Authors: Stuart Keane
“What will that achieve? If you don’t come back, I’m coming to find you.”
Kieran nodded. He realised that retreating now, especially with dead bodies appearing, would be a very bad idea. So would advancing. It was a ‘Catch 22’ situation, meaning that either way would be dangerous. “I’ll be back, okay? Just wait here.”
He advanced forward, holding his knife firmly, blade facing downwards and held almost parallel to his forearm. He advanced until he found the blood pool marking where the body had been. He stepped over it and moved on. As he’d noticed before, the flickering light was smeared with blood, as was the wall beneath it. Blood was spattered all over the floor and wall. The boxes against the wall were covered in it too. Kieran moved on.
And then he saw them.
Three bodies in SWAT uniform. They were scattered around the hallway. One was sitting, leaning against the wall, his intestines ripped from his body, lying beside him in a heap of gore. The second body was laid out on the floor, spread-eagled. He had been decapitated, there was no sign of the head, and his left arm had been sliced off, which was now limp beside his corpse. The third body was pinned to the wall with some kind of knife. The knife had been forced straight through his man’s chest to penetrate the wall behind him. The flickering lights gave the scene the feel of some kind of macabre light show: almost like something you might see in a fairground ghost train.
Blood was everywhere and nothing moved. Beyond the bodies was a closed door.
To the left of it was a small window. Beside this window was a huge garage door. Kieran realised that this was a loading bay entrance. For a full minute he waited. Nothing moved. The bodies remained still, and no one was present. After thirty more seconds, he moved silently up to the first corpse.
He grabbed the clips from his belt. This guy only had two pistol clips left. However, his sidearm was in his holster. Beside his body was an H&K submachine gun, and he realised that his assessment of their weaponry had been correct.
Kieran unclipped the holster and laid the pistol down on the ground. He collected both weapons and stuffed them into his rucksack, along with the ammo clips. Placing the rucksack on the ground, he balanced it against the wall. With a sigh, he stepped over to the headless body. This man’s pistol was also in his holster and he had the same ammunition clips as those of his fallen colleague. Seven clips in all. But unfortunately, this guy had no submachine gun. Finally, he stepped over to the body that had been pinned to the wall. This soldier possessed no pistol, but his H&K was slung around his shoulder, stuck behind the body.
Checking the rucksack, he confirmed that both guns were loaded, and returned to the body that was pinned to the wall. As he unclipped the belt it came away, holster and clip storage attached. Perfect. He slung the belt over his shoulder and walked back to the rucksack. He looked back one final time, aware that the three of them would have to pass through here eventually. He picked up the heavy rucksack and walked back to Heather.
Heather saw him coming. Kieran stopped beside her and placed the rucksack against the wall. “I got a couple of guns, some ammo and a belt. Any luck?”
“His belt is busted, the latch is fucked, so no go there. He had the seven clips you mentioned and some handcuffs, but no guns. Did you get anything?”
Kieran took the belt off his shoulder. “First of all, Heather, take this guy’s bulletproof vest off. I don’t think it’s compromised, that could certainly be useful if we come under fire. You put it on, then this belt.”
Kieran dropped the belt to the ground, looking beyond Heather. Abel was still crouched and alert. He wondered if Abel was scared or if the drugs had some calming effect that precluded fear. The younger man lifted the corpse so that Heather could unfasten its protective vest. She was right, he realised. The dead man’s belt was only held together by frayed strands and bullets had torn into his side, rendering the body a bullet-torn mess.
Heather removed the bulletproof vest and then checked it for bullet holes, finding none. The bullets had missed the vest altogether. The garment slid over her shoulders easily: despite being too big for her, it would serve its purpose. She took the belt from the floor and fastened it, then slotted two of each types of ammo clip into the belt. Kieran then handed her the pistol, which she holstered, and latched the clip shut. Kieran slipped the H&K submachine gun into his bag. Looking at Heather, he realised that she looked like the newest member of a makeshift SWAT team.
“Check the clip, is it loaded?” Kieran asked. “It shows you on the side of the pistol, there’s an indicator.”
Heather did as she was told. The clip was full, meaning that no bullets had been used. “Full clip, none used.”
Kieran nodded. “Good. You’re all set. Those clips are all full, I checked them. Heather, draw your weapon, check you can draw it fast.”
Heather drew her weapon in one smooth motion; it worked just fine. Kieran nodded, saying, “Good.” He leaned in close and spoke in Heather’s ear: “There are three bodies up ahead. In fact, I think it’s a miracle that Abel came through here unscathed. If the bodies were here when he was on his way here, he would surely have bumped into them. I think this is a bit suspicious, so keep quiet about it, okay?”
Heather nodded. “Are all the dead men in SWAT uniforms?”
“Yep. And they were all armed.”
“Doesn’t it worry you that a SWAT team are here? And that armed, trained people like this have been killed so easily?”
“Of course. But what also worries me is the ballistics. They have ammo in their guns, yet some haven’t used any bullets at all. What sort of enemy can kill people who are wearing bulletproof vests, when there’s no head wounds apparent, and kill them relatively easily? At least two of the men were attacked from behind, judging by the way they fell. And one was decapitated. If these guys were ambushed so fast that they couldn’t get any shots off, what kind of enemy were they fighting?”
Heather didn’t say anything. She looked at the body on the floor. “Does getting stuck between a rock and a hard place sound like our situation to you? We either move on, into potentially dangerous territory or we stay here and die anyway. If we don’t get out, there isn’t enough food to last that much longer. Kieran, we have no alternative but to move.”
Kieran knew she was right, there was no choice. “Abel? Would you come over here?” he called out.
Abel walked over, holding his hands out in front of him. Heather grabbed his hand and guided him back to the younger man. “Yes? What is it?”
