Omega Plague: Collapse (26 page)

Chapter 25

For an eternal instant, the scene froze in Bruno’s mind. But
what his eyes saw made no sense. The curly-haired man, a gaping hole in his
head, seemed suspended for a long moment before toppling into Il Serbo, now
stained with the dead man’s blood and brains. Il Serbo flinched to one side,
taking DeLuca with him. Before anyone else could react, Cristian dove, hauling
Bruno with him behind a car. Bruno’s damaged hand hit something as they fell
and he shouted in pain.

More shots ripped through the air, and Bruno heard the
screams of Il Serbo’s men. Bruno and Cristian scrambled back, weaving their way
between cars as bullets flew. They hunkered behind a car while screams and
chaos erupted around them. Cristian yanked his pistol out, peeked out to the
left of the car’s front bumper, and fired in rapid succession. Bruno heard a
man scream not five meters away as bullets ripped the air from above. Crouching
behind the car, Cristian pulled a knife from the inside of his jacket and cut
Bruno’s gag and bonds. With no time for words, Cristian dropped the knife and
sheath into Bruno’s hands and, producing a pistol from the small of his back,
handed it to Bruno. Cristian continued to trade fire with his own gang. A few
of them tried to take shelter in the buildings bordering the piazza, but the
doors were locked or blocked from the inside, and they perished, shot from
above, while scrabbling on unyielding wood and stone.

Bruno’s new freedom stunned him more than the gunshots and
screams echoing around him. He saw that it was his own knife. The knife that
his father had given him and that had taken part of his fingers. He stowed the
knife and checked the pistol. Full magazine.

Bullets shattered one of the car’s windows, showering Bruno
with glass. “Porca troia!” Cristian swore as he dropped next to Bruno. Cristian
pulled the radio out of his jacket pocket, shouting, “Keep shooting—we’re
pinned down!”

Forcing down the pain in his still-throbbing fingers, Bruno
peeked over the hood of the car and found a clear shot at one of Il Serbo’s
gang. With a single shot, Bruno dropped him, then followed up with another to
make sure he wouldn’t get up. Bruno scanned the scene, looking for DeLuca and
Il Serbo. Near the entrance to the church, Bruno saw movement, but a bullet
zinged past his arm and he dropped down. Before he could get a good look, Bruno
heard another shot and a scream. There was more gunfire from above and
answering gunfire from in front of him. But with every shot from above, the
responding fire grew less, until silence fell over the scene. Bruno smelled the
stinging gunpowder lingering in the air.

“How many left?” Cristian hissed into the radio.

“Not sure, six I think, they’re in the church now! And he’s
got DeLuca!” a voice crackled on the radio. The voice was Stefano’s.

“Why didn’t you shoot
him
, for Christ’s sake?” Bruno
knew who Cristian meant.

Stefano’s voice buzzed. “Because he had DeLuca in front of
him! We couldn’t get a clear shot, even from up here!”

Bruno peeked over the hood of the car. He saw bodies strewn
around cars and on the steps of the church. The red stains on the white marble
flowed slowly like ink blots seeping onto paper. No more bullets flew. The
silence made Bruno even more nervous than the gunshots; he knew better than to think
he was safe, so he stayed well concealed behind the car.

Cristian put his mouth almost onto the radio as he spoke.
“Leave the radio with Mauro, get down here, and be careful!”

“On our way,” responded Stefano.

Bruno looked at Cristian as he slumped against side of the
car. He put the radio back in the inside pocket of his windbreaker and looked
at Bruno.

“Didn’t go exactly as I’d planned. We’re on Plan B now. You
should have trusted me,” said Cristian.

“What was I supposed to think, after what you did to me on
Capri?”

“You should have trusted me! Your bloody outburst nearly got
us both killed!”

“Trust you after this?” said Bruno, holding up his hand.
“And what the bloody hell did you plan, exactly?”

“Blame that fucking psychopath, not me! Did it look like I
had a choice? We don’t have time for this!”

Cristian leaned toward Bruno. “After I found DeLuca at your
rally point, we got rid of Vetrano. Then we contacted your friends with
DeLuca’s radio. They managed to scavenge a working truck in Sorrento and came
to the cache here in the Duomo. There wasn’t much here.” Cristian smiled. “We
found the blood. There were only two automatic rifles and some ammo, but we
found enough C-4 to blow the roof off the church and then some. Your friends
and I spent the last three days wiring it up and blocking off the piazza as
best we could.” Cristian reached into his jacket and pulled out a metal box the
size of a deck of cards.

