wondered if the guard knew how scared he was himself.
I don’t want to die.
‘Yeah?’ came a voice from inside.
‘It’s Jevin. Open the door,’ said the guard.
The door opened a little way. It was Codge, he of the long face and the patchy black beard.
‘What’s up?’
Frey shoved the guard aside and aimed his revolver point-blank at the white expanse of Codge’s forehead. Codge stared at him in surprise for an instant. Then he went for his gun.
Frey’s reaction was as instinctive as Codge’s had been. He pulled the trigger. Codge’s head snapped back; tiny beads of blood spattered Frey’s face. Codge tipped backwards and crumpled to the ground.
Frey wasted a moment on shock. He hadn’t wanted to fire. What was that idiot doing, going for his gun like that?
Malvery shouldered the door hard and it opened a little way before jamming against the dead weight of Codge’s body. Frey wriggled through the gap and into the hallway. There was a panicked moment as he found himself alone and exposed, face to face with a guard who had been too bewildered to react until now. The man’s hand moved for the pistol in his holster, but Frey’s weapon was out and ready, and he was faster. His arm snapped out straight, finger poised over the trigger.
Don’t.
To Frey’s relief, this one had more sense than Codge. He slowly raised his hands. Malvery shoved the door open the rest of the way, barging Codge’s corpse aside. There was a swell of women’s voices from one of the doorways leading off the hallway, crying variations of ‘Stop!’ But a guard came stumbling out anyway, naked from waist to ankle, his engorged penis waggling ridiculously. One hand was struggling to pull up the pair of trousers that tangled his legs, while he attempted to aim a pistol with the other. Malvery sighted and blew him away before he’d taken two steps.
Frey pulled the guard who had surrendered over to him, pressing the pistol to his back, using him as a shield. He disarmed his prisoner and tossed the gun aside as Malvery moved out of the way of the door and Jez and Pinn came in after him.
‘Silo?’ Frey asked.
‘Covering the guard outside,’ Jez replied. ‘Jevin, or whatever his name is.’
Frey was thankful that someone had the presence of mind to do that. He’d half-expected them all to come rushing in when he did.
He wrapped his arm around his prisoner’s throat from behind. ‘Where’s the other one?’ he hissed. There had been four guards inside, last time he’d visited. Without waiting for an answer, he called: ‘We got your friend here! Step out and you won’t get hurt! I’ve got no business with you!’
There was silence, but for the ticking of the clock that overlooked the hall. Then a voice drifted out from another doorway:
‘Bren? That you?’
‘It’s me, Charry,’ Frey’s prisoner replied. ‘They got a gun to my head. There’s four of ’em.’
Another long silence. ‘Alright,’ said Charry. ‘I’m coming out. Don’t nobody shoot. Nobody’s gonna shoot, are they?’
‘Nobody’s gonna shoot,’ said Frey, with a pointed glare at Pinn.
