Dead City, Outbreak. Chapter 2
Why had she died? He had done what they wanted.
Massimo held Arnette in his arms until the final jerking throes of her death eased. He strained to hold her to him. Her head lay against his shoulder but as life had drained, her legs gave way, and she had grown heavy. He laid her on the floor, pulling the emerald-green silk of her dress below her knees - she had always been an elegant woman - and moved her head to face the opposite direction. He placed a length of blonde hair to cover her cheek, forehead, and nose whilst focusing on the floor and the fire extinguisher that Mason Briar had dropped as he’d fallen to his knees. He lay sprawled close to the wall, his face flat against the floor, nose broken.
The room was silent apart from the hissing of the cameraman’s breath as he sucked in and blew out through his mouthpiece. A sub-aqua diving assassin. Massimo’s mind reeled. It was a struggle to understand what had happened. And why? What purpose was there to it? It made no sense. They were all dead. How could they be blackmailed now?
They can’t, Massimo.
But why kill them all?
Because they can. To prove a point? To get them out of the way?
Massimo followed the cameraman’s movements as he walked across the room. Had he killed them? Massimo wasn’t sure. He hadn’t seen him do anything other than take photographs. He glanced across the floor. Bodies lay strewn and contorted, held in Death’s grip where they had fallen. Blood seeped from orifices—mouth, nose, ears. Eyes leaked. Some had lost control of their bodily fluids and the politician lay with a dark patch spreading across his front, transforming his trousers from grey to charcoal. There was the stench of burning flesh and shit.
Arnette would hate it.
Why had she died? He had done what they wanted.
“They’re all dead!” he whispered. “Dead.”
The cameraman cast a glance towards Massimo. Their eyes caught. His gaze was disinterested. He took a final photograph then moved towards the door.
“Why did you do this?” Massimo seethed. “Why?” he shouted. His voice caught in his throat. “Why?”
The man broke his gaze without reaction and continued across the room. His foot knocked Arnette’s head, making it loll. Dead eyes stared at Massimo as her head rolled to face him. Rage surged. Overwhelmed, he roared, and grabbed the fire extinguisher as he sprang to his feet.
Arm raised, extinguisher held like a baton, he launched at the man, wheeling his arm in a wide arc. The extinguisher hit the cameraman’s shoulder. He grunted and turned to block another blow. It came down hard on his forearm. All thoughts of himself gone, consumed by burning grief, Massimo barged forward, knocking against the man with his full weight. His head made a dull thud against the wall, but he pushed back, raising a clenched fist. Massimo grabbed for the tube connecting the mask with the bottle of air in the bag. It separated with a hiss. Behind the glass, the man’s eyes widened with a flicker of fear, and he pushed Massimo with force then followed it with an attack, raining thumping blows down upon his head and chest. Turning away, the cameraman headed for the hallway.
“No!” Massimo growled. “No! You won’t leave.”
As Massimo caught up to him, a fist swung down. He dodged to the left and grabbed for the mask, stuffing fat fingers beneath its rubber strap. He tightened his grip then pulled. Hair ripped from the man’s scalp as the strap snapped. A hand instantly spread across the glass front, keeping the mask in place.
Grunting as he held his breath, the man lashed out, twisting round to kick and punch, before jerking away. Massimo took the blows. The pain didn’t feel like his own and he focused on the mask. His grip tightened and he grabbed the man’s hand, digging his fingers in between the bones. The man’s hand slipped, and the mask pulled free.
“You fucking idiot!” the man screamed, grasping for the mask.
Massimo threw it across the room. It landed beside a slick of oil and slid out of sight. A punch caught Massimo, hitting him on the side of his head. The force caused him to stagger and unbalanced his weight. White light filled his vision as he thudded against the island and pain shot through his back as it caught against the corner of the marble worktop.
The man took his chance and ran for the hallway. As he disappeared around the corner, Massimo followed.
The door to the apartment was locked and the cameraman pulled at the handle, slamming back bolts, then pulling back levers. Massimo had always been security conscious and a code was needed for the door’s inner bolts to slide back into their casings. See, Arnette. It wasn’t overkill!
The man hammered against the door then turned to face Massimo. His face had grown red and a trickle of blood ran from one nostril. “Let me out!” he gasped then clutched at his throat. He sucked at the air then focused on Massimo. He mouthed words without sound then staggered forward. “Spray!” He forced the words out and grasped with a clawing hand before sinking to his knees and slumping against the wall. A widening yellow puddle of piss spread out beneath him.
“Spray,” Massimo repeated and turned away from the man to the room.
He retrieved the bottle of clear liquid from beside Arnette, then took a final look across the space. He had sprayed it into her nostrils as she’d gasped for air, but it had failed. Whatever was in the bottle wasn’t a cure. It had saved him from a brutal death, but only because he had taken it before what had killed them had been released.
“Released,” he said. “He released it into the air.” He glanced across to the island to where slices of raw pangolin lay on the chopping board. It shimmered in the light as though dusted with fine metallic particles.
Best leave, Massimo. They’ll be here soon.
The thought made him shudder. They. What would they do to him now?
He took a final glance at Arnette then picked up his wallet and his coat and left the apartment.
Outside the night was warm and the street heavy with people. Glasses clinked and people laughed as they sat beneath awnings set with tables. Nothing was different out here. His mind struggled to make sense of it. How could Arnette be laid dead on their apartment floor whilst out here men laughed with their wives or mistresses as if nothing had happened?
He stuffed his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against their laughter, and walked.
He walked until his legs ached and the rage that had boiled through his blood waned to fatigue. With the busy streets behind him, he clung to the shadows of the darker spaces and pushed against muscles growing tired. The buildings gave way to avenues of trees and ahead a brick wall was overhung with leaves. He followed the wall until he came to an entrance gate. Through them was a park, the winding path leading through it lit by solar lamps at its edges. He pushed at the ornate ironwork gate. Metal clanked and he noticed the padlocked chain. Across the road, light spilled onto the pavement from a shop. Inside a man stood behind the counter and behind him were shuttered shelves. Massimo crossed the road and headed for the shop. Inside, the man rolled up the shutters and Massimo chose a bottle of whiskey and a packet of cigarettes. He bought a lighter too, then made his way outside and back to the park gates. He leant against them then slid to the ground and opened the bottle, took a swig, then opened the packet of cigarettes. His hands trembled and the breeze blew out the lighter’s flame until he pulled at his jacket to create a windbreak. The whiskey burned as it hit the back of his throat and the cigarette made him cough, but he forced himself to consume them. He hadn’t smoked since his late teens but as he took a deep draw on the cigarette, coughing as the smoke irritated his throat, he enjoyed the light-headed sensation it brought. Another mouthful of whiskey began to dull his senses.
As he took another draw on the cigarette, his mobile vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and checked the screen. ‘Number Unknown’. He took a breath and answered.
“Good evening, Mr. Trivelli.”
“Who is this?” It was a rhetorical question; there was no mistaking the voice of the man who had threatened to release the video.
“Do we have your attention now?”
“You killed my wife,” Massimo hissed.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” the man replied.
Massimo gritted his teeth, biting them together until his jaw hurt, swallowing down the need to hurl abuse and threats at the man. “Yes,” he said. “You have my attention.” And when I find you, I will kill you!
I’m a little confused. Is this all one story? I’m loving it and hope it is.
This is a wild ride. Each chapter has me yearning for the next!