'Oh, do you want a go?' He stood up and turned, holding the rifle out to me.
'No, get away from the window!'
But it was too late. He turned sharply, as if he'd heard something, and then Guria, silhouetted in the window, looked down in puzzlement at the arrow shaft sticking out of his chest.
'Oh,' he said, and dropped dead at my feet.
The Rangers weren't our enemy. This was all a horrible misunderstanding. There was no need for this to go any further.
I knew all this.
But I looked at the dead child lying at my feet, with his wide eyes staring at the ceiling as his brain slowly cooled and died, and I felt a hard cold certainty in my chest.
Calmly, I reached down, picked the rifle up and raised it to my shoulder. Keeping three steps back from the window, hidden by the shadows of the room, I raised the powerful sight to my eye and switched through the options until I hit the heat sensor. And there he was, the man who'd shot a thirteen year-old boy who'd been my responsibility.
Lurking in the shadows of the bedroom directly facing me, he had no technology to aid his sniping. He felt confident, secure in the murk.
I took careful aim.
'Not a mercy killing this time, Nine Lives,' said the voice in my head that had remained silent for two long years.
'No,' I replied out loud; the first time, I think, I ever answered him audibly. I squeezed the trigger, putting a high velocity round through the man's heart. He stayed upright for nearly ten seconds before he crumpled like a discarded puppet.
Confident that the immediate danger was past, I stepped forward and scanned the eerily quiet street. At one end the snatchers were emerging from the schoolyard gate, rifles and shotguns raised, looking bewildered, trying to work out what the fuck had just happened. At the other end the car horn still blared, and I saw a wisp of smoke drifting across the road mouth, evidence of whatever accident Dad had driven into.
There was no sign of any of the other Rangers. I assumed they were all hiding on the same side of the street as me. But the snatchers presented a tempting target. There were five of them now, in plain view.
I sighted on the rearmost. The cold hatred in my chest was still there, lending me an almost supernatural calm.
'Oh this is good. I like this,' said the voice.
I counted to three and then caressed the trigger once before letting fly. Within five seconds four of the snatchers were lying on the ground — head shot, chest, chest, head. They lay on the cobbles, blood pooling and mingling, running to the drains. The last one standing was left alone, surrounded by the corpses of his colleagues.
'Let him sweat,' said the voice.
I held my fire. The man didn't know what to do. He was waiting for the inevitable kill shot, shaking in terror. A dark stain spread from his crotch as he wet himself. He dropped his gun and raised his hands, staring left and right, desperately trying to find me, as if locating me would allow him to appeal directly for clemency.
It took more than a minute for him to decide to turn his back and run. I let him take two steps before I shot the cobbles at his feet. He stopped and fell to his knees then shuffled around to face down the street towards me again. He was crying, hands pressed together in supplication, his chin wobbling as he screamed for mercy.
I let him go on like this for a minute or two, regarding him dispassionately like I would an ant underneath a magnifying glass on a hot day.
Then I blew his heart out through the back of his chest.
'Phew. I don't know about you, Nine Lives,' said the voice in my head. 'But I've got a blue steel boner that a cat couldn't scratch.'
I smiled; so did I. To my surprise, I was quite glad Mac was talking to me again.
That should have been the first clue that I'd crossed some kind of line.
I went down on one knee and leaned over Guria. I gently closed his eyes and brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen across his face.
'Sorry,' I whispered.
My business here was done. I had three more Rangers to hunt down. I got to my feet, turned on my heels and stared straight down the shaft of an arrow, notched and ready to fly.
'Drop it, you sick motherfucker,' said the Ranger.
Chapter Five
There's a hand shaking me, but I shrug it off and turn over, trying to go back to sleep.
'Jane, you need to wake up.' The voice is soft but urgent, and the shaking resumes. I try to swat them away. I hear another voice saying 'for God's sake,' then feel a sudden sharp sting as someone slaps me across the face. I'm instantly wide awake. My head hurts like hell and there's something wrong with my nose. I don't even need to feel it to know that it's broken again.
I'm lying on a very smelly blanket on what feels like a camp bed. It's cold in here and the bright sun is streaming through the windows straight into my eyes. I take a moment to adjust.
'Welcome back,' says Tariq as he bleeds into focus next to me.
The best I can offer as reply is a vague mumble that sounds like a question.
'Back in the compound. The school,' says John, behind me, and then goes on to pre-empt all my questions. 'There was a convoy of snatchers coming to pay a visit here this morning. Reckon they were coming to collect this month's cargo. Three trucks loaded with kids and heavily guarded.'
'And muggins here drove into them headfirst.'
'I wasn't expecting oncoming traffic,' says John. 'There's not exactly a major congestion problem these days.'
I turn to look at John. Every tiny motion of my head hurts. When he swims into focus I see a huge livid rip across his forehead.
'Ouch,' I whisper.
He winces, seemingly more embarrassed than hurt. 'Yeah. Steering wheel. Knocked me cold for a while.'
'And the kids? Hang on,' I say, suddenly outraged. 'Was it you who bloody slapped me?'
'They're fine,' he says, ignoring my protest. 'A bit shaken, but they're back in the main hall while the snatchers try to piece together what happened here. Someone took out all their people. They were lying in front of the gate when we walked in. Sniper, I think.'
'Guria? Lee?'
'If I had to guess, I'd say Lee.'
'How many?'
'Five.'
'Jesus. He shot five of them when we'd already left?'
John nods and somehow manages to resist saying 'I told you so.'
'Anyway,' he says, and I can tell it's an effort. 'We can't worry about him now. Jane, one of the snatchers seemed to recognise you…?'
'Yeah. I met him about three years ago. He was part of a child trafficking ring near the school. I shut them down and took him prisoner. I was going to interrogate him and find out where the kids were going, but Operation bloody Motherland turned up and arrested me instead. They let him go.'
By now my eyes have adjusted and I can see we're in what must have once been a classroom. There are a couple more camp beds against the wall and some discarded clothes and tins of food. This must be where three of the snatchers sleep. Slept.
I sit up, trying to ignore the pain in my head. I reach for my sidearm, but of course it's gone. So has the knife
