ANGEL BLUE [1]

LEAD 22: deal with the devil

      I feel extremely short changed. Why does it always have to be me that’s thrown up as bait whilst everyone gets away? What ever happened to my opinion? What happened if I wanted to be locked in the dining hall? Well, the more I think about it, I’m safer out here with the Baines instead of an enclosed space with no ammunition.

      I check the pulses of any of the Squad Officers that I can identify. All of their throats have either been (a) ripped out (b) eaten or (c) dispersed along with their other body parts. The concrete of the stairs is stained crimson and the railings are slippery with blood from Officers that’ve tried to flee or hunger-driven Baines looking for fresh meat.

      I pay attention to the wounds to see any bullet holes. I haven’t found any dead Officers yet with simple gunshot wounds but have found spent casings of .9mm everywhere. Some Baines (that I’ve shot) had bullet wounds in them but didn’t kick up much of a fuss since gunpowder doesn’t hurt them―too bad I can’t say the same for silver nitrate.   

      I slowly pad my way down the stairs towards the green grass that encases Belvedere castle. The large pond lays dormant and a small rowboat is docked at a wharf near the entrance to the woods. I bend down to retrieve one of the flashlights from a dead Officers limp hand; I close his eyelids out of respect and click on the flashlight.

      “Detective Stevens this is Marcs, all guests are safe in the dining hall. Still no sign of Adams or Banks, have you found any survivors? Over,” Marcs says over the walkie-talkie.

      I press the button on the side to respond, “Copy that Marcs. All I see are dead bodies. I’ve killed a couple of assailants but most have disappeared once the Officers started firing or there were only a limited amount to begin with. I’m still searching for Banks and Adams, over.”

      “I’ve checked the roof already; all of Squad Three Green are down. I take it that there’s no point calling backup if it turns into a bloodbath. Pingelly and I will try and keep the guests under control. Report back if you find anything, Marcs out,” then the line goes static again.  

      I click the walkie-talkie and attach it back to my belt, roaming aimlessly and trying not to get picked off in the process. I pray to find at least one live Officer but my hopes fall on deaf ears―all I see are mangled pieces of flesh that could’ve once belonged to someone in the force. So instead, I collect their shields to send to their families.

      In total, I have only twelve badges. Thankfully, none are Banks but I didn’t know Adams number so I can’t say the same for him. I circle towards the pond to see two dead Squad Three’s face-down on the water; they must’ve been flung from the rooftop. I’m not game enough to wade in and collect their bodies or badges in fear of what might greet me―Baines are ruthless, I can tell from the mangled limbs and entrails that litter Belvedere. This was no rage-driven hit, this was planned to be gruesome.

      “My omorfiá, what on earth are you doing out here?”

      Alkaios? I turn to see the leader of the Vrykokolas, flanked by two of his men, trudging across Belvedere. Alkaios’ trench coat flaps wildly around him and he flicks a golden pocket watch shut. As endearing as he is, I raise my gun. Is Alkaios Q or just another patsy?  Alkaios raises his arms and so does his men, I lower the barrel slightly.

     “I know how this looks, but you must believe me, Vrykokolas were not responsible,” Alkaios breathes a sigh when my gun is stationary by my thigh. “I have no standing treaty with the wolves, but I do, however, have one with the police. I am here at your service, glykós.”

      “Why are you even here in Mid-Park? Won’t this count as trespassing on Baines territory?” I frown.

      “This was not done by wolves so technically, we pose no threat to them,” Alkaios says simply, causing me to spiral into a deeper pool of confusion. Alkaios chuckles slightly and opens his palm, three large medical syringes were emptied but the inside of the cylinder is stained with blood―and I bet its Nikita’s.