Heathen/Nemesis

Ninety

The movement was smooth and efficient.

Donna raised the .357, steadied herself and fired off two rounds.

The roar as the weapon spat out the high-calibre shells was intolerable in the confined space; both she and Julie were deafened by the thunderous retort. The muzzle-flashes seared white light onto their retinas and the stink of cordite filled the air.

The impact lifted Farrell off his feet. The first bullet struck him in the chest, the second hit him just below the chin.

He was slammed back against the wall, blood spouting from the wound in his throat. For long seconds he stood there, eyes gaping wide, his body twitching.

Donna fired again.

The third shot caught him in the face slightly to the left of his nose. The bullet drilled the eye socket empty, powered through the brain and exploded from the back of his skull, carrying a confetti of pulverized bone and sticky pinkish-red matter with it. Farrell pitched forward, what was left of his head smacking hard against the floor, blood pouring from the remnants of his blasted cranium.

Donna stepped over the body and into the room from which he’d emerged, her ears still ringing.

Julie followed, glancing down at the body as she passed.

The room beyond was large and well lit, particularly the area in the centre. It was there that Donna saw a naked man scramble to his feet, a look of horror on his face as he saw the gun. The woman beneath him, also naked, rolled over and tried to get up but she slipped, screaming in terror.

Donna saw perhaps a dozen men in the room, most dressed in suits. And instead of attacking her and Julie, they were fleeing.

A door at the far end of the room seemed to be their only means of escape. They rushed at it en masse, struggling with each other in their haste to get out.

Donna spun round, the gun levelled.

Dashwood and Parsons stood immobile at the head of a long table.

The Grimoire was on the table in front of them.

There was another thunderous roar of gunfire. Donna hurled herself to the ground as the bullet sang past her, slicing empty air before blasting a hole in the wall.

David Ryker got off two more rounds before Donna managed to return fire.

The room was filled with the massive sounds, thundercracks of noise that threatened to burst the eardrums.

The naked man ran towards Ryker.

He shot him.

Donna looked on in bewilderment as Ryker put two shots into the man’s chest. She saw him hurled backwards by the impact, one shell erupting from his back close to the right scapula. Gobbets of lung tissue sprayed across the room as he fell.

The woman who had been with him went on screaming until Ryker shot her, too, one .45 slug in the head. It smashed in her temple as surely as if she’d been hit with a sledgehammer.

Donna fired and hit Ryker in the shoulder. He dropped his gun and clapped a hand to the wound, feeling jagged bone against his fingertip as his index finger slipped inside the hole.

‘Get the book,’ Donna shouted to Julie, who sprinted across the rapidly emptying room.

The other people who had been in the room had mostly scrambled through the door at the far end.

Julie picked up a chair and hurled it at Dashwood, who raised his arms to shield himself, falling back.

Parsons snatched at the Grimoire, catching Julie across the face with a swipe of his hand. She shouted in pain, feeling her bottom lip split under the impact.

Parsons gripped the book in his gnarled hands.

Donna stood up and fired at him.

The shot caught him in the left arm, tearing through the bicep.

Blood exploded from the wound, thick, dark blood that spattered the wall behind him.

He dropped the book and Julie made a grab for it, knocking it away, sending it skidding across the floor.

Parsons shouted something and leapt after it.

Donna drew a bead on him and fired.

The hammer slammed down on an empty chamber.

She threw the .357 away, pulling at the other shoulder holster, freeing the Beretta.

Parsons shouted in triumph as he reached the book but Donna swung the 92S into position and pumped the trigger.

One, two, three times she fired.

Parsons was hit in the chest and thigh. The third bullet missed and buried itself in the far wall.

Four, five, six.

The room had become like the inside of a cannon barrel, the noise incessant and deafening. Julie screamed but could not hear her own cry.

Parsons had fallen face down on the floor across the naked woman, his body torn and bleeding from the impact of the 9mm bullets. He reached out towards Donna, his fingers gradually twitching less and less.

He lay still.

Smoke hung like a gauze net across the room.

Julie, on her hands and knees, looked around for the Grimoire. Donna could see that the only living people left now were herself, her sister, Ryker, who was slumped against an overturned table holding his smashed shoulder, and Dashwood, who stood defiantly facing her.

Donna’s breath came in gasps as she looked from one man to the other.

The floor was awash with blood from the dead man and woman and from Parsons.

The Grimoire lay in the centre of the floor.

A prize.

The trophy in a game of death.

No one moved.

The retorts of the guns still filled their ears, the muzzte-flashes still flamed in their eyes. But the room was all but silent.

Donna could see that Ryker’s .45 was lying within two or three feet of him. She saw his eyes dart to one side.

He moved very slightly towards the weapon, still holding his shoulder. Blood was pumping through his fingers; every movement clearly brought him fresh agony, as the two pieces of his shattered clavicle grated together.

Nevertheless, if he could just reach the gun ...

Donna shot him three times.

His body jerked as each bullet thudded into him, then he slid to one side and lay still, his chest and face covered in blood. It looked as if someone had upended him and dipped him in the crimson fluid.

Donna aimed the pistol at Dashwood.

Julie was crying softly now. Her hearing all but gone, her eyes stinging from the smoke, she could only watch helplessly as Donna and Dashwood faced each other.

He was smiling.