He tapped the gun against the machine.
“This is where real power stems from, Mr. Gibson—the barrel of a gun. In that way, perhaps I am indeed like the Kwan. They spread hate and discontent, because they tend to learn more during times of upheaval and chaos, as this is when mankind is at its most creative. The Kwan want to bring about the end of time, just so they can see what happens next.”
“And that’s you?”
“Mankind desires peace and order, but real power comes only from revolution. Violence and fear are its tools. I am filled with both. I deal both, and thus, I wield power against which no man can stand. So yes, in that way, I am like the Kwan. But they have no hold over my kind.”
“You all sound like a bunch of nuts to me,” I taunted. “Call it the Kwan or the mob or whatever the fuck you want—it’s all shit.”
“I told you, Mr. Gibson, I am not a member of the Kwan. I spit on them. They are just babes. I belong to a much older line.”
“Rasputin ain’t that old, Whitey. He’s not exactly ancient history.”
“My ancestor was but one link in a very long chain. We are very, very old. My kind have always been here, and we always will be. We live for a long time.”
“And all you gotta do is eat a baby once in a while, you sick fuck.”
“And why not, if that is what it takes? This planet belongs to us, not to you homo-sapiens. We are homo-superior.”
“That’s funny. I figured you for a homo just like the rest of us.”
“A little joke from a little man. Are those really your final words, Mr. Gibson?”
I placed my palms against the back of the soda machine. “No, my last words would be, ‘go Steelers’.”
Sondra stared at me in confusion. I winked at her and then nodded at the machine, silently urging her to do the same as me. Hesitant, she shifted position and put her hands on it.
‘Get ready,’ I silently mouthed.
She nodded in understanding.
“So be it.” Whitey pointed the gun at the soda machine again. “I’ll kill you both, root through my offspring and partake, and then—refreshed—I’ll deal with the rest of the policemen. After that, I think I should get away for a while. It occurs to me that a vacation is in order. Perhaps I shall return to my homeland. Sondra, I’ll be sure to deliver your regards to your family.”
“Leave my family alone.”
“Now,” I shouted, pressing against the back of the machine. “Do it!”
Sondra pushed with all she had. The muscles stood out in her neck and arms, pulling taut like cables. My shoulders, back and neck erupted in agony, but I didn’t care. The machine wobbled. The gun went off. Sondra shrieked. I shoved harder. Whitey fired a second shot.
“Push, Sondra!”
With a loud groan, the soda machine toppled over onto Whitey, crushing him to the floor. His bones snapped with an audible crunch, like twigs underfoot in the forest.
The whole thing felt like it took forever, but in reality, it happened in about five seconds time. I kept expecting Whitey to squeeze the trigger again—to unload his weapon on us. But he didn’t. Maybe we’d surprised him.
Sondra ran around the machine. I stepped on top of it and jumped up and down.
“Like that, you fucker?”
Whitey let out a muffled groan. His arms and legs stuck out from beneath the machine. The pistol was still clutched in his hand. Before he could squeeze the trigger, I jumped to the floor, careful to avoid slipping in the pool of his blood that was spreading out from beneath the wreckage. Sondra and I ran to the break room door. I noticed red streaks on the floor where she stepped.
“Are you hit?”
“No, I not think so.”
“Your foot is bleeding.”
“I step on something sharp and cut it. Is okay. Is not bad.”
“Come on,” I grabbed her hand. “That soda machine won’t hold him for long.”
“Da. It won’t.”
We ran into the darkness.
twenty
We fled down the hallway and back into the deserted machine shop. The room was full of smoke, but I still didn’t see any flames. Most of the building seemed to be made of concrete, so it was possible that it wouldn’t catch on fire. Maybe Whitey had been telling the truth when he said it was just the vehicles that were aflame. The smoke rushed towards us as we entered the room, clinging to our bodies and crawling up our noses and down our parched throats. We dropped to our knees, coughing and gagging. My eyes watered and it was hard to see.
“Is no good,” Sondra choked. “We will not breathe if we are to stay here.”
“You’re right. Let’s see if we can get out the way we came in.”
Sondra shook her head. “Is police there.”
“Not anymore. Whitey killed them all.”
“But more will come?”
“Yeah, I’m sure there are more cops on the way, along with firemen and Quick Response units and who knows what else, but if the fire is keeping them away, we might be able to squeeze past unnoticed.”
“I do not think it will work.”
“Well, if you’ve got a better idea, I’d love to hear it.”
When she didn’t respond, I crawled towards the first room. After a moment’s hesitation, Sondra followed me. I turned back to her and smiled in encouragement. Both of us were coughing, and snot ran down our faces. We weren’t a pretty sight, but Sondra was still the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, even in her current condition.
The first room was filled with a cloud of thick, black smoke, hovering just inches from the floor—an almost solid wall that obscured everything else. The sirens were louder here, and even though we couldn’t see, we knew there were a lot of cops and other personnel right outside the building. We heard them shouting to each other.
“So much for that,” I said. “They’ve probably got the fucking place surrounded. Now what?”
“Larry,” Sondra wheezed, “I am feeling sick. My throat…it burns.”
“Smoke inhalation. We need to get lower. Let’s try the basement.”
As we crawled towards the back room again, I noticed that Sondra’s foot had stopped bleeding. The bottom of her sock was red. I started to comment on it when behind us, we heard a series of muffled thumps, followed by a hissing sound. As I looked back, something soared through the smoke and landed on the floor in the main room. It was about the size of a baseball. As it rolled towards us, I saw that it was a grenade.
“Shit! Get down.”
Sondra flattened against the cement and I climbed overtop of her, shielding her body with mine. I squeezed my watering eyes shut and tensed, waiting for the explosion. Waited for the shrapnel. This was it. We were going to die.
But nothing happened.
The hissing grew louder. I opened my eyes. A cloudy substance was leaking out of the grenade, mixing with the smoke. I pulled my bloody shirt up over my mouth and nose, and motioned at Sondra to do the same.
“Gas,” I hissed. “Those motherfuckers gassed us. Head for the stairs and hold your breath as long as you can. Hurry!”
Holding our breath, we made it to the basement stairs. I glanced down the hallway, worried that Whitey might have already freed himself, but the smoke was too heavy and I couldn’t see the break room. My burning lungs felt like they were going to burst. We plunged down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and came out into a basement. The air was clearer, and we stood up, gasping for breath.