“A remote detonator?”

Cristian nodded. Then, he shifted positions to a nearby car
as Bruno saw familiar faces approach.

Stefano and Saverio appeared from behind a corner of a
building, followed quickly by Paola. Jogging low, they took cover behind two
cars just to the right of Bruno and Cristian. Bruno saw that Stefano and
Saverio each had an AR-70/90, the predecessor of the ARX, slung around their
chest. Paola had a pistol in her hand. Aldo, with his rifle and its sniper
scope, and Mauro, his spotter, must still be looking down on them from one of
the nearby buildings.

Bruno wanted to ask many things, but now was not the time.
“What if they get out a back way?”

“We blocked off the exits. Would take them God knows how
long to get out,” said Stefano.

“Don’t underestimate them, they could find a way,” said
Bruno. “How are we going to get DeLuca?”

Cristian shook his head.

Bruno insisted. “What’s the plan?”

“Bruno, I’ve still got the blood.” He patted the bulge in
his jacket. “And we can end it with
this
.” Cristian held up the
detonator.

“What the hell?” said Bruno. His eyes narrowed. He looked at
Paola. “We have to help DeLuca!”

“Bruno, listen,” Paola said, her voice quavering. “He said
that no matter what, the blood must be saved, and that he was willing to die to
stop them.”

“But you can’t—”

“Enough talk! Take cover!” Cristian said. He flipped the
switch on the detonator. “It’s over!”

Nothing happened. No explosion rocked the square. Only the
wind made a sound.

“The bloody battery must be dead!” He threw it to the
ground. “There was no way to test it!”

“Bastard!” said Bruno.

Cristian grabbed Bruno’s shirt. “I made a choice! Just like
your friend did! He’s willing to sacrifice himself for us—for you!”

Cristian let Bruno go with a push and leaned with his back
against the car’s fender. “There’s still a way to end this. We’ve got to
hurry.”

Paola answered this time. “Manual detonation?”

Cristian nodded. “The detonator is Velcro’d under the lip of
the right corner of the altar. We ran a wire to it, hidden in the seams of the
stonework. In case the remote didn’t work.”

“We’d bloody well better hurry,” said Paola. “They could
spot the wire any time.”

“Someone’s got to go in and set it off,” said Stefano. He
looked up at Bruno. “Someone’s got to die.”

“I’ll trade myself for DeLuca,” said Bruno. “He wants me,
not you. That’s how I’ll get in.”

Cristian shook his head. “Do you know what he’ll do to you?
He will—”

“I’m out of ideas, and you don’t have any better ones,”
interrupted Bruno. “We’ve got to move now!”

Bruno sprang forward, running in a crouch over to the last
car before the steps up to the church. Cristian followed Bruno to the car. He
looked at him with a hint of a half-smile.

“You know, your plan’s not such a smart idea, is it?”

Bruno clapped him on the shoulder with his good hand. Bruno
met his eyes. “It’s the only way I can try to save him.”

Bruno poked part of his head over the top of the car and
shouted. “It’s me—Bruno! I’ll come to you, if you give us DeLuca!” His voice
echoed over the square, but no one answered.

Bruno shouted again. This time, he heard a dull thud and saw
the door to the Duomo swing open.

“Remember,” said Cristian, “it’s under the far right corner
of the altar, as you’re looking at it when you walk up to it.”

Bruno nodded. “Understood.” He handed Cristian his knife in
its sheath. “I won’t need this anymore. You keep it.”

Cristian accepted the knife. “I’m sorry, Bruno. For
everything.” Despite all Cristian had done, Bruno admired Cristian’s
decisiveness. Bruno knew Cristian could survive in this world.

“Help them—Paola and the others. Free the women outside of
the city.”

“We will.”

Shadowed in the Duomo’s door, Bruno could make out three
figures: DeLuca, flanked by two of Il Serbo’s gang. Bruno had his hand on his
pistol to hand over to Cristian when he heard a voice echo out of that dark
doorway. “The boss says he wants the blood and you, then we’ll give you
DeLuca!”

Cristian pulled Bruno back behind the car. “You can’t give
it to him! It’s what we came for—DeLuca would rather die!”

Bruno pulled out his pistol and pointed it at Cristian’s
head.

