Page 247 of The Black Trilogy

Phillip had been crucified. Rusty nails pierced his palms and ankles, thin rivulets of congealed blood seeping from the holes and taking their natural course towards the floor. His head slumped towards his stomach, where his intestines spilled out through a ten-inch gash. Some monster had caught them in a bucket, and they lay swollen in a pool of blood and faecal matter. The stench choked me. Putrid fumes coated the back of my throat like a thin layer of fur, and I gagged as my stomach tried to evacuate. Flies rose around my head as I stepped forward with my camera, ready to take an identification photo. I hated to do it, but I’d been trained to complete a job no matter what. Work came first.

Work always came first.

Then Phillip coughed.

If I’d felt ill before, that quiet splutter multiplied my urge to throw up by a factor of ten. I hated this part of my work. The part that fuelled my nightmares. The part I needed to talk out with Black afterwards to keep my sanity.

“Leave,” I told the other two.

“We have to do something…” Logan began.

“Leave.”

Jed caught my eye and understood what I was about to do. He backed out of the room with Logan following.

I walked over to Phillip and caressed what was left of his cheek. If nothing else, he’d know at the end someone cared. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

Then where the back of his neck was exposed, I drove my trusty Emerson CQC-7 through his brain stem. One twist of the knife, and the light in his remaining eye blinked out.

He wasn’t suffering anymore, but that didn’t make it any easier. Turn off the emotions, Emmy. I grabbed my tiny camera and snapped a burst of photos: face, torso, mangled extremities. Don’t think; don’t think; don’t think. For a brief second, I’d been glad it was Phillip hanging there. Why? Because it wasn’t Jed.

And I hated myself for that.

As I stepped into the corridor, a commotion sounded from around the corner, followed almost immediately by the pew pew pew of a rifle on full-auto. The horrors of the night were far from over.

Instinct took over, and I jumped over the body of a guard, lying on the floor as he breathed his last. Footsteps echoing off the concrete walls told me reinforcements were on their way. I stripped off the abaya so I could move properly and grabbed the dead guy’s still-warm rifle from the stained concrete.

“Move,” I barked at the other two. We didn’t have time to waste.

Jed tried to hide his injuries, but every time he landed on his left leg, his face twisted up in pain. Logan half carried him as they ran, which left me to cover the back and sides. I sensed movement to my right and took out two soldiers before they raised their guns. One round each. I needed to conserve ammo. Up ahead, Jed shot another, using the hand not hanging on to Logan.

Things only got worse outside. Soldiers appeared from every direction, forcing us backwards. We ended up hunkered down between an old tank and a raised bank as the moon lit up the grim scene before us. I glanced back at the carnage we’d left in our wake. The nearest body was still twitching.

Fascinating though that was, I blocked out the sight and willed my brain to think.

“How much ammo have you got left?” I asked the others.

Jed dropped his magazine out. “Nineteen rounds.”

“Seventeen,” Logan said.

“Same.”

I slammed my gun back together and flattened myself to the gritty earth as another barrage of bullets flew at us. A car was on fire, and in front of the wild flames, shadows danced as the guards milled around, plotting how to get us out of our hole or, better still, kill us in it.

We had something in common. I was plotting how to get us out of there too.

“You remember you once complained I never took you anywhere exciting?” Jed asked.

“I never said that.”

“One night on the sofa when I was feeding you chocolate ice cream. You said, ‘movie and junk food, what could be better?’”

“Huh? I enjoyed that.”

“Oh. I thought you were being sarcastic.”

“Guys,” Logan interrupted, waving his arm at the trained killers in front of us. “Hello? Gunfight? Would you mind rehashing your failed love life later?”

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