I duck right into the plated hallway, half a second before too late as the base of a vase explodes next to me. Before the neck fell to the ground, the 5.56 green tip had ripped through the falling tiles and thin concrete wall of the desolated hallway, and landed somewhere in the loiters.
My breaths on skates, and my eyes are adapting to the dark so slow that I'm dodging the lines in the dark. Adrenaline makes them look reddish and purple.
A round bounce on the exposed rebar of the concrete ruin as a small spark jumps off. Then another shreds through what I assume was the light ball as meek sound of shattered glasses falling amidst my thumping heartbeats, wind by my ear, shuttings behind me, and the rifle muzzle. Not too sure though.
The fellows in the back are reacting accordingly now. Guess they finally figured blasting through the dark is meaningless, as the shots are becoming more and more well-positioned to avoid hitting the rubbles and old furnitures in the hallway.
The noise of three maybe four poorly made zastava m85 firing in a closed hallway is deafening. I just hope it's doing more damage to their ears than mine.
How the fuck are those pieces of scrap functional?
A bullet flies by the left side of my waist, an inch closer it would have shatter half of my organs. I bent down while my right-hand reaches for the torn light switch that is now a groove. Fingers dug in it and let the momentum drag me inside the room...
As the gunfire rained outside, I made the mistake of trying to close the door. Took me five seconds in the dark probing and poking like a moron before I realized the room doesn't have one.
Pytor, god willing he better double the pay.
As the fellows realize I'm not in the hallway anymore. A couple of short exchanges later they stopped firing along with all the noises, except the hot bullet cases rolling on the ground.
Then came a shutting in Bulgarian dialect that sounded like a French chain smoker clearing his throat. Two seconds later they shut again, adding a word or two.
I couldn't understand even if I wanted to. Let alone the fact that I'm busy looking for the stashed.
I put my palm on the east wall by the blocked window and feel along it. The shutting stopped too, couldn't hear them over my beating heart but I know they're searching door by door now. Any sound louder than footsteps will draw them here.
My hands are getting sweaty as I tighten my grip on the leather handle of attach case full of Swiss bearer bonds. A loud crack of metal hinges ripped off the wall followed by the thin wooden door falling on the ground came through the entrance.
The ruckus of earlier without a doubt alarmed everyone in the building. I'm on the fourth floor. Those fuckers could come upstairs any second, while the gunners are pressing in on me. Pinning me in the middle.
I lean close and knuckle the concrete east wall every step I took towards the cabinets at the corner..... but all I got was dull feedback and scratches of peeling white paint on the back of my palm.
The noise of another door kicked down came, this time closer. The Bulgarians shut something again, and laugh to themselves. A taste of metal at the end of my tongue surges. I lick my lips and quicken the process.
Como on, come on!
A single sentence was roared through the corridor. A moment later the gunshots rang again, recking the tinnitus back. For what reasons I couldn't tell.
Inches away from the cabinet in the dark, I found it. A peculiar hollow sound echoes against my knuckles.
I take a look at the entrance, and just as I did another gunshot tears through the silence. They're shooting at something in the dark, and whatever is keeping them busy. But judging by the volume and the crinkling nose from turned rubbles on the ground they're only few meters away.
I knock my knuckle on the position again, two steps away from the corner of the room and 5 steps away from the blocked window, slightly below my line of sight-is a piece of glued, damp wood.
I close my eyes and listen. The steps are getting closer, they have stopped shooting. A stomp on the broken glass sounded extra clear in the silence where you can't see anything.
Fuck it.
Leaning my elbow on the hollowed spot, where concrete was replaced with wood days ago by Vera. Take a deep breath. And slam it down in three continuous strike.
The damp wood had cracked up a slit on the wall, I clutch my right sleeve like a glove and punch through the wall. A sharp pain inserted itself on my ring fingertip, then to my brain making me want to scratch an invincible itch in my head. It can have its due later, the footsteps are becoming clearer, louder and louder, closer and closer...
Inside the space between walls is a climbing rope attached to a carabiner. I pull the metal piece out, circle the rope around my neck, and stick my hand deeper inside.
Stolen story; please report.
Dusted concrete, wooden shrapnels, cockroach eggs..... and a slick iron piece. As if muscle memory kicked in, my index finger found the trigger, my palm on grip and pulled it out the wall. Rack it.
My eyes had gotten used to the dark as I could tell the obscure contour of the old furniture in the desolate room, and at the doorstep, without a doubt is the barrel of that hideous m85.
Time slow down as I raise my piece to aim at the shape of doorframe with one hand.
Cold sweats on my back, squinting my sore eyes, holding my breath, a burning sensation rose on my left palm as I clutched the attache case as hard as I could.
The barrel of the rifle look shorter than half a second ago as it turned. The muzzle is now pointing at the interior, a figure of half a man sticks out the doorframe.
Without a second thought, I pull the trigger.
Hammer sends the firing pin toward the primer. The gas and explosion from gunpowder ignited my sight for an instant. He was the short burly man with a beard, and his eyes were as wide as if they were about to fall off.
