Omega Plague: Collapse (13 page)

Bruno looked down the road toward a building ahead. The moon
shone in the sky, not quite full, but giving enough illumination to make their
way without resorting to flashlights. The beauty of the grey stone cliffs to
their right, sloping south and east toward the open sea, struck Bruno even
through the netting he wore wrapped around his head. Bruno and Battisti
sheltered behind two pine trees that grew together into a V-shape, each thicker
than a man, with scrubby bushes at their base. Bruno hoped the vegetation would
provide enough cover to keep both of them hidden from view. The cream-colored
stone building stood at the end of Via Tiberio, just as the road turned into a
winding path leading up to Villa Jovis, the ruins of the Roman Emperor
Tiberius’ summer house. A whitewashed solid stone railing, really a low wall,
led from the narrow road up to the front door. While Bruno couldn’t see the
stairs themselves because of the railing, he knew they were there, as many
houses on the island shared a similar entryway. Thick bushes grew below the window
on the side of their approach. Dark wooden shutters covered the window,
obscuring any view inwards. A scaffold leaned against the back of the building.
To Bruno, it looked like the building had once been a residence that had been
converted into a café, judging by the sign that hung over the entrance.

“That’s it,” Battisti muttered. As they watched, a man with
a bandanna over his face walked out onto the landing, his lower body obscured
by the stone railing. The man stood there, looking around. He pulled the
bandanna down, took something from his pocket, and turned his back to them.
When he turned around, Bruno could see the orange-red glow of a cigarette
dangling from the man’s mouth.

“Why would they come out this way?” said Battisti.

Bruno shook his head. “Not sure. The ruins are on a high
point, the closest part of the island to Sorrento. Good views of the whole
Amalfi coast, the Bay of Naples and the Gulf of Salerno. Maybe that has
something to do with it.”

“Probably why good old Tiberius built a villa there in the
first place,” said Battisti. “Maybe this lot isn’t as stupid as your average
lowlife.”

“I don’t care if they’re the captains of Napoli, Milan, and
fucking Juventus, they’re still animals,” said Bruno. “What now?”

Battisti took out his pistol and pointed it at the man.
Battisti’s hands trembled

“Christ, you’re not going to try to shoot him from here, are
you?” said Bruno.

Battisti lowered his pistol, suppressing a cough. “No, I’m
not going to shoot, just sizing up the distance.” He re-holstered the pistol.
“I won a marksmanship competition in the States three years ago, you know. The
Americans and Brits thought
they
were the best, but I showed them.”
Bruno couldn’t see Battisti’s face well, with the dark and the netting over
both their heads, but he could hear the irritation in his voice.

Bruno wondered who Battisti really was, whether he belonged
to some kind of Special Forces unit, and who his bosses really were. If they
got out of this alive, Bruno resolved to find out.

“We need to get in closer before we do anything,” said
Battisti in a rasping whisper. “Scout them out first before taking any of them
out. See if we can find out where they are in relation to each other.” Battisti
coughed softly into his respirator.

“I’m fine,” said Battisti. “Must have swallowed wrong.”

Bruno shifted away from Battisti. “What about the bushes
under the window?” said Bruno. “I might be able to get a look through the
shutters.”

Battisti paused, considering the idea. “Yes—risky, though.”
Then he nodded. “But I don’t see another option. Get to the bushes, then signal
how many there are. The windows on the building are low. I see a window behind
the scaffold. Once you see where they are, I’ll climb the scaffold and,”
Battisti reached into his jacket and pulled put a canister, “I’ll drop this
through the back window.”

“Tear gas?”

“No, better; a vapor grenade,” said Battisti. “Salvaged it
from our gear at the hospital.”

“What is it?”

“Tear gas without the smoke, enough to gas a whole house,”
said Battisti.

“I’ve never heard of a ‘vapor grenade.’”

“Yeah, because it’s not usually authorized for domestic use.
But who gives a shit now,” said Battisti. “I can set it off in a back room and
they won’t know what the hell is up. Their first instinct will be to find fresh
air. Then we can deal with them in an open area; take them out before they know
what hit them.”

Battisti turned his head toward the house. “Looks like the
scaffolding is blocking the back wall and any door that might be there. Good.
Means they have only one way out.”

