Zero Alternative (35 page)

‘I’m sorry, man…’

Pienaar’s fist hit him just below the ear and Walker crumpled to the ground with a metallic noise as his backpack half-cushioned the fall. He groaned and tried to slip his arms through the straps but Pienaar kicked him hard in the stomach, driving the wind out of him. ‘I told you to be quiet.’

The Australian was about to hit him again when Layla raised her voice. ‘Enough! The stuff you want is in Scott’s rucksack. Take it and leave us alone. You win.’

Pienaar stepped back from Walker’s prone body and pointed his gun at her. ‘Shut up, bitch. If you had done your job instead of disappearing with this idiot –’ he waved the light at the trader’s face, just as he struggled to get back up – ‘we wouldn’t have to go through all this
unpleasantness
.’

‘You tried to kill me.’

‘Not my call. The client felt a bit rushed.’

‘Because you murdered a man.’ Layla’s tone was angry, defiant. Walker managed to get back to his knees, scared but proud of her courage. ‘You’re a monster, Francois. And a stupid one at that,’ she spat.

Pienaar slid forward and slapped her hard, sending her tumbling onto a mattress, just a step away from Mosha and his guard. She rolled sideways, then pushed off one of her elbows and crouched, knees bent. Walker saw that her lip was split as she struggled up.

The Aussie grinned. ‘Do you like her, Temur?’

The man in the ski-mask grunted and Pienaar nodded. ‘Maybe I’ll let you have a go, after I’m done with her.’ He stepped forward, pointing his torch at Layla’s face.

‘The lady is right, big man.’ Mosha’s voice stopped him. ‘Take what you came for, and run. If you hurt any of us… my friends will come after you, forever. They will squash you like a bug.’

Pienaar spun, angry. ‘I know about you, you fucking Serb. And I’m not worried about the Neapolitans. Dead men don’t talk.’

‘How did you find us?’ Walker croaked, trying to gain some time. He didn’t know what for, but things were crashing too quickly. He climbed back to his feet, the rucksack discarded.

Pienaar swivelled and punched him again, hard. He holstered his gun as Walker doubled over, then clubbed him on the back of the neck, dropping him. Walker’s face hit the floor and he struggled to breathe. Pain shot through his limbs, his insides on fire. He tried to inhale deep and push the suffering aside, as he would in the ring.
It’s only pain
. He prepared himself for another
blow, but the Australian just stood over him.

‘Is it all in there? Your stupid program?’

‘Yes…’ Walker coughed, dragging himself to one knee. ‘Everything’s in the storage driver.’

Pienaar grabbed his hair, forcing his head up. ‘No fancy tricks, like the last time?’

‘No…’

A shout echoed from outside the hotel and they all froze. Pienaar pressed his hand to the receiver in his ear, then turned to Mosha. ‘What the fuck is this?’

The Serb stood, a tentative smile on his lips. ‘No idea, but it sounds good…’

Pienaar swore, looking around the room. He nodded to Temur and growled, ‘Kill him.’

Balaclava-man raised his gun and Mosha dove away. The assailant managed to fire off a shot just as Layla sprang from the floor, tackling his legs. They both went down and Walker saw a flash of metal as she tried to free her knife. Then he reacted, bending lower to grab his rucksack.

Pienaar was about to pull out his pistol when Walker hit him with the heavy bag, swinging with all his strength. He caught the Australian across the shoulder and the gun flew away through the open door, into the large hall beyond.

Feinting to the right, Walker dodged left and squeezed past Pienaar as he recovered from the blow. He glimpsed Mosha lying on a mattress and heard a shout from Temur as he struggled with Layla, before another gunshot echoed. Then he rushed through the door, eyes scanning the floor for the Aussie’s weapon. He heard footsteps behind him and saw the barrel glinting in a shaft of moonlight. He dived for it but just as his fingers closed around the grip Pienaar’s heavy body landed on his back. The old wooden boards screamed and they crashed through the floor, tumbling into darkness.

Tunnels

Layla rolled on top of Temur, struggling to keep his gun away from her chest. The man shifted below her, shoving back, and she realised he was too strong to hold down. She let her grip slacken for a second, allowing him to turn his shoulder, then pivoted and kneed him in the crotch. Temur’s body convulsed, breath exploding out of his mouth when she hit him again, savagely.

