The Prophecy

18

The manoeuvre was so unexpected that the gunman failed to pull the trigger until it was too late. One moment Payne was standing in front of him, the next he was gone.

Stunned by the development, the shooter rushed forward with gun in hand, hoping to see a body splattered on the hillside below. From the edge of the platform to the icy ground was a distance of over 200 feet. Several bare trees lined the slope, as did a thick blanket of snow, but neither could save a life from this height. Even a physical specimen like Payne was subject to the laws of gravity. Death would be very likely.

That is, if he had fallen into the valley. But in fact that wasn’t what happened.

Payne had spent enough time on the concrete platforms to understand how they were built. His grandfather had even taken him underneath one when it was being repaired, so he could teach Payne the basic principles of cantilevers and stress-bearing beams. From the sidewalk, the platforms appeared to be floating on air, hanging over the valley with nothing to support them, but there was actually a network of steel beams underneath each concrete slab. When Payne flipped over the rail, he simply snagged one of the beams on his way down.

Of course, it was more difficult than it sounded.

If not for his leather gloves, he couldn’t have pulled off the move without tearing the skin from his hands, but the gloves allowed him to keep hold of the vertical bars in the railing while he slid down the wrong side of the guardrail. Instead of plummeting wildly, his hands never left the metal. At the bottom of the rail, his fingers got pinched in between the support brackets and the concrete, sending a shockwave of pain to his brain that compelled him to let go. Thankfully, his adrenaline dulled the sensation, and he managed to hold on long enough to survive.

With legs dangling freely, he swung both feet underneath the platform, hoping to make contact with one of the support beams. On his second attempt, his right foot hit steel and he managed to wedge his heel above the lip of the cold metal. Then, before the shooter had a chance to spot him, Payne yanked his left hand free and blindly groped for something to grab. An exposed bolt, jutting six inches from the bottom of the concrete, proved to be ideal.

As Payne ducked his head beneath the platform, the shooter spotted him from above and fired. The bullet hit the lower corner of the column and sent a small shower of debris towards the trees below. The gunman cursed, realizing that his target was now underneath him, and the only way to get a clean shot was to go after him.

It wasn’t an appealing proposition.

Wasting no time, Payne shimmied along the steel beam, crawling upside-down towards the anchor point of the concrete. He had learned the technique in the military, using a single cable to cross a ravine or to breach a nearby building. Heels locked above, hips hanging down, then hand over hand until he reached his destination. It took him less than a minute to reach solid ground — a small ledge underneath the platform that had been installed for workers — but when he did, he gasped for breath and considered his predicament.

No weapon. No phone. No help on the way.

And somewhere above was a man with a silencer.

If Payne waited long enough, the church down the street would end its service, and the congregation would pour onto the sidewalk. Although it might give him a chance to slip away, he knew it would endanger a lot of innocent families. In his mind, taking a bullet was bad enough, but watching a kid get killed while he was running for cover was unforgivable.

No way he’d let that happen. Not if he could help it.

Because of his height, Payne was forced to crouch as he moved along the ledge. Slowly, he crept his way towards the right side of the platform, always holding onto the overhead beam to help steady his stride. One misstep on the frozen concrete and he would fall a long way. Not only would death be certain, but cleaning up would be a bitch. At the end of the ledge, he stopped and inched his head away from the platform, leaning back as far as he could to improve his view of above. The shooter must have sensed Payne’s presence because a split-second later he was hovering over him, ready to pull the trigger.

‘Shit!’ Payne yelled as he yanked himself underneath the platform. As he did, the bullet whizzed past him, missing his head by inches and slamming into the rocks below.

‘Your luck will run out soon,’ the gunman taunted.

‘So will your ammo!’ he shouted back.

‘I wouldn’t count on it.’

Payne nodded to himself, realizing the shooter was right. If he had an extra clip or two, he could stand up there half the day, taking shot after shot until he got lucky or a hostage strolled by. Neither scenario appealed to Payne. In the MANIACs, he had always been the aggressor, looking to exploit his enemy, trying to catch him with his guard down. For him, sitting under a ledge and playing peek-a-boo with a gunman wasn’t an option. To survive, he knew he had to spot the guy’s weakness and use it against him. But what was it?

After a moment of thought, he figured it out.

‘Hey asshole,’ Payne shouted. ‘What’s your name? You owe me that much.’

‘I don’t owe you shit!’

‘Sure you do,’ he replied as he listened to the creaking above him. ‘You snuck up behind me like a bitch. That’s a punk move.’

The gunman crept to the left side of the platform. ‘But it worked.’

Payne turned his head and shouted to the right. ‘No, it didn’t. I’m still alive.’

The gunman spun and followed the sound. ‘You won’t be for long.’

‘Come and get me!’

The gunman paused, then doubled back to his right. Without saying a word, he climbed up on the railing and leaned out as far as possible, hoping he had guessed right. Ironically, he had, but it proved to be his downfall.

Instead of peeking out from under the platform, Payne leapt out with only one intention: to grab the gunman’s tie. He had spotted it earlier when he had narrowly avoided the last shot. It had been hanging there, taunting him, like a leash on a lost dog. Payne knew if he got hold of it, he would control the gunman and he would control the situation.

But he hadn’t expected what happened next.

Stretching as high as he could, Payne snagged the tie with his right hand and gave it a mighty yank. The gunman, who had already been leaning over the edge, was unable to maintain his balance. Less than a second later, his feet shot skyward, and he flipped over the railing.

In a perfect world, Payne would have held onto him and saved his life, if for no other reason than to question him about his mission. Unfortunately, Payne knew his footing and grip were way too precarious to support any extra weight, so he did the only thing that he could do to survive. Payne let go of the tie and shot his hand towards the railing.

As Payne grabbed the bar, the gunman whizzed past, screaming and flailing the entire way until his life ended with a muffled thud on the icy rocks below.