“Go get ’em, tiger,” Johnny whispered, kissing Taylor’s cheek before flipping down his visor. “And don’t do anything dangerous.”
Taylor winked, gripping the handrail above them. “Would I ever?”
“Yes,” Amil hissed. “And if you do, JP has given me permission to use the bolt cutters on your balls.” He cracked the metal handles together as if to prove his point.
There was a rumble of laughter, followed by a lot more shushing as Taylor shot him a disgruntled look. And Johnny had been about to settle back into the rocking motion of the van when something smashed against the side window.
“Strike!” Isla screamed, nearly blowing Johnny’s ear drums out as she threw open the back doors.
It all became white noise and a rush of movement as they piled out of the van, a dozen boots pounding on mud and gravel, thin branches whipping across Johnny’s face as trees crowdedthe track. He gripped the back of Taylor’s utility belt, not wanting to lose him amongst the chaos until the very last second.
They cut through the bushes, circling the track and surrounding clearing as another dozen wolves burst from between the trees. The other half of the strike team. They clashed with the snarling faces and foaming mouths of seven or eight guard dogs, and the clearing filled with deafening barks and howls. Lupine versus canine.
Someone whistled, and suddenly the dogs’ long chains scraped across the ground as they were let loose. They went barrelling back into the woods, sending masses of birds into the air like dark clouds.
“I’m off,” Taylor said, reaching back to squeeze Johnny’s hand one final time before breaking off towards the front. Johnny watched him go, glancing at Isla and Amil as they pulled in tight to his sides.
“There they go,” Wendy said, both of them slowing as Falkington officers rushed past.
They disappeared behind the ramshackle fences, and suddenly there were shouts and screams coming from within the building. Thethudof Taylor’s battering ram reverberated through the air, making Johnny’s heart thump even harder. He felt sick, physically fucking sick, and he knew with absolute certainty that he was resigning when all was said and done.
This wasn’t his world anymore, it was Taylor’s. And he felt pretty okay about that.
“Police!” came Taylor’s booming voice, the sound of it making sickness in Johnny’s stomach rapidly dissolve as cold, hard adrenaline took over.
There was anotherthud, a shout from an upstairs window, and as Johnny rounded the corner shards of wood and metal sprayed towards him.
“Police! Stand back!” Taylor commanded, smashing the metal door one last time and sending it flying off its hinges. Andfuck,if Johnny didn’t feel just a tiny bit weak at the knees watching Taylor in that moment.
Suddenly a corrugated side door swung open and two scrawny men in dirty clothes came barrelling out.
There was a moment where Johnny’s feet planted themselves, and he felt like he couldn’t move. The world seemed to shift in slow motion as dread crept into his muscles. He was scared, he wasn’t so macho that he couldn’t admit that. But, if Sam and Frodo had taught him anything, it was that true bravery meant you saddled up anyway.
“Here!” Johnny called, dragging his eyes away from Taylor and vaulting over a rotten, fallen tree trunk. Pain shot up his arm as he landed with a slipperysquelch.
A bog. It was a fucking bog, with a little stream spilling onto the muddy ground. There was an overturned cement mixer blocking the flow of water, the drum caved in at the sides.
“Fuck, don’t come over!” Johnny shouted, waving his arms as other officers began to follow.
Ripping his feet from the mud and nearly losing a boot in the process, he tugged a can of PAVA from his belt and lunged at the two men who were trying to make a run for it. One threw himself forwards, attempting to shift, so Johnny rammed his fingers into the soft spot behind his ear.
The other man screamed, cupping his hands in the stream and flinging milky water across Johnny’s visor. It obscured his vision, but not long enough for him not to see the man draw a small flick blade from his pocket. It glinted in the early morning light, the shine of it shaking, and Johnny realised the man was trembling.
“No you fucking don’t,” Johnny growled, snapping the cap off his PAVA and dousing the man in pelargonic acid.
The man flung his head back, automatically throwing up a hand to protect his face but clearly forgetting that he was holding a knife. He screamed as he jabbed himself in the eye with the tip, falling to the ground in a spray of blood and milky water.
Despite his own hands shaking, Johnny moved quickly to slap a pair of handcuffs on the man who had tried to shift, rolling him onto his belly to prevent him from running away.
“Get inside, they need you!” Isla shouted, yanking both men up by their arms and towards a waiting police van.
“Right.” Johnny nodded, hopping back over the tree trunk and thudding over a filthy patch of concrete. Adrenaline truly took over as he rounded the side of the building, the other officers just a flurry of black uniforms and hurried shouts.
The acrid stench of chemicals hit him hard, making his eyes water even though he was wearing a maskanda visor. He coughed as he crunched over the remnants of the door, the room bitterly cold as ten or so industrial sized air conditioning units pumped air into the dusty, open space.
It was a mess. A dangerous fucking mess, with piles upon piles of discarded tins and bottles, scales, glass jugs, muslin cloths, buckets, extension leads, metal vats and bottles of chemicals.
There came a bang and a scream from the floor above, followed by frantic shouts as more officers piled in and ran towards a metal staircase. Johnny followed, shoving his way to the front as his and Taylor’s bond pulled taut, dragging him forwards.
