"Like I said. There's only one answer to this," Anthony replied.
"Like you said," Krank agreed.
Anthony turned and pointed his gun at Krank.
"You'll have to die."
"Makes sense," Krank replied, unconcerned.
"How can we do this?" Anthony asked, peering through the cracked window pane, checking for signs of life.
"You wanted to see what I have in my medicine cabinet," Krank said with a grin.
Anthony nodded, before pointing his gun out of the window one last time and firing off a few thunderous rounds randomly, without even looking where he was aiming. Krank took the opportunity to stand and began to make his way out of the living room. In a split second Anthony was behind him and followed the hulking man as he wound his way through the corridor and into the kitchen. The sink was stacked with filthy, food encrusted plates, upon which flies were busily darting about. The hob was similarly unkempt, adorned with rusting metal pots and a saucepan that had a slick layer of hardened fat sitting inside.
Much to Anthony's surprise Krank made a beeline for the oven, and appeared to be turning on one of the hobs.
"No time for a bacon buttie Krank," Anthony muttered, his eyes scouring all around, his ears alert to any imminent intruders. He turned back to Krank just in time to see the top of the oven pop open with a sigh and the entire hob simply lifted like a lid, the dirty pots and pans staying in place, presumably glued on as props. Anthony couldn't help but cackle at the sight, as Krank leant in and began routing around in the depths of the oven. "A little theatrical don't you think?" Anthony said with a laugh.
"Needs must," Krank retorted, his deep voice muffled within the oven.
"Whatever you're looking for, you need to find it soon mate," Anthony hissed, his face suddenly serious. He had heard the click of the front door and knew they were going to be overwhelmed within a minute.
"Ha!" Krank cheered triumphantly, emerging from the fake oven and slamming the hob back down so it looked as unassuming as before. In his hand was a small clear, unlabelled bottle, protected with a wax sealed cork.
Both men were aware of the footsteps, at least half a dozen men from the sound of it, in the house and searching, room by room. It would be seconds before they were found.
"No time for pleasantries it seems," Krank lamented before smashing the tip of the bottle off on the counter top and gouging his neck with the shattered remains, allowing the colourless liquid to seep into the wound. Anthony stared at him, watching the blood weep out from the deep self-inflicted wound. Nothing happened and Anthony felt a sense of panic well up in his chest. Had Krank picked the wrong bottle? Were the symptoms too slow for this purpose? Goddamn it Krank, you should be prepared for any and all eventualities, how can this be part of your plan?
"What are you waiting for man?" Krank shouted at Anthony in frustration. Anthony frowned, genuinely unsure what Krank wanted of him. "Shoot me you stupid bastard," Krank screamed as the shadows of their attackers made themselves apparent on the stained wall of the hallway. Trusting Krank knew what he was doing Anthony duly lifted his handgun without further hesitation, and, just as five men burst in pointing their weapons directly at the pair, he fired. Before anyone could react, Krank tumbled to the floor like a sack of potatoes. A trickle of blood seeped out from his chest.
"Drop your weapon," one man shouted gruffly. Anthony readily obliged, knowing to do anything else would end with him riddled with holes.
"Commander Bishop?" a familiar voice rasped from the hallway. Anthony's heart sunk. He despised that voice. He despised the man it belonged to. He despised everything he represented. "Lower you weapons," the voice commanded.
The men did as told and then parted without a word, allowing the tall thin man to step through grandly.
"Atkins," Anthony acknowledged, his voice low and threatening.
"Bishop," Atkins responded, "it seems you are trying to sabotage my operation." He peered down at the shattered remains of the bottle Krank had been holding and stooped to investigate. Silently he waved to one of his men, who responded by handing him a glove. Anthony watched as he pulled on the glove with a theatrical flourish and then picked up the bottle gingerly. A quick sniff of the residue and the bottle was quickly discarded, along with the glove. Atkins stood and strode up to a defiant Anthony.
