70.

  My whole world exploded in a shower of sparks, and I was thrown backwards. I tumbled and heard the racking of a shotgun.

  "Shit, I think I missed!" Someone from inside the van yelled.

  "Press the alarm! Press the alarm!" someone else shouted frantically, but I was on my feet before they could do anything again.

  I moved on sheer instinct and adrenaline, unaware of how badly I was or wasn’t hurt. My Wrist Rocket was in my hand, and so was a Bang Rock. In the darkness, I saw two figures stumbling out of the truck, fumbling with something. One of them had a shotgun, and the other had some sort of radio. I pulled back my Wrist Rocket and fired, catching the one with the shotgun full in the chest, sending him flying back into the truck. The shotgun went off again, and the pellets hit the man next to him in the shoulder, sending him spinning in a shower of blood.

  The truck next to them burst open, and four more men stepped out. Two were armed with guns, one was armed with a sword, and the fourth... even in the blurry greenness of my night vision goggles I recognized him: it was Black John, Brick’s bodyguard. The two men with guns raised them and fired blindly into the darkness. I felt bullets whizz by my face.

  "The lights!" Black John roared, and I had maybe a second or two of darkness left to aid me.

  I quickly loaded another shot, fired, and hit one of the men in the mid-thigh. He went down screaming. I reloaded another pellet and fired blindly before turning and running. I screwed my eyes shut and ripped off my goggles just as the lights flickered on. A second slower and I would have been blinded.

  The last Bang Rock I fired had missed the men, but hit the truck and exploded next to the second man with a shotgun, distracting him long enough that I was able to dart out of sight.

  "The back door!" Black John roared and suddenly, as I desperately tried to fight my way through the debris, I saw one of the goons from outside standing at the fire door, his pistol raised.

  I threw myself sideways as he squeezed off four shots. He proved to be as useless as I thought, and his shots were wild and erratic. He missed me by a mile. I landed in a pile of scrap metal hard, scrambled to my feet, and came up holding some sort of metal shaft. I launched it at the man, hitting him in the chest and face, knocking him backwards out of sight.

  And then there were more gunshots. I didn’t have time to react. Two shots hit me square in the back. I felt them crash into my carapace armour, and there was a disgusting moment where extreme force met an impenetrable barrier. I heard things pop in my spine and I was flung forward off my feet. I stumbled into the racks of machinery and car parts, trying to put any sort of barrier between me and the gunfire.

  I reached into my pockets and threw three Chalk Bombs down behind me. That gave me enough separation to try and escape. I stumbled into the racks and realised I had blocked myself into a corner. There was no other escape, not even a window and my assailants were between me and the fire escape door.

  They ran after me, stumbling through the smoke. Two of them had guns, and the one with the sword was coming up behind them. I had no idea where Black John was. I needed to take out those gunmen quickly. I pulled out Grandad's bat and threw a handful of Bang Rocks at their feet, which was admittedly a gruesome thing to do.

  The pellets exploded, tearing through their shoes and then the flesh underneath. One of the men got it the worst; both his feet turned to red mush. He screamed and fell, his gun going off wildly into the racks next to us, sending ricochets up and down the cramped walkway. I ducked down as I felt a bullet zip by my head. The second gunman still had one working foot. He staggered sideways into the racks and screamed as he leveled his gun at me. He fired twice and missed. I ducked the two shots, covered the distance between us, and swung Grandad’s bat at his arm. The explosive impact went off, and his elbow cracked under the pressure. The gun fell from his hands, and he lay screaming, one less foot and one less arm than he had begun the day with.

  Then the swordsman emerged from the smoke. He chopped his machete down at me, and I had just enough time to fling Grandad's bat in the way to protect myself. But he was skilled, not like these other goofballs. He softened his wrists, rolled with the blow, lashed out with his foot, kicking me hard in the stomach. I stumbled backward a few steps, and then he was on me again. The blade zipped by my face as I dodged back. The swordsman rolled with the momentum of his blade, pirouetted, and then chopped vertically down at me, trying to slice my belly open. There was no way I could dodge it; he was too fast. The blade bit into the carapace armour and clanged off. Confusion lit up his face for a second as he lost control of his blade. I jabbed out with Grandad's bat, catching him in the cheekbone, forcing him backward while reaching into my pocket. I wanted to grab a Bang Rock, but I reached into the wrong pocket and came out holding a Chalk Bomb. Oh well, that would work too, I guessed.

