The Survivor

‘SHEN SUN SOONE!’ he bellowed.

He raised his pistol, took quick aim, and lost the gunman when a swarm of teenagers fled in front of him. Gun in hand, he raced through the park. He was barely halfway across when the van’s tail-lights flashed red. Threequarters across when the van pulled out of the parking spot and sped north on Cotton Drive.

‘Stop!’ he screamed. ‘STOP!’

Cotton Drive was a dead-end road. It co

Striker angled his run across the park towards the school. He reached the common area just in time to see the white van speed west on William Street, turn north at the next block, and like a drowning person, slip just out of view.

Striker snagged his BlackBerry from its pouch and dialled 911 while ru

The van was nowhere to be seen.

He sprinted down to Napier.

Nothing.

Down to Parker.

Nothing.

Then all the way down to Venables Street, ru

And still nothing.

Finally, he stopped. Let his hands fall to his sides. The only thing he felt was the heavy pulse of blood thudding through his temples. Gone. Courtney was gone. Taken by the madman just as God had taken Amanda.

He had failed her.

Ninety-Five

Courtney felt the van tilt as it turned hard somewhere on the road. The unexpected motion made her stumble and almost fall onto her side. Instead she hung on desperately to the inside edge of the rear door of the van, and tried to clear her head of her drunke

The movement made her head spin, and she vomited in the darkness. But that was okay. She felt better from it.

And maybe it would help her sober up a little.

There was no light in the back of the van, and only the whimpering sounds of Raine, who was somewhere deeper towards the back of the compartment. She felt around the walls and ceiling for a switch, found one, flicked it, and a small light came on.

The first thing Courtney saw was Raine. The girl was sprawled out on the cold floor of the van, on her stomach, head tilted to the side, in between the boxes of meat. Her lips were split, and blood trailed down her chin, onto the white surface of the van floor.

‘You okay?’ Courtney asked.

Nothing.

‘Raine, you okay?’

The girl just laid there, a look of shock on her face.

‘He has a gun,’ she finally said.

Courtney remembered it well. She’d seen the gunman slam it into Felicia’s head before turning it on them. It was a pistol; she knew that much. But what type or calibre, she had no idea. It was a big gun, and he would kill them with it.

The gunman had taken her cell, so she looked to Raine. ‘You got your phone?’

‘I dropped it . . . in the crowd somewhere.’ Raine started to cry.

Courtney made her way over to the girl. All around them were boxes. Courtney opened the nearest one. It was full of steaks: thick, frozen slabs of meat. She grabbed the frozen slabs and started tucking them into Raine’s costume.

Raine gasped with shock as Courtney shoved package after package down her top, sliding them down to her stomach and lower back area, then adding more. Courtney had no idea if the frozen meat was strong enough to stop a bullet, but it couldn’t hurt. When she had Raine completely layered with frozen meat beneath her costume, she looked down at herself.

Grabbing a few packages of frozen steak, she shoved them down the front and back of her costume, padding the waist as best she could. It was so cold, it froze her skin, and she felt nauseous from the booze and fear.

The van tilted hard again, to the left, and she tumbled into Raine. The girl let out a sharp cry, as if the contact had finally woken her. She looked up at Courtney.

‘It’s the same guy from the school,’ she said.

‘I know.’

‘The one who killed all the others.’

‘I know.’

‘He’s going to kill us, too.’

Courtney saw the fear and desperation on Raine’s face, which mirrored her own emotions. And she said nothing, because there were no words of comfort. She simply put her arm around Raine and felt the van turn and tilt at every corner, as they were driven further and further away to an unknown location.

Ninety-Six

Striker had no idea how many minutes had passed by the time he’d made it back to Commercial Drive. His head felt clouded; his senses distorted. Already there were police cars everywhere. One cop guarded the dead van driver who had been dumped on the west side of Grandview Park. Another cop took custody of a deceased girl Shen Sun had shot near the front of the stage. And one was parked in front of Turk’s Coffee Shop, where a paramedic was patching up Felicia.

Striker hurried up the Drive, red and blue flashes of police lights reflecting off the lingering smoke. The strip was now deserted. As he neared Felicia’s side, she pushed past the paramedic and stumbled up to him. She stopped at an arm’s length, a question in her eyes.

‘He got away,’ Striker said. ‘With the girls.’

‘Did you see what he was—’

‘A white Hobbes Meats truck. Already broadcast it.’ The words fell oddly from his lips, sounding hollow, forced. He felt like a dam full of holes, ready to crumble at any second. When he spoke again, he fought to maintain control of his emotions. ‘They could be anywhere.’

‘Let’s go back to the car – we’ll find them.’

Striker looked at her face, saw the dried blood on her chin and neck, the swolle

He picked up fast. ‘Hello?’

The voice that replied was masculine, clipped, and brief: ‘Ironworkers Bridge. Halfway.’

‘Shen Sun?’

‘Block traffic at both ends of bridge. And come alone, Gwailo. Otherwise, both die.’ The line went dead.

Striker stood there, dumbfounded for a moment, then turned to look at Felicia, who had heard every word.

‘He wants you alone on the bridge? What, does he think you’re out of your mind?’

‘I’m going.’

‘Jacob, you can’t—’

‘I have to, Felicia. Why do you think he called? He could have escaped by now, but he didn’t. It’s no longer about the theft or the murders or the position he was promised – it’s about him and me now. I’m what he wants.’

‘Just stop for a second. Slow down. Think about this. It’s what he wants, Jacob. Jesus, at least wait for a sharpshooter.’

‘There’s no time.’

She grabbed his arm, got in his face. ‘Jacob, it’s suicide.’

Striker pulled away. ‘He’s got Courtney, Felicia. He’s got my little girl.’

Before she could respond, he marched back to the police car, thinking over the words Shen Sun had spoken. The orders were clear. Meet halfway across the bridge. Shut down the bridge at both ends. Those two sentences alone told Striker everything he needed to know about the situation. A negotiator would be of no use.

Nothing would be.

Shen Sun wasn’t pla