Part 15 (2/2)

A warehouse. Used for storage. Which meant it was basically a box where one stores things. A single-story box split into two levels. They've added all the interior construction too. Walls, rooms, ceilings ...

He slows.

Ceilings ...

Aaron seems to sense he's fallen back and glances over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. Max picks up the pace and closes the gap between them as his mind whirs.

The second-story ceiling. It isn't any higher than normal. Which means there should be something above it. An attic. Or, at the very least, a crawls.p.a.ce.

Brilliant. And how will that get you out of the building? Do you expect a literal escape hatch up there, like on a holiday caravan?

No, but it is, perhaps, a weak point. At the very least, a spot where they can hole up indefinitely, because, as Riley said, there is only so long the police will wait before infiltrating. Grab bottled water and more granola bars, find the attic, and retreat there with their stash and their gun and wait it out.

Mmm, forgetting something, Max?

His meds. What if he gets everyone safely up there, and then his meds wear off and they're no longer safe, because the person who put them up there is as dangerous as the ones they escaped?

Irony: a state of affairs or an event that seems deliberately contrary to what one expects and is often amusing as a result.

Perhaps ”amusing” is not the proper word here.

Aaron jabs a finger at a door ahead. Max catches a distant sound, one he can't quite make out, but he stops dead and turns.

”Max!” Aaron whispers.

”Did you hear ...?” He trails off, listening. The sound comes again. He turns sharply, but Aaron grabs his arm.

”Didn't you hear that?” Max says. ”It sounded like one of the girls.”

Aaron stops and listens, but Max can tell by his expression that he hears nothing. Neither does Max now. He catches slow and methodical boot thuds, coming from the other direction. Which means Gray and Predator are not near the girls or running toward them.

”They're fine,” Aaron whispers. ”Riley has it under control. Brienne might be conflicted, but she's not stupid. The faster we get that gun, the faster we get back to them and end this.”

Max nods. They hurry into the room. Aaron looks around, as if forgetting where he left the gun. Max sees the barrel sticking from behind a box. He scoops up the gun. It's a Beretta ... and that's about all he knows. Firearms never interested him, and his father hadn't pressed him to learn to shoot.

Which is a good thing, isn't it? All things considered.

Max has been around guns, though. Hard to avoid it as the son of a career soldier. While he grew up with his mother, there'd been holidays on base with his father. He'd seen guns. Seen them fired. Seen them cleaned too, the men sitting around talking and drinking a pint while they made sure their weapons would never do what this one apparently had.

As soon as Max picks up the gun, he can see the problem. The spent cartridge is jammed, sticking out of the gun.

”s.h.i.+t. Why didn't I notice that?” Aaron says and takes the gun from him.

”Careful,” Max says. ”It may be jammed, but it's still a loaded weapon.”

Aaron rolls his eyes. He starts cycling the gun to remove the cartridge.

”Riley can do that,” Max says. ”We need to get back to”

”If it's an easy fix, we should get it working before we go.”

Max shakes his head. Arguing with Aaron isn't going to make this go any faster. When the cartridge ejects, Max says, ”There, now can we”

”Just let me make sure it's clear.”

Max is about to argue when Aaron starts removing the magazine, which is the smart thing to do, so he leaves him to it, moves toward the door and cracks it open.

You didn't hear Riley, Max. It was voices in your head. It's called schizophrenia.

I don't hear voices in my head.

Then what am I?

Sod off. He squeezes his eyes shut, and the voice goes silent. Which proves, he supposes, that it is indeed under his control. Not that he'd ever doubted it. What he doubts, as his doctor would say, is himself.

But I have to, don't I? That's the key to staying one step ahead of the monster. Question everything.

Which was b.l.o.o.d.y exhausting. Like a hamster on a wheel, endlessly running, never going anywhere. He couldn't keep on like this. He just couldn't.

What's the alternative, Max?

He doesn't answer. He knows the alternative, and the worse things get, the brighter it s.h.i.+nes.

”We really need to” He turns back to Aaron and sees him holding up the gun as he peers down the barrel. ”b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l,” he says, and stomps toward him. ”Are you mad? Give me”

”The magazine is out, Maximus. It's not loaded. You Brits, you're all so scared of guns. It's a wonder you even have a military.”

”We've had one longer than you,” Max says. ”And any time you'd like to compare national crime rates, I'm happy to oblige. Now put the gun away and”

The gun fires. Max never sees howwhether Aaron's hand brushes the trigger or he turns the gun and hits it. Max doesn't even hear the gun fire, not with his thoughts half distracted, swallowing the pfft.

What he sees is blood. A spray of it. An impossible spray, seeming to shoot everywhere. He's hallucinating. He must be, because what he's seeing isn't possible. Aaronthe stupid blighterwas just holding the gun. Holding it and looking at it, and now ...

And now Max is standing there, with blood dripping off his hands outstretched for the gun, the words ”Just give me that” still on his lips, and Aaron ... Aaron is gone. Vanished in an explosion of blood. Which is not possible. Not possible at all, and Max stumbles back, his hands going up, the voice in his head screaming no, no, no, that whatever he thinks he saw, he's imagining it because people do not explode in a spray of blood, and you know that, Max, you know that, so just hold on, be logical and be smart. People do not explode. Just like they are not possessed by demons. Remember that and hold on. This time, you have to hold ...

That's when he sees that Aaron did not explode in a spray of blood. He's on the floor. With a hole through his throat, blood pumping from that hole.

Max lurches toward Aaron. His foot slides in the blood. There's so much of it. On the floor. On the walls.

Arterial spray.

Who cares what it's called, Max?

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