Ice Diaries (27 page)

“One thing I admire about Randall
is the quality of the people he’s recruited. You, of course,”
he said to David. “I feel selfish hoping to persuade you to
come south with me. But there’s only a short-term future here,
I’m afraid, which makes it logical for you to leave. Then
there’s Ginger. Remarkable man. Quite eccentric, but without
him, the community would hardly be possible.”

It didn’t seem to bother Mike
that he was getting almost no response from me and David. He chatted
on, as relaxed as he had been at Nina’s, about Strata’s
organization and the people running it, while my mind ran around in
circles. He intended to shoot Morgan as soon as he walked in the
door, and I had no way of warning him. But if Morgan didn’t
come down till he’d finished clearing the snow, he’d be
at least another fifteen minutes, and surely before then Ginger would
be back with Randall Pack, having looked for Mike downstairs and
deduced he was here? I wasn’t sure what they could do, but my
feeling was the more people up here the better. Or perhaps I could go
down a floor in the lift, sneak back up the stairs, and alert Morgan …

I waited until a pause in Mike’s
monologue and got up from the sofa. “I’m tired of
waiting, I’m going to get my own breakfast. Coming, David?”

Mike slipped the Glock out of his
pocket and lobbed it gently from one hand to the other, smiling.
Everyone in the room tensed. Hong and Mac exchanged glances. “I’m
enjoying our chat, Tori. I’d really like you to stay.”

I stood there, irresolute, scared. It
seemed to me entirely possible Mike would shoot me in the back if I
walked towards the door. I didn’t want to chance it. I resumed
my seat. There was perfect silence for a few seconds, then the
faintest of drones, an almost imperceptible background purr, started
up. Morgan had turned on one of the turbines. My heartbeat went up
another notch. I went hot all over, and prayed my face hadn’t
gone red. Mike smiled; not a nice smile.

“So that’s where Morgan is.
Above us in the turbine rooms.”

“No, actually it’s Ginger.
He’s clearing the snow off the blades.”

He gave me his special indulgent look,
as if I was a child lying to cover up for a friend. “Then I
think I’ll go and say hello to Ginger.”

He got to his feet, jerked his head and
Mac and Hong moved to his side. At that moment I heard the lift doors
open. Moments later Randall Pack, followed by Ginger, walked into the
room, hands in pockets. Randall no longer wore his shades. His eyes
were calm under black brows, taking in the damage to the door,
looking at all of us in turn, then dipping briefly to the Glock.

“Mike, guns aren’t allowed
in Strata. Give it to me and you can have it back when you leave.”

He held out his hand, and Mike lifted
the gun and shot him.

Ice Diaries ~ Lexi Revellian

The gunfire was unbelievably loud in
that confined space. Randall Pack crashed to the floor and lay
twisted on his side, not moving, blood pouring from a head wound and
pooling on the floor. Ginger backed away fast and edged out of the
flat. Though my ears were ringing I could hear him pelting down the
stairs, while David ran to Randall and crouched beside him. I stood,
frozen to the spot, unable to believe this was happening. Mike strode
to the doorway. On his way out he paused and glanced down at Randall.
I caught a glimpse of his expression; cool with a hint of
satisfaction, pleased to have proved the gun worked. Mac and Hong
followed him looking sober, as if they didn’t much like it. As
soon as they had gone I pulled myself together, got my legs moving
and went to peer round the edge of the splintered jamb to see which
direction Mike took. He headed down the corridor towards the white
door with NO ENTRY on it; he was going after Morgan. Terror gripped
me as if an abyss had opened at my feet that I feared to contemplate,
let alone fall into. Behind me David called my name.

“Get some clean cloths,” he
said. “And alcohol if there is any.”

I ran to the kitchen and pulled out
drawers with shaky hands till I found a pile of clean ironed tea
towels. From the drinks table I grabbed a bottle of brandy and
another of vodka and joined David. He’d got Randall on his
back, checking him over; he didn’t look good, his face pallid
where it wasn’t red with blood, but his eyes were now half open
and moving. He groaned. My empty stomach churned. I dropped the
things beside him and headed for the door.

“Tori, where are you going? I
need my medical bag, you’ll have to get it from the flat.”