The instant passed. The shadow collapsed towards the other side of the doorframe as his trigger hand lowered, while his left hand obtusely reached to the notch above the bulletproof vase below his chin. The sound of a pig snorting leaks out of his torn vocal cord as he raised the rifle with one hand aimed aimlessly at the room.
I put another round through the silhouette of a man before he pulled the trigger. The figure lumps down.
"Пиши кур и бегай!" Well, I know this one.
No cover in the room would be of any use so I drop down on the floor with my cheek and stomach against the grotesque rotting carpet as they threw everything they got from the hallway through the wall. Green tip metal bullets penetrated the crumbling concrete wall like nails through paper. I lost my hearing almost immediately, all I heard are muffled drums. Like someone's banging a hammer on a train track.
As constant flashes of light from the muzzle lit up the countless bullet holes and cracks on it like a light show.
The cabinet by my feet gets shredded as well as everything else left around me. I keep my body flat on the rug, counting my own rushing heartbeats. Seconds turned to minutes in my head, the present stretch into the next breath. A piece of rubble that had peeled off from the wall fell on my back and nape.
Then came silence. The longest four seconds I had experienced were over.
I felt like rows of plastic wraps stuffed in my ears, everything sounded distant and disturbed and so did my brain.
I raised my head and the moon casts rays of slanted lights through the holes in the wood-blocked window. Half the room turned from pitched black to dimly lit. And I just lost my only cover.
A couple of foreign swears barely registered by me rose from outside as another one of them was poking his head out. I raised my .45 and fired on instincts, but didn't get lucky this time.
The Slavic cunt darts back behind cover and as bad as my hearing now, I caught it clear. The sound of polymer magazines detaching, hitting the bullet cases on the floor.
For fucks sake how many rounds did he sold them?
I stumble upon my feet and ran towards the wracked window while pulling the trigger every step I took. My aim's as good as a blind man, another round even went through the limp corpse's arm. But it doesn't matter, as long as it keeps them from advancing I still have a chance.
By the last round in the mag left the chamber, the slide racks back with a loaf of smoke exiting as I am in front of the sealed window with faint lights poking through the bullet holes.
I turn my back against the entrance and press my hands on the concrete wall. Curling up my right leg, with my torso leaning back as I send the kick straight my whole body aligned to put all the strength into motion. The Achilles's knee hurt like hell as my feet made impact on the strips of wood glued on the window. Add to the damage from the shootout the whole plate falls effortlessly off backward into the courtyard of the building with the noise of tens of brittle bones snapping.
The whole building was abandoned a long time ago, the moon isn't noticeably bright tonight either but the sudden occurrence of illumination still made me blink twice as it filled my sight with purple and gold hues and I've never adored the feeling more than the present.
No time to waste.
I cleared the left of wooden shrapnel on the frame with my gun before sticking the piece in my jacket pocket. I command my trembling right hand to pull the climbing rope off my neck.
As I turned around to jump on the window frame, with the room lit up by natural light my shadow lengthened across the tight space between me and the entrance. The way it spread till the feet of a Bulgarian giant in the dark. Greasy raven hair, fat cheeks. Small eyes behind the iron sight look as hollow as the barrel under them. I want to laugh at how fucking ugly he looks despite everything.
Smile you son of bitch.
Act natural.
According to Vera, hours later.
The man looked shocked.
A beam of concentrated light so glaring it looked bluish, cast right at the giant's eyes from his left. His eyes squinted and was about to turn his head to a muffled bang as if an oxygen tank leaked, and before he could find the source of light, a .40 s&w penetrated his temple. Brain matters and blood spurt from the other side. A shook of head later he fell rightward. By the sound of it, he fell on one of his buddies. As a shit load of grunts and high-volume swears came through the hallway.
Then the light is gone.
I'll be damned to waste the opportunity. Placing the case on my thighs(my left hand is so fucking sore), I hold the frame of the window as I tilt my head outside 16 meters in the air. I lock the carabiner on a stainless steel piton two inches to the right of the window. The clean sound of metal bouncing back to the rivet pin had never been so euphonious.
Throwing the rest of the rope around my neck off and loosened my right jacket sleeve again to use it as a protection kit while holding the red climbing rope. I grab the case while telling a thousand voices of doubt and fear in my head to fuck off and jump off the window.
***
The wind filled my ears as I'm rappelling down. The falling speed is still too fast as floor after floor of the depressing gray balcony and stained water pipes flash before my bloodshot eyes. My teeth are gritting so hard they might actually break and my right arm is hanging there by sheer will for every single sheet of muscle on it is burning.
And all of a sudden, I'm back on the ground. However feeling like it crushed down to me. I landed with my feet as a buffer before my calf hit the ground alongside my hip. I take a quick glance at the briefcase to make sure it isn't damaged.
I steady myself with a hand on the ground plated by wood shreds to get up. Another wave of gunfire erupts out of the blue from above. As I look up, a figure in black jumps off the same room I was in.
She grabs the red climbing rope with her leather-clad left hand while her course spins half a circle in the air. Her black coat is lifted by the wind like a bat flopping its wings in the night. She clung her right leg to the rope as well as gripping both gloves tight to slow down the fall, till a meter above the ground she let go and let gravity do the rest.
She stood.
The pair of full red booties deal extreme contrast to the whole world about.