The world washed in and out again, hissing against the stones.
Logan blinked. Shook his head. ‘Sally: take Aiden!’
She stared at him, bit her bottom lip, then shuffled forward on her knees and wrapped her son in her arms. Buried her face in his neck and breathed him in.
‘Sometime today would be spectacular!’
Grey Mask took a step towards Logan. ‘I think you’ve lost a lot of blood already. Feeling weak? A bit light-headed?’
‘SALLY!’
She flinched. Seemed to remember what the hell was actually going on, and scooped Aiden up, holding him there.
‘How long before you pass out, Officer?’
She wiped a hand across her eyes. ‘Sorry, I—’
‘Sally: focus!’ Logan tightened his grip on the gun. ‘I need you to go out the back door, pick a direction, and run. Get Aiden to safety.’
She just stood there.
‘MOVE!’
Finally.
She half stumbled, half ran through the straw towards the equipment shed door.
Grey Mask raised his voice, watching her go. ‘We’ll find you, Sally MacAuley. We’ll find you and you’ll both be disciplined.’
She shoved through the door, thumping it shut behind her.
And now everyone turned to stare at Logan.
‘Well, well, well, Officer. Alone at last.’
A large woman with the number two on her mask inched closer.
‘Stand still!’ Logan gestured with the gun. ‘Everybody on the floor. Now!’
Grey Mask lowered his weapon. ‘It’s sad really. Kind of pathetic.’
‘I SAID: ON THE BLOODY FLOOR!’
A fat man in a chicken mask lowered himself towards the straw.
‘Don’t.’ A gloved finger. ‘Think about it, Rooster: he’s a police officer. What’s he going to do, shoot unarmed men and women? Really?’
Rooster stood up again. ‘Sorry.’
Danielle’s gun was getting heavier. ‘It’s over. The kids are miles away from here by now. They go home to their families and you... you go to jail.’
‘Their families?’ A laugh. ‘God, you cops are so naïve, aren’t you?’ He pointed at Captain Chicken Mask. ‘Who do you think sold Ellie Morton to Rooster in the first place? Her stepdad. You think she’ll be safer with him?’
Great. The old man with the stinky dog had been right.
‘Face it: you’ve lost.’ He stepped closer. ‘All sales are final, Officer. So we’ll... acquire Aiden again and make his mother pay for bringing you here. Then we’ll recapture the rest of tonight’s stock and deliver them to their rightful owners. No child left behind.’ Another step. ‘But first we’ll take care of you.’
Logan backed up. ‘You said it yourself: I’m a police officer. They’ll hunt you down like...’ He looked at Snake and Horse and Rat and Goat and Monkey and all of the other freaks. ‘Animals.’
‘Really? Because I don’t remember them hunting me down when I forced all those pills and booze into Detective Sergeant Chalmers, then tied a noose around her throat. Don’t remember that at all.’
‘You killed her?’
‘And now it’s your turn.’ Grey Mask snapped his gun up.
Too slow.
Logan’s semiautomatic roared out across the cattle court, echoing around the metal roof and breeze-block walls. Roaring and bouncing and roaring and bouncing until it finally faded away.
Grey Mask stared down at the fresh hole in his hoodie. A dark-red patch spread out across the fabric. He dropped the gun. Looked up at his Animals. ‘I don’t...’ Then crumpled to the ground. ‘Oh Jesus! Aaaaaaaaaargh! AAAAAAAAARGH!’ Curling around his stomach, screaming.
Everyone froze as Logan limped forward and picked up the fallen semiautomatic.
He used both guns to gesture towards the corner of the byre, away from the equipment shed door. ‘All of you, over there where I can see you.’
‘AAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!’
They shuffled through the straw, hands up, someone repeating, ‘Oh God, oh God, oh God,’ over and over to themselves.
If one gun weighed a ton, two weighed about eight times as much. Could barely keep them pointed at the inhabitants of the world’s worst petting zoo and the numbers one to four. And seven. ‘Keep moving.’
‘AAAAAAAAAAAAARGH! OH CHRIST, THAT—’
Logan kicked him. ‘You want me to take your pain away? Because I’ve got a lot more bullets!’
The screams faded to a sobbing whimper instead.
‘Better.’ Logan limped backwards, till the walkway stopped him. ‘Listen up, people: here’s how this is going to work. You’re all going to lie facedown on the ground.’
Nobody moved.
Then Number One stepped forward. ‘You heard the Auctioneer: he’s not going to shoot us.’
Dog shuffled behind Rooster. ‘He shot the Auctioneer!’
‘All we’ve got to do is wait till he passes out and—’
Logan put a bullet in the wall above Number One’s head. The boom reverberated around the shed as Numbers and Animals all scrambled for the ground. ‘Hands on your heads!’
They didn’t need a second telling this time.
‘Anyone who moves gets a free bullet, are we clear?’
No reply.
‘ARE WE CLEAR?’
A ragged chorus of ‘yes’s, partially muffled by them all having their faces buried in the straw.
‘Good.’ He slumped against the wall, sliding down it till his backside hit the deck. Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades. More stinging his eyes — he wiped it away with his sleeve. Glanced down at the glistening dark stain that reached out across his stomach and down his left leg.
The world did its waves-on-a-beach trick again.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
Why was it so cold?
Could kill for a pint of beer as well. Mouth was dry as a litter tray.
Logan rested Danielle’s gun against his knee, propping it up. ‘Now we’re all going to sit here quietly till the police come...’
47
Oh, this was bad. This was very, very, very bad. Stan sneaked a look, keeping his blue mask touching the damp straw, trying not to draw attention. Or a bullet.
Everyone on this side of the cattle court lay on their fronts, the guys working the auction and the perverts as well. Nobody moving. Probably all trying to figure out how the hell they were going to escape before the cops descended.
And the only thing stopping them getting up and just walking out of here was slouched against the walkway, with that big red smear — where he’d slid down the brickwork — glistening behind him. Face pale as suet. The gun limp in his lap.
The one silver lining to this total shitstorm was that the bitch, Dragon, didn’t have any car keys. She’d have to walk to the nearest farm, call it ten minutes away? After that, the cops would be here in what, fifteen, twenty minutes tops? So they had half an hour, max.
One of the kiddy fiddlers, Monkey, raised his head and stared at the copper. ‘Is he...?’
‘You!’ The copper raised the gun in one shaky hand. ‘Get your head down before I blow it off!’
Yeah: they were all completely and utterly screwed.
This was all the Auctioneer’s fault. A journalist and a cop? One turning up would’ve been bad enough, but both? How could security be that lax?
Stan risked another peek.
The copper was still slumped against the concrete, but he’d tilted over to the left a bit. Arms limp at his sides. Eyes closed. Was he even still breathing?