The Survivor (47 page)

It was perfect.

Shen Sun watched the boy take off the hockey mask and place it on the ground beside them. When the girl started vomiting, and the boy held her hair back from her face, Shen Sun took advantage. He snatched up the mask, then moved on through the crowd. As he went, he pulled it over his head, feeling the cold plastic stick to the flesh of his face. His body became flushed with adrenalin. It was as if he was back at the school again. Back at St Patrick’s High.

At the beginning of the mission, and not at the end.

On the far side of the park, away from the hustle and bustle of the Halloween bash, a white catering van was parked alongside the kerb.
Hobbes Meats
. Sitting in the passenger seat was a fat white man. A
jin mao ho
. Shen Sun seized the moment. He quickly crossed the park.

When he came up beside the driver’s window, he looked around and, seeing no sign of the cops, he rapped on the glass and got the man’s attention. ‘Why are you not in celebration?’ he asked.

The man rolled down his window. As he turned his head to speak, he coughed violently and his many ripples of neck fat quivered. He snorted and spat out the window.

‘Hockey mask. Nice costume, kid – you spend all night dreamin’ up that one?’

‘Why you wait?’

The man nodded at the roadblock on Charles Street, where bundles of partygoers were waiting for the band to start playing. ‘Who are you, the parking police? It’s my last load of the day, and I got here late. Can’t make my drop till they lift the roadblock.’ He sighed tiredly. ‘What do you care anyway?’

‘Drive down alley,’ Shen Sun replied. He pointed back across the road. When the man turned his head to look, Shen Sun brought up his gun and smashed the butt end down over the back of the man’s head. The driver let out a soft moan, his body went limp and he slumped down between the seats.

Shen Sun opened the door, pushed him right off the seat, and climbed in behind the wheel.

‘Head . . .’ the driver muttered. ‘What hap . . . what . . . what . . .’

‘Remain silent.’

‘You . . . you can’t—’

‘I can.’ Shen Sun brought the Glock down as hard as he could on the back of the man’s skull, several times. He did this until the grip of the gun was wet and the man made no more sounds, but just lay there like one of the sacks of meat he was delivering.

Strapped to the man’s belt was a set of keys. Shen Sun removed them. He climbed out of the vehicle, opened the back doors to be sure the keys worked, then locked them, feeling pleased.

Everything was set.

Hockey mask on, Shen Sun walked back across the park to the Drive.

Up ahead, a man dressed as a red devil set fire to a pair of metal balls on chains, then started swinging them in large figure eights. The crowd made a long
ooooh
sound as the fiery balls rolled through the air in wide uneven circles.

Shen Sun took the opportunity to study the faces. So many wore masks, and that was frustrating, but he believed that neither of the girls would do this. Why hide themselves? They were beautiful young girls. Ready to mate. No doubt they would dress in something to attract the opposite sex.

He was counting on it.

Sixty seconds later, the fire-show continued and Shen Sun finished surveying the crowd. Neither girl was in the immediate vicinity, so he moved on. He passed the bus stop, where a clown and a fairy were making out, and was about to continue when he came to an abrupt stop.

The woman cop was there. On the sidewalk. Her face was grim, but there was something else in her expression, too. Nervousness? Anxiety? No, that was incorrect.

Relief
.

She had found something.

He watched her intently as she hurried south along the Drive, then crossed the street to the east. He followed, keeping close, and heard her call out: ‘Courtney! Courtney!’

Shen Sun’s heart constricted in his chest like a knot of rope. He followed the woman cop with his eyes, making certain he did not lose her. Moments later, when she pushed past a group of boys dressed as pirates, Shen Sun caught his first glimpse of Riku – the girl who would make his mission complete. And of Courtney – the girl who would serve as a cruel reminder for the rest of Detective Striker’s life.

The girls were together.

Together.

Shen Sun smiled at his good fortune.

Ninety-Two

Striker reached First Avenue, where one of the Special Constables had set up a roadblock, preventing the traffic from turning north on Commercial. The Constable was a young kid, about nineteen, with a hooked nose.

‘Hey, kid,’ Striker said. He held up his badge to get the boy’s attention. ‘You see either of these two girls?’ He showed him his BlackBerry and paged between the photographs.

