The Game (Tom Wood) - By Tom Wood Page 0,57

sound was thunderous. He seemed to fly backwards into the bus stop, then collapsed into a heap.

The blond man said, ‘Now there is parity.’

Lucille, still dazed, watched as the young man sprang to his feet, the blade of a knife protruding from his clenched fist. He lunged at the blond man, who moved on the side as he grabbed the thrusting hand and drove the knife up to the hilt in the young man’s chest while his own hand still gripped it.

He shrieked and fell to his knees.

The blond man looked to the other two soldiers, who stood dumbfounded. ‘You should have already started running by now.’

He moved, fast and without hesitation, wrapping an arm around the neck of one of the soldiers. He placed his free palm on the young man’s forehead and did something Lucille didn’t see, but she heard a sickly crack and the soldier fell straight down as if his limbs had turned to liquid.

The third soldier – the one Lucille had bumped into – ran. She didn’t see him, but she heard his heavy footsteps. She watched with wide eyes as the man with blond hair calmly tugged the knife from the chest of the kneeling man, adjusted his grip, turned and threw it.

She heard it whistle over her, then an instant later the sound of running footsteps ceased, replaced by a thump and a clattering.

The young man with acne on his temples was crying, his hands pressed over the hole in his chest, still on his knees, but swaying back and forth. Blood bubbled out from between his fingers.

The blond man walked over to Lucille and pulled from his hands bloody latex gloves she hadn’t noticed he’d been wearing. He stuffed them into a pocket and helped her to her feet. She could stand, but only just. He kept hold of her to make sure she stayed upright.

‘My son…’ she managed to say.

‘I know,’ the blond man replied. ‘I’ll take you to him.’

The soldier with acne fell forward and lay with his face in the gutter. His skin was white and his eyes didn’t blink.

‘We need to hurry,’ the blond man said.

Lucille hung onto him because her legs had no strength and the world swayed back and forth before her. The street came in and out of focus. Her head began to hurt. She realised her head was wet where she’d hit it on the pavement.

‘You’re okay,’ the blond man said as she reached to touch her head, ‘but you have concussion.’

‘Those men…’ she said. ‘You killed them.’

He didn’t respond. He led her into her building and sat her down at the foot of the stairs. He took her keys from a pocket of her coat.

‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ he said. ‘Wait there.’

‘Peter…’

‘I’ll bring him to you.’

She heard him walk up the stairs behind her and tried to stand, but she couldn’t get her knees to straighten and slumped back down. Not long after, she heard him descend behind her and then watched him pass her. He carried Peter in his arms. Peter was fast asleep.

The blond man exited the building.

Lucille panicked. She forced herself to stand. She used a hand to brace herself against the wall and followed. The blond man walked with Peter along the pavement to where a white panel van sat against the kerb. She went after him, stumbling and swaying, grabbing hold of a lamp post to stop herself falling. Terror drowned out any pain in her head.

The man put Peter over one shoulder so he could open the doors at the back of the van, and then climbed inside, carrying her son.

‘Peter…’

She pushed herself from the railings to give her the momentum to cross the pavement. She grabbed hold of the van to stop herself tumbling into the road. The blond man reappeared and dropped down.

‘Let me help you,’ he said.

He took hold of her waist and easily hoisted her up so she sat on the cargo deck. Grabbing her calves, he swung her legs up so they were on the cargo deck too.

‘I’m sorry he hit you. I assure you I did not instruct him to do so.’

‘What?’

‘I was merely supposed to scare them off. So you would trust me.’

‘What?’

‘It was never my intention to kill them. But at least now you know I’m not the kind of man you want to anger.’ He examined her head and then her face. ‘You won’t need stitches, fortunately. The concussion will be gone soon. You’ll have a

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