Behind him, Jim fired three rounds. Court looked back to see that his dad hit the wall just to the left of where the beam of light had been coming from.
The Gentrys knew that was a plywood wall, not reinforced like some others were in this massive building.
Immediately, the flashlight in the hallway fell to the ground.
Court began to regress to the Tomb where his dad was, but instantly gunfire sparked nearby.
Someone was firing from the catwalk above; the flashes came from behind Court, so he raced forward, towards the entrance where he’d just shot the man, and in so doing, leaving his father behind.
Fifty
Court had wanted to take the pistol off the man he killed, but he was chased out of the room by more gunfire.
Jim had said the catwalk wasn’t structurally sound, but apparently one of the attackers didn’t get the memo and had gone up there, giving him a decent overlook of this portion of the large structure.
Court entered the hallway the dead man had just come through and was surprised to find it empty. This gave him the impression that the six attackers had all split up, and this made for an even more chaotic situation.
One was dead, for sure; he didn’t know if the man his dad had fired at had been hit or had only dropped his flashlight, and there was someone up above somewhere, as well.
Court knew his dad would make his way to the Speakeasy, and he planned on meeting up with him there. But before Court could get to the Speakeasy, he saw another glow of a light, farther up the hall, coming from a room they called the Boardroom, because a massive plywood table had been erected down the center of it as a role-playing aid. Court imagined the table was long rotted away, but he knew the shape of the room and knew people could find cover in there, so he ducked off to his right into a smaller room they called the Guest Bedroom, because it had once been used for an overflow housing area when people came to train.
In here, Court was immediately drenched with rain dripping from theleaking tin roof. The catwalk above him had collapsed, and rotten wood covered the floor. He had to pick his way carefully through the darkness, because he didn’t want to shine his light and give his position away to anyone on the catwalk.
If he hadn’t left his father behind, he would have never made it back to the Tomb without getting shot, and then the enemy would have simply just shot up the Tomb itself, probably killing his dad. He hadn’t heard any more firing, so he imagined his father was right now making his way through the little tunnel to the Speakeasy. That meant—for a moment, anyway—the old man was safe.
But Court had to get to the Speakeasy himself, and that meant he had to face whoever was up on the catwalk behind him, and whoever was in the room or the hall in front of him.
He had four bullets in his revolver, and another six in his pocket.
—
Campbell Coyle knelt in a muddy and dark CONNEX box on the eastern side of the building and called over his earpiece, checking his team.
One by one, they called in. “This is Alfie, I’m on the catwalk. I can move forward, but it feels like this floor is going to fall in. Also, I don’t want to use my light, so I’m not doing much up here, but I shot at movement below me a minute ago.”
“This is Gavin. I’m shot in the hand. I lost my flashlight. I’m hiding back near the entrance we came in. I still have my gun, though. Anybody comes this way and I’ll blast the fucker.”
“Nolan here. I’m in a hall somewhere, going into a room. By myself, I can’t see or hear anything since the shooting a minute ago.”
“This is Barry. I’m moving through the room where the shooting came from. There’s a little closet here. I smell gun smoke. Somebody was just here, probably the guy that shot Gav.”
It was quiet for a moment, and then Campbell said, “Jack? Jack, are you with us?”
Barry spoke up again. “Jack is here, facedown. He’s dead.”
Campbell sighed. He was still outside, moving to one of the entrances on the east side. If Jack was dead, his brother Alfie, up on the catwalk, wasprobably about to do something stupid. He said, “Alfie. Concentrate on the job. Move carefully on that catwalk. I’m going to come up there with you and assist, yeah? Don’t you bloody shoot me.”
The Northern Irishman began moving into the massive dilapidated building.
He didn’t know why he was here, what this location was to Court Gentry other than the building next door to and behind his da’s home, but it was already sounding like Court and his father knew their way around.
That would give them an advantage, but Campbell Coyle had spent time in plenty of shoot houses doing training, so he wasn’t worried.
He held his pistol high and moved through the darkness, as another burst of gunfire kicked off somewhere ahead of him.
—
Court heard fire around the structure. It was undisciplined, and he knew it wasn’t his dad. More like one of the men with Coyle had seen a shadow and dumped rounds toward it.