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  The swordsman raised his blade again, and I flung the Chalk Bomb, hitting him square in the chest. The bomb exploded, covering us both in white dust, filling our noses and throats. Except I knew to hold my breath and close my eyes, and he didn't. He inhaled a deep lungful of the chalky powder and began coughing and spluttering. However, he was no fool. He swung his blade in an arc at me, not trying to hit me, but to keep me at bay while he tried to clear his eyes. He swung it back and forth, creating a protective radius around himself. I tried to get inside the blade, but he moved too quickly, too effectively, and I was clumsy and amateurish. Plus, my cricket bat probably weighed a good two or three pounds more than his sword. But what I lacked in skill, I made up for in dumb luck.

  I swung the bat to meet the machete, catching the swordsman off guard, and the blade was ripped from his hand. That was one thing the bat was better at: being a heavy blunt object. The sword clattered into the wall of car parts, and just as the swordsman managed to clear his eyes, he got a chest full of Grandad's cricket bat, which sent him spinning head over heels back the way he had come. He came to a stop, lying in a heap, wheezing and holding his chest.

  I leapt over the fallen men, ignoring the carnage I had caused. I couldn't help catching a glimpse of the man with the two ruined feet, sitting on the floor and screaming while looking at them. I ran on through the still clearing haze of the Chalk Bombs, making a beeline straight for the rear door.

  That's when Black John entered the battle. He dropped out of nowhere, landing with barely a sound. He was a tall, dark-skinned man with a bald head and a thick beard. He was built with a boxer's physique, narrow at the hips and thick around the shoulders and chest. He wore a long dark coat with a matching dark suit underneath, and in his hands was a long metal chain with spikes sticking out of it. I could tell just from the way that Black John carried himself, he knew how to fight way better than I did. I skidded to a halt and eyed him, expecting that maybe we would trade a few barbs, go back and forth a bit, but Black John wasn't the talkative type.

  He lashed out with the chain as quick as a snake. As I lurched backwards to avoid those spikes hitting me full in the face, he pulled his pistol and put two shots in my chest. I was flung backwards, rolling head over heels. The carapace saved my life again but did little to cushion the sledgehammer blows to my torso. I wheezed and tried to roll through the blows to get back to my feet. As I did, Black John was on me. He whipped the chain up and then down, trying to lash me full across the body and face. Again I dodged, and again he raised his gun, narrowly missing me in the cramped confines.

  I reached into my pocket and took out a handful of Bang Rocks. In my panic I spilled most of them across the floor. Still wheezing, I threw them blindly at him. Luck was on my side again. Three of the Bang Rocks hit Black John. Only two went off. One hit him in the sternum but he barely flinched: he was wearing a heavy flak jacket underneath his shirt. The other Bang Rock hit his pistol and exploded, taking a chunk out of the side of the gun’s slide. Black John was just about to squeeze the trigger when he noticed, and dropped it hastily. Good move, a damaged pistol would be more dangerous to the wielder than to the one standing in front of it. I heard him mutter a curse under his breath before he whipped the chain at me again. This time, I couldn't move out of the way quickly enough, so I turned my back and accepted the blow across my armor. The jacket barely held, and the carapace protected me from the worst of it, but I heard those wicked barbs scraping across the plates. I knew that if that had been my flesh, it would have gouged my skin like a feral wildcat.

  I was running out of options. I'd spilled almost all my Bang Rocks across the floor, and I had maybe one or two more Chalk Bombs, but I had a feeling such a silly little trick wouldn't do much against Black John. He was cold, precise, professional, and he had the eyes of a killer.

  Black John spun with the whip again, and I ducked into another aisle of tall shelves. He came after me, but the cramped space meant that he couldn't use the chain to its full effect. Panic took over and I did the only thing I could: I rushed him. I think that caught him off guard because he was a second slower than I would have thought he'd be. I punched him in the stomach and then swung at his face. He dodged the blow to the face, and the one to his stomach hit the flak jacket, nullifying the effects of my Zap Knucks.

  Oh crap. I was way too close to such a monstrous individual. He lashed down with his elbow and caught me on top of the head. It felt like someone had taken a hammer and tried to smash my head through my body. I was driven down. I looked up just in time to see him rear back with his knee intending to cave my face in.

  I panicked and lashed out with the Zap Knucks, catching him square in the groin. The voltage sparked, and Black John cried out. He lurched backwards. It was only a glancing blow, but it was enough to break his concentration and give me room. I charged him again and kicked his kneecap as hard as I could. There was no chance of me beating Black John in a fair fight, but I had no intention of fighting fair. He grunted, took the blow, bending his knee sideways with it to try and absorb the impact, and then swung a left hook, thumping me in the side of the head. I was slammed sideways into the rack of tools. There was an ominous metallic groan from above. We both stopped and looked up. A shower of heavy metal debris began cascading down on us.

  Of all the ways I thought I would die tonight… this wasn’t one of them.