“I can’t, I have to help
Morgan. Ginger’ll be back any minute with reinforcements.”

I ran down the corridor, David shouting
after me, “Tori! He’ll shoot you too. Come back!”

The narrow white-painted staircase
looked different in daylight. I trod at the sides of the metal treads
trying to make no noise, hurrying, no clear idea in my head of what
to do, the shocking image of Randall lying in his own blood blotting
out rational thought.
Think, think
. Morgan had cleared the
first turbine and turned it on; he’d be clearing the middle
turbine now, most likely. Unless he’d decided to do the left
hand turbine next … I wasn’t sure whether you could access
the central turbine from there. If not, he’d leave it till
last. But if only Mike looked at the wrong turbine first, we might
have time to get away.

I’d arrived at the
No
unauthorized entry Roof access only
door that led to the lower
level with the telescopic arm. Gently, I pushed it open and peered
in. The place was empty, the turbine’s low hum louder than in
the penthouse. I couldn’t hear movement or voices; they must be
on the next level. I tiptoed up the ladder-like stair on the far
side, praying Morgan was clearing the left turbine while Mike checked
the one on the right. I reached the top – no one there –
and looked towards the access hatch. It was closed, with no snow or
puddles or footprints around the floor. That meant he hadn’t
got to it yet; he was working on the central turbine. I ran back the
way I had come and crept up the other staircase. I saw them as soon
as my eyes were above floor level. They stood in a huddle conferring,
Mike doing most of the talking in a low voice, Hong nodding and Mac
making the odd brief interjection. To their left, daylight shone
through the open access hatch of the central turbine housing; like
some subtle theatrical effect, the shaft of light illuminated snow
drifting past the silver ladder to settle on a patch of floor. An
extension lead going up and through the rectangular opening twitched
now and then. Morgan was using the hairdryer.

Mike left the others, moved towards the
ladder and put a foot on the first rung to climb to the hatch. In a
few more seconds he’d fire the gun through it, and Morgan,
absorbed in his task and with the hairdryer masking other sounds,
wouldn’t even know what hit him. I ran forward.

“MORGAN!” I yelled. “Watch
out!”

I was three metres from the hatch when
Hong grabbed me round the waist from behind. Morgan had shown me how
to get out of this. I scraped my foot down his shin to distract him,
did a heel kick to his groin (which failed to connect), flung my head
back and hit his nose, but not hard enough as he’d moved in
time. I got hold of his fingers and bent them backwards. He released
his grip to stop his fingers breaking and I tried to finish him with
a jab from my left elbow to his throat, but caught the side of his
head instead. It was all less controlled, much clumsier and more
frantic than my practice goes. Mike was now nearly to the top of the
ladder, his head and shoulders out of the hatch. Hong had seized my
left wrist and got his arm round my neck and I could hardly breathe.
He was going to hold me captive while Mike shot Morgan – I
didn’t even know if Morgan had heard my shout. Desperate, I
wrenched the knife from my belt with my free hand, twisted round to
face Hong and stuck the blade into his thigh. He grasped my other
wrist and wrestled my arms behind me, prising the knife from my
fingers. It clattered to the concrete slabs. Unable to escape, all I
could do was shout.

“MORGAN! LOOK OUT!”

Unexpectedly, Hong’s hold on me
slackened. I jumped away. He stood, head bowed, staring at his leg.
Blood was running down his jeans, dripping on to the floor. He
dropped to one knee, and sat holding his thigh. Mac hurried to him,
the whites of his eyes showing, ignoring me.

Mike was no longer visible. I heard the
gun go off, twice; I ran to the ladder and climbed fast and silently
through the hatch. I noticed there was blood on my hand.

A different world up in the sky; cold
and white with whirling snow, Mike silhouetted against it, facing
away from me. Beyond him was the turbine column with the fixed
ladder, twice a man’s height; behind that to the left, the
curving wall of the turbine tunnel reared up like a giant wave about
to break. The hairdryer lay in the snow, hot air still blasting out
of it, covering the sound of my advance. I could see where Morgan had
swept a path which was now shrouded by a thin layer of white. One of
the turbine blades was out of alignment with a bullet hole through
it.

