In front of me to the right is the staircase. I’ll deal with upstairs in a moment. To the left of that is a long hallway, leading straight through to the kitchen. Along the left wall are two doors. I move slowly and carefully toward the first door, holding the rifle ready. I listen at the door but hear nothing from within. I try the handle and open it, pausing for a moment before swinging it open cautiously to my left and stepping inside. The room falls away to the left but it’s empty — there’s literally not even any furniture, it’s just floorboards and peeling paint.
I head back out to the hallway and try the next door along. As before, I listen outside the door for a moment, but this time I hear movement inside. I give it another minute, breathing as softly as I can and listening intently…
I reckon there’s only one person in there, and if they’re moving around, they’re not going to be a prisoner.
The movement stops, and I hear a noise that’s eerily reminiscent of a gun cocking…
I don’t even think about it. I step back and kick the door open, pushing my foot through close to the frame just above the handle. It nearly comes off its hinges as it bangs open to the right. I step inside and drop to a crouch. Very quickly I assess the layout.
There’s a dining table with four chairs in the center of the room, with an old-fashioned fireplace built into the far wall. Besides the threadbare carpet, the room is otherwise empty…
Apart from the guy with his gun aimed at me standing in the far corner.
I don’t give him chance to react to the door flying in. Like a twitch, I spin and take aim, unloading a quick three-round burst to his chest. He drops to the floor and I breathe easy once again.
I back out of the room and quickly stick my head inside the kitchen. It’s empty and I didn’t expect anything else to be honest. I turn and head back to the front door, stopping at the foot of the staircase. I take a quick look up and, from what I can see, it’s clear.
The hardest part is always going upstairs. If someone’s up there already, they have the angles and the cover. If you’re the one on the stairs, you have nothing. You can’t view every angle, you don’t know where every door is and you’re firing up as you’re climbing stairs, so your accuracy will go to shit.
I crouch next to the stairs and weigh up my options. I have to go upstairs, so I’ll need to keep my back to the wall and aim high, making sure –
BANG!
What the…
BANG!
They’re gunshots…
And the dull thud that follows the second one is definitely a body hitting the floor above me.
Oh, shit! Clara!
Ignoring all training I’ve had for these situations, I quickly stand and rush upstairs. I’m holding the rifle loosely in front of me, ready to fire from the hip if need be. I move from room to room, kicking in the door and quickly sweeping inside before moving to the next.
Finally, I reach the main bedroom at the front of the house. The door’s open, and a thick pool of blood creeps into view over the thin, beige carpet.
With my gun raised, I run in.
Clara’s standing where the bed would’ve been, behind the door. The gun in her hand is still smoking slightly from the bullet she's just fired. I look at the dead guy on the ground; lying spread-eagled with a bullet hole between his eyes.
“Jesus!” I say. “Clara, are you alright?”
She’s staring vacantly into space. I drop my gun and put my hands on her face, making her look at me. I examine her eyes and can see the onset of shock behind them.
“Clara, are you okay?” I ask again. “Answer me. Are you hurt?”
She finally focuses on me and looks blank and disoriented. There’s a bloodstain on her top from where her bullet wound has re-opened.
“I was too late… I’m so sorry,” she says as if she’s daydreaming.
She turns her head and I follow her gaze to the opposite wall.
Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph…
The sick, twisted bastards have stripped Jonathan Webster naked and nailed him to the wall by his hands and feet, like a starfish… His body is a mess, covered in deep cuts and a mixture of fresh and dried blood. There’s a pool of blood on the floor beneath his body too. The bullet hole in his forehead is recent.
She must have killed that guy on the floor seconds after he killed Webster.
I look back at Clara and feel an overwhelming sense of sympathy for her.
But it only takes a few seconds to start feeling the darkness and the anger building inside me. I’m completely blind with rage and I clench my jaw muscles and my fists as I struggle to contain it.
Again, the piece of shit was two moves ahead of me. Ketranovich hasn’t just disposed of the scientist — he’s tortured and sacrificed him, needlessly, knowing we’ll find him. The body of Webster is a message meant for Clara and me to find.
Well, message received…
He isn’t going to like my response.
“Come on,” I say to Clara. “We need to get out of here.”
I take her by the hand and lead her out of the room and out of the house. We get in the Jeep and I drive off. I need to get her back to the hospital and get her bullet wound looked at.
As I turn left, I glance to the right and see her Dodge Viper parked further up the street. I slam the brakes on and reverse quickly, stopping level with her car. She looks at me inquisitively.
“The bullet holes in this are even more conspicuous than your Viper,” I explain. “We should switch.”
We do and within minutes we’re back on the road, heading to the hospital.
She’s sitting in silence, staring at the dashboard. She’s not said a word since we left the house. I don’t even think she’s blinked. She’s in shock and I have no words of comfort to offer her. Things aren’t going to be okay. Things won’t get better soon. We’re officially at war and it’s going to keep getting worse until I kill Ketranovich.
The best thing I can do is stay productive. If I sit and dwell on what’s happening with Dark Rain, I’m going to end up in a very disturbing place that may well result in a lot of dead bodies — and that’s not the best way to play this. But I need the distraction, so I’m going to focus on getting Pellaggio off my back.
I’m going to leave Clara at the hospital — it’s the safest place for her right now. My bag’s still in her room and I need it to help me deal with Pellaggio.
I pull into the hospital driveway entrance. The roar of the engine in Clara’s Dodge Viper sounds even louder than usual outside the quiet building.
“Come on,” I say to her. “You need to go and get yourself patched up again.”
“It’s alright,” she says, distantly. “It’s just a flesh wound.”
“Yes, but it’s a flesh wound that’s bleeding all over your top. Now come on.”
She doesn’t bother arguing again. We get out of the car and I put my arm around her waist for some support as we walk into the hospital and take the elevator up to the fourth floor. There’s no sign of any GlobaTech personnel as the doors ding open. They must’ve cleared out after I’d left earlier. They obviously weren’t too bothered about their Jeep…
Good job, really.
As we approach the front desk, a nurse rushes round and takes over supporting Clara, shouting for a doctor. One quickly appears, along with another nurse and I follow them all back to the room. I watch them lie Clara gently back in her bed as they cut away her top and set to work on stopping the bleeding. I quickly retrieve my bag from next to the chair I slept in and move back over to the door.
“Is she gonna be alright?” I ask one of the nurses.
“She’ll be fine,” she calls back as she’s helping the doctor. “The stitching burst, but it wasn’t a serious wound. We managed to remove the bullet from the shoulder quickly and there was only minimal damage to the muscle tissue. She was lucky, but she’ll recover completely. She just needs to rest.”