As his body contorted she pushed off, drawing her knife and bringing it up in a smooth movement. The blade slashed his throat as she swung it back, before thrusting it down into his chest, again and again. The steel sank deep with a soft, squelching sound of freed blood. Steady rhythm, grunts, a letting of fear and anger and frustration.

Seconds passed, until a loud noise brought Layla back from her frenzy. She breathed in and stood up, glancing at Mosha’s prone body and Temur’s bloodied torso.

Neither was moving.

Knife in hand, she sprinted into the main hall and saw a cloud of dust floating up from a large hole in the floor. She grabbed someone’s discarded torch, approached the edge and looked down, into the void. Rubbish and broken timbers shone back at her, a cloud of dust still floating upwards.

Pienaar’s voice drifted out of the chasm, angry, followed by the noises of a fight. The hole was maybe five yards deep, the bottom a mess of debris. She was about to look for a way down when Walker’s shout echoed from below, followed by the mad Australian’s laughter. Without a second thought Layla closed her eyes and jumped into the gap, preparing for the impact.

Walker fell for what seemed a very long time, in the end landing awkwardly on his shoulder, the wind driven out of him. He rolled to the side, left arm spasming as he bumped against a broken board, splinters penetrating his skin. He shook his head and tried to clear his vision as he got up, then dropped again to one knee to avoid Pienaar’s fist.
Jesus, he’s fast
. The big Australian was on him, unleashing a flurry of punches that he struggled to block in the dim light, stepping sideways, away from the hole in the ceiling.

Pienaar stopped chasing and glanced around, bending to grab a long beam of wood to swing it in a wide circle. Walker scanned the floor as well, found nothing. He backed out of range, swiveled
and ducked at the last second, the staff grazing the top of his head. He knew he needed some weapon but Pienaar was harrying him, and he was too busy trying to dodge the staff’s sweeps. He feinted and jumped to his left, going for a kick to the Aussie’s legs but the big man just danced back, twirling the beam in his hands and stubbing him in the stomach.

Walker doubled over and slid back; his left foot tangled in some old cable and he stumbled to the floor. The shaft cracked against his left wrist and he shouted in pain, driven down by the force of the impact. Pienaar cackled and closed up to him, lifting his arms for a final blow.

Something heavy dropped to the ground a few yards away and they both froze for an instant. Walker glanced sideways and saw Layla, crouched, pointing a torch at them. She stood and brought her right hand back, then snapped it forward again. A bright shadow flashed through the air, just intersecting the light beam. It hit with a solid noise and Pienaar growled in pain, turning away. Layla’s combat knife was stuck in his shoulder blade, more than halfway to the hilt.

Someone shouted ‘Francois!’ from the room above and a gunshot echoed.

Walker saw Layla stumble, heard her cry out. He struggled back to his feet just as she half-fell, half-jumped to hide behind a mountain of rubbish. Fear and rage exploded more adrenaline through his muscles and he slashed into Pienaar’s legs, almost knocking him over. Arm pulsing with pain, he spun and pushed off his left foot, connecting with a right cross that sent the Aussie reeling backwards.

Pienaar recovered, tried to swing the beam and his shoulder caught, Layla’s knife still buried in his back. He grimaced and dropped his staff. Another gunshot crackled but they were hidden away from the hole, deeper into the tunnel. Walker ignored it and attacked in a flash, feinting to the head and landing a couple of uppercuts to the midriff, just missing the solar plexus. The Aussie grunted and swayed, still holding his stance. Walker feinted again, dipped his right shoulder and whipped his torso around, letting his abdominal and dorsal muscles generate torque as he went for a massive left hook to the face. His arm rang with pain as the fist connected but Pienaar’s nose burst and he stumbled and fell back onto a large pile of debris.

The Australian landed with a thud, his eyes widening in shock. He convulsed and screamed, an animal wail of suffering so intense the thick air shook with it. Walker bent and glanced down, hands finding the discarded wooden beam. A thin rod was coming out of Pienaar’s right calf, like a skeletal finger dripping with blood. The Australian had impaled himself on a steel pipe, its sharp tip entering the back of his upper leg to burst out just above the knee.
Finish him. Now
. Walker
inhaled and stepped forward, swinging his makeshift staff. Somehow Pienaar parried it with his forearm and the wood broke, splintering.

Letting the momentum carry him Walker pivoted on his left foot, slicing back just as the Aussie struggled to free his leg. The tip of the beam lashed his face and Pienaar’s head bounced against the low mountain of rubbish. Walker maneuvered the broken timber, pressing it against the big man’s throat, pinning him back.

