weapons drawn. Major Dee had ordered the deaths of eight Runts who’d been involved in the murder of Owen Campbell-Moore, so Michael wasn’t expecting the youngsters to show any mercy when they got hold of Dee’s men.
He heard a couple of gunshots as a chasm opened between the two roof sections directly behind him. It seemed only a matter of time before the whole roof collapsed. Michael had to climb down, even if it meant facing the onslaught of Runts.
As he ran to the edge, the opposite end of the roof began to sag, turning the centre into a huge chimney pouring out black smoke. He stepped on to the top rung of the access ladder, the wind pushing dense smoke into his face.
His eyes stung as he moved down. More Runts were pouring over the wall, but they’d been split into two groups when a stream of cars and mini-buses filled with Slasher Boys pulled up in the street outside.
Within seconds there were guns blazing in all directions. Mercifully, the panic this caused set a lot of the Runts running for cover and Michael slid down the last half of the ladder without being spotted.
As soon as his feet hit the ground, he ripped out his handgun and took off the safety, then ran as fast as he could. The gun battle on the opposite side of the building had become ridiculous and Michael’s heart banged as a police helicopter swooped over, parting the clouds of smoke.
Shocked by the level of violence, Inspector Rush had changed tactics, abandoning the soft cordon and ordering his officers to seal the area and prevent the mayhem spreading into a nearby shopping precinct.
Michael’s eyes and lungs burned from the smoke, but he picked up speed and vaulted a wall into the street behind the warehouse. There were two police cars parked at one end and he knew he’d get cuffed and clobbered if they nabbed him. The other direction looked more promising and he sped on for fifty metres.
When he reached a corner he saw a wrecked car. The passengers had escaped, but the driver was slumped over the steering wheel, unconscious. He looked like a Runt and he was no more than fifteen years old.
Michael thought about trying to give first aid, but the helicopter swooped again and its presence made him acutely aware of the danger. He charged on, diving into a narrow side street as a carload of Runts screamed past. He thought he was OK, but when he looked back he was horrified to see the car reverse and turn after him.
Michael ran on past two warehouses with the car closing in. There was a grass square beyond and he sped through the gate, dodged a woman walking a golden retriever and began sprinting across neatly mown grass. The car couldn’t follow, but two Runts got out of the back.
By the time they’d reached the park gates, Michael was close to a primary school on the opposite side of the square. He glanced through the hedges along the park’s edge and saw that the car had taken a left turn to cut him off as he exited.
His only safe route was through the school. He scrambled up the chain-link fence bordering the playground. The windows of a classroom filled with Year Twos was less than five metres away, but none of the kids looked his way until a gunshot ripped off somewhere on the other side of the wall.
By the time Michael had dropped into a goalmouth painted on concrete, twenty-five sets of little eyeballs stared at him. One of the chasing Runts had started to climb the fence, while another ran around the school’s perimeter looking for the entrance.
Michael would never have a better chance to go on the offensive. As soon as the Runt dropped off the fence he charged. The Runt had a knife in his hand, but as he swung forward it thumped harmlessly into Michael’s body armour.
Michael twisted the knife from the youth’s hand and went into automatic. It would have been easy to kill him with the gun, but that’s always a final option. He had time to incapacitate the Runt before his mate found the school gate, so he twisted his wrist into a lock, kept twisting until the Runt’s arm snapped and ripped the Runt’s shoulder out of its socket with a final jerk.
Inside the classroom the teacher was frantically shepherding her young pupils into the far corner of the room,