The Prophecy

10

One moment she was standing there, enjoying the winter scenery. An instant later, her head erupted in a burst of pink mist.

The gunman’s shot had been perfectly placed, just under her chin at a slight upward angle. The bullet tore through her throat, the roof of her mouth, and finally her brain, before it blew out the top of her skull and imbedded itself in the chapel door.

Death was instantaneous and completely unexpected.

Her heart stopped, her knees buckled, and she toppled into Jones, who managed to catch her before she hit the ground. His dress shirt, which had been crisp and white, was now stained with blood and chunks of her hair. Splatter covered his face. Despite his years of experience, a few seconds passed before his shock faded and his adrenaline surged. Once it did, Jones transformed into a MANIAC, ready to hunt down whoever was responsible for her death.

Payne recovered a half second quicker. He grabbed Jones by the back of his collar and yanked him inside as a second shot whizzed by and buried itself in the door. Splinters burst into the cold night as the sound echoed in their ears. While falling backwards, Jones instinctively thrust his hands behind him to brace his fall. As he did, he let go of her lifeless body. She slumped sideways against the door, then toppled forwards onto the steps. Within seconds, a puddle of warm blood had oozed from the top of her head.

‘Are you hit?’ Payne screamed in the interior of the narthex.

Jones shook his head and scrambled to his feet. Just to be sure, he probed his chest and stomach with both of his hands. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘It’s not my blood.’

Payne nodded in understanding. Although he had been inside the chapel when the first bullet struck, he had witnessed its impact and the carnage it caused. Unfortunately, that’s the only thing he saw. Everything else had been blocked by the door and the people in front of him.

‘What did you see?’ he demanded.

Jones closed his eyes and replayed the scene in his mind. ‘Muzzle flash from the lawn, approximately seventy feet ahead. Second shot a little closer. Same line of fire.’

‘One shooter?’

He paused. ‘I can’t be sure.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Payne said as he slipped his hand under Jones’s jacket and stole his gun. It happened so quickly Jones barely had time to open his eyes before Payne was past him.

‘Not cool!’ Jones shouted. ‘Not cool at all!’

Payne ignored him. ‘Call 911. Make sure they know I’m pursuing the suspect.’

‘Then what?’

‘Go outside and save the janitor.’

‘I don’t even like the janitor.’

‘Save him anyway. He might have seen something.’

Jones nodded as he pulled out his phone. ‘I’ll call you with an update.’

The main entrance to the chapel consisted of two sets of double doors. A minute earlier, they had used the pair on the right with little success. This time he would try the left. Not only was it corpse-free, but it was slightly closer to a long row of hedges that separated the stone patio outside the chapel and the beginning of the Cathedral lawn. The evergreens were waist high and draped with a thick blanket of snow. They weren’t as safe as a brick wall, but were more than adequate for cover.

After taking a deep breath, Payne burst through the doors and leapt down the steps in one mighty bound. He skidded briefly on the slick concrete but managed to keep his balance as he scurried across the patio and dived behind the bushes. With gun in hand, he scanned the immediate area, searching for threats of any kind. The only person he spotted was the janitor. He was holding his shovel in a death grip, cowering against the side of the chapel.

‘Are you okay?’ Payne whispered across the courtyard.

‘Do I look okay? I think I pissed my pants.’

‘Did you see the shooter?’

The janitor’s voice trembled. ‘Some whitey in a trench coat.’

‘Young? Old? Short? Tall?’

‘I don’t know! My eyes ain’t great.’

‘Where was he?’

‘Standing on the lawn. That’s the only reason I saw him. He was standing out there like a snowman.’

‘Was he alone?’

‘What’s with all the fucking questions?’

‘Was he alone?’ Payne demanded.

‘I don’t know! I was too busy trying to hide.’

‘Don’t worry. My buddy will be right out. He’ll take you to safety.’

The janitor mumbled something else, but Payne was no longer listening. His focus had shifted to the man with the gun. Once he found him, everything else would take care of itself.

After flipping onto his stomach, Payne pulled himself underneath the hedge by grabbing one of its lower branches. Pine needles scratched his face and their scent filled his nose, but his sole concern was surveying the lawn from the safest place possible. If he had climbed to his knees and peered over the hedge, he would have been exposed to a headshot, just like Ashley had been. But down below was a different story. Although his sightline was restricted, his exposure was minimal — unless someone crept up behind him. If that happened, he was a dead man.

With his free hand, Payne brushed away some of the snow that blocked his view. With each additional stroke, his sightline increased until he could see halfway across the lawn. Trees, benches, and lamp posts dotted the landscape, but as far as he could see, there were no people.

‘Screw it,’ he mumbled to himself as he scurried backwards. He knew if he waited any longer, the shooter was going to get away.

Jumping to his feet, Payne hurdled the hedge and dashed into the lawn. The snow was deep but his traction was good, even better than it had been on the sidewalk. He sprinted forward until he reached the area where Jones had seen the muzzle flash. The snow had been trampled down, as if someone had lingered there for several minutes. Payne dropped to his knees and stared at the surrounding tracks. One set branched to the left; another pointed straight ahead.

The question was, which were more recent?

Payne looked closer, trying to figure out which way the shooter had gone, but the falling snow and the swirling wind hindered his progress. A fine layer of fresh powder had recently coated both sets of tracks. Coupled with a lack of light, Payne couldn’t rely on his eyes to pinpoint the escape route. Instead, he used his hand, running his fingertips from one side of the footprint to the other until he made sense of things. Like a blind man reading Braille, Payne located the ridge patterns in the compressed snow and determined which way the heel — which would be deeper in the snow because of weight distribution — had been facing.

Just like that, Payne knew which way the shooter had fled.

Now his pursuit could begin in earnest.