“Now watch this.” Randall tapped the keyboard, and a grey circle with a cross in the centre came up over the original image.
Oh Jesus…
He knew what was going to happen, and as much as he didn’t want to, he couldn’t stop staring.
It’s no different from someone hunting. No damn different.
Randall pressed another key, and the lighting on the screen changed to a brighter hue. A flash. Now the rabbit’s outline was clearly visible, its ears perked, the animal up on its hind legs. Another jab of a button, and the rabbit keeled over. Jackson shook his head, astounded by how fast it had happened. What the hell had killed it? Had to have been a bullet. But where were the guns? He hadn’t noticed anything odd about the exterior when he and Sid had arrived, but then again, he hadn’t particularly taken much notice. That was supposed to have come later, him doing a scout around the property. Why poke about outside when hidden cameras could do it for you?
“The cameras are set in tiny recesses in the outer walls,” Randall said. “Thought I’d better answer that question before you asked it. They’re not visible to the casual observer, although I expect you would have noticed the holes had you looked.”
Jackson could have taken that as an admonishment but chose instead to take it for what it was—just a casual bit of conversation. “Listen, I’ve been thinking. I touched on this earlier, but if you could get away—right now, tonight—and start a new life, would you?”
Randall turned to face him. “If this works, kills that man, I suppose I could. But going now, right now? Without knowing if it was strong enough to kill a person? No. It would bug me, the not knowing. I need to make sure I haven’t been chasing rainbows the past few years. I have to know I’m right, that I’ve completed something.”
Jackson could understand that but was buggered if he’d stay around if he were in Randall’s shoes. Too many people would be on his arse—even after tonight they’d be dogging him—and to stick around just to finish a project, knowing his life was in danger?
Fuck that.
Jackson shrugged. “You seeing what I see?”
“Bastards have sent him early,” Randall said.
Randall hovered one hand over his keyboard, that hand shaking. This was the moment of truth, the time he got to find out whether years of work had been worth it. Jackson couldn’t imagine how he felt, knowing that even if it worked, he might as well not have bothered creating it in the first place—assuming Randall did what he’d said he would and destroyed the software afterwards.
Jackson leant forward, stared at the monitor. Randall pushed a button and brought the image of a figure up closer. Yes, it was definitely a man, someone dressed in black, in a balaclava or some kind of head gear.
“Fuck me,” Jackson said. “Press the damn button.”
“I just wanted to check it wasn’t an innocent,” Randall said. He let out an unsteady breath.
Button pressed.
The man went down like a sack of shit. Randall zoomed in closer, prodded another button or two, and a red and yellow splodge came up in the middle of the screen, like the camera had switched to one that sought out heat.
“I can’t see a heart beating, can you?” Jackson inspected the screen, calm as you like.
“I can’t see anything but a heap of red and yellow,” Jackson said.
A knock sounded on the door, and Jackson jumped up, annoyed with himself for having been so entranced. This could have been a trap—the man out there could have been a decoy.
Fuck it.
He put his finger to his lips then moved to the door, withdrawing his gun. He snatched the door open, immediately in a shooting position.
Colin stood there.
“I saw something on one of your TVs, sir,” he said to Randall. “A rabbit. It reminded me of the one on the pub sign in the village. Then there was another shape, like a man was on the grounds.”
“Yes,” Randall said. “No need to worry, Colin. He won’t be bothering us.”
Colin puffed his chest out. “My goodness, sir, then we must go outside and make sure he still isn’t a threat. Make doubly sure he won’t be bothering us.”
If the old man wanted to play the hero, Jackson wasn’t going to stop him.
“Sorry,” Jackson said. “But Randall isn’t going anywhere. Not until I’ve checked the area.”
Colin smiled, his lips forming an eerie, wonky slash. He raised his hand. Narrowed his eyes.
A gunshot sounded, loud and disturbing.
Jackson winced.
Colin stared.
Randall shouted something.
And Jackson had just been pissed the hell off.
* * * *
Colin couldn’t quite work out why he was on the floor. He’d pulled his gun on that Jackson fellow, wanting to eradicate him then Randall in short time and get away while he had the chance. Instead, he stared at the ceiling, which appeared to be darkening. Were the lights being dimmed?
“What the fuck?” the bald man said to his left. “What the hell were you thinking, you weird old bastard?”
Colin wanted to answer that he’d intended on killing them, but his mouth didn’t seem to work anymore. His chest hurt, too, just below his heart, and he struggled to suck in a decent amount of air. It came to him then, why he was on the floor, why he had pain. That slaphead guest had shot him instead.
I should have known. I did know. Knew he was better than your average killer.
He thought about his boss, wishing the phone he’d been given could be used to ring out. He could have called him
