Page 65 of 72 Hours

The hissing noise was louder now, accompanied by a crackle of static. Greg whirled quickly back towards the table to see Niall bending down, as if to touch the radio.

“Back off!” Greg shouted.

“Tanner, stop him!” Niall cried. “We must answer that call. It’ll be from Judith, telling us what the plan is.” He reached for the mike, and he was nearer to the table than Greg. But Greg had the gun.

We both moved at the same time. Just as Niall got to the table, I flung myself at him, knocking him away. Greg pointed the gun at us, but it was difficult for him to establish any kind of target with both of us flailing about in front of him. We were shouting together too.

“Niall, leave it! You can’t do anything now—”

“Tanner, you’re scum, you hear me? All you had to do was hold him back while I took the call. Which fucking team are you playing for now, anyway?”

“Mine! I’m on my own fucking team. The team that’s going to save my arse!”

“Bastard! Selfish, fucking bastard!”

We wrestled fairly uselessly for a moment or so, grunting and swearing at each other. Niall slammed me against the wall, his lean body moving swiftly across Greg’s line of vision. I saw Sheri staring at us, amazed. She was up on her feet, and I really wanted to see her moving towards the door.

The radio hissed again, and I saw Greg’s eyes glint with a sudden sly light. “Shut the fuck up!” he yelled, and for a second we both paused, panting, hands gripping each other’s clothing. “Guess I’ll take that call. Maybe I’ll enjoy knowing where the rest of your colleagues are and what they’re planning.”

“No. Don’t you dare!” Niall’s expression was furious.

But Greg reached smugly for the radio, planting his hand confidently on it as he looked for the microphone.

And then he screamed.

We both flinched at the loud, unearthly wail that sounded like it came from his very gut. His eyes grew unnaturally large and his legs shook, jerking up and down at the knee. His arm went rigid where he touched the radio, his hand clasped to it as if glued. The set rattled on the table, and Greg’s body started to fall back. The gun clattered to the floor as his free hand reached out helplessly for some salvation.

Neither of us moved to offer any.

Sheri was screaming, too, by now. She looked terrified that Greg would fall on her.

“Don’t touch him!” I yelled to her. “The current’s running from the radio through him. Move away! Niall, get the gun.”

It was all a blur: Greg on his way down, Niall diving to the floor to grab the gun. I was twisting, trying to regain my footing, trying to get Sheri out of the way. I could smell burning, of both wiring and flesh, and there was a loud hum in my ears as the radio’s remaining static crackled and spat at us all.

Timing was critical.

Greg’s shocked body was still shuddering from the contact with the radio, his legs stumbling erratically towards the couch. Niall was on the floor, but had the gun in his hand and had him covered. But Sheri was sprawled awkwardly half on, half off the couch, her body about to get really tangled up with Greg’s. Why he hell hadn’t she moved out of the way? Obviously she was too scared, too shocked, too bruised. I was desperate by now. I launched myself across the room at her, knowing Niall couldn’t do anything to Greg until she was clear.

Greg crashed down on to the couch, but as he fell, his free hand grabbed out at Sheri. He couldn’t speak or aim; it was a reflexive movement. Sheri cried out and wriggled out of range of his grasp, but her body thudded against me, halting my headlong dash. We both tumbled to the floor. I heard Niall curse in the background, and the pain in my hip told me I’d caught the edge of the table as I went down. The radio rocked, its cord popped out from the wall, and it also fell. The heavy, awkwardly shaped casing thudded into Niall’s legs as he crouched beside the table. I heard him yell in pain.

We were all going down; we’d lost control of the scene. We rolled on the floor, a mess of expelled breath and twisted limbs. I wrenched my head around, trying to see who was where.

Greg lay on his back on the couch, his mouth open, his voice making incoherent sounds. He looked terrified, shocked, and presumably very, very angry. The gun had slipped out of Niall’s grasp when the radio hit him, and he was scrambling to retrieve it. I was doubled up with the agony in my hip, and my vision was clouded with involuntary tears of pain.

But I had no trouble seeing the flash of a blade; Greg had drawn his knife. At the same time, I saw Sheri’s slim body move across him, her cries high and hysterical. I didn’t know what she was trying to do, but it looked like she was trying to wrestle the knife out of his hand. Niall was also scrabbling back up on his feet, though I couldn’t see if he had the gun. They both converged on Greg, even as I tried to pull myself up to support them.

There was a cry of pain, and Sheri wheeled away from her attacker, clutching her hand. I could see blood on her palm. I also now had a clear view of Niall and Greg. Sheri had bumped into Niall and knocked him off balance; he fell back on one knee on to the jumbled cushions of the couch. Greg was still shaking and his eyes didn’t look in focus, but he was obviously alert enough. Turning to Niall, he grabbed Niall’s shoulder and thrust his knife up towards his chest.

I was up off the floor in a second. I don’t remember directing my limbs; they just acted of their own volition. I roared with some amazing sound that didn’t even sound human, and I threw my whole body at Greg, my long legs carrying me across the narrow width of the trailer like a falling tree.

Time suspended, just for that moment. I saw Niall turn to me with that look on his face—shit, that was only a memory, surely, wasn’t it? —and I had the memory of a boy crying. I saw the slice of a blade through clothing and into flesh. I smelled the fresh, sickly thickness of drawn blood....

Niall!

I snatched back my mind from both the past and the future. I gripped Greg’s wrist with a strength I didn’t know I had, wrenching it back and away from Niall. My eyes misted over, and I felt the sudden ache of new pain in my injured arm. I heard Niall’s cry, and it sounded anguished. I couldn’t see the knife, couldn’t make enough sense of it all. Had I been too slow? Had it happened all over again?

I heard the barking of a dog, a sharp, shocking noise against the human cries.