I kicked myself free, scrambling over the top of him until I lay across his chest, feeling the hard alloy of the magazines between us. My right forearm jammed into his throat and I leant on it with all my weight. He wasn't dead; it hadn't been that good. The chop had got the nerves that run each side of the trachea and fucked him up for a while, that was all.
No reaction, no resistance, no last kicks yet. I pressed into him, shaking the rain off as it kept trying to get into my eyes. Looking up, I could see into the storeroom. The others were probably still in the living room, trying to come to terms with the even bigger nightmare they were now facing, waiting for Aaron's body to be dragged back by this fuck wit who'd let him escape.
I looked down on him, his eyes closed, no kicking or resistance. I eased off and put my ear to his mouth. No sound of breathing. I double-checked by digging the middle and forefinger of my right hand into his neck to feel the carotid pulse.
Nothing.
I rolled off him and felt for Aaron. My hands were soon warm with his blood as I felt up his body for his neck. He, too, was dead. I scrabbled around in the mud for the M-16, then started to remove Blue's chest harness. I rolled him over, unclipping it from his back, then dragged off the neck and shoulder straps. His arms lifted limply in the air as I pulled.
With the harness weighing heavily in one hand and the M-16 in the other, I ran to the back of the house for the cover and light it afforded me, and placed the weapon on the sink. The moths had found shelter out of the rain as well, flitting around the light on the wall between the sink and the shower as I gulped air, knowing I didn't have much time before they came out here to see what was taking their friend so long. Fuck the heli. If anyone was still in it now, he was deaf.
Aaron's blood dripped off my hands as I took out a fresh thirty-round mag and pushed my thumb down into it to make sure it was full. For me it was too full with thirty rounds1 took out the top one and pushed down again to check the spring had a chance to do its job. I pressed the release catch on the right and removed the old magazine, then pushed the fresh one home by sliding it into the rectangular housing, waiting to feel it click home before giving it a shake to make sure it was secure. I cocked the weapon: the sound was barely audible above the rain battering the tin roof.
There was a round already in the chamber and it flew out into the mud as it got replaced with a new one from the mag; it wasn't necessary to have done it, it just made me feel better to see a round going into the chamber.
I applied Safe, quickly checking the other three mags in the pouches of the nylon harness. If I was in the shit and changing mags I didn't want to slap on a half-empty one. This took precious extra seconds but was always worth the effort.
I put the harness on, straps over my shoulders and neck, the magazine pouches across my chest, and clipped the buckle at the back, continuously grabbing air in an effort to keep my heart rate down, whilst listening for shouts that would tell me they'd discovered Blue.
My panting slowed and I mentally prepared myself. Pulling a magazine from the harness, I held it in my left hand with the curved shape facing away from me so it was ready to be rammed into the magazine housing if this one became empty.
Then I grabbed the stock, wrapping my left hand around the whole lot.
I thumbed the safety, pushing past the first click single rounds and all the way to Automatic, my index finger inside the trigger guard, then moved out into the rain once more, towards the heli to clear the corner in the darkness, and on towards Aaron and Blue. Their bodies were lying as I'd left them, motionless in the mud next to each other as the rain bounced in little pools around them.
Looking into the storeroom and beyond, I couldn't see any movement apart from the blurred images on Luz's screen.
There was more thunder but no lightning as I moved forward, butt in the shoulder, weapon up, both eyes open. My breathing calmed down as it became fuckit time once again.
I stepped up on to the concrete and into the light from the storeroom. I moved inside, avoiding the cot, lifting my feet up high before replacing them to avoid the cans, spilt rice, and other shit strewn across the floor. Eyes forward, weapon up.
I could hear them in the kitchen area and began to smell cigarettes. The talking was heated: today had been one big fuck for all concerned.
There was movement, a chair scraping, boots walking towards the computer room. I froze, both eyes open but blurred by rain, index finger pad on the trigger, waiting, waiting ... I was going to have the upper hand for no more than two seconds. After that, if I didn't get this right, I was history.
The boots appeared. Green Guy. He turned, saw me, his scream cut short as I squeezed. He fell back into the living room.
As if on autopilot I followed him through the doorway, stepping over his body into the smoke-filled room. They were panicking, screaming out at each other, wide eyed, reaching for their weapons.
I moved off to the left, into the corner, both eyes open, squeezing short sharp bursts, aiming into the mass of movement. The hot empty cases bounced off the wall to the right and then my back before clinking against each other as they hit the floor. I squeezed again ... nothing.
'Stoppage! Stoppage!' I fell to my knees to present a smaller target.
It was as if my world was in slow motion as I tilted the weapon to the left to present the ejection opening. It had no working parts: they were being held to the rear. Looking inside, there were no rounds in the magazine, no rounds in the chamber. My eyes were now fixed on the threat in front.
I hit the release catch and the empty mag hit my leg on its way to the floor.
Two bodies were sprawled, one moving with a weapon, one on his knees trying to get the safety off. I locked on to it. The mist of the propellant was already mixing with the heavy cigarette smoke. The bitterness of cordite clawed at the back of my throat.
I twisted the weapon over to its right and presented the magazine housing. The fresh magazine was still in my left hand; I rammed it into the housing, banged it into position from the mag bottom, and slapped my hand down hard on to the locking lever. The working parts went forward, picking up a round as I got the weapon into the shoulder, brought the barrel to what I was looking at, and fired on my knees.
Another mag and it was all over.
There was silence as I reloaded, apart from the rain hitting the roof and the kettle whistling on the cooker. Two of the bodies were on the floor; one was slumped forward over the table, his face distorted with a dead man's sneer.
I remained on my knees, surveying the carnage. The acrid stench of cordite filled my nostrils. Mixed with the cigarette smoke, it looked as if a dry-ice machine was running, covering the bodies, some with their eyes still open, some not. There wasn't much blood on the floor yet, but it would be there as soon as their bodies gave it up.
I looked around. Everybody I had seen was accounted for, but the bedrooms had to be checked.
Getting to my feet, butt in my shoulder, I gave three short bursts through the door to Luz's room then forced my way in, and then the same with Carrie and Aaron's. Both were clear and Luz's window was now closed.
I turned to the kitchen. The floor was covered in a mixture of mud and blood.
I went over to the stove, kicking my way past empty cans that had been shot or pushed on to the floor, and took the kettle off the ring. I poured myself a mug of tea from a tin of sachets on the side. It smelt of berries and I threw in some brown sugar and stirred it as I walked towards the computer room, kicking a weapon out of the way. I dragged the blood-soaked Green Guy away from the door;
empty cases chinked together as his body moved them across the floor. I stepped into the computer room and closed the door behind me.
Seated in a director's chair, I slowly sipped the sweet, scalding liquid while picking out two empty cases that had got caught between my chest and the harness on their way to the floor. My hands were starting to shake a little, as I silently thanked all those years of skill-at-arms training that had made stoppage drills second nature.
Tilting the mug for the last few drops of the brew, I got to my feet and went to Aaron and Carrie's bedroom. I pulled off the harness and changed into an old black cotton sweatshirt with a faded Adidas logo on the front.
It was time to drag Aaron out of the mud. I put the harness back on, gathered up their purple bedsheet, and
