Chris Kuzneski - The Prophecy

Payne smirked at the irony of her statement. ‘Are you on guard duty?’

She smiled. ‘Something like that.’

‘Did you see a guy in a brown trench coat?’

She nodded. ‘He ignored me and kept on walking.’

‘How long ago?’

‘Thirty seconds. You can catch him if you hurry.’

‘Which way?’ Payne demanded.

She pointed to the right. ‘Just past Amos Hall, heading toward Fifth.’

‘Thanks,’ Payne said as he sprinted across the courtyard. Snowballs whizzed past him like enemy fire, but he wasn’t the least bit concerned. His sole focus was catching the man in the trench coat, stopping him before he killed again.

Payne didn’t flinch. He stood perfectly still, gun in hand, waiting to make his move. A moment later he poked his head into the alley a second time, and once again the shooter fired. This time the bullet was even closer, missing Payne’s head by less than six inches.

‘Shit,’ Payne mumbled, realizing he was at a tactical disadvantage.

As a right-handed shooter, Payne knew he would have to expose his entire right flank in order to get off a clean shot. Due to his opponent’s accuracy, he knew that was a dangerous proposition. With that in mind, he moved his

Payne took a deep breath and inched his gun round the corner. He calmly squeezed the trigger, and the passenger window exploded. Payne made a small adjustment to his aim and fired again. This time the bullet entered the front passenger window and exited the driver’s side. Shards of glass rained down on the killer, stinging him like a swarm of angry bees. The man howled in agony as a piece of window pierced the corner of his left eye.

It was the sound Payne had been hoping to hear.

With his shield destroyed and his vision blurred, the assailant ran towards Fifth Avenue, hoping to reach his vehicle on the other side of the street before Payne shot him from behind.

A few seconds later, his escape attempt ended in a puddle of blood.

12

The bus driver had always driven carefully through Pitt’s campus. She knew several students had died over the years walking into the bus lane that ran against the flow of traffic on Fifth Avenue. But in this case, her caution didn’t matter because the man darted in front of her like a deer on the highway. One second he wasn’t visible, the next he was splattered on her windshield.

The noise the body made was unlike any that Payne had heard before. It was a mixture of a meaty thud and the splash of a spilled drink, all rolled together with the crack of a wishbone. By the time the driver skidded to an icy stop, the surrounding snow looked like salsa.

‘Holy shit,’ Payne muttered as he moved forward to inspect the carnage.

Although he was thrilled that the drama had ended quickly, Payne was smart enough to realize that the man’s death had left several questions unanswered. Not only his identity — which would take a while to determine based on his current

During their careers, Payne and Jones had made a long list of enemies. Their time with the MANIACs guaranteed they would live the rest of their lives looking over their shoulders. Most of their missions had been classified, but rumours about their exploits were well known in the military community. Sure, some of the stories were untrue — nothing more than lies that had become a part of their legend — but enough facts were sprinkled in to put them in harm’s way.

‘Oh my God,’ the driver wailed as she stepped off the bus. She was white and pudgy, the female equivalent of Ralph Kramden from The Honeymooners . ‘I swear I didn’t see him!’

Payne walked over to comfort her. ‘Don’t worry, ma’am. It wasn’t your fault.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she shrieked. ‘They’re going to fire me for sure! Oh my God, I can’t believe I killed a man!’

He put his hand on her shoulder. ‘I swear, you’re not going to get fired. In fact, you’re liable to get a medal for this.’

She looked at him like he was crazy. ‘What are you talking about?’

monster ,’ Payne said for effect, ‘just killed a woman. And he would’ve killed several more if it wasn’t for you. You, my dear, are a hero .’

She wiped her nose with the sleeve of her coat. ‘He killed someone?’

Payne nodded. ‘In cold blood.’

‘And I stopped him?’

‘With your massive bus.’

She glanced at the red pulp that stained the asphalt. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Completely.’

She let out a sigh of relief, then broke into a wide smile. ‘Oh my Lord, thank you Jesus. I can’t believe I’m a hero… Do you think I’ll be on TV?’

‘I’d bet on it.’

‘Oh my goodness, I gotta call my sister. She’s gonna be so jealous.’

‘Before you do,’ Payne suggested, ‘you better call your supervisor. This lane needs to be shut down for the rest of the night.’

‘Oh my Lord, I never thought of that.’

He pointed towards her bus. ‘You also need to calm your passengers. Tell them what happened, and tell them they need to stay on board until the police arrive. The last thing we want is for them to be walking through any evidence.’

He gave it some thought. ‘Tell me, do you wear glasses?’

‘Why? Do you think I need ’em? I’m telling you, the guy ran right—’

‘No, that’s not what I meant. What about sunglasses? Do you have sunglasses?’

‘Why? Should I wear them on TV?’

‘No, ma’am. I’d simply like to borrow them.’

‘Why? Are you gonna wear them on TV?’

He growled in frustration. ‘Ma’am, this has nothing to do with TV. I need to make sure the guy is dead, and when I do, I don’t want any blood to splash into my eyes.’

It was a lie, but he didn’t have the patience to explain the truth.

She glanced at the body. Chunks of carcass littered the bus lane. ‘I’m telling you, sweetie, that boy is dead. I caught him flush.’

Payne tapped his watch to make his point. ‘The cops will want a time of death for their report. It can’t be official if I don’t check his pulse.’ He knew she would believe him. ‘Of course, if you’d rather do it yourself, go right ahead. I’m not going to stop you.’

‘No way,’ she argued, ‘that’s okay. You can

‘Thank you, I’d appreciate it.’

As she hustled to get them, Payne pulled out his phone and called Jones. He answered on the third ring. ‘Jon, are you all right? I heard multiple shots.’

Payne nodded. ‘I’m fine. The shooter’s dead.’

‘How?’

‘I lured him in front of a bus.’

‘You what ?’

‘Long story,’ Payne said dismissively. ‘The important thing is he’s dead.’

Jones paused. ‘Did you recognize him?’

‘I’m still working on that. Things are kind of messy here.’

‘Here, too. The janitor is going apeshit over the crime scene. I told him he was in charge of cleaning everything up. I even told him to get his shovel.’

Payne smirked. Their years of service had darkened their sense of humour. It was a trait they shared with half the military, especially those who saw combat. ‘Why’d you do that?’

‘Why? Because I don’t like the guy. He’s too lippy.’

‘Lippy? Look who’s talking! Mr Pot, meet Mr Kettle.’

‘Hold up! Is that some kind of black joke?’

‘Any moment now. I see their lights on Bellefield.’

‘Then we better talk quick. What’s our story?’

‘Our story? I didn’t know we needed one.’

‘Just a second.’ The bus driver returned with her sunglasses and handed them to Payne. He thanked her then walked away so she couldn’t hear what he was saying. ‘A mystery woman drives across the state to chat with us and gets her head blown off. I don’t know about you, but I’m slightly suspicious.’