~~~
Once again, he was in the back of an ambulance, but this time, the hardship was over. He couldn't see Piper or Kristen when they took him outside. He asked after them, but no one knew where they were. But he knew they must be okay, because Connor was always just on the other side of that door. Wherever they were, he couldn't wait to see them.
Whilst the male paramedic stuck something in his ear a police officer asked, "Did you see the other man?"
"Other man? Aadesh? He... He's dead."
"No. The other person keeping Isabella hostage. She informed us that there were two men involved. Have you seen him? Is he in there?"
"The what? Who?" His blood ran cold.
"There was another man involved."
He tried to get up, but the paramedics kept him where he was. "What are you talking about? Where are my friends? Where's Piper? Kristen?"
"You need to calm down. Relax. Please."
His phone was crushed on the floor in the school. He had no way of contacting them. "Can I borrow a cell phone? I need to check on my friends."
"When you get to the hospital. Martin, you've sustained a massive trauma. You need to lay back and let us do our job." He couldn't. How could he? This couldn't be happening. He could barely process what had happened to Aadesh, and now, he could be the only one of them left. If he wasn't so weak, he would have screamed and shouted. It was so unfair. Who the hell was this guy? He wished he could pull out the shards of metal in him and just take off. If anyone could find them, it would be him.
Chapter Forty
Two
John shot Scott square in the forehead. Malik ran for his life and Darnell fell to his knees. "Scott." He leaned over him. "Scott." He looked up at John. "You killed him. You asshole. You..."
"Stop it!" Kristen yelled, but a bullet hit Darnell in the chest.
"Shut up. Just shut up! I'm trying to think." John rubbed the back of his head with his hand and walked on the spot. It looked like he was freaking out, like he realized what he had done. Maybe there was a conscience in there somewhere. Most of the crowd were still and silent, as if he wouldn't be able to see them if they didn't move. Some people cried, and some still tried the fire exit. "Why don't we play a game I like to call, corporate bullshit bingo. The rules are easy. Come up with a corporate word or phrase that you hate and if you come up with a good one, you live. I'm sure Alan on the podium up there had a few good ones up his sleeve for today. You. You start." He pointed his gun at the nearest person he could find, a girl who was wedged in-between the chairs, quivering in fear.
"I don't know."
He sighed. "Come on Beth, you know this. You've been in as many meetings as I have."
"I don't know," she cried.
"Fine. I'll let you off. You're not one of these people. You deserve better things. Why don't I give you an example? Going forward. Why not just say, in the future, or from now on? Going forward. Next." He moved the gun to the man who cowered in the row next to her. "Go."
"Uh," he stared up at John, pleading with his eyes.
"We don't have all day. Remember, you said that to me once."
"Customer journey," he spluttered.
"Good one. I like that. Why is everything described as a journey these days? My weight loss journey. Employee journey. Customer journey. What bullshit." John smiled and turned on his next victim. "Not sure how you're going to top that, Jenny."
"John don't do this." She stood on her knees with her hands held up in front of her. "I'm begging you, please. I've always liked you John. Please don't do this," she said between sobs. John turned at the sound of the double doors opening behind him and he fired straight away. The bullet hit the door, chipping at the wood, and whoever had tried to enter, had ran off.
Chapter Forty
Three
Now the adrenaline was all burnt up, Martin lay there. He'd had numerous tests, and was only found to have secondary blast injuries, but he felt like shit, even with the strong painkillers. All the shrapnel had been removed, except for two pieces that were embedded deeper than the rest.
He was covered in stitches from head to toe and now sported a bald patch on his head where they had shaved his hair to make it easier to stitch up one of his injuries. He worried if the insurance he got would cover his injuries, after all, he had put himself in harm's way. Everything had spun out of control, and his friends were out there somewhere, and he had no idea where. A doctor he recognized almost zipped past him.
"Excuse me!"
"Yes. How can I help?" He backed up.
"I need to see Isabella Torres. She was at the scene with me. She knows what's going on. The bomber, he didn't work alone. There was someone else. Please. He has my friends," he pleaded.
"I will check, but I have someone else I need to tend to first." He