Kieran swallowed. “Abel, when you came down this hallway, do you remember noticing anything out of the ordinary?”
Abel thought about it. He scratched his head. The rag around his face made the everyday action appear almost comical. After a moment of silence he responded: “Not really. I kept to the wall. There were warm spots on the walls, which I assumed to be lights of some kind.”
“Did you trip over anything? Or walk into anything?”
Abel shook his head. “I didn’t trip on anything. I walked around what seemed to be boxes. There was a strong coppery smell too, a bit like rust, I suppose. Sorry if I’m not being any help.”
Kieran looked at Heather. “Abel, the coppery smell was blood. I just found four bodies, all wearing the black uniforms of the American elite SWAT unit. So before they blinded you, do you remember seeing those bodies?”
“No. I mean, I saw people in black. However, the ones I saw were wearing balaclavas and masks over those, as if they wanted to hide their identities. They had guns, like machine guns or assault rifles. But they didn’t have armour, they had normal black tunics on, if I remember rightly.”
“There's a chance that the bodies I found were of those men you saw, or they could be different people entirely. The point is, they’ve been killed, so we need to proceed with caution. It’s good that now we’re armed, though whether having weapons will make a difference to our chances is something else. The condition of the bodies indicates to me that they confronted a powerful foe, guys who weren’t fazed by semi-automatic weapons in the hands of highly trained combat troops – that is, assuming the dead men were members of a genuine SWAT unit. Abel, you stick with Heather, okay, keep to the same routine. Keep it quiet and slow.”
Kieran hitched the rucksack up onto his back, and checked that Heather was prepared to proceed. He looked at Abel. “Abel, leave the string here. I don’t think we'll need it anymore.”
Heather realised Kieran was right. The string gave them a means of retracing their steps, but whether this would be advisable was a moot point. They had to proceed, regardless of the complications. Abel dropped the ball of string. It rolled and nestled against the corpse.
“Up ahead is a loading bay entrance. We need to go through it,” Kieran told them. “On the way through, we'll check the bodies once more. Then we go onwards. I don’t know what lies ahead, guys, so be quiet and stick with me. Let’s do this!”
Kieran took the lead position once more, followed by Heather leading Abel.
As they moved ahead, they failed to spot the movement in the shadows.
Someone was watching them.
Stalking them.
It followed silently.
***
Delta liked the way that the situation was playing out. He'd viewed a few incarnations of The Game in his time.
Ever the voyeur, he always paid the twenty-thousand pound price tag to watch the event every five years. He had seen three thus far. Participating in this one was his fourth in all. One requirement for being allowed to play The Game was that you had to have viewed The Game on at least two occasions. Delta realised that it was a bit like paying a fee to partake. You needed to know how The Game worked and you needed to be prepared for its content. The Game could get brutal, violent, and emotional. It wasn’t for those with weak wills, or anyone who was overly sensitive. However many might watch it, very few of them were permitted to actually take part. The selection process for players was specific. Delta smiled as he remembered passing with flying colours.
He'd been confident that he would be accepted. He knew that he had a knack for that sort of thing.
Delta was keeping track of the competition. He knew that the rivalry was very close at the top. In another Game, the Choice had taken out of one his opponents in unique style.
A reverend with a mean streak
was the headline going around those in the know. The other competitor had taken his own life, so no matter what happened subsequently in that Game, that candidate wouldn’t win. Now one of the final two with a chance, Delta was edging it so far. He had a lot going in his Game: human connections, mystery, elements of surprise. The blind guy was a nice sympathetic touch. He reminded himself to reward his Insertion Team later on, for thinking of it.
He tried to contact his team, but to no avail. They hadn’t responded to his last four messages. He knew they were busy, so he didn’t worry about it too much. This was The Game. People didn’t ignore your calls unless they had a good reason to.
Delta sipped his drink. His Game had become interesting. The Choices had continued going forward. They had discovered bodies. The dark hallway they had entered was a loading bay – he knew that containers were carried through it every day. There were four bodies in the hallway, all mutilated. Nice touch. His team had laid some fake bodies in their path. To creep them out, perhaps? Excellent idea. Delta checked his phone. No response yet.
Oh well,
he thought,
they will call back eventually.
Delta noticed that the man had collected a couple of firearms from the bodies, and this worried Delta. He hadn’t instructed his men to drop weapons off for his Choices to use. That was potential Game suicide. Delta’s mood went from happy to grim within seconds. He dialled his team again and got no answer. Fuckers.
Where were they?
As the Choices proceeded forward, a horrible realisation dawned on Delta. From the angle he was watching at, he realised he couldn’t make out a lot of detail. He pressed a button on his keyboard. The camera turned to night vision, giving the image on his screen a green glow. He zoomed in and realised what must have happened. The bodies
were
his team.
They weren’t fake after all. The bodies were
real
.
Delta choked on his drink.
Impossible!
The Choices couldn’t have killed them, surely? He would have seen it on the screen.
Looking at the corpses, he realised that they hadn’t been killed by gunshots. One body was headless. Two had been disembowelled and the fourth was pinned to the wall with a knife: a knife that had penetrated a bulletproof vest! Stabbing like that would take a lot of strength. There was no way the Choices could have done such a thing.
Delta stroked his chin. Then he realised what he had to do.
He dialled a number on his phone. Three seconds later, he received an answer. “Yes. . . Delta. . . Yes, I need another team. My old team? Have you not been watching? Oh that’s right, you just work there. Okay, yes, another squad. I had four people, they were armed. They were killed in The Game. No, I don’t know what killed them. Yes. Thanks.”
Delta was sweating. He was not at all sure how this might affect his Game. He swallowed the remainder of his drink and breathed deeply.