I carried straight on past, turned the corner and made a headlong dive toward the sandbag, dropping my weapon and desperately fishing for the main line coming from under the sandbag. I didn't look up to see if anyone was coming for me. I didn't have time.
The wounded man's screams echoed around the compound. I tried to calm myself and slow my frenzied movements. I held the det onto the main line and wrapped a strip of tape around both not as tightly as I would have liked, but fuck it.
I pulled out the battery and yanked the twisted end leads of the firing cable apart with my teeth. Then, falling to the floor, I squeezed my legs together, opened my jaw and buried my head in the snow as I pushed the two leads onto the terminals.
Less than a single heartbeat later the detonator exploded and initiated the main line. The shock wave of the explosion traveled along it, met the first det tail and then the one leading to the fuel tank. Then the second det tail got the good news.
The two wall charges exploded virtually simultaneously, and the resultant shock waves met in the middle of the room at a combined speed of 52,000 feet per second.
42
My whole world shuddered, trembled, quaked. It was like being inside a massive bell that had just been given an almighty bang.
The air was sucked from my lungs as hot air blasted over me. Around the compound snow, and ice shot upward a foot or so from the ground.
My ears rang. Brick dust, snow, and shattered glass cascaded around me. Then the shock wave rebounded off the thick concrete perimeter walls and came back for more.
Crawling forward to the corner of the target, I watched, mesmerized, as an enormous fireball whooshed from the entrance of the generator building and leaped high into the sky. Thick black smoke mixed with bright orange flames that burned like an oil-rig flare. The entire area was bathed in light and I could feel the heat scorching my face.
Chunks of brick, glass, and all kinds of other stuff that had been blown sky high started clattering around me. Scrambling to my knees, I threw my arms over my head to protect myself. You're supposed to look up to prepare for the stuff coming toward you, but fuck that, I just kept close to the wall and took my chances. I wouldn't be able to see it anyway. The sandstorm of red brick dust had arrived, blanketing the compound; it was just a matter of hanging in there and waiting for the last of the fallout to rain down. I began coughing like a lifelong smoker.
I cleared each nostril in turn, then tried to equalize the pressure in my ears. A sharp, stinging pain seared across my buttocks. My ass must have taken some of the shock wave as it passed over me. At least it wasn't my face or balls. I checked for blood, but my fingers came back just wet with water from the snow-soaked jeans.
It was time to get to my feet and start moving back for my weapon, which was still in the snow somewhere. I felt around on my hands and knees, my ass in agony, as if I'd just been whipped. I found the Makharov by the sandbag and, checking chamber with my finger to the heavy rumbling sound of burning fuel, I stumbled toward the main door.
There was a secondary explosion in the generator building, probably a vehicle fuel tank in the path of the firestorm. For the next few moments the flames burned higher and more intensely.
The guy in the gap wasn't screaming any more, but he was still alive, coiled up and holding his stomach. I went over to where he lay trembling in the snow. I picked up his AK and threw it toward the main gate, out of his reach. I certainly wouldn't be needing it myself inside the house.
When the two shock waves from the opposing explosions had met, they would have wiped out everything in the computer room. The force would then have taken the line of least resistance to escape the confines of the building: the windows and doors. Surging along the hallways, it would have destroyed everything in its path. The MTV man wasn't looking good. Some bits of him were draped on the grill like strips of meat hanging in a smokehouse. The rest would have been scattered out in the snow. When humans burn they smell like scorched pork, but when they're blown apart like this, it's as if you've walked into a butcher's shop a week after a power outage.
The flashlight wasn't much good in the hallway; it just reflected off the wall of dust like a car's headlights in dense fog. I blundered around, stumbling over bricks and other debris, trying to find the gap to the right that would lead to the MTV room.
I found the door, or rather the place where it had been. As I moved through, my feet collided with sticks of furniture, then what was left of the television set and a whole lot more bricks. I was still coughing shit out of my lungs, and was the only one doing so. I could hear no other movement, no sounds of distress.
Tripping over a large bundle on the floor, I switched on my flashlight and knelt down to check it. The body was on its side and smouldering, facing away from me. Rolling him toward me, I shone the light into his dust- covered face. It wasn't Tom. Whoever this man in his early twenties had been, he wasn't any more. The skin was pulled back from his head like a partly peeled orange and the blood he'd lost was mixing with the dust to look like wet, red cement.
I continued across the room, kicking out and feeling like a blind man as I searched for more bodies. There were two, but neither of them was Tom. I wasn't going to call out, in case someone decided to reply with something other than a voice.
I tried to get into the room opposite the kitchen but the door was jammed. Leaving it to go upstairs, I decided to check the easy places first. I didn't bother with the computer room: Even if there were any bodies there, they wouldn't be recognizable. In other circumstances I might have taken a moment or two to be quietly proud; I was shit at most things, but in high school Demolitions I'd got a distinction.
I headed up the stairs, my left hand on the wall, having to feel for every step as I made my way to the top. I cleared my nostrils again, spitting the dust out of my throat as I equalized my nose again to clear the ringing in my ears.
As I reached the top landing I heard a short, faint cry; I couldn't tell where it came from. I went left first, since it was nearer.
Feeling my way to the door, I pushed, but it wouldn't budge more than four or five inches. Pushing even harder, I managed to get my foot round and made contact with the body on the other side that was stopping it going further. I squeezed through and checked. It was just another poor fucker in his twenties who wanted his mother.
I stumbled into a chair, moved round it and heard someone else moaning at my feet. Kneeling down, I got in there with the flashlight and turned the body over.
It was Tom, red brick dust over his face and head, red snot running from his nose, but alive. I'd thought this would be a cause to celebrate, but now I wasn't too sure. He didn't look good.
He was whimpering away in a world of his own, reminding me of the glue-sniffing kid in Narva. I checked him over to make sure he had all his limbs. 'You're okay, mate,' I said. 'You're all right. Come on.'
He wouldn't have a clue what I was saying or who was saying it, but it made me feel better.
I brushed the crap from his face so at least he could open his eyes at some stage, then I reached under his armpits and dragged him out onto the landing, stopping twice to snort muck from my nose.
Still gripping him, I went down the stairs backward. His feet bounced from step to step. He was out of it, still bound up in his own little world of pain and confusion, aware that he was being moved, but not really conscious enough to help.
We got clear of the brick dust and into the fresh air. Dumping him on the ground, I cleared my nose again and gasped clean air into my lungs.
'Tom. Wake up, mate. Tom, Tom?'
I grabbed a handful of snow and rubbed it over his face. Beginning to recover, he coughed and spluttered but still couldn't speak.
The flames coming from the generator building were licking hungrily at the barn door and dancing on the snow, illuminating us quite clearly.
Tom was wearing the same sweatshirt as when I last saw him, but he had no shoes or coat.
'Wait here, mate. Don't move, all right?'
As if.
