Chapter Nine -Underground Blast

SOMEHOW BO HAD HAD THE PRESENCE of mind to grab her flashlight. She snapped it on and flashed it at the hole in the north wall. We didn't need to speak. We both dashed through the junked machinery to the hole and clambered through. Inside, I ejected the empty clip from my shotgun and snapped a full one into the slot. Bo and I took up positions on either side of the hole, the ancient cannon standing not far behind us. Bo gripped the thirty-eight in her hand as she pressed the side of her head to the wall and gasped for breath. She snapped off the flashlight.

"Better be careful, Superman." Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "They might have kryptonite."

Everything was quiet for several minutes. We waited. I calmed down to the point that I could think, but I still felt the rage.

From above we could hear boots tromping on wood, lots of 'em. As the boots pounded on the floor, I could picture Monroe and his men milling about and trying to decide what to do.

Then came steps on the stairway. Three men, at least.

Bo and I peered out into the basement.

A dim light came from the small, grated windows and the stairwell. There was a sudden motion in the doorway. Something small and round came sailing into the basement.

"Back!" I shouted.

Bo and I whipped back behind the stone wall.

There was a metallic clank, then the sound of something rolling on the floor for a half a second.

The grenade exploded, a small piece of hell on earth.

I waited a second, then rolled around to peer out the hole, my shotgun at hip level. My ears were ringing.

Firing wildly as he came, a silhouetted figure leaped through the door and charged through the cloud of smoke in the basement's musty air, his M-16 flashing wildly in the darkness. Bullets spanged off ancient iron and steel. Another dark figure followed a fraction of a second behind the first.

I squeezed my trigger. The blast of the shotgun sounded almost as loud as the blast of the grenade in the basement's dark confines.

The second gunman jumped madly back through the doorway.

The first one wasn't so lucky.

A screech of agony split the air. There came a wild metallic rattling as something heavy fell against some rusted machine out. The screeching continued, harsh, agonized, built to a high-pitched climax--and suddenly stopped.

A moment of dreadful silence. Then shouts and curses and boots beating on wood. Over it all, I could hear Monroe screaming at his men, trying to restore some kind of order.

I looked at Bo.

"Load the cannon," I hissed.

Bo looked at me, bewildered.

"Load the cannon!" I repeated more fiercely.

Bo hesitated for another fraction of a second, looking at me as if I'd gone mad. "We don't know the powder in that canister is any good."

"We don't know that it isn't either. Move!"

Bo snapped on the flashlight and disappeared into the darkness behind me. I could hear her clattering about as she loaded the field gun.

Our playmates were still stomping and screaming, but the noise level was dying down. I waited, listening, trying to figure out what they were going to do.

"We've got plenty of grenades!" Monroe shouted angrily, not at us. There seemed to be some opposition among his men, but it was clear what he intended.

Bo tapped me lightly on the shoulder.

"It's ready." The look on her face told me she still thought I was crazy. Maybe I was.

Another grenade flew threw the door. Bo and I jumped back behind the safety of the stone wall. Flash and thunder, and then silence. Again there were angry, shouting voices from the stairwell and boots beating on the floor.

But no one came through the doorway.

"Okay," I said to Bo. "They're going to just stand there and lob grenades at us until we either give up or die."

"So what are we gonna do?"

"Simple. When the next grenade comes through, you wait for a second or two after the blast, and then start screaming like an hysterical female. Let 'em think I'm hit. I'm betting they'll pour through that doorway to storm the chamber. Then we let 'em have it with the cannon. These are toy soldiers, not real ones. Odds are they'll cut and run when we draw some real blood. And the sound of that cannon ought to scare the hell out of 'em. Then we try to shoot our way out."

She only looked at me.

"If you've got a better plan, let's hear it."

She breathed heavily, disgusted. "When I fire the cannon, cover your ears. In a space this small, it's gonna be one helluva blast."

We waited.

We didn't wait long.

Another grenade flew through the door, landing almost at the stone wall. The blast tortured my eardrums.

After a few seconds, Bo started screaming--weird, high-pitched yelps and squawls, the sound of hysterical fear. Twice she shouted my name and threw in an "Oh, God!" for good measure. She was a good actress--or maybe it was the fear.

Harsh laughter and shouts erupted from the stairwell. Dark figures began pouring through the doorway--three, five, seven--

The first man was almost at the hole in the wall when I covered my ears and shouted, "Now!"

Bo yanked the lanyard.

The roar of the cannon was a physical blow. The flash was blinding. The whole building shook as if a giant had slammed it with an immense hammer. Billowing clouds of acrid smoke poured from the muzzle.

Screams echoed through the basement--tormented screams, the squawls and screeches of men torn to pieces by flying lead.

"Come on!" I shouted, gripping my shotgun and leaping through the hole. In a split second, Bo was behind me.

Not a man was standing. The screeches of the wounded and dying tore at my nerves as I scrambled through the acrid, stinking smoke for the doorway. I felt a hand grab at my boot and smashed it hard. A hoarse and ragged voice screamed for help, while another screamed "Don't panic! Don't panic!" over and over again. I couldn't see very clearly in the smoke and the dim light, but what I did see was enough to show that the nearest emergency room was going to be overwhelmed. One man lay curled up on the floor, both blood-soaked hands clutching his stomach. The look on his face said he was utterly unaware of anything but the searing pain in his belly. Another man clutched his left bicep, his face trembling as he made a strangled, groaning sound. Still another lay draped across a rusty radiator, as limp as a bag of rags. Half his head was gone.

No one fired. No one tried to stop us.

Pumped full of adrenaline, I dashed for the door to the stairs and shot up the steps.

From upstairs came the sound of panicky shouting and boots pounding wildly across the floor. Firing two wild shots as I moved, I leaped up the steps two and three at a time, Bo at my back. We dashed out the upper doorway. Amazingly, there was only a dark-haired man in cammies, short and stocky, standing at the front door who shot us a look of total fear and threw his rifle away before he scrambled back out to the street. I lifted my shotgun to fire, but he was gone before I could pull the trigger.

I stood for a moment, wildly trying to think of what to do next. There was no one else in the hotel's dusty lobby. All the shouting was coming from outside the hotel now, and I could hear the murderous crackle of small arms fire surrounding the entire building. I ran for the front door and took a position just to the side, pressing my body hard against the wall.

Then Bo was beside me, her hand on my shoulder shaking me franticly.

"Listen," she shouted and waved her hand upwards.

I listened. There was a sound I hadn't heard above all the uproar, a chopping, whirring sound that steadily grew louder and filled the air, drowning out the shouts and screams of Monroe's men.

It was the sound of a helicopter's blades.

I leaned my back against the wall. My knees shook so badly I almost collapsed. I laughed almost hysterically as relief swept over me.

The law had come.