A Shot In The Night (John Harper Series Book 2) (28 page)

The shooter relocated to his original shooting
position after he had fired upon the man on the roof.  He took his time firing
on the driver of the van.  Strangely he thought of it as being a merciful
shooting since the man was trapped and injured in a vehicle that was close to a
raging fire.  It was also one of the most difficult shots he had to make since
the Armoured Public Order Vehicle had a protective metal grille over the
windscreen.  The shot went through the small opening and into the officer
eliciting a nod of approval for his own shooting from the gunman.

Firing a couple more shots into the van, he
encouraged the armed police officers to get out.  One of them stumbled out of
the back, dazed and confused.  Wearing a black uniform with a helmet and black
mask there was nothing to identify the man which made it slightly easier when
the gunman placed the rifle crosshairs on the officer's head and pulled the
trigger.

Another person dead and these were supposed to be
the protectors of the service.  Two police cars had parked down the road near
where he had made his original shots.  They thought they were out of his range
but they were far too close.  He fired into the engines of both twice, aiming
to immobilise the vehicles.  The occupants wisely stayed behind cover.

Smiling at how well he was doing, the man fired on
windows on both floors of the police station, shattering the reinforced glass. 
No one had remained near the windows since he had opened fire.  The majority of
the staff had made their way to the hallways or down to the detention area
since there were no windows and the risk of breaking glass was therefore
negligible.

Still there were three men in the reception area who
had removed the injured staff and were now trying to make their way out to the
van and what was left of the two policemen that had been stuck behind the low
wall.  The man who had risked his life for his comrade was still breathing, a
guttural sound as his lungs filled with blood. Somehow he had managed to prop
himself up on the wall with his one remaining good hand which was coloured
crimson.  It seemed black to the men who watched desperately from the reception
area, using a broken mirror attached to a nightstick to peer around the corner.

The natural light of the day was fading and it was
not even four o'clock in the afternoon, only one exterior lamp shone valiantly
on the front of the station, the others destroyed in the carnage.  With the
fire, that was once a car, sending flickering light across the area it was
difficult to see in the deep shadows.

Still the gunman could make out the reflection from
the mirror and instead of shooting it and driving the would-be rescuers back
inside he hurled one of his remaining grenades towards them.  Since he was
throwing from the confines of the house it was more of a slinging action and as
such he lacked the velocity or the accuracy of earlier attacks.  It landed near
the small wall and rolled into the curb before exploding.  Shrapnel embedded
itself in the damaged van, other pieces ricocheted away but the dull thud of
metal on metal rung out across the cold winter street. 

Disappointed with the outcome of his throw, the
shooter reluctantly picked up an elasticated slingshot.  He had seen kids use
them to hurl bottles across houses and knew the strength of the weapon. 
Placing another grenade on the carrier he drew back, pulled out the pin and let
it fly through the air.  He had practiced with the thing a couple of times out
in fields and hoped that his accuracy remained true.  It was a dangerous
delivery method; if the grenade fell out then it could have quite easily blown
up literally in the shooter's face.  However it did not and after bouncing off
the underside of a window frame it landed in the second storey window of the
police station and detonated.

He opened fire a couple more times on the van and
heard a scream of pain meaning one of his shots had found a home in the body of
a person.  The gunman had surprisingly clarity, hearing the yell over the blood
pounding in his ears and the crackling and snapping coming from the fire.  It
was nearly time to leave so he turned his rifle upon the original drug dealers
who were being transported earlier in the day.  From the angle of the house he
was in he could make out the body of one of them hunkered down next to the rear
wheel.  Taking careful aim he went to pull the trigger when a loud detonation
went off inside the house.  It echoed loudly underneath him and the gunman
shook his head in respect.  They had found him sooner than expected but unless
he was very much mistaken the police had once again fallen into one of his
traps.

