The Darkness - Jason Pinter [126]
"Holy shit," Curt said, "you okay?"
"Yeah, fine," I said, noticing a trickle of blood on my
arm where glass had cut me. "No big deal."
"How the hell did you get away?"
"No time. Here," I said, handing Curt the gun. "You're
probably better with this than I am."
Another round of gunfire hit the door, and we parted
on either side. Dimples punched out on our side of the
door every time a round hit it.
"That's an M16," Curt said. "A4, I believe. Thirty
round magazine. And he's fired twenty-three of them."
Another burst of gunfire shelled the door. Curt looked
at the dimples, said, "Seven. Get your shit together,
Parker, here we go."
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Curt turned the handle and kicked the door open,
training the gun on the rifleman just as he was popping
out the old magazine.
"You move and I take your head off," Curt said. The
man stood there, unsure of what to do, the magazine clattering to the ground. "Take your hand out of your pocket."
He did so, holding a fresh mag.
"Drop it," Curt said. The bald man looked at him,
trying to size Curt up. Then, instead of putting down the
magazine, he snapped it into place and raised it to fire.
Three loud reports exploded in the hallway, and the
rifleman was driven backward, three fresh holes in his
chest. As he fell he looked at Curt, surprised that he'd
actually pulled the trigger.
Without a moment of hesitation, Curt went over to the
fallen gunman and picked up the rifle. He checked the
new magazine, then came back over to me and held out
the gun, butt first.
"You've used one of these before, right?"
"Um, not on purpose."
"It's easy. Safety's already off. Aim with two hands
and squeeze. None of this holding the gun sideways or
upside down or any of that stupid gangster, Angelina
Jolie crap in the movies. You hold it straight, two hands,
squeeze hard for each round and take kickback into
account. Aim for the chest. Think you can handle that?"
"If I say no will it matter?"
"Not really, but we don't have a choice. Come on,
Parker."
Curt led the way, rifle snug against his shoulder, as we
crouched outside the door to the opposite stairwell from
where I'd come from. This was where they'd brought
him from, and somewhere below was the way out. And
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we had to get out fast, because the gunfire from both sides
was turning this place into Swiss cheese.
We stood on either side of the door, both of our guns at
the ready. Curt reached over and pulled it open, and as he
did I swung the gun into the opening, ready for anything.
It was empty.
Curt joined me, using the rifle as a sight to confirm that
we were the only people there. I could hear Curt breathing hard, but his eyes were focused. He nodded down.
I'd lead, he'd cover me.
He mouthed age before beauty. I gave him the finger,
and slowly crept into the stairwell.
If I remembered correctly, the entrance was three flights
below us. But looking down, I saw that the stairwell continued below that one to a basement. Four levels in total.
The noise in the stairwell was deafening, the gunfire
echoing all around us. I made my way down the stairs,
sensing Curt's muzzle right above me.
The landing below us was empty. Curt stood one step
above me, then flicked the muzzle once. Two more flights.
My heart pounding, the gun shaking ever so slightly
in my hands, I moved down to the next level, the third
floor. Nobody there. One more to go.
Between the blood roaring in my veins and the deafening noise surrounding us, even if there was someone below
us hiding, we wouldn't know. Only one way to find out.
No time for creeping around. I leaped down the next
flight, to the second floor, recognizing the same door
they'd brought us through, the same cameras recording
everything. Curt stepped onto the landing as well, the rifle
still aimed forward. He nodded at the door. I reached for
it, turned the knob. Felt it go. One step from freedom.
But then I looked below me, saw the landing of the
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next floor below us, and knew there was one more thing
to do. To know.