How About Seven? ✔

44. Bastion

The force of the blast completely knocked me off my feet and threw me, shoulder-first, into the disposal bin like an NBA pro's vicious slam-dunk. As luck would have it, someone had chucked in a bunch of flattened cardboard boxes that day, and I had a relatively soft landing. I immediately curled into the smallest ball possible and covered my head with my hands.

The sound of the explosion was thunderous. Vibrations rattled through the metal of the waste disposal bin and into my bones. I heard steel screech and people scream. Shrapnel rained down from above; one sliced open my forearm and I grimaced. There was also blood trickling from my temple. 

As long as the ceiling holds. Oh dear jumping jackanapes, as long as the ceiling - 

I heard a deep-seated groaning, followed by a humungous crash, then another, and another. The long line of pillars in the middle of the bunker was collapsing, which meant so was the ceiling. No sooner had I came to that realization did a wide crack appeared above me, followed by a bulging downward distension. 

"Shi - " was all I managed before a block of concrete came descending. I flinched, bracing for impact.

The concrete block struck squarely against the side of the bin and split into half. One fell outside, while the other landed in, narrowly missing my feet. It fractured among impact and bounced a fist-sized chunk right smack into my face. It was like getting slapped by an iron. My head spun.

Gradually, the rumblings subsided into an eerie sort of quietness. I could hear ambient noise from outside; the sounds of traffic and the city seeping through. I wondered if there were any walls left in the aftermath.

I felt dazed, and there was ringing in my ears. I was pretty sure I was concussed. Clutching the edge of the bin, I managed to get to my knees and peer out. 

Jasper's plan had worked beautifully. For a minute, it seemed that no one but me was left alive in the completely torn apart building. High above, the sun shone undisturbed straight in. I watched a fluorescent light dangle for a moment from a broken wire, before shattering into pieces.

Then I saw movement. 

Cognac wriggled out from beneath a dead body - no, two dead bodies. One of them was missing an arm - it was only by the cauliflower ears that I managed to identify it as belonging to what had been Jesús DiMaggio. 

The other body was clad in a now dirt-streaked and torn white pantsuit.

Both the Octagon chairman and head of security had come together to protect Black and Tan's child prodigy with their lives.

I watch Cognac stare at his mother for a moment. His emerald green eyes were unblinking but moist. I watched his jaw work up and down as he tried to process this information, and for a moment, I could see him for what he was - an orphaned child. For a second I almost stood up and called out to him, wanting to tell him that it was going to be okay.

Then he caught sight of me.

Even from here, I could see the hatred blaze in his eyes. I wanted to shrink away from the wrath that emanated from this ten-year-old boy. My fingers scrabbled dully for the gun on my hip.

Then Cognac stood up, and ran. He sprinted to the back of the bunker, pushed open the door and disappeared from sight. As he stood up, his blue sneakers kicked against the back of his mother's hand - which was still clutching the Blackcroft case.