Before I entered the house I made a brief phone
call, “Spencer, listen to me,” I whispered before the other man could speak,
“I'm near the Elsworth police station and am currently about to enter the house
the gunman is using.  It is on the corner next to the petrol station, probably
the most obvious of locations but he has got the armed response pinned down.  I
have a radio but don't know if it is secure which is why I'm calling you.  If I
don't make it out, I'll try and at least slow the bastard down for you.  Once I
hang up wait for my call.”

“Harper, we're on our way, just stop him from
leaving the building.”

“Can't do that.  He's taking pot shots out there and
we can't have any more of our people getting killed because of me,” I ended the
call and switched off the radio on my hip.  I inched closer to the sliding
glass doors.  There was a smaller window above me but the blinds were down so I
couldn't see inside.  I was about to attempt to push open the door when I saw
the wire attached to it.  Shaking my head for nearly forgetting what Rich had
told me to do I took out a penknife and equipped the scissors.  Slowly I slid
the two shining blades through the gap and cut the wire without detonating
whatever it was attached to.

Checking that there were no more traps I opened the
door enough to enter and seeing the flashbang next to the entrance.  I moved
inside with the pistol raised.  As far as I knew the gunman was upstairs but
there could be more traps for me.  I kept my weapon trained on the stairway as
I entered the kitchen to see an injured woman tied to a chair.  Crossing over
to her, I put a finger to my lips before whispering in her ear, “Where is he?”

I leant back and she looked up towards the ceiling,
“Okay, I need you to get out of here.  Go out the back and climb into your
neighbour's garden.  Try and remain hidden, and please be quiet,” I said to her
as I cut the rope around her arms and feet.  She had obviously been there for
sometime as I could smell the odour of dried urine and when she tried to stand
she struggled.  Reluctantly I picked her up in my arms and carried her out of
the backdoor.  By that time she had removed the duct tape on her mouth.

In a rasping voice she murmured, “My husband.  He is
still in the house.”

“Okay, I'll get him out,” I was confused, wondering
if she was suggesting her husband was the shooter but as much as most spouses
would want to tie up and gag their partners I doubted the gunman would leave
such an obvious witness alive.  It also ran against my profile I had created
for the man.  Once the woman was over the fence I came up with a plan.

Entering the house once more I tied the two ends of
the wire I had cut and hid in the living room.  I covered my ears and eyes as I
yanked on the metal, pulling the pin out of the flashbang.  The explosion was
much worse than on the roof as I was in the confined area of the house.  This
time I was expecting it and my precautions stopped me from any serious damage. 
Now all I could do was wait for the gunman to come downstairs since I did not
want to try and go up to him if there were more surprises like the one on the
door.

The flashbang however had ignited and a small fire
started on the drapes that hung at the side of the sliding door.  Smoke wafted
through to the living room but I was focused on my mission.  I heard creaking
as a man walked down the stairs.  My eyes remained focused on the reflection in
the window which was beginning to be obscured by flames but was clear enough to
make out the shape of a man.

He entered the dining room from the hallway with a
weapon out before him much like I had done earlier and I stepped out behind
him, pistol raised, “Drop the bag and the gun.  Then interlace your fingers and
put your hands behind your head or I will shoot you where you stand.”

A low chuckle escaped the man as he let the pistol
in his right hand spin on his finger as he slowly turned towards me.  However
much I expected what he was going to do next I wasn’t ready for it when the
gunman spun quickly and threw the gun in my direction and moved towards me. 
The weapon hit my arm but I still managed to fire off a round hitting the man
in his shoulder before he ran into me.  He hit me surprisingly hard knocking me
off my feet and through a dining chair.  My pistol left my grip which was
fortunate as I needed my hands to protect myself as the shooter kicked me
whilst I was on the ground.  I caught one said kick and twisted his foot till
he was off balance and also fell to the soft cream carpet, his blood staining
the floor as smoke swirled around us.

