sways as the man yanks it away.

‘I’m going to cut your fucking head off!’ he cries, raising the axe.

Joona starts to run, but the boat is obstructing his line of fire. He can just see them through the gloom beneath the hull.

Parisa tries to scream even though her mouth has been taped shut. The man mirrors her movements and steps to one side.

‘This is Guantánamo!’ he yells, and swings the axe with full force.

The heavy blade hits her from behind, in her shoulder, and slices through the muscle. Parisa’s body spins around, spraying blood across the floor. Joona rushes past blue barrels of old oil, rolls under the boat and gets a clear view of them again.

‘Get back!’ Joona shouts.

The man is standing behind Parisa, wiping blood from his beard. One of her trouser legs has slipped up to her knee. She’s now spinning back the other way, breathing through her nose and trying to use her hands to defend herself.

‘I’ll shoot if you don’t drop the axe,’ Joona calls out, moving sideways to find a better angle.

The man takes a few steps back and stares at Parisa, whose struggling is making the chain creak.

‘Look at me, not her. Look at me and back away,’ Joona says, moving slowly closer with his finger on the trigger.

‘They’re only fucking animals,’ he mutters.

‘Put the axe on the floor.’

The man is about to put the axe down when there’s a loud bang as a shotgun hits the metal roof. Small pellets of lead ricochet off the roof and walls, then lose velocity and fall to the floor of the workshop.

‘Completely still, now,’ the old man’s voice says behind Joona.

Joona holds the pistol and his other hand up above his head. After all his years of training he’s made the same mistake that killed his father. He got carried away by the situation, by the desire to save someone, and left himself open to attack from behind for a few seconds.

Parisa’s stomach is heaving in time with her terrified breathing. Her white bra is soaked with blood and a dark puddle is spreading out beneath her. The bearded man is breathing hard as he puts the axe down.

‘Drop the pistol,’ the old man says.

‘Shall I put it on the floor?’

Joona starts to turn towards him, and sees his shadow on some old tins of paint.

‘Toss it away from you,’ the old man replies.

Joona turns slowly and sees the man standing four metres away. He’s standing next to a diesel engine hanging from a winch. Joona gently lowers the pistol as if he’s given up, but he’s just waiting for the right moment to fire. He’ll aim just below the nose, to knock out his brain stem instantly.

‘Don’t try anything,’ the man calls.

‘Which way do you want me to throw the pistol?’

‘Easy, now... This is a shotgun, I won’t miss.’

‘I’m doing what you said,’ Joona replies.

The old man’s face stiffens and the barrel of the gun moves slightly to the right. A dark shadow spreads across the dangling boat engine.

Joona hears the son’s footsteps behind him, stands still, then steps quickly forward and sideways when the blow comes. The axe misses, but the edge of the blade cuts into the back of his shoulder.

Joona spins around as he moves and rams his left elbow into the base of the man’s neck, breaking his collarbone.

The axe spins through the air, hits a jack and falls to the cement floor. Joona wraps his arm around the man’s neck, tips him over his hip and down onto the floor in front of him to act as a shield as he raises his pistol towards the father.

The old man has already rested the butt of the shotgun on the ground and put the end of the barrel in his mouth.

‘Don’t do it,’ Joona calls.

The old man reaches down and just manages to reach the trigger. His cheeks light up as the blast goes off, simultaneously his head jerks back and fragments of skull and brain tissue spray up at the ceiling and rain down onto the floor behind him.

His body falls forward and the shotgun clatters to the ground beside it.

‘What the hell happened?’ his son gasps.

Joona quickly ties his arms and legs with thick steel wire, then drags him to his feet and pushes him back towards the dangling engine.

‘I’ll kill you!’ the son screams hysterically.

Joona winds the wire twice around the man’s bearded neck and the sturdy axle of the generator, then picks up the control pad from a workbench, and raises the engine just high enough that the man is forced to stand on tiptoe.

Joona hears more rifle shots from outside, then semiautomatic gunfire.

He runs over and lowers Parisa to the ground, telling her repeatedly that she’s going to be all right. He rolls her over onto her stomach, quickly wipes the blood away with the palm of his hand and seals the deep wound temporarily with duct-tape.

‘You’re going to be fine,’ he says calmly.

He adds more layers of tape, even though he knows it won’t hold for very long. He can see that the wound won’t be fatal if she gets to a hospital.

She tries to stand up but he tells her to lie still.

‘I just wanted to get Fatima,’ she says, trying to control her ragged breathing.

She gets to her knees, then rests for a moment.

She’s shaking and wobbling because of the blood she’s lost, but he helps her up and supports her through the workshop, though her knees threaten to buckle several times.

They emerge into the cool air. The entire marina is burning, the gusting wind fanning the flames.

Joona leads them up the gravel path along the side of the workshop, clutching his pistol in one hand.

When Amira sees them she gets to her feet beside the forklift-truck and walks towards them, her face grey and impassive. Her eyes seem distant, her pupils enlarged. Joona helps Parisa sit down and wraps his jacket around her.

Gustav is standing further up the path. His heavy bulletproof vest and semiautomatic rifle are lying on the ground.

The operation has been brought to a close, and he’s reporting back to command in an unsteady voice, saying that they have the situation under control and requesting ambulances and fire engines. He nods, mutters something, then lowers the radio to his side.

‘Are there ambulances on the way?’ Joona calls.

‘The first ones will be here in ten minutes,’ Gustav replies, staring at Joona with wet eyes.

‘Good.’

‘God... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Joona. I did everything wrong.’

‘It’ll be OK.’

‘No, it won’t. Nothing’s going to be OK.’

A few metres behind him the old woman is sitting on the stack of motors, still knitting with a sad expression on her face. Her youngest son is lying on the ground, his arms fastened with zip ties.

‘We were given orders to go in immediately,’ Gustav says, wiping tears from his cheeks.

‘Orders from whom?’

There’s a loud crack and Gustav takes a small step forward.

The bang echoes between the buildings as the smell of powder dissipates.

The old woman is holding Parisa’s pistol in both hands. Her knitting is on the ground by her feet.

She fires again and Gustav fumbles for the wall with one hand. Blood is running from his stomach and a wound in his upper arm. Adam, who is standing next to the woman, grabs the gun and wrestles her to the ground, breaking her arm at the shoulder and holding her down with his boot.

Joona catches Gustav when he collapses and lowers him gently to the ground. Gustav looks confused and his mouth is moving as if he wants to say something.