Chris Mooney - World Without End

"These guys are leaving. If we don't pursue the fire trucks now, we'll lose them and the suit."

"We can find the suit later."

"It's here, right in front of us. I can follow these guys and see where they " "Remember who we are, Gunther. Remember what we're about."

Gunther tapped Rigby on the shoulder and pointed to the lot.

The fireman had slung back the HK submachine gun and was now kneeling on the floor, his gloved hand holding a Glock handgun that was now pressed against Conway's forehead. The fireman knelt there, waiting.

What the fuck is he waiting for? Conway could feel his heart jack-hammering against his chest. All he could do now was lie on the floor and smell the stink rising off his skin.

The fireman clicked back the hammer.

Conway's vision went out of focus. He couldn't breathe. He blinked and then saw (The gift Pasha had given him last year for his birthday, a photograph of a valley of red tulips bending in the wind, except for one, a yellow tulip, it stands out from the rest of the pack and leans forward into the wind, refusing to bend.

"I saw it and the photograph reminded me of you, Stephen:') the fireman's gloved finger slide up and down the trigger. With his free hand, he waved good-bye, and then Conway saw a pitch-black sky devoid of stars that devoured all of his thoughts and memories.

The fireman pulled the trigger.

The hammer snapped dryly.

The fireman laughed and tossed the gun away. Conway heard it skid across the floor. The fireman stood up and then brought up another weapon and pointed it at Conway's face no, it wasn't a weapon, it looked like some sort of high-tech spray gun. Two black tubes ran from the bottom of the handgrip and disappeared under the fireman's coat.

The fireman moved the spray nozzle away and pointed it somewhere near Conway's legs and a sound like shaving cream foam shooting out of a canister filled the cold room. Conway could see the spray nozzle being moved across his body, covering both arms, and then the nozzle moved away and was pointed at his face, a viscous, milky liquid dripping off the nozzle and dribbling onto Con-way's chin. The fireman stared at his watch for what seemed like a minute, and then got down on one knee and yanked free the stun device that had been stuck to the skin above Conway's heart.

The paralysis vanished. Conway took in a deep rush of air, lifted his head up and saw bands of a thick, whitish gray foam covering his entire body. He tried to move, but the foam had hardened into a stiff, rubber-like substance. He was glued to the floor. The fireman remained kneeling, patient, studying Conway as if he were some sort of exotic, poisonous bug that was now trapped, about to die.

Then the guy reached forward and using the heel of his gloved palm pushed Conway's head to the side, pressing it hard against the floor.

Conway saw Randy Scott lying on his side, groaning like a man struggling to emerge from anesthesia. With his other hand the fireman placed his finger inside the HK's trigger housing.

Conway tried to fight it but couldn't move. It was as if dozens of invisible hands had him pinned against the floor.

"WAKE UP, RANDY! MOVE!" Conway's words came out in a garbled, spittle-filled mess. He tried to yank his hand and head away and The shot hit Randy in the stomach; his body arched back as if kicked, the exit wound spraying the back wall and computer equipment a bright red with shattered bone and skin that started to dribble down the computer screen and speakers, where Dixon's voice still cried out for all to stop, that he was sorry, please, let it stop.

The fireman stood up and walked out of the lab.

Randy's chemical haze was gone. His eyes were swollen shut, and his trembling hands felt around the leaking hole in his stomach. He was bleeding out fast.

Conway's left hand was wrapped around his midsection; he wiggled his fingers and felt the phone; it was still clipped against his belt. He pitched it between his two fingers and then slid it toward him. Don't drop it, you've only got one chance. Okay, good. Now he could touch all the keys.

"Mittens," Randy said.

"Hold on, Randy."

"Mittens… cat food."

"I'll call Delburn and we'll get out of here."

"Cat's name… breath… smells like cat food."

He's delirious, Conway thought. He wasn't paying attention; he was concentrating on the layout of the phone's keys. Don't waste time dialing, use the programmed number. Right, Delburn's number was already programmed in for speed dialing. His finger brushed over the keys and found the program button and hit it. Okay, now the speed-dial number. It was… what, one?

No, it's two.

Yes, definitely two. Conway slid his finger over and pressed the number Two key.

An explosion came from down near the lab doors. Conway felt the floor shake beneath him. His finger pressed a key. Please, God, let it be number two, he thought. When he looked up and stared down the length of his body, he saw tiles popping up out of the floor as flames shot up toward the ceiling and moved up the walls.

The phone was ringing. The sound was barely audible over the equipment smashing against the floor, but the phone was ringing, he could hear it. Flames fanned up the walls and spread across the ceiling, the fire being fed by the oxygen pouring in from the opened lab doors. In case of a lab fire, the HALON system would deploy a gas that would extinguish the flames without harming the computer equipment.

The system didn't turn on.

Angel Eyes must have disabled it. Fuck.

The fire was moving closer.

You're going to burn to death.

Conway struggled to free himself. Black curls of smoke snaked across the ceiling and slithered down the length of wall. The fire inched closer… closer. Keep trying or you'll burn alive.

The phone picked up on the other end.

"Hello?"

Conway froze. The voice, it didn't sound like anyone at Delburn. It sounded like… No. The voice did sound like his friend from Boston, John Riley.

"Hello?"

No, that can't be right. (You're hallucinating) (HURRY!) Conway screamed, "IT WAS AN INSIDE JOB, WE WERE SET UP. ANGEL EYES

"What? Who is this?"

"Mittens!" Randy cried out.

"Mittens!"

"Mittens?" the guy Riley? asked on the other end.

The lab had grown hot; Conway could feel the heat drilling into his skin. Smoke curled around his body. It was difficult to breathe.

"Fire," he said and started choking.

"There's a fire… Randy's down. Move the Hazard inside and help him, I'm trapped " Another explosion followed and another, more tiles popping out of the floor and then raining back down, the lab bursting with fire. Conway tried to twist away and couldn't, he was trapped, he didn't see one of the tiles as it fell down and hit him straight across the forehead.

His body went limp. Conway forgot about the fire, forgot about the phone and the smoke. He couldn't hear Randy screaming or see the bright pool of blood that had formed around Randy's head. Con-way was drifting away.

Wait. He wasn't alone. A woman was kneeling beside him. Samantha Merrill, his one-time foster mother. She was dressed in one of her stylish blue suits, the kind she normally wore for Sunday church. She stroked his hair and looked down at him with a loving acceptance, and when she leaned down and kissed him on the forehead, he could smell the mixture of baby powder and perfume she wore. Then she looked deep into his eyes and touched his chin, her voice full of warmth when she smiled and whispered You're finally going to get what you deserve.

The hospital room's white-painted walls are decorated with cheap, framed watercolors, and the air is stale and uncomfortably warm and as quiet as a tomb. Outside, the day begins its quick winter descent into evening. With his good eye, his right, the one that isn't swollen shut, he stares up at the ceiling and watches the daggers of dying golden sunlight stretch across the white tiles. The stillness makes him feel as if he's inside a confessional. He would like to turn on the TV, to have something to break the silence and distract him from the parade of thoughts inside his head, but he can't find the remote.