He kicked out and we both rolled to our feet but he
was faster than me and drew a knife from a sheath on his belt.  I could see him
better now he was facing me.  His clothing was a black tracksuit with black
trainers, underneath the jacket he had on a hooded jumper, the hood of which
was up.  The hood hid his features but that was greatly helped by a motorbike
mask which had an eerie image of a skeletal face on it.  The ghostly jawline
seemed to smile as he tilted his head slowly to the left and then slashed at
me.  I moved away from the weapon but wasn’t fast enough to dodge the cut that
went through my coat, jacket and shirt and deep into the flesh of my left
shoulder.  Although I couldn’t see the man’s eyes, I kept any pain out of my
face and stared at him.  We circled each other as he feinted and slashed at the
air.  He stabbed at me with his the knife in his right hand and I blocked it
with my right forearm before whipping my body round and elbowing my attacker in
the face with my left arm.  It caught him on the temple and wobbled him.

Quickly I pressed my advantage by grabbing his knife
hand and wrenching the arm, breaking his grip on the blade.  However the man
was not going quietly and, although dazed by my elbow attack, he headbutted me,
sending me reeling.

Now unarmed he once again hurled his body, wounded
shoulder and all, through the air, spear tackling me over the table.  We slid
over the varnished wood and to the ground and then out of the glass doors.  Due
to the flashbang detonating, the doors had cracked but the combined weight of
two grown men brawling was enough to finish the destruction.  Rolling over the
shattered glass we separated but once again I was slower and received a kick in
the face for my troubles.  The murderer turned and ran from me, racing towards
the fence at the bottom of the garden.  I scrambled back inside and grabbed at
my fallen Browning, firing twice after him but I struggled with my accuracy due
to sensory impairment from the explosives and other physical injuries.

Standing, I ran as best I could to the fence to
watch the shooter sprinting towards a car, the bag on his back jangling as he
moved.  I fired after him, this time my aim was better as I rested on the
wooden partition.  I hit the bonnet with three shots, the rear and front tires
with two shots each and clipped the man’s leg before I had to take cover myself
as the gunman returned fire with a revolver.  Once he had expended six shots, I
popped my head above the fence but could not see my foe.

I wanted to chase after the man but with the added
oxygen in the dining room the flames had grown and were now licking outside of
the house.  Inside there was still someone trapped I was led to believe and
although on a very personal level I knew the best decision would be to leave
that man and hunt down the gunman who had been terrorizing the street, I
couldn’t leave someone to burn to death.  Holstering the pistol once more in my
waistband I dove back into the burning house.  Hoping the wounds I had
inflicted on the shooter would hinder him enough for me to catch up with him I
ran up the stairs.

Smoke filled my lungs and stung my eyes as I made my
way higher and deeper into the house.  Coughing and spluttering I tried my best
to stay low and near the good air as I searched the rooms.  It was only when I
reached the bedroom opposite the police station did I realize how bad a
situation I was in.  The owner of the house wearing camouflage uniform was unconscious
and didn’t wake even when I cut his hands and legs free from the rope binding. 
He was still breathing which was a good thing but he had also been doused in
petroleum as had the room.  The smell was strong enough to overpower the aroma
of smoke that followed me up the stairs.

I crossed the man’s arms over his chest and put my
hands under his armpits and proceeded to drag him out of the room and, with
much effort, down the stairs. Before I reached the bottom though I took off my
coat and wrapped it around the man.  The air was thick with smoke and I was
struggling for air.  However in a feat of incredible strength on my behalf I
shouldered the man and ran though the flames of the dining room and out into
the garden where I proceeded to unceremoniously drop the man as I collapsed in
a heap, sucking down cold mouthfuls of air.

Of course I could have broken my way out of the
front door and avoided the fire but in the current situation I didn’t want to
risk being shot by someone after making a grand entrance like that.  Secure in
the knowledge I had rescued two people from certain death I struggled to my
feet and after patting out a small fire on the homeowner’s trouser leg I made
my way to the fence and after my enemy.