There. He could do nothing but wait for them
He stepped back until he had his back against the wall, the back of his head to the Porthole. Had he turned, he would see his face trapped in the darkness of those curved crystals. He didn’t, also because his excitement could trick him into seeing other faces, and it certainly wasn’t the tine to give up to the torments of his imagination.
Crawling with his back against the wall he bent his knees, sitting on the floor. He extracted his gun again and, with a two-handed grip, used his kneecaps as a base. Fourteen rounds, plus another fifteen-round magazine in his pocket. Twenty-nine in total. They could be enough, if after seeing the first comrades fall, the others would desist. Or maybe not. IT would be enough to throw a grenade…
No way he could get out alive.
He almost felt a kid again, when he played war with his friends in a thicket on the outskirts of his town. He used to hide behind a tree, armed with a sling, rubber bands or peashooter, and reviewed the best strategies of attack and defense to win that battle. The only thing one could lose then was his reputation, which in his thirteen-year-old eyes was invaluable. Now his very life was at stake; the concept of reputation was a small thing in comparison. Of course there was honor. And the idea had some kind of comforting appeal. It wasn’t enough to drive the fear away, of course, but it somehow ennobled his critical situation.
The general would be proud of me, if he could see me now, he thought, using his forearm to wipe the sweat that was dropping from his temple to his neck. If he is till alive.
He imagined his lying behind his desk, a still smoking hole in the middle of his head. No, it couldn’t be…
Stevanich wasn’t there. Stevanich was managing everything from a more secure position, a less accessible one. Wherever he was, he had already been informed of what was happening. It was only a matter of waiting for the counteroffensive. Nemo me impune lacessit. Camp 9 was under attack and Giovanni couldn’t believe a hundred man could be, however well organized they might be, could conquer the Tank and overthrow what it symbolized.
(They will be enough to capture you and make you regret being born.)
He shook his head, as if by doing so he could drive away the harmful thoughts that didn’t miss a chance to weaken him in critical moments like these. He had already had the chance to think about it, the fact than in such situations those thoughts were his worst enemies. And then…
And then nothing. From the outside, there came the first noises.
Clang. Clang. Clang. Boots on metal tubes. Feet on steps. Men incoming, almost reaching the platform acting as a landing, right outside the Escape.
Enough crying, enough hiding in futile mental ways out. It was the time to annul himself, cage his rational side, with all its neurosis, and leave room to the animal roaring in his blood.
Voices, steps, keys. The keys, of course…
The black handle lowered itself once, twice, but to no avail.
Did you think I would the door open? Maybe with a doormat?
Something metallic was inserted in the lock. Click clack. More attempts on the handles, useless ones.
No, friends, no way.
Giovanni grinned, glad he had managed to make their lives more difficult preemptively forestalling their attempt to get into the Tank without breaking a sweat.
They were shouting, out there, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying. The blood flowing in his ears produced e deep buzz, spaced out by the dull thuds of his heartbeat. They shouted and kept hitting the door. It could be a gun or the stock of a rifle. They were trying to break the lock. Someone cursed, others laughed excitedly. And all those noises expanded like black waves around the Rings only to come back at him, giving the impression the blows came from the other side, too, as if the door of the Shutter was about to be forced from the inside.
Obeying the commands of the survival instinct that he felt taking control for the first time, Giovanni gradually tilted rightwards; when he was almost lying on the linoleum floor he moved his legs and got out of what would probably be the line of fire. Then, silence fell outside. Giovanni held his breath. The handle bent. The second came with the strength of a maul and the lock moved inwards ten centimeters or so. Cheers outside. The third shot sent broke locking mechanism and got stuck into the Porthole. Giovanni instantly thought he would have a hole in his throat, hadn’t he moved.
He aimed forward, pervaded by a chill he had never felt before. As if his blood had suddenly stopped running.
Once more moment of silence. Somebody, on the other side, was getting ready. The wasn’t enough room barging in shoulder first, but he strong enough kick would do.
Giovanni whispered: “I’m ready.”
With a loud noise the Escape opened in a bang of metal fragments and splinters of green paint, rotating on its hinges and crashing into the wall. On the external platform a bulky man still had his leg up. Giovanni tried to look him in the eyes, but the neon lights couldn’t penetrate the shadow cone hiding his face. The intruder had no way of immediately noticing the Keeper lying prone, but he would in a few seconds. If he stepped in the Ring, the other would follow him and it would have been the end.
But it would be cowardly not to give him at least one chance.
“I’m here.” Giovanni said calmly.
The man lowered his gaze, following the voice. An indistinct gurgle came out of his throat. He started rising his right hand – the one holding the gun used to destroy the lock – but it was too late. Giovanni couldn’t even hear the gunshot. He saw the Beretta vibrate in his hands and smelled the stench of the heated metal.
The man fell backwards, pushed by the force of the projectile that hit him under his sternum. The sky behind him was dark and Giovanni couldn’t clearly see the arms and legs moving. He thought he saw a foot where the head was before and at the same time a scream reached his ears, moving away from him. Now, beyond the door, only the railing was visible, nothing else.
He heard screams and curses.
Giovanni was shaking, but he didn’t move.
HE heard somebody, the one who was probably getting ready to enter after the first, growling. “Be careful, the pig is armed, in there!”
That’s what I am for them, he thought. An armed pig…
So the answer came naturally to him, out loud: “Nemo me impune lacessit! Do you understand? Nemo me…”
A movement, a sneaky shape crawling on the other side of the door. Giovanni rapidly pulled the trigger twice. Two flashed, two violent snaps.
“…impune lacessit!”
Silence. No lament, no noises. The bullets were lost in the night without meeting flesh nor bone, but the man about to get in had rapidly changed his mind.
Maybe they were talking, in that precise moment. Plotting something. They could choose to barge in, use numbers. But they knew that the first ones who got in, however fast they could be, would inevitably be in his line of fire. A spark of folly in its purest state reminded him of the mice in that old tale. They needed to tie a bell to the cat’s neck, so that they could hear him and get to safety. Yes, but…who would go?
I’m talking to you, revolutionaries: who wants to get i first?
No, they wouldn’t. He could almost hear them. “Who has a bomb? Pass me a bomb!”