The kid scratched his chin. ‘There’s been a lot of girls.’

Striker’s BlackBerry buzzed. He turned away from the boy, looked at the screen, and read the incoming text:
Got them B4 U. Turks Coffee Shop
.

Striker replied immediately:
Only 5 blocks. Meet U there
.

He looked down the Drive. Turk’s Coffee Shop was not far under normal circumstances, but in this crowd it seemed like miles. Everywhere he looked, something blocked him – a guy on stilts, roaming the street; a tall makeshift billboard, selling next year’s Parade; and the outcrop of the stage, which cut Commercial Drive in half. Compounding all this was the firework and firecracker smoke – it floated through the air, ghostlike, greying everything in its path.

Striker frowned. Something didn’t feel right. His instincts were screaming. And before he knew it, he was fighting his way through the crowd, shoving people out of his way.

‘Asshole!’

‘Jerk!’

‘. . . the hell he think he is . . .’

The comments were endless, and he didn’t care. He pushed on with even greater force, until he made it to within a block of the coffee shop. At first, he saw nothing, and he hoped they had already left for the police cruiser, but then he spotted Felicia and the girls a half block down.

A cop, a nurse, and Little Red Riding Hood.

Striker crossed Charles Street, spotted the man in the hockey mask, and his entire body tensed. Flashbacks of the school shootings bombarded him, and at first, he thought he was reliving memories of the past.

But something about the man gave Striker the creeps. He was facing Felicia and the girls, just standing there, watching them. They were his entire focus. They were everything.

Striker ran towards them.

As he did so, the bass guitarist from the band jumped up on one of the stage speakers and began his intro. ‘You monsters having a good time?’ he yelled, and the crowd began to cheer.

Stage fireworks exploded, sending waves of green and red and orange flame into the air, and were followed by more trails of thick grey smoke. Someone set off a series of firecrackers.
Bang-bang-bang-bang-BANG!

Striker sprinted down the sidewalk, slicing the crowd in two, knocking people over and sending them onto their asses. When the crowd thinned for a patch, Striker scanned the area, but could no longer see Felicia or the girls. An icy coldness pierced his heart, and he knew instinctively:

Shen Sun was here.

Ninety-Three

Shen Sun saw the two girls – one dressed in red and black, the other dressed as a nurse. The woman cop was beside them. They were so close. A gift from the spirits.

A gift from Tran.

He adjusted the mask, reached behind his back and felt the gun. The magazine had five rounds left, which was not a lot. He didn’t want to use one single bullet.

Not yet.

With this in mind, Shen Sun cut across the road, snaking in between the partygoers. They danced and stumbled and paraded all around him, each trying to close in on the stage as the band geared up and blasted their music into the night. The burned-gunpowder scent filled Shen Sun’s head as he closed in on his targets.

The woman cop was looking the other way.

In one quick motion, Shen Sun pulled out his Glock. He held it by the barrel, raised it high, then slammed the steel butt down towards the back of her head. She sensed the blow coming, and at the last second turned, but it was too late. The gun smashed into her face with as much force as he could deliver.

Her head snapped hard and she dropped. Both the girls screamed, and suddenly one of the teenage boys dressed in a yellow uniform reached out for Shen Sun. Shen Sun easily pistol-whipped him to the ground. Another boy standing nearby took off through the crowd.

‘Get away from us!’ Courtney screamed. The girls turned and confronted him.

He pointed his pistol at them. ‘Escape is forbidden. If one runs, both die.’

Courtney’s mouth opened and she nodded slowly, as if understanding the command, or at the very least understanding the direness of the situation. Riku Kwan just stood there, her hand over her mouth. Her drunken face was a smear of disbelief.

‘Felicia!’ a voice called. ‘FELICIA!’

Shen Sun turned. He looked south and spotted the gwailo. The cop was rampaging through the crowd. People were flying in his wake. The rage and fear and determination on his face were palpable. Simple escape was no longer an option. He needed something to slow the cop down. A diversion. Chaos. Pandemonium. Like . . .

A frantic mob.