“The blood is a lie—give it to me!”

Cristian stared at him in silence.

Bruno insisted. “It’s a
fucking
lie—if he wants it he
can have it! Give it to me or you’re dead, and I’ll take it anyway!”

Bruno risked a glance toward Paola and the others. Cristian
slowly put his hand in his jacket and produced the phial of the saint’s blood.

“Put it down and turn the other direction. Then put your
hands on your head,” Bruno commanded.

Cristian did so without a word. Bruno picked up the vial,
shuffled towards the back end of the car, and put his weapon to the ground.
They could always use another pistol, Bruno reasoned. He knew that where he was
going, he would never need a pistol again.

He dashed to another car parallel to Cristian and shouted,
“I’ve got it! I’m coming out!”

Bruno watched as Cristian scooped up Bruno’s pistol, and
their eyes met. He could see the pain in Cristian’s eyes as he put Bruno’s
pistol at the small of his back.

Now Bruno pulled his gaze away from Cristian to the figures
who had moved onto the cathedral door’s threshold and stepped into the
daylight. The massive stonework dwarfed the three of them. Two of Il Serbo’s
gang stood on each side of DeLuca, clenching his arms in a vice grip. They
stood just behind DeLuca, preventing a clear shot at them.

Bruno stood up from behind his cover and walked forward.
Wind whipped through the square as he took plodding steps toward the wide
stairs leading to the cathedral doors. Exposed to the wind, he shivered with
cold fear. As he came closer to the men, he could see sweat running down
DeLuca’s pallid face. His hands were bound in front. Bruno could see pain in
DeLuca’s eyes too, but his face looked no worse than before. DeLuca tried to
speak, but the gag made his words unintelligible. Now Bruno glanced over his
shoulder and saw his own group peeping out here and there, sheltering behind
cars in the square. His eyes fell on the only partially visible Cristian,
crouching with his pistol ready. Bruno could sense Cristian just waiting for
some trigger to send him into action.

One of the men growled as Bruno approached. “Put the blood
down at DeLuca’s feet and turn around!”

Bruno knelt down at DeLuca’s feet. He lingered for a moment
as he placed the phial on the steps. Something caught his eye. A red drop
marred the white marble of the cathedral’s steps. Bruno jumped to his feet. But
one of the men pushed DeLuca down the stairs, while the other pounced on Bruno.
DeLuca tumbled forward, falling down the stairs face first, with a knife
jutting out of his lower back. Bruno yelled, but he knew he couldn’t run or
fight. He needed to get inside.

Cristian and Stefano emerged from behind cover, pistols
pointed in toward the cathedral, but the two men hustled Bruno over the
threshold, threw him on the flagstones, and shut the door with a thud.

Bruno was yanked to his feet and pulled down the middle of
the church. The basilica had lost none of its beauty since its abandonment. The
stained glass colored the incoming sunlight, just as it had for countless
mornings. The pews stood as they had always done, in neat rows, just waiting
for a priest to give his homily. But the men who awaited Bruno in front of the
altar were no priests.

The group parted as Bruno approached. The two men tossed
Bruno onto the altar, knocking the wind out of him. He groaned, rolling from
his back to his stomach. One of the men handed Il Serbo the phial. Il Serbo,
his shirt stained with congealing blood and brains, regarded the phial with
narrow eyes.

“You thought this would save the world? This?”

He smashed the phial next to Bruno’s head. Bruno flinched as
the thick fluid and glass shards splashed his face. Bruno could smell the musty
scent of the blood as he inched his way backward on the altar. He wondered now
if he might have been wrong, if the blood really was their salvation. But it
was too late for that. Bruno’s last hope lay in a small box somewhere just out
of reach. His good hand moved, seeking the far corner of the altar.

“What do we do now?” asked one of the men.

“I should kill you now,” Il Serbo said, ignoring the question.
“I should kill you now,” he repeated, “but we need to know some things: are
there still weapons here? The exits are blocked. How do we get out?”

Bruno lay still. Too many eyes were on him now. His right
hand lay just over the corner of the altar. Still too far.

Il Serbo shrugged, staring at Bruno while he spoke. “He
won’t want to tell us anything. We’ve got time. There aren’t enough of them to
try and get us in here, even if they have better weapons now. Maybe he doesn’t
know about the weapons. Maybe he doesn’t know the way out. Doesn’t matter.
We’ll make him pay all the same!”