The Sandman

112

Joona kneels down and takes a quick look at Marie. There’s nothing to be done, the heavy charge hit her lungs and heart and ripped through her carotid artery.

Eliot Sörenstam is yelling and sobbing into his radio, calling for an ambulance and backup.

‘Police,’ Joona shouts down the stairs. ‘Put the weapon down and—’

The shotgun goes off again from down in the cellar, and the shot hits the wood of the stairs, sending up a cascade of splinters.

Joona hears the metallic click as the gun snaps open. He rushes over, reaches the stairs as he hears the little sigh as the first empty cartridge is released.

Taking several steps at a time, Joona races down the dark stairs, pistol raised.

Eliot Sörenstam has picked up the torch to give him some light, and the beam reaches the bottom of the stairs just in time for Joona to stop himself before he’s impaled.

At the foot of the stairs the kitchen chairs have been piled up to form a barricade. The protruding legs have been sharpened into spears, and kitchen knives have been fixed to them with duct tape.

Joona aims his Colt Combat over the barricade, into a room containing a billiard table.

There’s no sign of anyone, everything’s quiet again.

The adrenalin in his body makes him strangely calm, as if he were in a new, sharper version of reality.

Slowly he takes his finger off the trigger and loosens the rope that’s tied to the end of the banister to help him get round the barricade.

‘What the hell are we going to do?’ Eliot whispers with panic in his voice as he comes down.

‘Are you wearing a bulletproof vest?’

‘Yes.’

‘Shine the torch further into the cellar,’ Joona says as he starts to move.

There are two empty shotgun cartridges on the floor, surrounded by broken glass and empty tins of food. Eliot is breathing too fast, holding the torch next to his pistol as he shines it into the corners. It’s warmer down here, and there’s a sharp smell of sweat and urine.

There’s wire strung across the passageway at neck height, forcing them to duck down. Behind them the wires tap against each other.

Suddenly they hear whispering, and Joona stops and signals to Eliot. A ticking sound, followed by footsteps.

‘Run, run,’ someone whispers.

Cold air rushes in and Joona hurries forward, while the shaky light from Eliot Sörenstam’s torch sweeps round the cellar. There is a boiler room to their left, and in the other direction some concrete steps lead up to an open cellar door.

Snow is blowing in over the steps.

Joona has already caught sight of the concealed figure as the light of the torch glints off the knife-blade.

He takes another step forward, and hears rapid breathing followed by a sudden whimper.

A tall woman with a dirty face rushes out with a knife in her hand, and Joona instinctively aims his pistol at her torso.

‘Watch out!’ Eliot cries.

It’s a matter of no more than a second, but Joona still has time to decide not to shoot. Without thinking he moves towards her, stepping quickly aside as she lunges. He blocks her arm, grabs it and lets his shoulders carry on moving, hitting the left side of her neck with his lower right arm. The blow is so hard and sudden that it knocks her backwards.

Joona is holding the arm holding the knife. There’s a cracking sound, like two stones knocking together underwater, as her elbow breaks. The woman falls to the floor, howling with pain.

The knife clatters to the ground. Joona kicks it away, then aims his pistol towards the boiler room.