Shen Sun aimed his pistol. He fired twice, once to the east, where the crowd was massing in front of the stage, and once to the south, where the gwailo was coming from.

The blasts were loud, deafening, unlike any of the firecrackers; and for the first time, people stopped partying. They turned around and looked at him. Really looked at him. At his stance. At his mask. At the gun in his hand.

A scream filled the air: ‘She’s been shot – someone shot her. She’s been SHOT!’

And more followed:

‘Gun gun gun – he’s got a GUN!’

‘Fuckin’ nutcase!
Run
!’

The crowd exploded. Turned mob. Survival instincts took over. The partygoers scrambled in all directions. Dropping their drinks. Fighting for escape. Crushing the others before them.

When Shen Sun turned back to face the girls, they stood frozen. He reached out and grabbed hold of Courtney, pointed his pistol at Riku Kwan.

‘Move away from crowd.’ He flicked his pistol to show the way.

When Riku hesitated, he struck her across the face, splitting her lips.

She let out a wail. ‘Please, we don’t even know—’

‘Move, or be killed!’

He wasn’t sure if she heard him or not, but the pain woke her. She did as instructed. When the crowd thinned, Shen Sun turned the girls through the rolling masses into Grandview Park. Towards the van he had commandeered.

Escape was just a grass field away.

Ninety-Four

Striker saw Shen Sun cut north through the crowd with both Courtney and Raine as his hostages. One moment they were there, the next they were gone, swallowed up by the mob.

‘COURTNEY!’ he screamed.

He plunged forward, fought to race after them, but was knocked back by wave after wave of terrified, drunk party-goers. People screamed, cried out, grabbed on to him and begged him for help. He shoved past them all. Courtney was out there somewhere. He had to get to her.

She was everything.

He worked his way north, paralleling the coffee shops and convenience stores of the Drive. When he reached Turk’s Coffee Shop, he found Felicia squatting on her knees against the patio railing. Trying to get up.

She’d be trampled if she stayed there.

In one quick motion, he reached down, snagged her wrist and hauled her to her feet, out of the path of the frenzied mob. She teetered momentarily, but managed to stand.

‘You okay?’ he asked her.

She looked back vacantly, blood running down the left side of her chin. Then mumbled, ‘Go after him.’

Striker held her up on her feet, moved her to the safety of the coffee-shop entrance and got her to lean on the wall. With her safely out of the way, he then grabbed on to the drainpipe and climbed on top of the steel gate that separated the coffee-shop patio from the sidewalk. He scanned the mob.

It took ten seconds to find them.

Shen Sun was forcing the girls across the field, deeper into Grandview Park.

Striker jumped down. He told Felicia to stay put, then dove through the crowd. When he reached the other side of the Drive, he hopped onto the stage and raced across it. He leaped off the other side, entered the park, and spotted Shen Sun slamming shut the rear door of a white commercial van.

‘SHEN SUN SOONE!’ he bellowed.

He raised his pistol, took quick aim, and lost the gunman when a swarm of teenagers fled in front of him. Gun in hand, he raced through the park. He was barely halfway across when the van’s tail-lights flashed red. Threequarters across when the van pulled out of the parking spot and sped north on Cotton Drive.

‘Stop!’ he screamed. ‘STOP!’

Cotton Drive was a dead-end road. It connected with William Street and turned west, away from Britannia High School. Away from the Drive.

Striker angled his run across the park towards the school. He reached the common area just in time to see the white van speed west on William Street, turn north at the next block, and like a drowning person, slip just out of view.

Striker snagged his BlackBerry from its pouch and dialled 911 while running. When the operator answered, he blurted out his badge and rank and told them his daughter had just been kidnapped by Shen Sun Soone. He gave the location, a description of the van, and the last known direction of travel. With his lungs burning, he reached Odlum Street.

The van was nowhere to be seen.

He sprinted down to Napier.

Nothing.

Down to Parker.

Nothing.

Then all the way down to Venables Street, running till his legs ached and he felt he would collapse.

And still nothing.

Finally, he stopped. Let his hands fall to his sides. The only thing he felt was the heavy pulse of blood thudding through his temples. Gone. Courtney was gone. Taken by the madman just as God had taken Amanda.