Pienaar’s good arm shot up to try and shove it away but Walker leaned forward with his entire weight, choking him. Rivulets of blood appeared as the splintered end dug into the Australian’s skin and his pupils widened in panic. Walker hesitated for a second, uncertain, before Luigi’s face and DM’s tortured remains ghosted through his mind. Howling in rage and grief he braced himself and pushed harder, his entire body shaking with the effort. The world went blank for a few seconds, then he felt something break and he blinked, finding himself staring into the whites of Pienaar’s eyes. The Australian’s arms shook for a couple of heartbeats, up and down, before his fingers unclasped and his body went slack.

Walker stepped back, sucking in the stale air. His hands trembled as he glanced down at the dead killer, blood dripping from the battered mouth and nose. Pienaar looked like a giant broken toy, the scar on the right side of his face spotted red. Walker half-expected blackness to be oozing out of him instead of blood. He thought of DM and Luigi, wondered if they could see him now. Wondered if they felt better, somehow.

He didn’t.

The coldness in his stomach had just gotten worse, if anything. There was an emptiness that dead bodies could never fill, he guessed.

Another gunshot echoed in the underground corridor and he glimpsed someone’s feet, still hovering on the far side of the hole he had fallen through. The fucking Frenchman, probably. He checked around and found the pile of stones and junk behind which Layla was hiding. The gunman was stepping around the edges of the fissure, looking for a safe way down.

‘Layla, can you move?’ he hissed.

‘I… I don’t know.’ Her voice was full of pain and Walker’s heart skipped a beat. Had she been hit, and where?

‘Pienaar’s dead, I’m coming for you.’

‘No, wait. The guy’ll shoot you…’

Walker ignored her and rushed forward, dodging as he heard another gunshot crackle close. He dived behind Layla’s refuge and came up, his left arm a mass of twisted nerves. She was half-crouched, leaning on a thick broken plank. He reached for her and slid his hand on her hip – her legging was drenched in blood. ‘Fuck. We need to go, before he finds a way down.’

Layla ground her teeth and croaked, ‘Go where?’

‘Into the tunnel, over there.’ Walker pointed towards Pienaar’s body. ‘It follows on under the ground floor, and will connect to other service passageways.’

‘But…’ Layla struggled up, then collapsed again. ‘You said you weren’t sure you could find the way.’

‘Do you have a better idea?’

‘No.’ She leaned on him and groaned, her face twisted.

‘Can you walk?’

‘I’ll try.’

Walker helped her up and placed his right arm under her armpit. He grabbed a stone with his other hand, ignoring the screaming in his shoulder, and threw it across the tunnel under the gaping hole above. A couple of gunshots echoed and they staggered the other way, stumbling under the protection of the whole part of the roof, past Pienaar’s body and into the darkness beyond.

He half-carried Layla through twists and turns into the maze-like corridors, pausing often to check his surroundings with the tiny flame of his lighter. Minutes passed, maybe a dozen. The tunnels were still in decent shape, though cracks often appeared along walls and in the limestone ceiling. The floor was covered in dust and the odd pile of rubble, broken cables sneaking along to some forgotten machine. He cursed himself, trying to remember the general layout as they struggled along. Layla didn’t complain but was slowing too often – he could hear her gritting her teeth and her breathing had become more ragged. A small noise made him turn his head and he realised that footsteps were bouncing their way from some passage behind. God only knew how close or far away they were.

He forced himself not to think of the tall Frenchman hunting them and just pushed through narrowing passageways, deeper into the ground and, he hoped, away from the abandoned hotel. Eventually they reached a larger cave-like room, the roof disappearing into darkness. Walker found and lit a small stick before looking around: three smaller tunnels opened away on the far and side walls, yawning blackness back at him. A few broken crates sat abandoned in the middle of the
floor. He could feel a faint breeze and his mind flashed back to twenty years earlier. He knew where they were. The hotel had used the cave to stash coal and gasoline.

Layla groaned, her voice strained. ‘Scott, I can’t do it anymore.’

He bent down and checked her calf again – the gunshot wound still bled, but it looked like the femoral artery was not spurting. The problem was that if the bullet had only nicked it she might still tear it open. And then she’d be dead in a couple of minutes. He took a deep breath, struggling to calm down and think. ‘We’ve almost made it, I swear. You can do it.’