CHAPTER 6
Something flashed in the extended hand and the bound figure fell to the ground as if pole-axed. An instant later, the sound of a shot reached David’s ears. He shuddered as if he had been lashed with a whip and felt his shivering knees give way. Lacking the strength to stay on his feet, he squatted down, losing sight of those standing on the bridge.
His whole body was in the grip of indescribable horror. What if they had noticed him? When he had been walking along the well-lit empty street a few minutes ago, the heels of his shoes had made enough noise to be heard all over the district.
The next moment, he gathered himself together, raised himself to a half-crouching position and ran as fast as he could up the dark side street, not really caring where he was going, as long as it was away from this benighted place.
Passing one side street after another, he ran past deserted houses. In the darkness, the broken windows looked like the huge eyes of strange creatures that seemed to follow his panic-stricken flight. There were far more empty houses in this side street than in the broad street he had left just before the bridge.
After running several blocks in panic, his strength gave out. His running became more laboured and he gradually slowed to a walk before stopping altogether. A fence conveniently to hand helped him stay on his feet as he leant against it, bending at the waist to get his breath back.
Gradually, his breathing returned to normal. He could now breathe regularly, without betraying his presence with loud gasps that rang out in the menacing silence like the groans of a wounded animal that had given its hunters the slip.
He looked around again. Luckily, in his panic, he had been running parallel to the river, so when he finally got a grip on himself, his landmark had not been lost. He wanted to get to the other side, but there was no question of crossing the next bridge; his legs felt shaky at the mere thought of it. Nevertheless, he had to cross, come what may.
A poorly-lit street separated him from the river. After making sure there was nobody around, he emerged from the shadow of the building where he had been recovering his breath and quickly crossed it, ending up at the water’s edge.
The river flowed in an artificial channel with a concrete wall. It wasn’t a river, in fact, but a storm drain running on into the ocean. Swimming or wading across was out of the question. There was a vast amount of garbage floating along it, mostly branches of some sort, and although the water was flowing smoothly, almost noiselessly, it was clear close up that the current was strong. If you slipped, you could easily get tangled up in some wire or branch, the current would then knock you off your feet and that would be the end of you.
He remembered that as the metro ran through this part of town, the train emerged from a tunnel and crossed the water on a railway bridge. If he was not mistaken, there was no pedestrian track on it, so no people or cars used it; it was just what he needed. But where was the damned bridge?
He clearly remembered that it was well lit at night, but from where he was standing, there was no illuminated bridge in either direction as far as he could see. Although...
A little further on, just a hundred metres or so, he could make out some sort of shadow in the darkness hanging over the river. It looked like industrial pipelines crossing over the top. David hurried in that direction, trying not to lose sight of the shadow. His feet stumbled in the grass and bushes, but it was still better than coming out into the light and clattering his heels on the asphalt, being heard for miles around.
Here were the pipes. When he got close, he could see that one thick pipeline, with a dozen or so thinner ones attached to it, came out of the ground right in front of the river and rose vertically for some five metres or so before bending at a right angle and passing over to the other side. He only had to climb up on the pipeline and hope that he would be able to get down again on the other side without breaking his leg.
Without taking long to think about it, he set about scrambling up the pipes, unavoidably scratching his hands on the rust-covered metal. Like a persistent fly, the thought kept buzzing in his head that he might not be able to get down on the other side, but he ruthlessly pushed such thoughts aside. From childhood, he had mastered the principle that the main thing was to climb up, you would always be able to get down somehow. Safe and sound was another matter, but a way down could always be found.
His breath, heavy with stress and fear, seemed loud enough to be audible for miles. Step by step, choosing carefully where he put his feet, he was soon halfway across.
The descent was simpler than he had feared and after only a couple of minutes, he was on the other side of the river. He recovered his breath, shook himself and looked back. The city district where he had just been, which was poorly lit and consisted of scruffy ramshackle houses, made a gloomy impression. Thank goodness he had finally managed to leave it behind.
He looked himself over, noting that his appearance had changed too. The thin cloth of his suit trousers was smeared with dust and a dark substance like tar or grease. His palms and fingers ached and smarted in several places where he seemed to have scratched them and drawn blood, though he couldn’t see that clearly in the dark.
Dismissing all this, David continued on his way. If he was not mistaken, he should soon come out onto Fulton Street, from where the park was in easy reach. Once there, he would think of something. He could easily get home from the centre, even at this late hour.
He came out onto the nearest street. The roads and houses were more prosperous on this side of the river and even the air seemed fresher. No garbage, no empty lots or abandoned houses with gaping holes instead of windows. Without even noticing, he had speeded up, breaking into a fast walk rather than a jog. Gradually, he managed to calm himself. The image of what he had seen on the bridge was still swimming around in his head, but he was beginning to see it from a different angle.
Those thugs were certainly not what you would want as an example for children. Their crudely daubed cars, their typical clothing, their body language, showed at first glance what sort of hooligans they were. The poor guy who had been shot looked the same. David was most likely a witness to the latest internal gang dispute. You don’t see something like that every day, but in a city of millions, something of the sort must happen every week. The seamy side of the big city...
He could see an illuminated metro sign ahead of him through the tops of small trees and speeded up still more. Perhaps the trains were running again? If he was lucky, he would be able to re-board his regular line and in half an hour he could be soaking in the bath. He would probably take the day off tomorrow. Maybe tonight he would order a pizza, pour himself a drink and sit on his balcony admiring the Northern Lights and by tomorrow, the events of this unlucky evening would be behind him like a terrible dream.
The entrance to the metro, directly under the illuminated sign, bore wrought iron letters attractively lit by bright spotlights.
KENNEDY AVENUE
David gave the sign a brief glance as he went down the concrete steps below ground. Keeping up the same pace, he tried to remember the station. It was certainly not on the line he normally travelled between home and work. When his train had stopped and he had crawled out of the tunnel and gone down that ghastly street, he had been moving to the right slightly, at an angle to the direction of his branch line. In front of the bridge he had also run to the right, so that this must be the adjacent branch. If so, he would have to change trains in the centre.
While thinking about his route plan, he had gone down several flights and was now standing directly on the platform. There was a hint of smoke in the air, making him think that the trains had been suspended due to a fire somewhere in the tunnel. Right in front of him was a metro plan. It showed that he was indeed on a branch line running to the east of the one he wanted and intersecting it in the city centre. He would only have to travel a few stops before changing trains.
Without lowering his upturned head, he took a step back to get a better view of the map and felt broke
n glass crunch under his feet. Probably a broken bottle, he thought, and realised he should be careful not to step on any large fragments so as not to completely ruin his shoes. After today’s running and crawling along pipes, there wasn’t much life left in them as it was.
Thoughts flashed through his mind as he looked down to check for large pieces. Mixed with the broken glass on the platform was a scattering of fired cartridge cases. He squatted down in surprise and lifted one of them to get a better look.
There was something in Cyrillic interspersed with numbers on the titanium-coloured cartridge with its gold-colour percussion cap. David turned it around in his hands, looking at it, then raised it to his nose and sniffed. The smell was the same as the smell hanging in the air, only more intense. He suddenly felt unbearably hot and the back of his neck became drenched in sweat as his feeling of alarm returned. Something was wrong here. Why was it so quiet?
His view of the platform was blocked by the broad concrete column to which the metro map was attached. To get around the barrier, David took a half-step to the right and looked out from behind it. The next instant, his heart fell into his boots.