In the distance he heard the pop of Drennan’s gun and for a moment he felt hope rise up. Maybe they were regaining control here. Maybe Drennan had just shot the knifeman.
The weight of the body on top of him was nothing like he’d expected it to be and Drennan was struggling hard to avoid being pinned to the floor by the injured man hauling his bulky frame on top of him as he lay prone on the threadbare carpet.
From beneath him he had seen Tyler stumble back in a struggle with the figure who had sprung Drennan and knocked him off balance. He’d been so intent on getting to the two on the staircase before they could regain their feet that he’d carelessly left himself open from the other side. Stupid. He felt battered but not cut however and was sure that the knife he’d seen glint in front of him had not made meaningful contact.
Shifting his body backward underneath the wounded man he tried to lift himself a little. With his weight mostly on his right side he was resting on his gun hand and was therefore not able to use it.
Seeing what he was attempting, the wounded man made a grab for Drennan’s right hand and lurched forward knocking him flat to the floor again. Drennan desperately jerked the gun away. He wondered how soon the two on the staircase would be up again and whether they would join the fight or if they would continue to flee in their panic.
His chest felt warm and was beginning to dampen already, even through his thick coat, as the other man’s wounds wept blood freely. He was amazed that the man still had the strength to fight but seeing the injuries and sensing that his opponent’s only real advantage was his weight, Drennan made his move.
Bucking his hips he managed to loosen himself a little from under the other man and he repeated this move quickly as he shifted his backside a few inches along the carpet. Once more he did it, shifting further and then once more and suddenly his upper body was free of the hulking form which now lay across his legs, still grasping at him. Sitting up, his arms free again, Drennan raised his hands in front of him and levelled the pistol at the man who stared at him over the dark barrel, his eyes blank, his mouth hanging open.
He squeezed the trigger once and put a round straight through the big man’s forehead.
As he looked up to see how Tyler was getting on he raised the gun at the knifeman and he noticed that Tyler’s face was smeared with blood, saw his hands wiping frantically at his eyes.
He hesitated just a moment. The knifeman was right in front of Tyler. If Drennan fired now, would he hit Tyler by mistake? Would the bullets pass through his target and into his partner’s body? But what else could he do?
Too late, Drennan fired.
Two shots to the head dropped the knifeman quickly and suddenly to the floor. As he fell away, Drennan sat staring at the black handle of the kitchen knife protruding from Tyler’s chest where it had been buried to the hilt.
56
Tuesday. 1.35 am.
Slumped in the corner next to this other young woman Sarah was so frightened she had begun to shiver. Campbell was gone and she was now left to the mercy of this vile looking man whose hands had wandered so repugnantly over her body. After the other two men had left with Daniel she had cowered away from him, pressing herself against this woman she did not know.
Pacing the room he had turned occasionally to glance down at the two of them, a look in his eye that made her blood run cold. She had not said anything to the other woman yet though she desperately wanted to, to make some kind of connection with her now that she seemed like her only ally.
Then suddenly a flash of memory came to her. It had been a few days ago. She had been walking along his road, looking for the right number to his flat and then seen him, some fifty yards further up, hurrying — being hurried, so he said — into a car with a man and a woman.
Sarah turned her head and suddenly she was looking at the face of the woman that had been there that day.
What the hell?
Before she could say anything or even think about it there came from the doorway noises that turned all their heads. Running, shouting, falling and a strange popping noise that sounded out of place but chilling nonetheless. The tall man went suddenly alert and stared at the door for a moment before striding forward and looking out and down the passageway. As they all stared and tried to focus their hearing the sounds continued to drift up to them; more footsteps, grunting, another popping noise.
The tall man, without a look back, disappeared from the room and began to move down the hall and Sarah and the other woman exchanged a glance of bewildered terror. She wanted to run now too, to get away from this cold bare room and its filthy walls, away from these people. But she was frozen there, listening, a hostage to her fear.
Campbell was bouncing up the stairs now, stooped slightly forward to keep his balance. He stole a glance over his shoulder at the scene behind him.
The man in the coat with the handgun was rolling the bleeding, lifeless body from his legs and was turning now toward the stairs, raising the gun.
Campbell heard that terrible pop again and he felt, rather than saw, the second of his captors flung forward and down against the steep stairs behind him. In three more huge strides he was at the top and bounding along the hallway.
Careering around the corner he crunched clumsily against the wall and was suddenly face to face with Walker. He froze for a moment, uncertain of what to do. His overriding instinct was to get to Sarah but here he stood, between a rock and a hard place.
Walker looked at him questioningly but before he could speak there was a shout from behind and he span to see the gunman cresting the stairs and calling his name.
For a second Campbell was confused, shocked that this new man should know his name. Walker had heard the shout too and had suddenly flattened himself against the wall. Campbell looked back at the gunman, the barrel being swung up toward him, and he bolted out of sight around the corner and past Walker, instinct overriding reason.
Now Campbell moved back along the hall to the room that held Sarah and Angie and he turned again to check his back. Suddenly, as the gunman burst round the corner he was pounced on by Walker who grabbed the wrist of his gun-hand and pushed it high into the air and the two of them slammed against the far wall and began to wrestle.
With a push, his heavy coat flapping up around him, the gunman managed to swing a fist at Walker but the tall slender frame absorbed the punch. He kept his feet and flashed a knee up into the gunman’s ribs.
Again they fell onto each other and Campbell could see the gun waving around above both their heads as they struggled with the weapon. Rolling along the wall as they fought, Campbell watched as suddenly the door they fell against crashed open and the two men went tumbling through into the room beyond.
Campbell found the door he was looking for and rushed in. The two of them were huddled into the corner as if trying to put every possible inch of space between them and the noises they were hearing and both looked terrified. They stared up at him for a moment frozen, bewildered.
‘Come on!’ he barked, ‘NOW!’
In the rising tension Slater had forgotten the cold and very nearly also the pain in his head so focused was he on the house.
Keane, sitting next to him, rubbing his hands and glancing every so often at the red stained tea towel that Slater had hurriedly wrapped round his head, evidently had forgotten neither. He sat forward and tried to peer through the gloom at the front of the house but there was nothing to tell from here. There was silence and nothing moved at the house or anywhere else in this street.