Lying prone on a flat roof overlooking a narrow street, Ansell peered through the rain at Marcus. He staggered towards a door guarded by eight grizzly looking men. He didn’t recognise them, and they didn't appear to belong to a shanty gang. They were carrying automatic weapons and looked professional.
“Who are they?” whispered Jude.
“Don’t know. Not a shanty gang. Rebels, maybe.”
He watched Marcus slither past the men and knock on the door to a terraced house. The door cracked open and he disappeared inside.
“What now?” asked Jude.
“We wait.”
“He could be in there with the Conduit right now.”
“Could be. But he could be in there with anyone for any number of reasons. Besides, I'm deadly, but I'm not eight-men-with-automatic-rifles deadly. We wait for him to come out. We stick to the plan.”
Jude nodded and pulled his hood over his head. He took his bow out from a bundle of blankets. Fetching the string from his pocket, he attached the two together. “It’s pushing midday,” he said without looking up.
Ansell glanced up at the blasts of light through the black clouds. “I know. We have time.”
Below, the door creaked open once more, and Marcus staggered out to the street. He looked nervous, scratching at his neck furiously.
“Good. He’s withdrawing,” Ansell said with a smile. He edged himself back from the lip of the roof and rolled up to his haunches. He crept to the far side of the building and slid down an access ladder, swiftly followed by Jude.
“Your steed, sir,” smirked Jude as he gestured at the wet wheelchair stashed carefully alongside some bins.
Ansell shot him a disconcerting look as he sat himself down. “Get serious. This could be our one and only shot at this. Believe me, if we don’t deal with Marcus – and fast – the girl will hang.”
Jude nodded glumly and slid his bow under the wheelchair. Ansell waved him forward, and with purpose, the two hunters stalked after their prey.
Ansell eyed Marcus as he staggered ahead of them. His greasy grey hair was soaked and dripping, and his bony frame was at risk of blowing away in the blustering winds. Here and there, he’d spin around and scan for danger, unaware that the cripple being pushed along not fifty yards behind him was the deadliest man in the city and his brother’s killer.
“Ok, here’s as good as anywhere. See ahead? When he steps into that alleyway, take the shot,” Ansell directed.
“Got it.”
“Do not kill him. You’re not shooting a saucepan now. Go for his ankle. We just want to bring him down.”
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“I’ve got it, Ansell.”
Before Ansell could reply, a burst of wind blasted past his head. A flash of black spun through the air and thundered home into Marcus’ calf. He staggered and dropped to his knees, crawling forward and grasping at the cold, wet pavement. Ansell leapt from his wheelchair and dashed across the open ground towards the alleyway, closing in on Marcus in seconds. He slung his arm around his neck, clasping his wrist with his other hand. Wrenching him close to his body, he exerted all the force he could on his windpipe. Ansell lifted his chin up and away from the scrabbling, bloody fingers clawing for his face until they slowly dropped down to his victim’s sides.
Ansell turned to see Jude skid to a stop in front of him. He took Marcus’ rucksack off and tossed it to Jude before dumping him into the wheelchair. Scanning the street behind them for witnesses, he gestured Jude to check the bag.
“It’s Croc, Ansell, a shitload of it!”
Ansell was watching two Crocheads drinking moonshine in a doorway.
“Ansell. This is a different bag than the one he went in the house with. Whoever was in there is the Conduit!”
Satisfied the two Crocheads hadn’t noticed an abduction in broad daylight, he turned back to Jude. “Everything isn’t always as it seems. We don’t know for sure what happened in that house. But after half an hour alone with him” – he jabbed a finger into Marcus’ lifeless head – “we’ll know everything.”
Jude was about to protest when Ansell continued, “I follow the trail. I don’t skip steps. Marcus is the next step. Now we need to move.”
“On the ground! Do it now!”
Ansell turned back. Two men dressed in black advanced on them, automatic rifles pointing at their heads. He saw Jude drop to his knees out of the corner of his eye. His fingers itched for the trigger of his shotgun, but he knew the men were out of range. He cursed to himself and dropped to his knees. The two men closed in, rifles levelled, eyes full of contempt.
“Throw the bag over. Move slowly,” the first man ordered. Jude reached slowly for the bag.
Ansell glanced at Jude. There was a glint in his eye. The boy had something planned. He was about to speak to the men when Jude exploded into action, launching the bag at speed into the rifle of the first man, cracking him off balance. The second man swung his eyes towards the commotion.
Sensing his opportunity, Ansell launched himself to the left and came up in a roll. In total fluidity, he drew his knife and dived at him, tearing the blade through his neck. Blood spattered through the rain as the metal of the rifle clanged to the ground. Time seemed to slow as he looked over to the first man. He’d managed to dislodge himself from the bag strap that had taken him at the neck, but before he could get a shot off, Jude blasted him through the face. The loud crack of a revolver rang through the empty street, followed by the sickening crunch of shattering skull. The guard’s body dropped to a puddle with a splash. The distant shriek of sirens occupied the silence.
“Fucking brilliant, Jude. Well done,” he scoffed. “They’ll hear that from here to the fish yards! Where did you get that? Shit.”
“Took it from Marcus.” Jude stood rigid, quivering in the rain. His knuckles turned white as his hand squeezed the revolver’s grip. His eyes were fixed on the man in the puddle and the wedding ring on his finger. “I killed him.”
“It gets easier every time,” said Ansell. Before Jude could reply, he swept up a rifle and strode towards the two Crocheads drinking in the doorway.
Ansell stopped in front of the Crocheads, and without a moment's hesitation, cracked two shots off, executing them mercilessly. The clangs of shell casings echoed about the street as the two men sunk to the ground. He tossed the rifle and dragged the Crocheads over one by one to join the two bodies lying in the rain. Snatching the revolver from Jude, he clasped it into a dead Crochead’s hand. He issued the second Crochead with a knife he took from Marcus’ bag. Content that the scene looked convincing enough, he swung back to Jude in time to see him vomit. His eyes were bright red, burning against the backdrop of his ghostly white face.
“Get a grip. We need to move fast.”