“But my sister, she—”

“We’ll have to fucking aim carefully when we shoot. Signal
me with the number of people and how many are armed. Once you signal, take
cover across the path in those trees and bushes.” Battisti pointed down the
road. “Looks like they’re about ten meters from the front entrance. After I
drop the grenade, I’ll circle round.”

Battisti continued to look down the path. “Cazzo,” he swore.
“That’s the only cover near the front entrance. I’ll have to hide near you. If
we were lucky, there’d be somewhere else I could hide, and we could set up a
real ambush—get them from different angles. But we’re not lucky.”

“Not really cover, is it,” said Bruno. “Just a bit of
concealment. Some bushes aren’t going to stop bullets.”

Battisti didn’t answer.

“So, this is the best we can do, eh?” said Bruno. “Flush
them out and shoot?”

“You want to knock on the fucking door? This is the best
plan I can think of right now, Mr. Carabiniere. So, if you have another idea, a
better one, let’s hear it.”

“I don’t.”

Battisti nodded. “All right, then. We’ll go as soon as he’s
back inside. Once I set the grenade off, it’ll fully discharge in about fifty
seconds. In a building that small, I’d say we have another minute before the
gas reaches them. Should be plenty of time to get to the trees before they come
out.”

Battisti’s worsening cough frayed Bruno’s nerves as they
waited. A glow grew across the eastern horizon, and Bruno feared the coming
morning light would destroy any chance of approaching undetected. But then,
after dropping his cigarette to the stairs, the man turned and entered the
house.

Battisti tapped Bruno on the arm. “Let’s go!” They jogged in
a low crouch until they reached the side of the house. Bruno worked his way
through the bush while Battisti stood at the back corner, waiting for Bruno’s
signals.

Bruno heard a woman’s cries and men’s laughter. For the
first time in his life, his mother’s and brother’s death seemed like a
blessing, not a curse. They were dead and buried, and would never have to know
the sick horrors that Carla must surely have endured.

The window was just above his head, so Bruno stepped onto
one of the bush’s lower branches. It provided just enough height for him to get
his head above the window’s ledge, though it was precarious, and he leaned
against the ledge. The long window had no glass, but gaps in the shutter’s
slats let him peer into the room. By now, the fast-approaching dawn gave enough
light for Bruno to see figures in the room.

Bruno counted five men, milling around a room strewn with
upturned wooden tables and chairs, looking to Bruno like what used to be a main
dining area. They all wore masks or bandanas around their faces. When one of
the men moved, Bruno saw her sitting on the floor. The bruises on Carla’s face
almost made him gasp. She stared at the floor, her green hospital scrubs
stained with blood and dirt. Her hands were bound in front.

One of the five stood apart from the others, away from
Carla. Bruno couldn’t quite see him, his face hidden in shadows as the man
spoke.

“Again!”

Another man kicked Carla in the gut.

The man in the shadows spoke in a low growl. “This is going
to be a long day unless you tell us where he is. Where does he live?”

Carla’s voice was quavering. “I’ve told you—I’ve told you. I
don’t know where he is.”

The man in the shadows laughed. “Oh, I think you do! Your
hospital was the only place on the island with any pigs left. All the rest are
gone or dead.” He moved closer to a shaft of light. “That’s part of the reason
we went there, right, boys? To kill pigs?” The other men laughed.

“But the Boss said to find you. And then you could help us
find
him
. The guard said there was a Carabiniere at the hospital before
we got there. So we know he’s on the island.”

He’s looking for me? Bruno thought. But who—

“I know he can’t be at the station ‘cause I torched it
myself!” Bruno began to shiver, and not from the cold.

“So,” the man strode forward and turned toward Carla. “You
don’t want to end up like that poor guard, do you? You’re his sister. So, you
must know where he lives. And I think you’d better tell me . . .”

“Listen, Enzo, let me have her for a bit. I’ll get her to
talk,” said a man with a greasy ponytail and a shotgun.

Enzo, the one who had been doing most of the talking, moved
into the light, but with his back toward Bruno. He had close-cropped black
hair, and the straps of a respirator covered part of his head.

“I should give you to Damiano,” said Enzo. “He likes you a
lot. You up for another round with the doctor?”

