The phone fell from her hand.
At the same time, the monitor for Paradise on the Sea was showing the two men in overalls climbing out of a second-floor window. Their backpacks were practically exploding.
93
Yolanda Baker’s head was destroyed before she hit the ground. The projectile from Gerrit van Lange’s pistol had made a couple of rounds through her skull.
Two seconds before her back struck the curb, Warrant Officer Vukile Pokwana took a step forward and emptied his clip into the body of Gerrit van Lange. He did this without much thought. It was more reflex than considered plan. If one of his officers was attacked, there was only one response for him: to neutralize the source of danger. As he stood over van Lange, whom he had known for years, he sensed how absurd everything seemed in this situation in which they had stumbled. He sank one more bullet into the body and caught sight of the racist standing up and running away. He was about to aim his pistol at the fleeing man to shoot him in the back when he had the feeling that hot and cold water were both surging through his body, at war with one another. For some reason, he recognized the tingling that came along with this. However, he wasn’t in any position to actually formulate any thoughts about it. He toppled onto the Central Alert boss without even an attempt to catch himself, smashing his forehead against the street’s asphalt.
Bismarck van Vuuren leaped over the closest wall and rolled away. That hurt, but he was sure this was less painful than a bullet between the ribs. In his flight, he’d abandoned the taser he’d just fired, simply dropped it. Hitting the grass, he flipped over and saw Warren Kramer and a white cop land next to him. They glanced at each other briefly. This reminded him of his military service in Angola—that had been a long time ago. On the other side of the street, the Central Alert bodybuilder and two of his coworkers reached safety. A black cop followed by the dog handler ran in the same direction and dove to the ground. Rob van der Merwe hit the grass next to him. Where had he come from?
94
“Should we try?” Nozipho asked. Her bare upper arms were pressed against the walls of the freezer. “I’m freezing.”
“Do you hear anything?”
“Not a sound. But I’m also just cold. And I have to pee so badly.”
“Me, too… Do you think we should give it a shot?”
Nozipho didn’t bother to answer, but pushed the lid up with her ass. The oppressive heat mixed with the chill, and Nozipho got goosebumps. She lifted the lid with one arm and listened for sounds inside the house.
“Empty?” Thembinkosi asked.
“I think so.”
A shot was fired somewhere. Then another. A third. Then a barrage.
“That’s nowhere close,” Thembinkosi said.
Nozipho tugged her dress up over her hips and climbed out of the freezer. She then pulled the fabric back down. Thembinkosi was already standing next to her. Very quietly, she opened the door to the house, just a crack.
The real battle was now underway. Shots fired from various guns. Irregular. They looked at each other. Nozipho preceded Thembinkosi into the house. She walked straight into the bathroom and sat on the toilet. Thembinkosi followed her and peed into the sink.
“Unlock the back door,” she told Thembinkosi.
She then waded through the blood to the wardrobe and fetched the briefcase and purse. By the time she reached the kitchen, the back door was already open. The shooting had stopped.
95
Mouth wide, Happiness was staring at the monitor. The phone rang down on the floor, but she didn’t react.
The guy who’d been knocked down by the dog rolled out from underneath the animal and ran away. Both of her bosses were lying on the ground. As well as the female police officer. And the black male cop, too. The other people were scrambling for safety. The shooting resumed. She would have given anything for sound footage.
This had been a single group a moment ago, she thought. Now it was everyone for themselves, looking and turning and making decisions. Either the one side or the other.
She now caught sight of Hlaudi, who was gazing in one direction. He took a step that way before glancing across and deciding on that option. He flopped onto the ground more than he actually fell. So many muscles, Happiness recalled. But such a small cock. Sad.
The street was now empty. Except for the corpses. The others were concealed behind walls on both sides of the road. Were they shooting again? Happiness stared hard at the monitor, but she couldn’t tell.
96
Moses had flattened himself against the ground as much as possible. Screams from people trying to reach safety. With one cheek pressed against the dirt, he could watch the street with one eye. He saw people who were in the same situation as he was. Searching for cover, lying on the ground. Nobody was shooting at this point.
Who had actually fired their guns? More yelling.
“…started…”
“…murder…”
Much he couldn’t understand. Panic-stricken people. A few were lying on the street. Dead or injured.
And who had been the target?
He saw the bare legs of the referee. A police officer. A civilian. Another cop. And someone who looked like a workman in tattered jeans but expensive shoes. Something was off in the image in front of him. However, before he could figure out what it was, someone across the street started shooting again.
His side of the street fired back immediately. He had to get out of here as quickly as possible. Moses pivoted in the dirt and crept off.
97
Hlaudi landed chest-first on a cop’s leg when he hit the ground on the other side of the waist-high wall. The policeman screamed and kicked at him with his other leg. Another cop lying next to the one he’d just landed on stretched out an arm. Hlaudi wanted to call out something like “No!” or “Don’t!” but the shot had already been fired. A bullet was immediately shot back. The cop who had fired first collapsed dead. The officer right next to him pulled his gun out of its holster and hurled himself at the wall. Hlaudi knocked him off his feet, but he had already been hit by a bullet. They were taking non-stop fire from across the street. The man had been struck in the shoulder, and he was cradling his arm in pain.
“Give me that!” Hlaudi ordered him.
The intensity of the gunfire from the other side now abated. He glanced around quickly and saw Ludelwa lying on the ground, too. His coworker had her hand pressed to a wound in her throat, and she was bleeding profusely. She didn’t seem to be moving, either.
The wall on the other side of the street was only half as high as the one behind which they’d been able to take cover. Despite that, they were still putting up a good fight. The man who had brought the dog materialized beside him. He was also holding a gun. They nodded at each other and lifted themselves far enough over the wall to shoot. Hlaudi counted off their shots. One from him, one from dog man, one from him—a hit, one from dog man—another hit. They looked at each other and almost simultaneously fell backward.
“We got three of them.”
“How many are left?” dog man asked.
“Two or three.”
“Wait or keep going?”
“We outnumber them. If a couple of us can draw fire from here, we could take them from behind.”
Hlaudi held the dead cop’s hand above the wall. It was immediately hit by a bullet. Hlaudi dropped the arm. He and dog man started off. Back behind the house here, then on to the next one, away from the exit to the gated community. On to the next house and then over to the street. Look around, across, behind the closest house, then count backward. One, two, three. They were now behind the others.