Page 41 of The Circle

This is easier theorized about than executed, I have to say.

It would seem the glass windscreen is bulletproof, as none of Danny’s shots seem to be penetrating.

I have no idea how many rounds have been fired between them, but they’re not being conservative, so it has to be only a matter of time before…

Yes. I can see the oke behind the van’s steering wheel now pulling urgently at the trigger of his weapon to no avail. He’s out.

Brilliant! All right, Danny my bru, take one clean shot at the wheel of the van and…

Maak jy fokken grap, man!

Danny’s pistol appears to also have run dry.

Just when I think I could not possibly become more annoyed by things that do not go as I would like, new disappointments find their way into the spotlight of the divine comedy of my life.

The van is hammering toward Danny, and while it would seem to most that the reasonable thing to do would be to turn away and avoid being pannekoeked by the three-ton death machine racing toward you, most are not Daniel Fortnight.

He instead engages in a game of chicken with the van.

Oh, Danny. My sweet, sweet Danny. Don’t ever change.

While lying here, holding my wound, and watching this all unfold feels like it might be extremely interesting, I decide instead that we’ve had enough fun for one day and it’s time to end this.

I have the good fortune to have acquired a small arsenal in my pockets, so I reach into the soft cashmere, which is complemented by an equally soft satin/silk lining, and withdraw not one, but two weapons formerly possessed by the cohorts of the driver of the all-black vehicle containing Christine and barreling at Danny.

I take aim at the tires, preparing to complete the task Danny put me to some moments ago, but then I notice something.

The driver has not yet raised his window back into the closed position.

As my thoroughness is what I’m famous for, I keep the arm in which I have been shot flat on the ground, as raising it is quite painful, aiming for the front tire, and lift the other arm to train that shot at the head of the oke captaining the van.

He’s just about upon Danny now, and Danny, rather than making any attempt whatsoever to avoid being splattered across the front, speeds up. Racing hard toward what cannot possibly be a favorable conclusion.

I have only one chance at this. So I’d better make it count. As they say.

All right, van den Berg. Breathe. Just like Christine has talked about. Just breathe and focus and…

When you’re ready…

Take…

Your…

Shot.

Well, that went almost like I had hoped.

CHRISTINE

The sound of the tireexploding echoes like a bomb going off inside the back of the van. And then I’m thrown, smashed, heaved against the wall as it tips onto its side.

I still can’t see anything and I drop my phone, which still has the flashlight on, and the streaky beams it sends cascading around in the dark comes across like I’m suddenly at the world’s shittiest nightclub.

My head smacks against the metal again, harder this time, and now I get another flash. One that isn’t from the light on my phone. A memory. A face. Someone familiar and strange at the same time. A man.

He has a long scar down the side of his cheek. I’ve never seen him before. Or I have, but…

Who is he?