“Absolutely. I’ll make sure there’s still enough of her left
for Il Serbo when we bring her back,” said Damiano.

“The Boss is after the brother, not her. He’s the one we
want. She’s just the way to find him,” said Enzo. “Now Alessio here can be very
persuasive, right, Doc?”

Carla whimpered. A man wearing a
chiodo
jacket, its
black leather and silver zippers glinting, laughed. “Sure,” said Alessio. “Let
me have her—again. I’ll get her to talk.”

Bruno forced himself to look around. Bruno noticed a pistol
on the small of Enzo’s back, poking out from under his olive-drab jacket and
t-shirt. He couldn’t tell whether or not anyone else, other than Damiano,
carried a firearm.

Bruno turned his head toward Battisti at the far corner of
the house, canister in hand, waiting. Bruno gestured “five,” then signed the
number “two,” and touched his sidearm.

Battisti nodded, and moved out of sight behind the house.
Bruno extracted himself from the bush and in a crouch, scurried along the side
of the house and out across the path to the stand of bushes and two trees. He
crouched down, took out his pistol, and waited. A few seconds later, Battisti
ran across the path to Bruno’s position, pistol in hand.

Just as Bruno took aim toward the entrance, shouting erupted
from inside the building. Screaming and swearing, the group stumbled out of the
building, coughing and gagging as they fanned out on the path. Enzo held a
pistol in one hand, and Damiano had the shotgun slung around his back. He
gripped Carla by her hair as they both coughed and spit. Alessio was bent over
close by, panting. The other two stumbled a little away from the rest as they
struggled to breathe. Bruno and Battisti wasted no time eliminating the two
that had moved off. Battisti fired two bullets in succession. One found its mark,
dropping a man, and Bruno shot another in the head, and he collapsed.

Enzo fired toward them, but not really taking aim. Battisti
crouched lower in response and fired back.

Bruno grabbed Battisti’s arm.

“You’ll hit Carla!”

Battisti broke Bruno’s grip and elbowed him in the temple
with one fluid motion. Bruno fell to his knees. A kick on the back knocked him
on his stomach. Bruno felt hands yanking his pistol.

“I could have got him! I know what I’m fucking doing!”
shouted Battisti.

More shots rang out.

Bruno forced himself to move, rolling onto his side just in
time to see Enzo, Damiano, and Alessio fleeing up the path towards the ruins.
Damiano had Carla slung over his back as he bounded up the path. Enzo pointed
his pistol backwards, firing without looking back, and Battisti returned fire
as he ran after in hot pursuit. They rounded a bend in the path, disappearing
from view behind stone columns, trees, and scrub.

“Wait!” But it was too late. Bruno struggled to his feet. He
didn’t care that he had no pistol now. His only thought was to find Carla. That
fucking nut Battisti was going to get her killed. Bruno had to move quickly.

Bruno staggered up the path, lined by pitted stone columns
and heavy scrub. He slowed down as he reached the end of the path and found
himself standing amid low walls and ruined columns, the flat, red brick and
grey stone construction typical of old Roman ruins. The path cut directly into
the ruins, becoming long brick stairs and sloping upward between two walls that
stretched well over his head. Still dizzy, Bruno crept up the stairs into Villa
Jovis against the wall, one hand brushing against the crumbling stonework.
Listening for any signs of a struggle, he heard nothing except the sighs of the
wind and songs of birds, now that dawn had truly broken. A multi-level maze of
ruins and walls, Villa Jovis lay perched on top of Monte Tiberio, and provided
ample space and hiding places. Bruno thought a search would be futile at best,
and he only had a passing familiarity with the ruins. So, he decided to take
the path he knew best and make for the highest point in the ruins, the one
place he could survey most of the ruins from above: il Salto di Tiberio, the
Leap of Tiberius, the place where the old emperor cast those he disfavored down
sheer cliffs into the sea.

Bruno picked his way up the stairs, winding up and through
the ruins. His head swam from the blow to his temple, and he missed the comfort
of anonymous dark. Every time he turned a corner or the path opened up into a
once-great room now exposed to the sky, Bruno paused, peering around, before
proceeding with speed to the next narrow portion in what used to be hallways.