Sky Key. James Frey
hears a creak. SHIVER. Not the ship shifting on the waves. Blink. He looks up.
The wheel on the steel door is turning.
“Chiyoko,” he says.
He breaths in and out, in and out.
“Chiyoko.”
The storm inside blinkblink calms some more.
Time to go.
An pushes up the sleeves of Charlie’s coat and gets ready. The wheel on the door stops turning and swings inward. Two men slide into the doorway, rifles ready.
Bang, bang. An fires the Glock from his hip, shoots both soldiers in the face, between the eyes. They fall to the floor, one on top of the other.
An moves. SHIVERblinkSHIVER. Moves quickly.
The alarm is louder with the door open. It echoes off the metal walls, down the corridors, in his ears, makes the pain worse, but whatever. An can deal with pain, perhaps better than any of the Players.
He steps toward the two men. SHIVERBLINK. He crouches, searches them. The rifles are wedged under their torsos. Voices come from the corridor. Men, angry, scared, excited. At least 10 meters off. Approaching cautiously. He feels the drone of the engines through his bare feet. Guesses which way is aft.
Left.
That’s where he’ll go. Get to the back of the ship.
The voices are closer.
CHIYOKOTAKEDA. He unclips two M67 grenades from one of the dead men. An desperately pats him down for more of these beautiful little bombs, but there aren’t SHIVER there aren’t any. An stuffs the Glock in the front of his pants and stands, a spherical grenade in each hand. He pulls the wire pin from each with his teeth. He positions himself on the uneven flesh of the men and waits.
CHIYOKOCHIYOKO.
You play for death, she said to him. I play for life.
SHIVERblinkblinkSHIVER
Why? An wonders desperately. Why did she have to be taken from me?
BLINKBLINKBLINKBLINKBLINK
He bites his lower lip so hard it bleeds.
“Chiyoko …” he says quietly.
The voices are closer. He can make out phrases. “Armed and dangerous.” “Fire when ready.” “Shoot to kill.”
An smiles. He hears the rubber soles of their boots squeaking in the corridor.
I play for death.
He lets the spoon pop on the first grenade. An knows exactly how BLINK how much time he has. Four seconds. Waits 1.2 before slinging it out the door.
An whips behind the wall, plugs his ears, the remaining grenade pressed up against his cheek, clenches his jaw, ignores the pain in his head.
He doesn’t close his eyes.
SHIVERSHIVER.
The 400-gram, 6-centimeter metal sphere arcs soundlessly through the air. Four men move into position as it comes down. They don’t even see it. As soon as it clanks to the floor, it explodes at their feet.
Pressure waves roll through the ship. The sound is deafening. An pulls his fingers from his ears. Transfers the other grenade to his left hand, draws the blinkSHIVERSHIVERblink draws the Glock. He hears new sounds.
A man screaming. Blink. A steam pipe hissing. Blink. The alarm, still going, but fainter since the blast temporarily took some of his hearing.
Blink.
An waves through the doorway, half expecting his hand to get shot off. It doesn’t. He peeks shiverBLINKshiver. Checks right, where the explosion was, then left blinkblink then right again. Sees two dead men and another under them, his arm gone, moving slightly and moaning. A steam pipe over them hisses, a white jet filling the air.
CHIYOKO.
An moves into the corridor, holds his right arm out straight, and shoots.
The man stops moaning.
A bit of violence always clears the head.
A bit of death.
He moves aft. The metal floor is cold. The ship tilts. The air is warm and getting warmer from the steam. The corridor goes straight for five meters, has closed doors on either side, turns right at the end. More sounds up ahead. Footfalls, clicks and clanks of metal things. Men, but no voices this time. The men at the forward end of the hall were amateurs. These aren’t.
These are blinkblink these are special forces.
An takes eight quick steps, his bare feet completely silent, and stops where the corridor turns right. BlinkCHIYOKOshiverBLINK. An guesses that the men have assembled around the corner, at the far end. They’re waiting for him.
BLINKSHIVER.
They kill the lights.
It is completely black. They killed the lights because they have night vision and he doesn’t. But no matter.
BLINKSHIVERBLINKBLINK
An releases the spoon of his last grenade. Counts one second and throws it, overhand and hard, so that it caroms off the wall and hits the floor, bouncing crazily out of sight toward the special-forces men.
“GRENADE!” and two quick shots, the slugs ricocheting off the metal with high-pitched zings. An throws himself back the way he came and plugs his ears before the 2nd blast.
This blast is even more deafening than the first. An unplugs his ears before the echoes are done reverberating. He has maybe three more minutes before he loses the element of surprise. After those three minutes they will stop trying to contain him and instead simply contain the ship, making it impossible blink impossible blink impossible for him to escape, even if it’s just to jump over the side and take his chances in the water, which would not be ideal to say the least.
BLINKshivershiverCHIYOKOblink.
Time to go.
He raises the Glock and slips around the corner, running quickly and blind-firing into the darkness.
Twelve rounds, and by the sound of them, three find flesh and bone. No return fire. He runs 5.4 meters and slides like a midfielder trying to steal the ball from a charging forward. He reaches out and feels in the darkness—a head. Just a head.
BLINKBLINKSHIVER
The darkness in front of him is more open, the smoke from the grenade rising and rising. An guesses that he has just entered the ship’s hangar.
More moaning. But also a scrambling sound.
An lifts up the head he slid into and blink and blink and blink and gets his fingers around a pair of night-vision goggles. He yanks them free. As An pulls the goggles over his face, he realizes for the first time that his head is blinkSHIVERblink is bandaged. He tightens the straps and they squeeze blinkblinkblink they squeeze blinkblinkblink they squeeze the swollen skin and pull at the fresh stitches across his forehead and his hairline. He winces and stifles the urge to cry out. The goggles are in place, but they aren’t working.
“Who has eyes?” a faraway voice whispers, the sound echoing through the hangar.
He’s not alone.
“Almost online,” a 2nd voice answers, this one closer. “Come ON!”
This voice is only feet away. SHIVERblinkSHIVER An sees the soft green glow as the goggles come to life. Only three meters away.
“I