“Yeah, why wouldn’t I? It’s Matt.”
“Obviously you don’t remember what happened earlier. I’m going to break the principal rule of my company now, but I’ll meet you in the Golden Star café in two hours. Do you know where that is?”
“Yeah, it’s on Thames Street. How will I know it’s you?”
“You won’t, I will.”
C raised Matt to his feet and pushed him towards the ladder leading out of the sewers. He didn’t look around, thinking with 95% certainty that C would harm him again.
Matt climbed out of the sewer cover into a deserted pavement. He walked to the end of the road to check the road name. Bingham Street. He knew that name, and he realised that he was about 3 miles from his home on Forest Road.
His hand started towards the pocket of his leather jacket, where he hoped he would find his phone. He stopped suddenly when he saw his car parked at the opposite side of the road. Strange, Matt thought, I haven’t used my car today.
Matt checked both lanes of traffic before charging across the street, grabbing his car keys out of his pocket and leaping into the driver’s seat. He fired up the engine, and his stereo system starting blasting out the “Lordi” CD that had been in before. He drove down the dual carriage-way, singing along to “Hard Rock, Hallelujah”.
Once he was home, Matt jumped into the shower to wash off the stink of the sewers, and to get ready for his ‘date’. As he stepped out of the shower, he noticed a note stuck on his mirror, saying “Matt, change of plans, meet me at ‘The Watchman” pub. It’s only a 5 minute walk from your flat. Again, I’ll find you. C.”
Matt took the note off, and put it down on his desk. He got dressed, deciding to wear a dark, multi-shaded red shirt, with a long-sleeved black t-shirt underneath, his favourite faded blue jeans, and a pair of brown loafers.
He picked out his phone from his jacket, and grabbed his wallet from the kitchen side. He got hold of his keys from the key holder, a piece of light ash wood shaped like a key itself, and slid them smoothly into the left hand pocket of his jeans.
Matt set off for the pub. He was half an hour early by his reckoning, so he thought he’d have a drink or two before hand, maybe watch the game of pool that was seemingly compulsory in all English pubs.
As he reached the hedged car park of the pub, he heard C whispering his name. He wheeled on heels and caught sight of a flash of brown hair and a face. He walked towards the sight, and as he turned the corner of the hedge, his eyes fell upon C for the first time. She was exceedingly beautiful, with dark brown hair falling down her back, and a tanned complexion. She had a thin, very light-shaded pink scar spiralling smoothly down her neck, so thin that the only reason he could see it was the deep contrast with her skin.
“Hey, Matt. You feel any better?”
“Hi C. Yeah, loads. I think my shower softened the pain.”
“Good thing you had a wash, because you stunk to high-Heaven earlier, but I couldn’t say it to your face.”
“Ha-ha, that’s fine. Shall we go inside?”
“No, I just wanted somewhere to meet you before taking you to a better place.” She shook her hair, and it fell down her back again as lightly as a bunch of feathers. She started walking away towards what appeared to be her car, her hips swaying slightly.
“Come on Matt, I want to get back in time to watch Eastenders!”
Matt laughed under his breath and jogged over to where she was waiting.
“Get in, I’ll drive” she said, before lowering herself smoothly into the gleaming Mazerati. She must have great pay at her job. Matt felt Either that or she stole it…
As they started down the road away from the pub, C’s stereo started pumping out ‘Somewhere I Belong’ by Linkin Park. She has good taste in music? Awesome. Matt thought, again, as before, slightly surprised.
As they reached a tall building, the multitude of glass windows glimmering in the sunlight, C slowed the Mazerati to a halt.
The streets were as deserted as if they were in a war zone, which was odd, because the streets should have been rammed full of people, especially on a weekday.
Matt heard a whiz to his left, and he spun round to see a dull dent in the bonnet of the glossy burgundy car.
Matt suddenly remembered what he had been doing before he found himself tied up in the sewers. I’m an SAS soldier… His military training kicked in, and he hurled himself to the safety of the rear of the car, grabbing C at the same time. He peered slowly round the corner, only to roll back as fast as lightning as three bullets got increasingly near to his bald head.
“Come with me!” He roared, like a lion, over at C.
He rolled left over to the next car, a green Ford Focus, and motioned for C to come over too. Just as she’d got to the car, a bullet struck the Mazerati’s gas tank, causing the entire car to explode. The crimson and black flame mushroomed out, seemingly in slow motion, and Matt and C could feel the heat washing out from it, a burning heat. They were lucky to have been at the next car, because if they hadn’t been, they would have been torched, most probably to death.
Matt asked C “Is that door the only entrance?” He pointed at the glass revolving door. She shook her head, her face going scarlet with heat, then immediately pale with notion that she could have died the minute before.
“No. I know of one other. Well, that is to say, I made it.” The colour returned to her face, and she lowered her voice to a near whisper, “We’ll go around the back. There shouldn’t be much trouble, you know – gun wise - , but we ought to go carefully, just in case.” With that she set off towards the back of the building, which had come into view as they rolled over to the Ford.
Matt ran behind her, trying to dodge the odd stray bullet that came their way. Either there really isn’t anywhere to shoot, or they’re really bad shooters. As if to contradict him, a bullet shattered the tarmac to the right of his foot. He sped up, and caught up with C.
“Aren’t you scared?” He asked her, his fighter’s mind unable to grasp how a simple civilian could show the brave, yet slightly scared look on her face.
“A bit, but I went to a self defence class a while back, and they taught us some techniques to deal with terror. I know some moves too, but I don’t think we’ll need them.” A faint smile came onto her face, but it was wiped suddenly when a shot rang out, and clipped the side of her foot.
They reached the back of the building, and Matt whipped a look around. He didn’t see any gunmen, either from where they’d been or along the back of the building. He turned back around to catch sight of C walking over to a bush, pulling it over to one side, and pulling open a wooden hatch.
“Is that the entrance?” Matt asked, amazed that such a simple, plain thing could gain them entrance into such a futuristic building as the one behind him.
As C dropped herself onto the earthy grass, and started to edge into the rustic opening, another shot aired itself. C cried out feebly, and slumped down onto the floor. Matt rushed over to her deathly still body, and felt a shell pump into his muscled back, moments before hearing the shot of the shotgun, which had dealt him the blow. He spun to face his assailant, and felt a second cartridge enter his throat, a different type, from an M40 sniper rifle, standard to US Marine Corp troops. His last thought before the icy grip of death clasped him was Why would the American marines want me dead?
