balance and causing him to stumble backwards.
It saved his life.
Gunfire filled the corridor in front of him, shredding the air where he’d been a split second earlier. Startled and already off balance, Alex jerked away from the line of fire and hit the railing, pivoting over the top and falling. He slammed into the ground hard, the impact shoving the air from his lungs and pain shooting through his right arm. His gun flew from his hand.
For a few seconds he lay, unmoving and stunned, gasping oxygen back into his lungs. Somewhere in the distance he thought he heard a car engine.
Moans snapped him back to his senses.
Part of the horde from the front entrance had, for whatever reason, decided to come and investigate what was going on back here, and what was going on was Alex was lying on the ground. All thirty or so of them lurched in his direction.
A torch lit up the concrete, moving around until it fell on him. On the fire escape above him, Alex saw Frobisher’s huge form leaning over the railing and staring down at him, a pistol in his right hand. They looked at each other and Alex knew he was about to die. Frobisher wouldn’t leave it to the eaters to finish him off. Boot’s lackey would make sure he was dead.
Perhaps it was the adrenaline, but Alex felt no fear at his imminent death. His one regret was that he wouldn’t be taking Boot with him.
He counted five seconds.
What was Frobisher waiting for?
The sound of gunfire erupted from the direction of the front of the building. Frobisher turned and went back inside, leaving Alex wondering what had just happened.
The first eater to reach him snapped him back to the danger he was still in. He scrambled backwards on the ground, feeling for his spiker in his pocket. The eater, a rotund man with a strip of hair around the periphery of its otherwise bald head, dropped to its knees beside him. As the eater grasped his leg, Alex clutched the spiker and pulled it out, plunging the tip into the side of its head. It collapsed across him, its weight shoving him flat onto his back.
Pinned beneath the man’s bulbous body, Alex struggled to free his arms as more eaters closed in. Another sound came from the front of the hotel, a sound that made him pause and then struggle even harder. A helicopter engine.
The rest of the eaters were uncomfortably close. Alex managed to pull his left hand out and pushed frantically against the body on top of him.
The beam of a torch swept over the crowd. A shot rang out. The eater closest to him fell.
With difficulty, he freed his right arm and shoved the body aside as more bullets ripped into the horde. More than half of them were down now, the rest moving away from him. The gunfire stopped. There was a flurry of activity by the far corner of the building as the rest of the eaters fell one by one.
Finally, a lone figure was left standing. It disappeared back around the building for half a minute or so during which time Alex sat up and took stock of all the new pain in the various parts of his body. When the figure returned it walked towards him, the beam of a torch lighting its way until it reached him and put one hand on its hip.
Alex squinted up. “Boot?”
Micah kept the torch focused on the ground between them. “Gone. You okay?”
Alex hauled himself to his feet, wincing at the pain in his arm and, well, everywhere else. “More or less.”
“Feel up to a tirade about how stupid coming here by yourself was and that you’ve ruined what chance we had of stopping Boot before he got to Sarcester and you could have got yourself killed?”
“Not really.” Boot was gone and Alex had failed. Again.
“Good, because at this time of night when I’ve had to wake up just to rescue you from somewhere you shouldn’t have been in the first place, I’m not in the mood to shout. So we’ll just imagine I’ve made my point in a forceful yet succinct manner and you are suitably chastised and apologetic. Just to warn you though,
It saved his life.
Gunfire filled the corridor in front of him, shredding the air where he’d been a split second earlier. Startled and already off balance, Alex jerked away from the line of fire and hit the railing, pivoting over the top and falling. He slammed into the ground hard, the impact shoving the air from his lungs and pain shooting through his right arm. His gun flew from his hand.
For a few seconds he lay, unmoving and stunned, gasping oxygen back into his lungs. Somewhere in the distance he thought he heard a car engine.
Moans snapped him back to his senses.
Part of the horde from the front entrance had, for whatever reason, decided to come and investigate what was going on back here, and what was going on was Alex was lying on the ground. All thirty or so of them lurched in his direction.
A torch lit up the concrete, moving around until it fell on him. On the fire escape above him, Alex saw Frobisher’s huge form leaning over the railing and staring down at him, a pistol in his right hand. They looked at each other and Alex knew he was about to die. Frobisher wouldn’t leave it to the eaters to finish him off. Boot’s lackey would make sure he was dead.
Perhaps it was the adrenaline, but Alex felt no fear at his imminent death. His one regret was that he wouldn’t be taking Boot with him.
He counted five seconds.
What was Frobisher waiting for?
The sound of gunfire erupted from the direction of the front of the building. Frobisher turned and went back inside, leaving Alex wondering what had just happened.
The first eater to reach him snapped him back to the danger he was still in. He scrambled backwards on the ground, feeling for his spiker in his pocket. The eater, a rotund man with a strip of hair around the periphery of its otherwise bald head, dropped to its knees beside him. As the eater grasped his leg, Alex clutched the spiker and pulled it out, plunging the tip into the side of its head. It collapsed across him, its weight shoving him flat onto his back.
Pinned beneath the man’s bulbous body, Alex struggled to free his arms as more eaters closed in. Another sound came from the front of the hotel, a sound that made him pause and then struggle even harder. A helicopter engine.
The rest of the eaters were uncomfortably close. Alex managed to pull his left hand out and pushed frantically against the body on top of him.
The beam of a torch swept over the crowd. A shot rang out. The eater closest to him fell.
With difficulty, he freed his right arm and shoved the body aside as more bullets ripped into the horde. More than half of them were down now, the rest moving away from him. The gunfire stopped. There was a flurry of activity by the far corner of the building as the rest of the eaters fell one by one.
Finally, a lone figure was left standing. It disappeared back around the building for half a minute or so during which time Alex sat up and took stock of all the new pain in the various parts of his body. When the figure returned it walked towards him, the beam of a torch lighting its way until it reached him and put one hand on its hip.
Alex squinted up. “Boot?”
Micah kept the torch focused on the ground between them. “Gone. You okay?”
Alex hauled himself to his feet, wincing at the pain in his arm and, well, everywhere else. “More or less.”
“Feel up to a tirade about how stupid coming here by yourself was and that you’ve ruined what chance we had of stopping Boot before he got to Sarcester and you could have got yourself killed?”
“Not really.” Boot was gone and Alex had failed. Again.
“Good, because at this time of night when I’ve had to wake up just to rescue you from somewhere you shouldn’t have been in the first place, I’m not in the mood to shout. So we’ll just imagine I’ve made my point in a forceful yet succinct manner and you are suitably chastised and apologetic. Just to warn you though,
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