Armen Gharabegian - Protocol 7

Twenty-five feet ahead of him, Max motioned Simon to slow down and stop. They put their backs against the wall of the main hallway and looked straight ahead. Less than three hundred feet in the distance, the silhouette of a massive crane loomed, dimly illuminated by an eerie glow from below.

Simon was terrified. He didn’t know what to expect as his body stuck against the cold wall. He was feeling the burning pain in his shoulder once more, felt the friction of the rough, cold wall against his back and the freezing steel of the rifle in his hand, as they inched forward, cautious not to expose themselves but ready to fight.

Max froze instantly, startled. He motioned back to Simon: stop moving.

It was too late.

A Vector5 soldier ahead of his squadron moved toward them in the pitch black, appearing out of nowhere, lunging forward to attack. Max reacted instantly as Simon watched twenty feet behind. He grabbed the man’s arm and twisted it behind him, turning the man 180 degrees, and choked him-briefly, brutally-with his right arm.

Simon moved forward, trying to assist, but he pulled back as the soldier’s handgun fired into the hallway. Max struggled with the man as the soldier shot another bullet straight into the ceiling above them. The small corridor that led to Oliver’s cell was just fifteen feet behind them.

Automatic gunfire exploded. Out of nowhere, bullets cut through the air in an unrelenting barrage, whizzing and shrieking past them.

Simon stuck to the wall, praying for his life. Max turned the soldier toward the direction of the oncoming fire, using the man as a human shield.

The soldier took several shots saving Max’s life. He could hear the bullets slicing the cold air as they flew by. Max felt the force from some of the bullets entering the man’s body as it jerked with every additional round.

Simon pulled back as fast as he could, throwing himself back into the small corridor, avoiding the fusillade.

Max’s task was not so easy. He stood directly in the line of fire, knowing that if he let go of the dead soldier, he would have no chance. The man’s body was excruciatingly heavy for Max, but he did not falter; he grabbed the man around his waist and tucked his head behind the soldier’s neck, walking backwards, inching toward the small corridor.

Something penetrated Max’s forearm. I’m shot, he knew instantly.

The bullet had cut straight through the man’s body and into Max’s arm, but he held on. Just a few more feet, he told himself.

Simon watched from the little corridor, horrified, praying his best friend would not die. I have to do something! he thought instantly.

Max threw his body into the little corridor, diving toward Simon as he let the soldier fall to the floor. That very instant, the image flashed through Simon’s head. The oxygen canisters! It’s our only chance. Like lightning, he moved onto one of the Vector5 soldiers lying dead on the ground and grabbed his rifle, instantly locating the laser-guided mechanism.

Wordlessly, without hesitation, Simon threw his body into the main hallway. He skidded flat on the ground, the pain from his shoulder so intense he almost fainted.

“Fuck this!” he growled. “I’m not ready to die.”

He inched forward on his arms, fighting the pain while he tried to stay as low as possible, still using the body of the dead soldier that lay inches away from his face to absorb the bullets that still flew toward them. He scraped his chin against the floor, praying that his skull would not take a bullet, inching forward like an animal crawling. He fought the pain and positioned his rifle barely above the man’s chest, aiming straight through the hallway into the Great Room.

The bullets kept coming.

It’s now or never, he told himself.

He pointed the gun straight toward the source of the assault, focusing the laser-guide right below the massive crane, centering on the oxygen canisters.

He didn’t hesitate. He pulled the trigger-once, twice, over and over.

* * *

Blackburn stood opposite the canisters, almost five hundred feet away on the far side of Simon and Max. He looked at the seven soldiers positioned right below the crane-the last of his men, his final defense. They were shooting straight into the hallway in an endless rampage, straight toward the only man they could see-a shadow behind a corpse, aiming a single weapon straight toward them-

Less than a second later, the first of Simon’s bullets penetrated an oxygen canister standing directly behind the seven men. It exploded on impact. The explosion detonated the next canister, and that in turn made the next one explode-over and over, in a cloud of fire and debris that instantly filled every crevice of the octagonal room.

The seven soldiers that surrounded the canisters near the massive crane, immediately disintegrated. The force threw Blackburn himself backwards almost ten feet.

The massive crane that sat above the opening started to collapse into the massive hole. In a fraction of a second the explosion expanded-into the hallway where Simon was waiting, the force of it throwing his head back with a neck-popping jerk. The dead soldier in front of him shielded most of the impact, and suddenly there was absolute silence, a soundless vacuum.

Then, slowly, the crane that was falling into the icy opening started screeching. It sounded like an old train squeezing its mangled structure against the icy walls as it slid down toward the abyss below. The explosion had blown out the emergency lights above octagonal room. The dim light that omitted from the hole beneath the crane illuminated the edges of the mangled structure as it started falling into the opening.

Simon took a deep breath and hesitated for a moment, almost wishing that he could just lie there for two seconds longer. He pulled his body into the small corridor next to his best friend.

Both men were wounded. Max was at a loss for words. Simon had saved their lives.

“Max, we’ve got no time,” Simon told him. “Let’s get out of here.”

They forced their injured bodies up into standing positions. Oliver’s cell was two hundred feet away, and without a word they pushed themselves forward toward the room.

Less than twenty seconds later, Max turned toward the left and into Oliver’s cell. Simon followed close behind. It took them less than three seconds to realize what had happened in the dark room.

Simon noticed instantly that something was wrong. He looked closer at his father’s silhouette; it took him a moment to identify the odd shape that seemed to be growing from his chest.

It was a dagger, buried to the hilt. And less than six feet away, Nastasia stood at the foot of the bed, half buried in shadow.

Simon lunged forward toward his father.

Simultaneously Max shouted, “What the fuck?” and pulled up his rifle. He stalked across the room toward her motionless figure, the gun shaking against his shoulder as he held the muzzle less than five inches from her head.

She sank to her knees without a word.

“Father!” Simon screamed. It felt as if someone had taken his own life. “Father! Father!”

And Oliver moved-just a fraction, ever so slightly, but he moved.

Relief flooded through him. “He’s still alive!” Simon shouted. “Max! Help me!”

Max was frozen in disbelief fighting the urge to put a bullet in the woman’s head with all of his strength. I should have known, he told himself.

Nastasia did not move. She sat stone cold as if in a trance, her head tilted down and her hands in her lap. She looked like a woman who had been possessed by a great evil, who now prayed silently, desperately for atonement.

Simon felt cold. He felt like throwing up. He shook with anger and shock simultaneously. It was impossible; it was horrific. He could not fathom what he was seeing.