“You still have that gun I gave you?”
“Good. You’ll take this one as well. And, here’s some ammo. I’ll show you how to load them.”
He turns away and grabs a few small bags in his hand.
“Fynn?” I lower my eyelids.
“Do you think we can do this?”
“If you want some assurances that we will all get out unharmed from this, I’m afraid I can’t give you that. I’m not sure of anything right now. All I’
m sure of is that there is a sky over us and there is ground beneath us. Those are the only two things I know. The rest is all up for discussion.”
I don’t say anything to that. There’s nothing to say really. But, his words fill me with a strange sense of awe. There are so many possibilities, and in one of them, maybe even many of them, we do get out of this whole ordeal unharmed and alive. That’s all I need to remember.
“Now, let me show you how to use this gun,” he urges me to come over and I do so.
A few hours later, we’re at the designated location. Fynn had explained to me that the Boon was an old tavern, which was torn down ages ago, and all that is left of it are just four big walls and a roof that’s about to collapse any minute now.
Fynn parks the car a bit away, but I doubt anything we do would give us the surprise advantage. We already lost that.
We get out of the car, and I look around. We’re on the outskirts of the city. It’s closed off, secluded. There is no traffic of any kind around. If you want to do anything illegal, this would be your place to do it.
“You OK?” Fynn asks me, as he checks the guns on him.
He bends down to one knee, and lifts his trouser leg. I see the glimmer of a small knife in a pocket around his ankle. He adjusts it, then gets back up.
“I’m fine,” I nod.
I’m everything but fine, but is there a point in reporting that? I need to convince myself that I’m fine, that I can do this. Whatever this is. First I was running away from my kidnapper, and now, I’m walking straight towards him.
“Just stay close,” he whispers, then heads on first.
He is walking slowly, his body is slumping forward. I can barely hear his footsteps. I try to be as stealthy as he is, but it’s difficult. I step on a dry branch, or on some rubble which grinds underneath the soles of my shoes. Fynn doesn’t say anything. He just keeps on going, his hand constantly pressed to his side, where his gun is. Mine is already in my trembling hand, as I wonder whether I’ll have the guts to pull the trigger.
Something rustles in the bushes nearby, and we both jump. He sniffs the air, then shakes his head.
I’m so nervous I’m about to burst out into loud laughter, but I manage to calm myself down. We finally reach what looks like a door, hanging off its hinges. Fynn looks around, but apart from a few flickering lights in the distance, it looks like we’re the only ones here.
“Please, relinquish your weapons.”
We suddenly hear a voice from behind us, and a cocking of a gun, which sounded much bigger than either of ours.
“I always wanted to say it so dramatically.”
I don’t need to turn around to recognize that voice.
“Throw your gun to the ground,” Fynn instructs me and I do it.
“You can turn around now,” Sven tells us.
He is standing there with a bodyguard to the left and right of him.