The Wall

93

Yolanda Baker’s head was destroyed before she hit the ground. The projectile from Gerrit van Lange’s pistol had made a couple of rounds through her skull.

Two seconds before her back struck the curb, Warrant Officer Vukile Pokwana took a step forward and emptied his clip into the body of Gerrit van Lange. He did this without much thought. It was more reflex than considered plan. If one of his officers was attacked, there was only one response for him: to neutralize the source of danger. As he stood over van Lange, whom he had known for years, he sensed how absurd everything seemed in this situation in which they had stumbled. He sank one more bullet into the body and caught sight of the racist standing up and running away. He was about to aim his pistol at the fleeing man to shoot him in the back when he had the feeling that hot and cold water were both surging through his body, at war with one another. For some reason, he recognized the tingling that came along with this. However, he wasn’t in any position to actually formulate any thoughts about it. He toppled onto the Central Alert boss without even an attempt to catch himself, smashing his forehead against the street’s asphalt.

Bismarck van Vuuren leaped over the closest wall and rolled away. That hurt, but he was sure this was less painful than a bullet between the ribs. In his flight, he’d abandoned the taser he’d just fired, simply dropped it. Hitting the grass, he flipped over and saw Warren Kramer and a white cop land next to him. They glanced at each other briefly. This reminded him of his military service in Angola—that had been a long time ago. On the other side of the street, the Central Alert bodybuilder and two of his coworkers reached safety. A black cop followed by the dog handler ran in the same direction and dove to the ground. Rob van der Merwe hit the grass next to him. Where had he come from?