She said, ‘Give me your weapon.’
I could hear voices shouting outside. The other two ignored her and ran out of the door. Sadly, she went with them. I kicked out at her as she passed, but she hit me with something hard and my lights dimmed for a bit.
Vaguely, I could hear shouting and gunfire. I tried to sit up. I felt someone close by and kicked out again. Someone wrapped something warm around me and held me tight. I struggled and Tim said, ‘It’s me, you idiot. Learn to recognise your friends.’
‘Tim?’
‘The one and only. Do all these clothes belong to you? How do you ever manage to move? Lift your arms up.’
I said, ‘No … Tim …’
‘It’s OK. Female apparel holds no fears for me. “Fearless Tim” they call me. And your other arm. That’s it.’
‘Tim ….’
‘Which way round does this go? Oh yes, I see. And tuck this in here … Don’t try to fasten that, I’ll do it. I said, I’ll do it. Will you listen to me? Fine, do it yourself then.’
I looked up at him. He held out my vest and gun. He’d switched out most of the lights. I couldn’t see his face clearly. I took them with trembling hands. Finally, I was back together again.
I said, ‘It’s OK, Tim, it’s not as bad as you think. You got here in plenty of time.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘But it was a crap plan, Max.’
‘It worked, didn’t it?’
He shook his head. ‘Can you move?’
‘You bet.’
‘No, your part is done. Get yourself up to Sick Bay and watch the Chief. That’s an order from Guthrie. And me.’
‘But what’s happening?’
‘Time to catch up later. Go and keep the Chief safe.’
I set off for Sick Bay. The hall was deserted. I could hear sporadic gunfire outside. No one was in the long corridor, either. I ran as fast as I could, which wasn’t fast at all, aching and wheezing and took the Sick Bay stairs two at a time. Consequently, I was completely winded when I got to the top, and had to take two or three seconds to get my breath. I quietly squeezed through the doors and looked down the corridor.
Everything stopped dead.
Because this was the day I killed Izzie Barclay.
She stood with her back to me. She had a blaster. One of the big ones. On full charge. I could hear it whining.
She was past the treatment rooms and outside the female ward. She stood on tiptoe and looked through the window. She moved on to the next door. The men’s ward. With Leon and Katie.
I watched her put her head to the door and listen. I watched her lift the blaster. I watched her put her hand on the door handle. She went to push down.
I stepped out, lifted my gun, and shot her twice.
In the back.
The shots sounded like harmless little pops in the silent corridor. Not loud enough to do any real damage. But they did. She fell sideways, slid down the wall, and lay still.
I ran forward, kicked the blaster away, and stood looking down at her. Her eyes were open. She was conscious. I wanted her to see it was me. To know who had killed her.
Endless seconds passed as I waited for her to die.
Her mouth was full of blood. Her eyes blazed hatred. She said, thickly, ‘You … think you’ve … won. You’re wrong.’
She struggled to lift her head. ‘Let me … tell you how … you die …’
Enough. Every second she lingered in life was another opportunity for her to damage someone, somewhere.
I raised my gun and shot her again.
Now she was dead.
I leaned against the wall, took a couple of deep breaths, and with trembling hands, made my gun safe.
She was dead, but Katie and Leon would live. I tried not to think what would have happened if I had been five seconds later coming through the fire doors. Just five short seconds.
She would have been through the door. At that range, a blaster that size would have cut Katie Carr in half. The heat cauterises wounds so she might well have lived for a while. Maybe long enough to see Leon Farrell go up in flames. I know he was unconscious, but what was the possibility that his mind, at some level, would have been able to register that degree of pain? Paralysed. Unable even to scream … It takes a considerable time for the human body to burn. For how long would he have had to endure the agony? In my mind, I saw a burned and blackened figure on the bed; arms drawn up in that distinctive boxer pose …
I bent and put my hands on my knees, sucking in oxygen.
Some instinct made me look up and Katie Carr was watching me. I said nothing. What could I say?
She disappeared, returning seconds later with a wheelchair. I bent to lift the body but she pushed me aside, hauled Barclay to her feet in one professional movement, and let her fall naturally into the chair.
I went ahead and called up the lift. She tipped Barclay out of the chair and into the lift. I’ll never forget the noise her body made as it hit the floor. Leaning inside, I pushed the basement button.
I watched the doors close on Isabella Barclay.
I said, uncertainly, ‘Katie …’