"Tetrodotoxin," Atkins rasped, "how," he gave a thoughtful pause, "predictable," he finished, before turning to look at the chest wound, still oozing blood. "That, on the other hand, is unexpected." Atkins turned to another of his men and nodded to Krank's body, "check him." The man nodded, but before he could move Atkins grabbed his arm and pulled him close, "careful," he hissed, barely discernible through his thick sandpaper voice. Again the man nodded dutifully before heading over to Krank and kneeling down to undertake a quick examination. Anthony didn't take his eyes off Atkins.
After about a minute the man stood and whispered something into Atkins' ear. Atkins nodded gravely and stroked his trimmed beard thoughtfully.
"My understanding is that to open this hatchway, I need that man both alive and with a healthy pulse. My man here tells me he is currently alive, but soon to die from either toxic poisoning or your gunshot wound." Atkins paused and glared back at Anthony, who had yet to flinch.
"I guess you're shit out of luck Atkins, may as well crawl back under that rock of yours," Anthony responded bluntly.
"Yes. Yes. I could do that couldn't I?" Atkins countered, "or, and I think I prefer this option, we could make our way to that hatch anyway and see just how dead our leviathan friend truly is."
Anthony shrugged, and nodded.
"Be my guest," he replied, sounding unconcerned.
"I must admit, I am more than a little curious as to what he has been hiding from us all this time." Atkins said with a hint of genuine enthusiasm.
"Me too," Anthony muttered.
"Pick him up," Atkins barked to two of him men, peering down his nose at them, as if to remind them to be careful. He then grasped Anthony's arm tightly and dragged him towards the basement door. "Interesting fact Bishop," Atkins started, "about tetrodotoxin." He paused, perhaps expected Anthony to respond, but Anthony felt it better to leave him hanging. He wondered how long it would be before Atkins picked up that he had no intention of taking the conversational bait. Atkins was always fishing for the dramatic, the theatrical. He never did things the easy way, it always had to have some sort of flourish. That pissed Anthony off.
"It doesn't work. You take it. You die. The idea it created the zombie myth is just populist trash." Atkins finally continued regardless. Almost forty seconds he'd waited, Anthony counted. A lot can happen in forty seconds. In that time Anthony had concluded that Krank had not poisoned himself with tetrodotoxin. Atkins was right about that; the chances of surviving the toxic poison was slim, and that was with a stomach pump and a life support machine. The second was that he had definitely hit Krank smack in the middle of his metal plate and although it would have hurt like a son of a bitch, he would not have a punctured lung filling with fluids, soon to drown him. This meant that if they did get to the hatch, there was all the chance in the world that everything Krank had fought to protect was about to be revealed. Killing Krank was clearly harder than he had expected. There was only one chance left and it would be a serious risk.
They reached the basement door and one of Atkins' seemingly silent men opened the door, before stepping in and lifting the stone hatch. It was at this precise moment that Anthony made his move. His elbow found its way expertly into Atkins' kidney, sending him crashing to the floor. Before anyone could react Anthony had grabbed the gun from the nearest man to him and then shoved it back at his face, cracking the butt into the man's chin. The man who had opened the hatch lunged at him with a muted cry, but Anthony was already diving at the pair carrying Krank. With his vast bulk weighing them down, they were unable to prevent him from grasping Krank by his belt, and with all his might, leaning back and tumbling onto his back. Krank's dead weight threatened to overwhelm him but with a grunt he managed to prop Krank up with his raised legs as he fell back and quickly gravity stepped in to help, pulling the vast man's limp body backwards, over Anthony's shoulder and into the gaping hole of the basement. All heard his body tumble and crash down the stone stairs before coming to a bone crunching halt.
Atkins picked himself from the floor, his face twisted with fury. He eyed his men menacingly before turning to Anthony, who was already standing again.
"You've just
condemned you and your pals. You know that right?" Atkins rasped angrily.
"If you wanted us
dead you'd have blown us to kingdom come, not knocked on the door and
played peeka-fucking-boo," Anthony's replied defiantly.
"Get down there," Atkins demanded, dusting down his fatigues, trying to recover his composure.
Anthony obliged, hoping Krank wouldn't be too pissed about being chucked down the stairs.
