The sight of Vidrik standing a block away underneath a streetlight took him by surprise. What the hell? He froze like a deer, while his hand reached automatically for his pistol before Vidrik disappeared around the corner. With his gun drawn, Frederich ducked close to the ground and rushed forward. At the corner he listened carefully before tip-toeing around and looking down a narrow, empty road. Street lights, parked cars and trees dominated the entire length, making it well-lit yet full of hiding places. He hesitated, sensing something dubious, then decided against giving chase. It was an obvious trap.
A shadow moved at the far end of the street and disappeared to the right. Frederich stood biting his lip. What game are you playing, Vidrik? He jogged forward, holding his pistol ready at the side. Moments later a loud blast shook him stiff, with three bullets fired in quick succession. He hesitated, then broke out in a sprint. At the next corner he took shelter behind a parked car and looked out at a modern, four-storey apartment block with full-length glass balconies and large windows. The lights in the surrounding apartments were coming on one by one, and the apartment on the first level had a smashed balcony and window. Frederich scrunched his nose and checked the street ahead. There was no sign of Vidrik, and his senses told him Vidrik was already gone. He took off, running past the apartment block, catching glances from the concerned inhabitants who were staring out sheepishly from behind their curtains.
Every street looked identical. If Frederich reached an intersection, he instinctively chose a direction while trying to anticipate the next dramatic clue in Vidrik’s odd game. It came moments later behind him in the form of an angry yell along with the crack of two more bullets. He flipped around and ran the length of the street, pointing his pistol forward as he turned in the direction of where the sound came. Waiting for him was a police car in the middle of the road with the driver’s door wide open. A policeman was lying in his navy-blue uniform on the asphalt in a bloody mess. He was not moving. Frederich studied the area for a moment then approached and found the policeman with a bullet in his chest and skull. Frederich shook his head furiously. Vidrik was starting to get on his nerves. No way Frederich was turning back, but he was reluctant to play along with whatever the hell Vidrik was doing. There was no time for a debate. He pressed on while being watched by dozens more frightened onlookers from their apartments. This time he tossed the cautious approach aside and picked up the pace.
The longer he worked his way through the labyrinth of streets, the more hot and bothered he felt. He frantically sought out a solution, for a way to one-up Vidrik and get the jump on him. Nothing came to mind. Frederich only felt a prickly irritation passing over his skin. It thrust him forward, convincing him that when the time came, he would know what to do. Meanwhile, his breathing grew shallower and his focus scattered. He stopped following his intuition and took random turns instead, hoping to catch Vidrik off-guard, praying for some luck.
Another bullet was fired. He sprinted in its direction, first thinking he might have taken a wrong turn when the sound of a man’s piercing scream from an apartment block ahead dispelled his doubt. Vidrik disappeared behind a tree at the far end of the street before another, more hysterical scream filled the neighbourhood. Frederich approached the apartment block from the road and found a man in the living room of the bottom-floor apartment, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, looking down over a dead body. The man had his trembling arms held out and was sobbing with a look of disbelief. Vidrik had shot and killed someone through his front window. Frederich shut his eyes for a second and clenched his fists. Then another bullet fired in the distance caused him to jerk involuntarily.
“Ah!” he screamed in frustration.
He took off again, his breathing rapid and out of control, his eyes stinging from the profuse sweat dripping down his forehead. The street became a blurry tunnel which descended into a strange, nauseating hell. Kraas’ voice blared in Frederich’s head, urging him to slow down and weigh his next step. Forget it. A car would be helpful, he realised. A thought crossed his mind to go back and force the surviving man to hand over his keys. He ignored it. With his pistol raised, he ran out onto a major t-intersection with a tree-filled park across the road. It was a dead-end, unless Vidrik had gone inside the park? Frederich stood out in the open and aimed erratically in every direction, furiously searching the area for any sign of danger. Where the hell is he!? There was another gun blast behind him. He raced back the way he came, struggling to draw air into his lungs. Back at the same apartment, he carefully searched the area around him. Then he glanced through the shattered window inside the living room. The man from earlier was no longer in sight. Frederich was on the opposite footpath, and went around a parked car and crossed the road. Once he approached the fence, he looked over and found that there were two dead bodies now. His eyes lit wide-open, his chest began heaving as he came close to hyperventilating.
“Vidrik!!” he screamed, raising his head to the sky.
There was a hint of the rising sun when an approaching police siren came blaring from the other street. Frederich grasped his pistol tight and marched off in its direction. He turned the corner and heard the voices of two men yelling something in French, followed by two more gun blasts. He followed the winding road with his gun pointed forward, his finger aching
