Anthony landed back to the scarred earth with an unceremonious smack to the face. An electric shock ran from his head, through his spine and dissipated as it reached his awakening legs. His vision blurred, with white dots flashing in and out, the basement a shapeless mash of grey and brown. Blood oozed from his bruised nose. Nevertheless he forced his pain-racked body to claw itself in what he estimated was the general direction of the stairway.
If whatever had happened down here, had also happened up top, chaos could be reigning, and that would be an opportune moment to make haste his escape.
Somewhere in this God forsaken room that bastard Atkins was also going to be suffering from a similarly painful fall from the ceiling, albeit without Anthony's previous wounds in addition. But Anthony didn't care to wait for his senses to recover so he could properly check. If luck was on his side, the psychotic bastard had been impaled on some sharp debris.
Luck. That was never something to rely on in Anthony's experience. It was a nice thought, but he knew that no such thing had happened. The best case scenario was more likely he had temporarily been knocked unconscious by the drop. Right now that was all the damn luck Anthony needed. Whatever had happened to send the pair drifting skyward had been his true saviour. It had briefly evened the battle ground.
Anthony reached the foot of the stairwell and finally decided it was wise to check his rear for the enemy. His eyesight was starting to clear; the damned stars flashing in and out were still there and his head was throbbing like a son of a bitch, but focus and clarity were returning.
His instinct had been spot on. To the far right of the room he clocked the crumpled figure of Atkins, face down and lifeless. The light in the room was too dark to discern any more detail. Had he been more physically sound Anthony would have gone over there and finished him off. A swift crack of the neck would do the trick. But right now every vestige of his energy was required to scale the staircase and tackle whatever, or whoever, was at the top.
The sudden flash of a gun muzzle exploding towards his face, only metres away, made him scramble backwards with a startled shout.
Realising he had held up his hand in a futile gesture to block the impending bullet that was about to pass through his skull, and splatter his brains against the back of the basement, Anthony lowered it, to face the man who had killed him. But no such man was standing on the stairs. No man, no gun, brains intact.
Sure, sure, my brains haven't been separated from my skull, but something screwy is happening up there. You're seeing things you stupid bastard. Too many knocks to the old noggin has dislodged something. Just what you need.
There was no time to go crazy. Get up the damn stairs. Get out of this house, and then see if you're losing the plot.
"Come on legs," he commanded out loud, comforted to hear something as ordinary and every day as his own baritone voice echoing back from the stonework. Much to his delight, his limbs seemed to respond to orders as well as his subordinates, and his knees creaked into action. Shakily he managed to crouch first, then stand tentatively.
This is a huge improvement, he concluded, standing for the first time in hours. The view from the floor was proving tiresome. Now to get these bastard pins to shift my arse up these steps, before any chance of escape expires.
Despite the sensation of red hot pins stabbing into his flesh, Anthony forced his unhappy legs to step up, one at a time, each footfall causing a shockwave to shudder up from his calves, past his thighs, and congregate in his groin.
Each step was excruciating, like experiencing powerful electric shocks every time his soles made contact with the concrete. Focusing on the effort was only making matters worse, so Anthony did what his training told him to do, forget the pain, seek out absolutely anything else to occupy his mind with.
And all Anthony could think of was Ebbe. Had she got to safety? What had she found hidden in the depths of the earth? But one thought took precedence over all others. Had she saved him? As he trudged up another step, the image of a gun exploding in his face flashed before his eyes again.
Atkins had shot at him. The gun had fired. The bloody gun had fired at Anthony nearly point blank, just before they had dropped to the floor. Had he escaped death due to the sudden drop? Another footstep, another gun flash. Step, flash. The recurring image was replacing the pain of his body. Again and again he was shot.
Anthony had to pause and take stock. The image of being shot was almost worse than the searing hot needles bringing his flesh back to life. At least the pain was a reminder he was alive. The gun shot was a reminder that he ought not be. What the bloody hell had happened?
Ebbe! It was her wasn't it. Anthony tensed up every sinew in his body, clasping and unclasping his fists tightly, forcing the blood the pump a little faster through his veins. I'm alive because of that woman, he told himself. The free floating, the vanishing bullet, all a miracle provided by that infuriating woman who knew too much.
Seems I should live a little longer then, he chuckled to himself, if only to return the favour, and ask her how the bloody hell she made a bullet vanish. That was it, that was enough to reinvigorate his fatigued muscles. There were a few more steps to go, and Anthony found he had unexpected vigour to stride up these remaining stairs, and reach the exit.
Anthony ran through a variety of potentials as he stared at the last barrier between this tomb and the outside world. There could be a hundred troops up there, ready to shoot anyone exiting the hatch who wasn't wearing their colours. There could be. But Anthony didn't think there was. Atkins was a man who trusted few people. His team would be no more than twenty. The problem was, Anthony had been unable to do a proper head count down below, so although the team had been depleted, there was likely at least ten men left up above. But, they wouldn't all be poised at the hatch, ready with an itchy trigger finger. There would be others outside, guarding the building, keeping a lookout. There would also be at least two waiting in the vehicle they arrived in.
Time is wasting away Anthony old man, if the boys upstairs experienced the same crazy shit you did a few minutes ago, those outside may have found themselves drifting towards the stars. The fall back to earth for those outside could have been enough to incapacitate. That could have reduced the threat by about four men. Atkins' men would not be phased enough to stop guarding the hatchway though. Anthony concluded he had two to deal with in the first instance.
Exiting unarmed, the enemy on the high ground, body not in anything approaching top nick. Not good odds.
I guess there is one way, Anthony mused, a wry smile spreading across his face.
And with that he pushed the trap door open, letting it swing back with a loud clack.
