was already set, and although I reacted instantly my accuracy and speed with the LMG were not enough to stop the man from firing.
It made the same noise it always makes. Imagine an uncontrolled sneeze by an ogre. That is the noise. The RPG [ RPG: rocket-propelled grenade ] was on its unstoppable path aimed at the window through which Banksy was shooting the sniper rifle.
The machine gun bullets from my LMG struck in a tight group just below the man’s sternum.
Before I could shout a warning, the RPG had travelled the short distance to its target.
Feeding on the air the fire rolled and balled skywards, the shockwave pounded my eardrums and debris scattered and fell.
My feet had already carried me halfway when Cakes leapt over the wall and sprinted towards the building. ‘Mick, get the car,’ he said.
I reached the door first. The stairwell ended between the second and third floor. The landing above was gone. Thick smoke funnelled through the gaping hole drawn out like a chimney.
Banksy was on his back and unconscious. He must have been turned and coming down the steps when the grenade hit. Blood leaked badly from a neck wound. It was a deep slicing cut caused by either flying shrapnel or glass. The blood loss was too much.
With a tight grip on his clothes, I pulled him up and over my shoulder. Using one hand to steady him and the other to point and fire my LMG I descended the steps and arrived at the open door where Cakes was firing off short, covering bursts. The attacking fire was closer. The advantage had swung against us. If we failed to escape in the next minute then we would never escape.
The Ford saloon screamed in reverse gear as Mick raced in a tight arc to the doorway. He braked late and hard. The car skidded. Cakes could reach the door handle without taking a step.
A man jumped out from behind the white Mercedes opposite. The point of his rifle barrel took all my attention. One-handed and aiming from the hip I held in the trigger. The bullets sprayed wildly, but it was enough to dissuade the man from taking a shot.
Banksy slipped off my shoulder and onto the backseat. A copious amount of blood flowed from the deep slash to his neck.
Cakes kept low and shot out rapid covering fire. Through the open car window, Mick did the same.
‘Get in,’ Mick said.
It was then that I felt it. All the strength in my legs went and I sat down heavily and then fell backwards. Knowing the importance of remaining conscious, I fought against the blackness that tried hard to fill my eyes. Cakes shouted at me, but they were jumbled words and some were missing. What was he saying? Then his hands were on me and he was pulling me up. I had somehow made it onto my knees.
‘Hayes, get up,’ Cakes said.
‘Get in the car,’ Mick said. His voice was very loud.
My hearing had returned and then so to my focus. The blackness lifted and I saw the open car door. Cakes pushed me and I scrambled inside.
The car accelerated rapidly and then gunfire drowned out the sound of the revving engine. We turned sharply and the car dipped heavily on its suspension before it swung back and then levelled.
The noise of the racing engine replaced the fading gunfire. Mick was driving fast. I sat up. Through the side window, I saw the buildings flash past. We were clear. We had gotten away.
Cakes turned in his seat to look at me. I was looking down at Banksy. My hand was on his neck. His blood had made it red. His blood had made everything red.
‘Hayes, are you okay?’ Cakes asked. I turned my face and looked into his eyes.
‘Banksy is dead,’ I said.
7 There is many a ship lost within sight of harbour.
Magda Jbara drank the tea her father had made for her and it tasted better than any she had ever drunk before. They sat together in the sunny room with the outside door open. It was the room her mother had loved so much and in which she had died.
‘Where is Jamaal?’
‘Your brother is at the university, of
It made the same noise it always makes. Imagine an uncontrolled sneeze by an ogre. That is the noise. The RPG [ RPG: rocket-propelled grenade ] was on its unstoppable path aimed at the window through which Banksy was shooting the sniper rifle.
The machine gun bullets from my LMG struck in a tight group just below the man’s sternum.
Before I could shout a warning, the RPG had travelled the short distance to its target.
Feeding on the air the fire rolled and balled skywards, the shockwave pounded my eardrums and debris scattered and fell.
My feet had already carried me halfway when Cakes leapt over the wall and sprinted towards the building. ‘Mick, get the car,’ he said.
I reached the door first. The stairwell ended between the second and third floor. The landing above was gone. Thick smoke funnelled through the gaping hole drawn out like a chimney.
Banksy was on his back and unconscious. He must have been turned and coming down the steps when the grenade hit. Blood leaked badly from a neck wound. It was a deep slicing cut caused by either flying shrapnel or glass. The blood loss was too much.
With a tight grip on his clothes, I pulled him up and over my shoulder. Using one hand to steady him and the other to point and fire my LMG I descended the steps and arrived at the open door where Cakes was firing off short, covering bursts. The attacking fire was closer. The advantage had swung against us. If we failed to escape in the next minute then we would never escape.
The Ford saloon screamed in reverse gear as Mick raced in a tight arc to the doorway. He braked late and hard. The car skidded. Cakes could reach the door handle without taking a step.
A man jumped out from behind the white Mercedes opposite. The point of his rifle barrel took all my attention. One-handed and aiming from the hip I held in the trigger. The bullets sprayed wildly, but it was enough to dissuade the man from taking a shot.
Banksy slipped off my shoulder and onto the backseat. A copious amount of blood flowed from the deep slash to his neck.
Cakes kept low and shot out rapid covering fire. Through the open car window, Mick did the same.
‘Get in,’ Mick said.
It was then that I felt it. All the strength in my legs went and I sat down heavily and then fell backwards. Knowing the importance of remaining conscious, I fought against the blackness that tried hard to fill my eyes. Cakes shouted at me, but they were jumbled words and some were missing. What was he saying? Then his hands were on me and he was pulling me up. I had somehow made it onto my knees.
‘Hayes, get up,’ Cakes said.
‘Get in the car,’ Mick said. His voice was very loud.
My hearing had returned and then so to my focus. The blackness lifted and I saw the open car door. Cakes pushed me and I scrambled inside.
The car accelerated rapidly and then gunfire drowned out the sound of the revving engine. We turned sharply and the car dipped heavily on its suspension before it swung back and then levelled.
The noise of the racing engine replaced the fading gunfire. Mick was driving fast. I sat up. Through the side window, I saw the buildings flash past. We were clear. We had gotten away.
Cakes turned in his seat to look at me. I was looking down at Banksy. My hand was on his neck. His blood had made it red. His blood had made everything red.
‘Hayes, are you okay?’ Cakes asked. I turned my face and looked into his eyes.
‘Banksy is dead,’ I said.
7 There is many a ship lost within sight of harbour.
Magda Jbara drank the tea her father had made for her and it tasted better than any she had ever drunk before. They sat together in the sunny room with the outside door open. It was the room her mother had loved so much and in which she had died.
‘Where is Jamaal?’
‘Your brother is at the university, of
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