Ronan smiled again. ‘We’ve done this before, Edward, and look how that turned out. How is the leg?’
‘How many is it now, Clive? What’s your tally? How many people have you killed since Annie?’
‘I didn’t kill Annie. St Mary’s killed Annie.’
‘If she was here now, what would you do?’
‘If she was here now and knowing how you felt about her, Edward, she would be the first to go. But I think we have a very acceptable alternative here, somewhere, don’t we? Ah yes. Good morning, Miss Maxwell.’
Shit, shit, shit.
I heard someone move behind me. Footfalls in the sand and the rustle of clothing. That unmistakeable click as the safety came off.
I straightened my back, stuck my chin in the air, and really, really, really wished I had an office job. This was it. I closed my eyes.
The wait seemed endless. I felt the sweat pour down my face and back. I swayed, whether through heat or fear or both – I don’t know. Would I know anything about it? Was it better to be the first to go? To be spared the sight of my friends being gunned down around me? Would it hurt? I’d just convinced myself I was ready to die when –
‘No!’
The sudden shout made me jump a mile. Braced as I was, I nearly wet myself.
‘I told you. Stop. I’ll open the pods.’
The Boss’s voice cracked like a whip. ‘As you were, Farrell.’
‘No,’ he said, hoarsely. ‘You don’t lose her like you lost Annie. I’ll open the pods for you. Just don’t shoot her.’
Relief and shame in equal proportions. ‘Don’t do it, Chief. I …’
Someone pushed me face down into the ground. ‘Shut up.’
I twisted my head and spat sand, desperate to see what was going on. Someone seized me by the scruff of the neck and pulled me back onto my knees so I had an excellent view of what happened next.
Chief Farrell and Ronan crossed the gritty sand towards the pods.
The Boss called, ‘Farrell, you will not do this. Stand down.’ His voice dripped with contempt. And a little desperation.
My chest felt tight and I struggled to breathe. This could not be happening. He couldn’t be doing this. Of all people, he could not be doing this. Did he seriously think we’d be allowed to go free? He was handing them our only advantage. He’d come back from the future to prevent this very thing from happening. Why was he doing this? I knew the answer to that and felt ashamed. Because of me he would kill us all. Because of me …
I bunched my muscles, ready to jump. Jump and die. Because if I was dead then he wouldn’t have to open the door …
And a voice on the wind that wasn’t there breathed, ‘Wait.’
Who said that? I looked wildly around and that confusion caused me to miss my opportunity. Farrell had reached TB2. He stood off to one side. Ronan and his henchmen stepped back and fanned out. Much bloody good it did them.
Farrell said clearly, ‘Door.’
The ramp came down.
A huge, boiling red-golden rose of flame bloomed in their faces.
Professor Rapson and Doctor Dowson stood in the entrance. The Professor held the industrial vacuum cleaner we’d brought to clean sand out of the pods. Bright flame spurted from one end as he played it right and left. Behind him, Dr Dowson pumped furiously on some kind of homemade stirrup pump attached to what looked like a milk churn. How had they managed to knock this together? They were covered in soot and such hair as they possessed between them stood on end. The Professor was yelling, ‘God for Harry, England, and St George!’
Ronan hurled himself to the ground. The two men with him, not so quick, were engulfed in flames and dropped to the ground, screaming.
We had the element of surprise.
The Boss shouted, ‘St Mary’s – get down!’ and we threw ourselves face down. A huge tongue of flame boiled over our heads. Ronan’s men fired wildly, torn between either shooting us or being incinerated on the spot. Guthrie hacked the legs from under one of them and grappled for his gun. Others were doing the same. The Boss, unable to get up on his own, laid about him with his stick and caught one across his knees. He went down with a cry of pain and I threw myself on top of him and tried to wrest his weapon away.
Fresh gunfire sounded nearby and I could hear Guthrie yelling for Dieter.
Ronan’s man tore free from my grasp and dashed across the sand with Murdoch and me after him. Everyone frantically scrambled for weapons.
A rattle of machine gun fire echoed and clattered off the canyon walls. I couldn’t tell from which direction it originated. Murdoch pushed me ahead of him. It saved my life and lost him his. We both fell to the ground. I was underneath, his body covering mine from incoming fire. I twisted my head to look. From the knees down both his legs were shattered. I could see white bone fragments amongst the pulp. I felt sick. His face was inches from mine. He knew. I looked into his eyes. He shook violently, teeth clenched against the pain. Faintly, I heard him through the noise of battle.
‘Max …’