Von Klitzing is not your regular psychopath, he thought.
Passing her clothes to her, he knelt down in front of her.
“I will be right back, darling, hold tight.”
“Michael, don’t leave me!”
It was too late. He was already out of the door. But less than a minute later, he was back, clutching a complete first aid kit. Taking a swab from the small white box, he pressed it onto her leg. Expertly wrapping a gauze bandage around her injured thigh, he secured it with a safety pin. Looking her straight in the eyes, he took her face in both hands and kissed her hard on the lips.
“We have to move!”
Lisa nodded and slowly dressed herself, doing her best not to bend the injured leg. Fortunately, there was little bleeding, with only a small red dot appearing in the white linen of the bandage.
“Come on, let’s see if you can walk.”
He lifted her up onto her feet, and she put her arm around his shoulders before gingerly trying to put some weight on her left foot, but a bolt of pain shot up her leg, stopping her.
“I don’t think I can.”
“What if I carry you?”
“You can’t carry me and fight off their guards.”
“I can and I will. Stay here, and I will clear a path and then come back and get you.”
Without waiting for an answer, he moved to the door, slowly easing it open. There was no sign of any resistance, but he decided not to take a chance, launching grenades in both directions up the halls.
“Grenade!”
The call went up with a blast and was followed by coughing and a series of groans from at least two different men. Michael charged off in their direction, the rifle poised should he meet any resistance. Stopping at the corner, he peered tentatively in the direction of the moans. Two men lay against opposite corridor walls, both seriously wounded. It amazed Michael that they were not screaming their lungs out; one had lost a good portion of his left back, so much that his intestines were escaping onto the linoleum flooring. The other clutched his eyes, blood running freely between his fingers.
If they were animals, you would put them out of their misery, Michael thought.
Two shots later, the hallway was silent. Michael stood and stared at the bodies, shocked by what he had just done.
“What the fuck!”
Throwing the rifle to the floor as if it had suddenly become infected, Michael stared in disbelief at the slaughter. Turning away from the bodies, his stomach convulsed, spewing its contents down the corridor’s whitewashed wall.
You sad piece of shit! The taunt rang out down the corridor.
Spinning around instinctively to confront his next aggressor, Michael found himself alone in the hallway.
You are weak. The voice came from behind him.
Michael whipped his head from left to right, desperate to catch sight of whoever it was.
You can’t escape me, Michael.
“Where are you?”
I am you, you stupid bastard!
“What?”
Get a grip, if you don’t want to get us killed!
Then, reality dawned on him. Hofmann was back. Michael bit down hard on his damaged tooth, pain shooting up through his right eyeball and down his jaw to his neck.
“NO!”
It won’t work.
Again he bit down, and again he suffered, but he knew it was necessary. Waiting for a moment, there was silence. The inner dialogue had stopped. He considered taking the rifle with him, but the thought repulsed him. Still biting hard on the damaged tooth, he set off back to Lisa.
You are going to need that.
The pain was now unbearable, but despite that, he bit down with all his might. Tears welled and broke through his tightly shut eyelids, and waves of dizziness washed through his head, followed by nauseous coughs. Close to losing his balance, he grasped at the wall for support, but still, he had to go down on one knee, his face contorted by the agony in his mouth and head.
You are wasting your time.
Unclenching his jaw, he stopped. Slumping back against the wall in relief, he panted, gasping in air.
Get up, you fool, you have no time!
Michael tried to ignore the voice, but he knew it was right. He couldn’t just sit there.
There will be reinforcements here any second, MOVE!
Clambering to his feet, Michael started back towards the interrogation room.
The rifle, don’t forget the rifle.
He staggered the few steps and picked up the gun. Holding it in his hands again, he felt a sudden confusion. He had no idea how to operate it; it felt totally alien to him.
You need me! You must let me do it, or we will both die!
Biting down to stop the voice, he ran to Lisa. Bursting through the door, he found his wife clutching a hammer in one hand and the scalpel in the other.
Relief swept through her face when she saw him.
“Michael, I thought they had killed you! There were so many shots, and you were gone so long. What happened?”
“It’s a long story; come on, we have to go.”
Putting his right arm under both of hers and around her back, he was able to take the weight off her damaged leg. But it meant him holding the rifle in his left hand. He wasn’t sure he would be able to do anything with it, with his weaker hand holding the gun, but he had no choice.
Give her the rifle; you use the handgun.
Michael passed Lisa the rifle and pulled the pistol out of his belt. He had to look for the safety; it was already off.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” Lisa asked.
“Just point and press.”
Now, go!
They set off at a fast limp, and, exiting the interrogation room, they made their way towards the stairs. The lift was a death trap. Michael didn’t need Hofmann to tell him that.
Leave her and check the staircase.
As they approached the door to the stairs, Michael gently lowered Lisa to the floor and moved to the side of the door.
“Wait here, darling, and cover me.”
“Michael, I don’t know how!”
“If anyone comes, just pull the trigger and hold tight.”
He tried a smile but was not sure what came out. At any rate, she didn’t return it.
The steel door was painted with a grey enamel paint. Michael reached over to open the door, trying to keep as much of his body behind the wall as he could as he slowly depressed the handle. The door creaked open, but there was no gunfire. He was again aware of the sound of the droning siren around him. Switching the pistol to his right hand, he moved quietly through the door, his ears straining against the background noise to hear anything unusual.
Check the stairwell first, then up the centre of the staircase.
Michael followed the orders; there was no sign of anyone. Returning, he helped Lisa to her feet and carried her into the stairwell.
Leave her here and clear a path.
Lisa seemed to know what he was going to do, letting go of him and hobbling into the corner of the stairwell of her own volition, hiding behind the big gun in her hands.
Checking up the stairs again, Michael set off.
Four stairs at a time, stop, look, and listen.
The sound of the siren was quelled by the walls of the staircase, and with the steel door closed, it became just a distant droning.
MOVE!
They had to go up two flights, which was probably about twenty-four stairs. Michael did the maths.
That was six stations.
The first two stations brought him to within sight of the first underground level, and an identical steel door. He wondered if he should bring Lisa up to this level.