John Marsden - Circle of fight

He staggered out to the side. I swung the extinguisher around to make sure I kept it on him, but it was getting pretty light and the flow was slowing down. I dropped it and grabbed the rifle from Gavin, checked that the safety was off and backed away, aiming at the guy as he emerged from the fog. He was wiping his eyes and coughing and not even looking up. While he staggered around I had a quick look behind me. Gavin was one jump ahead — he already had a wardrobe door open and was waving at me to put the man in there. I was so relieved to see Gavin showing all this life, considering what he’d been through. It gave me fresh energy. I yelled at the man and he looked up and then got the message that I wanted him to go in the cupboard. He went pretty feebly. We slammed the door and turned the key, but I wasn’t sure that it would hold him for long. I pulled a chair over and wedged it under the handle, then wedged the door as well, with a thin book from the mantelpiece. It wasn’t much but it would have to do. I couldn’t murder the guy in cold blood, although it wouldn’t have taken much for me to put a bullet in him. I thought these people were the worst scum I’d come across.

Anyway, we wouldn’t be in this house for too long, if all went the way I hoped. We still had no idea what was happening, and why there was a gunfight going on. But with Gavin on my heels I ran back down the corridor, holding the rifle in the ready position, so I could fire at a moment’s notice. It was a long way to the top of the staircase. Soon I could see it, though, and then there was this slow-motion moment when we were reaching towards it; I could smell the freedom, I could picture us running down the stairs, and then Gavin yelled something and a man floated into the picture, from beyond the top of the staircase, to my left. He had a gun, I had a gun, we were both ready to shoot without question, so one of us was about to die. I jerked my rifle up fast and pulled the trigger. He was bringing his rifle up a little higher too, and I could see his right hand starting to squeeze as he thought about applying pressure to the trigger. But I was half his age and maybe that made the difference. Kee-raackkk. Is that the sound a rifle makes? I’ve heard enough of them now and that’s the closest I can get to capturing it on paper. His whole body kind of humped, shivered, then he stepped back half a pace, hunched up his shoulders, started moving his hands towards his chest, then fell over sideways, really awkwardly, really clumsily. All in slow motion.

I grabbed his rifle as it fell with him, and gave it to Gavin, which no doubt was one of the bigger thrills of his life. I did think it was possibly the most dangerous thing I’d ever done. The chance of my being shot in the back had suddenly become much higher, but we needed to take many chances if we were going to get out of this place.

Now it was time for the staircase. I gasped a big breath and took the first steps down it. A man appeared at the bottom and I jerked the rifle up again fast and pointed it straight at him. Before I could do anything I heard a shot and he fell backwards, hitting his head on the bottom step with such a crack that if he hadn’t been dead already I think he would have been wiped out by the fall. Killed twice over. You know you’re having a bad night when that happens.

The shot had come from down below us. Someone ran into my field of vision, moving diagonally, like he was doing either a zig or a zag. He had an automatic weapon and he looked totally professional. It wasn’t just the automatic weapon, you could tell from the way he covered that small patch of ground. We were dealing with something new now. Could be good, could be bad, could be on our side, could be hostile. Both Gavin and I swung our rifles around fast and lined him up. Gavin was now down on my step, right beside me. I held my fire, waiting to see what we had. Gavin was not so cautious. He didn’t have the judgement. Before I could stop him he tensed up and pulled the trigger.

‘Gavin!’ I screamed. But there was nothing. Only a wet sort of squelchy noise. Gavin rattled the trigger but nothing happened. I figured this was a rifle that’d been Coked. It was never going to kill anyone. The guy who’d had it mustn’t have tried to fire it or he would have found out for himself. Well, I’d saved someone’s life. Just hoped it wasn’t going to cost us ours.

The soldier at the foot of the stairs was in cover and I couldn’t see him any more. But then I saw his arm waving someone else forward. Another person ran into view. It was Lee.

Gavin and I both screamed ‘Lee!’ He looked up and gave us a big smile, then a quick wave. We started down the steps. Lee yelled something to his right then came running up towards us. The other person came out again and covered Lee, with his back to us. Suddenly, though, Lee’s expression changed. He’d seen something or someone behind us. I whirled around and started dragging Gavin down at the same time. Down to a crouching position I mean, not down the stairs. I figured that was as much as I could cope with, because with my rifle and Gavin’s rifle we had quite a tangled mess. I had to rely on Lee to deal with whatever was behind us, but I did start twisting around and trying to get my rifle into a position where I could use it.

In a situation like a gunfight I think trust in Lee is probably quite a good idea. I just wish I could say the same about him when it came to stuff like relationships and other girls.

He dropped low too, but faster than Gavin and me, and at the same time he straightened up his rifle and fired.

You know you really trust someone when you let him point a rifle just above your head and pull the trigger, especially when he’s facing you at the time. Not that we had any choice. It’s one of many experiences I never want to have again. It wasn’t only the noise and the flash and the weird sensation of the air exploding around us, it was the psychological thing of looking down the barrel of a gun and knowing it’s about to be fired. Sometimes I wonder about people who are shot dead. What do they think when they look at the little hole in the barrel and realise it’s the last thing they’ll ever see, their final view of the world, the last image their eyes will convey to their brain. In the old days people believed that if you were murdered your eyes retained the image of your killer, so to solve the crime they only had to prise your eyes open and they’d see a little photograph of the person who’d done it. Mr Kassar, my old Drama teacher, told me that, so it must be true… on second thoughts, maybe I’d better check it.

If life were fair, the last view you’d have before you die would be fluffy white clouds, a crystal-clear stream, a lamb gambolling in a paddock, or some corny crap like that. But I guess for many people it’s the filthy walls of some derelict building where they’re doing drugs; or a muddy trench with rats running along it, in a battlefield; or the twisted metal and smashed windscreen of a car wreck.

The guy behind us, his last view of life was a staircase, Lee and Gavin and me, and the carpet. And his own blood perhaps. He probably saw some of that as he died. There was plenty of it. I got a look at him just as he fell. He came toppling towards me, trying to hold his throat together, and failing. His body covered half-a-dozen steps because he fell straight down, and I guess he was pretty tall anyway. Then he slid down another two steps and halfway over the top of me. He lay there, the heaviest weight I have ever felt. He wasn’t just heavy because he weighed seventy or eighty kilos. He was heavy because, I don’t know, he was life and death and the whole of humanity, and I felt I couldn’t bear that weight any longer. I think that was the moment when I made some critical decisions, not consciously, but I think inside me a large door closed and a new door began to quietly open.