broke off from its seams and fell.
He sidestepped into the entrance before the sound of the
clatter pierced the silence, lining the sights down a long, dark and empty
corridor. The strobe light on the end of the rifle flashed over thin walls, shredded
by crossfire. Three civilian bodies lay dead amid shards of broken glass, dust
and dirt. There were bloody trails left in the wake of the escape. He stepped
over the doorsill and into the dark, and glass cracked and splintered
underfoot. The floor was covered with bloody footmarks. As he approached the
first apartment, something stirred. The rifle jolted in his hands.
A thick trail of smeared blood led from the corridor and
stopped at the threshold of the apartment door. The blood still looked fresh.
He followed the blood trail with the tip of the rifle barrel, approaching the
threshold and nudging the door open. The sound of wheezing, moaning breaths
became distinct.
The door opened.
Settled with his back against a bullet-torn wall, lay a
man, legs twisted, mangled and spread before him, a round, red stain forming on
the carpet. He was an East Grider and he was alive, though barely so. Both of
his legs were shot through the knees, bleeding, and the wound below his
collarbone was fresh too. The breaths squeezed into his chest and his head
lolled to the side. The face was pale behind the streaks of blood. When the
drooping eyes saw the vague figure reach out, a quivering hand rose.
“Stay calm,” said Saul. “I will help you.”
“ Net …” The East Grider feebly tried to wrestle him
away.
“ Ya pomogu ” he insisted, waving the hand aside. “ Rasslab …”
“ Net! ” the East Grider coughed. Blood sputtered
from his lips and a crimson drool seeped out the sides of his mouth.
He felt the hand clench tightly around his wrist, shaking
with fear. He looked up and saw the eyes shimmer, as though sobered for the
very first time by the imminence of death. The hand slowly released and tried
to reach for something. The East Grider gasped the syllables of a Russian word
which vaguely sounded like “painkillers.”
“ Khorosho…” he nodded.
He took out two vials of sedative from the utility belt in
his gear and plunged the first vial into the neck, above the wound. At once,
he felt the man’s relief as his body stopped trembling. He threw the vial
aside, took the cap off the second vial and pressed down on the same place. The
East Girder’s head hung, his chest settled and the hands wilted at his sides.
He was gone.
A long, almost memorial, silence endured, after which he
put his hand over the man’s forehead and drew down the eyelids. As he looked
upon the departed visage, he wondered why the aspect of sleep should bequeath such
strange nobility to the image of death.
Suddenly, to his left; a stir. He jerked round, gun
raised, finger pressed on the trigger and the light flashed over the figure
standing at the entrance.
“Easy there, commander…”
His trigger finger eased.
A pair of gemstone eyes shone through the gloom.
He lowered his weapon, glaring back at Celyn with the look of someone who had
been caught in the middle of some disgraceful act. He came to his feet and
stood still and silent, staring at the floor.
For a long time, neither of them spoke. After a while, Celyn sighed and
reached behind her back, took out a bottle of clear liquid, unscrewed the top,
drank and screwed the top back on again. “Here,” she said, and tossed him the
bottle. “It’s water. I got it from a vending machine.”
He studied the contents of the unlabeled bottle nonetheless, returning a
sceptical glower. He took off the top, cupped his hand, poured and splashed
his face. Celyn, meanwhile, let down the long, frayed braids of her hair and
rolled out her neck. “We actually
He sidestepped into the entrance before the sound of the
clatter pierced the silence, lining the sights down a long, dark and empty
corridor. The strobe light on the end of the rifle flashed over thin walls, shredded
by crossfire. Three civilian bodies lay dead amid shards of broken glass, dust
and dirt. There were bloody trails left in the wake of the escape. He stepped
over the doorsill and into the dark, and glass cracked and splintered
underfoot. The floor was covered with bloody footmarks. As he approached the
first apartment, something stirred. The rifle jolted in his hands.
A thick trail of smeared blood led from the corridor and
stopped at the threshold of the apartment door. The blood still looked fresh.
He followed the blood trail with the tip of the rifle barrel, approaching the
threshold and nudging the door open. The sound of wheezing, moaning breaths
became distinct.
The door opened.
Settled with his back against a bullet-torn wall, lay a
man, legs twisted, mangled and spread before him, a round, red stain forming on
the carpet. He was an East Grider and he was alive, though barely so. Both of
his legs were shot through the knees, bleeding, and the wound below his
collarbone was fresh too. The breaths squeezed into his chest and his head
lolled to the side. The face was pale behind the streaks of blood. When the
drooping eyes saw the vague figure reach out, a quivering hand rose.
“Stay calm,” said Saul. “I will help you.”
“ Net …” The East Grider feebly tried to wrestle him
away.
“ Ya pomogu ” he insisted, waving the hand aside. “ Rasslab …”
“ Net! ” the East Grider coughed. Blood sputtered
from his lips and a crimson drool seeped out the sides of his mouth.
He felt the hand clench tightly around his wrist, shaking
with fear. He looked up and saw the eyes shimmer, as though sobered for the
very first time by the imminence of death. The hand slowly released and tried
to reach for something. The East Grider gasped the syllables of a Russian word
which vaguely sounded like “painkillers.”
“ Khorosho…” he nodded.
He took out two vials of sedative from the utility belt in
his gear and plunged the first vial into the neck, above the wound. At once,
he felt the man’s relief as his body stopped trembling. He threw the vial
aside, took the cap off the second vial and pressed down on the same place. The
East Girder’s head hung, his chest settled and the hands wilted at his sides.
He was gone.
A long, almost memorial, silence endured, after which he
put his hand over the man’s forehead and drew down the eyelids. As he looked
upon the departed visage, he wondered why the aspect of sleep should bequeath such
strange nobility to the image of death.
Suddenly, to his left; a stir. He jerked round, gun
raised, finger pressed on the trigger and the light flashed over the figure
standing at the entrance.
“Easy there, commander…”
His trigger finger eased.
A pair of gemstone eyes shone through the gloom.
He lowered his weapon, glaring back at Celyn with the look of someone who had
been caught in the middle of some disgraceful act. He came to his feet and
stood still and silent, staring at the floor.
For a long time, neither of them spoke. After a while, Celyn sighed and
reached behind her back, took out a bottle of clear liquid, unscrewed the top,
drank and screwed the top back on again. “Here,” she said, and tossed him the
bottle. “It’s water. I got it from a vending machine.”
He studied the contents of the unlabeled bottle nonetheless, returning a
sceptical glower. He took off the top, cupped his hand, poured and splashed
his face. Celyn, meanwhile, let down the long, frayed braids of her hair and
rolled out her neck. “We actually
Similar Books