No sign of Morgan.
He’s been
shot and fallen over the edge. No, no …

I felt sick. Denial battled with shock,
grief and rage. Through eyes blurry with tears I watched Mike move slowly
to his left, head craning, then a few paces to his right before I
realized the significance of his actions. Hope flared up in me.
Suddenly he fired three or four times, the bullets ricocheting off
the steel column, leaving pock marks. Morgan was alive, sheltering
behind the turbine. I no longer had my knife … if I had
something heavy I could sneak up and hit Mike over the head, but I
had nothing. Nothing but surprise and what Morgan had taught me.

One step at a time I closed the gap
between us, trying to decide which move to try. Morgan had taught me
a couple that might work, but I doubted my competence. One chance was
all I’d get – or so I thought. Then the hairdryer
coughed, sparked and burst into flames, expiring in its own small
funeral pyre, the smell an unpleasant reminder of my burning flat.
Glancing at the fire, Mike noticed me and swivelled in my direction.
My chance had gone.

“Tori, we’ve got to stop
meeting like this.” Smooth and genial as ever, he smiled at his
own quip. “As usual, I don’t want to shoot you but I’ll
have no hesitation if you don’t do as I say. This is your last
chance to turn round and leave.” He checked quickly over his
shoulder. Nothing to be seen.

I have to distract him.

“Please don’t shoot me.
I’ll do anything you want …” I threw my hands up as
if to ward him off and made my voice go up a notch. “Don’t
fire, I’m begging you, please let me live …” No
doubt irritated by my girly histrionics he pointed the gun at me,
probably hoping to shut me up. I shrieked, “No! Don’t
shoot!” Behind him, Morgan came out of cover, ducked beneath
the broken turbine blade and moved fast and stealthily towards us. I
stepped forward, maintaining eye contact. “Please Mike, I’m
too young to die, it’s my birthday next month, I’m only
twenty-three, I have my whole life ahead of me …”

He checked behind him again, too late.
I dropped to the floor as Morgan flung himself at him and the gun
went off. I picked myself up, wondering if I’d been hit,
testing my limbs … everything seemed still to be working and I
didn’t appear to be bleeding. The two men were grappling on the
ground far too near the drop. I didn’t want to look, but
couldn’t bear not to. I told myself that Morgan, being bigger,
stronger and a professional fighter would win – as long as he
didn’t get shot or they both rolled over the edge. Mike was
trying to point the Glock at him – I ducked as it veered my way
– but Morgan had his wrist in a steely grasp, forcing it aside.
He pinned Mike down with his knee and prised his fingers from the
gun. Once he’d got it he tossed it away then punched Mike.
Every time Mike tried to get up or fight back Morgan hit him again.
It was completely one-sided and hard to watch – if this was a
cage fight I knew from what Morgan had told me the referee would have
intervened after the first punch.

Within a minute Mike lay still. Morgan
went through his clothes, searching until he found the sled keys
together on a ring in an inside zipped pocket. After taking them he
stood, walked over to the gun and picked it up. Relief swept over me
and my legs felt weak. We had won; Mike had lost his gun, Hong was
injured and Mac hardly a threat on his own. No longer in fear for
Morgan’s life or mine, I became acutely aware I was standing on
a slippery curved surface in a snowstorm a few metres from a lethal
drop with no barrier. I couldn’t help shuddering.

Morgan put his arms round me, breathing
fast. His jacket was damp with snow. “Tori … That was quite an
act. I heard you shout just in time to dodge behind the turbine. Are
you okay?”

“I’ll be fine once I stop
shaking and get down from here. How about you?” He nodded. “And
him? Is he dead?”

“No. Just a bit beaten up.”

“You told me you’d have to
kill him.”

“I did, didn’t I?”
Morgan’s pale blue gaze met mine and he half smiled. “I
changed my mind. Maybe I’ll send him a solicitor’s letter
after all.” He considered his fallen enemy, contempt in his
eyes. “He can go on his scumsucking way as far as I’m
concerned. Without a gun he’s nothing.”

“He can’t go on his way –
you just took his sled key.”

“He can have it back. I’ll
give it to Serena.”

“They’ve split up, David
told me. He took her sled away. She’ll be really pleased to get
it back. In the circumstances she might be tempted to swap Mike’s
sled for a load of greenies.”

“Whatever.” Morgan
shrugged. “Her choice.”