Altered States (32 page)

People scattered as I barged through them. Those that didn’t scatter quick enough got helped along by me. It was slow going. Running through a crowd of tourists is like running through ... well nothing else. Nothing is as frustrating as trying to get somewhere quick through a dense throng of contrary sightseers.

I needed to make it across the highway – six lanes of traffic. The nearside was almost stationary so I weaved through it to a tune of angry horns.

As luck would have it this stretch of road had a barrier between the carriageways to stop idiots like me trying to cross the street. I vaulted it clumsily and tumbled headlong into the next carriageway. A taxi screeched almost to a halt but I was gone before the driver’s fist was even out of the window.

Now there were more people to plough through. I decided I preferred cars. I made a bunch more enemies as I shoved them aside one-by-one. When I was through the worst of it I brought my phone back to my ear.

I had to make a snap calculation as to whether it would be quicker to head up Seventh, along Henson, and back down Ninth. But I figured I wouldn’t make it there before Karla popped out on the Strip and then I’d lose her in the crowd. But I was making really bad progress as it was. There was only one thing for it. I jumped into the road. I was heading up the right-hand side of the road, so the traffic was going my way, only slightly faster than walking pace, but much quicker than threading myself through the tourists.

Car horns blared from behind me but I zoned them out and just kept running. Three minutes later I was on the corner of Ninth Avenue. I spun round looking for Karla.

‘I saw someone coming out of a building so ducked inside. There’s a keypad on the door so I thought it would be safer than out there.’

I desperately looked up at every building, but it could’ve been any one. I stopped mid-way along the street and waited for the call to re-connect.

Then ... in a way that in no respect aided my predicament ... I got shot in the arm.

That was really bloody annoying, to be frank.

The phone in my hand flew out of my grip and went clattering across the paving slabs. Instinctively, I grabbed my busted arm, before the training kicked in and I went for my gun instead. But before I had even begun to turn around the shooter was on my back – literally. He’d been ordered not to kill me. I knew that because I was still alive. This was classed as me lucking out.

As we toppled to the floor I threw my head backwards catching him on the nose. Then I launched an elbow into his stomach and arched my back to throw him off me.

He may have had more recent training on his side, but I had something else. I was driven. And not by anger, by something stronger. Fear. Fear for someone else’s life.

The man on the floor went for the gun he had naïvely re-holstered for his non-lethal attack. I kicked his wrist as hard as I could, then with my one good arm I grabbed his collar and pulled him to a sitting position and slammed him against the wall. Then I stood back and pulled my weapon.

I agonised for what seemed like an age over whether to put a bullet through his head; whether he’d become page one of my People I’ve Killed scrapbook. But I managed to suppress the urge, to temper my rage. After all, he was not the bad guy. He was just another puppet.

When I got to the entrance I punched the call button for every apartment in the block. After a few seconds I got about three incoherent responses at once.

I couldn’t take the lift. It would not afford me the covert entrance I desired; what with the big glowing number counting down my arrival; not to mention the irritating voice announcements.

With one arm straight by my side and the other holding a phone to my ear, progress was slow.

Too slow.

When I got to the second floor I heard a muffled noise from the earpiece which sounded like it came from Karla; then a noise that sound like her phone being dropped, followed by some talking that I couldn’t make out.

My heart leapt into my throat then sank through the pit of my stomach. I snapped the phone shut and pounded up the remaining steps.

As I lurched round the corner at the bottom of one flight of steps there was a woman coming the other way and I almost crashed straight through her. But a last minute lurch minimised the impact to a glance. And although physically I didn’t even break step, for the briefest of moments my mind was in a different place and time. Somewhere distant and fragrant. Somewhere calm. But then, just as quickly, I was back, pounding up the steps.

I rushed toward them. A quick assessment of the gunman determined that he was no longer a threat. A gun lay on the floor which I kicked away. Then I collapsed to my knees in front of Karla, lying in an ever-growing pool of blood from a gunshot wound to her stomach.

I turned to Karla. She was lying awkwardly, but I didn’t want to move her too much. I rested her head on my knee and pressed down on her wound with my hand. She didn’t complain. In fact, she looked at me and smiled.

‘No, just listen. I care for you, Aaron. And I wish things could’ve been different. But we both know the truth. There has only ever been one person in this world for you. One person you will ever love.’

‘Don’t. She’s ... she’s gone.’ I stopped and bowed my head.

‘Aaron, listen.’ She took two deep breaths. ‘You have spent ... your entire life ... learning to communicate with people subconsciously.’ Her voice was laboured again. Each word was a challenge. She swallowed and a trickle of blood seeped out of her nose. ‘If there is anyone ... anyone in this world ... anyone who can bring her back ... it is ...
you
.’

‘No,’ I said crying and shaking my head. ‘No.’

‘Yes.’ Karla insisted. She was finding it increasingly difficult to form her words now. But she had a determination to finish what she’d started. To say what she had to say to me. ‘Aaron ... she’s been waiting for you ... waiting for you to wake her up.’ She was panting now as if she’d just run up a flight of stairs. ‘Don’t leave her there ... all alone in her bed.’ She coughed a little and took a struggled breath which gargled and rasped. Then she looked at me with dewy eyes. And it was a look I recognised from years before; one that would accompany her final words. ‘Go wake her up, Aaron,’ she whispered almost imperceptibly. ‘For me.’ And she closed her eyes.

‘No!’ I screamed.

A large group of people were gathered around us now, staring in horror. I checked her pulse and breathing. Neither were present.

With one good arm and one busted, I attempted to administer CPR. But my mind was fuzzy. I couldn’t remember the ratios of compressions to ventilation. Was it ten-to-one? Fifteen-to-two? I couldn’t remember!

Someone placed a hand on my shoulder to pull me away, to take over, but I shrugged them off. I wiped the streaming tears from my face with my sleeve, and started pumping her chest and breathing into her lungs.

Kept trying to kiss life into her lungs; pump life through her veins. For just long enough. Just until the paramedics arrived. To bring her back.

Finally, the paramedics arrived. They fought through the crowd of bystanders. At first they were gentle with me, but I wasn’t going to stop. Like a possessed metronome, I kept on with my rhythmic routine...

‘No,’ I cried, and reached out before slumping back against a wall. I’d lost a lot more of my own blood than I’d realised. And as the pain came flooding in, I collapsed unconscious to the floor.

Last Respect

I sat in the secluded corner of a bar nursing my n
^th
shot of local rum of the morning; my head drooped, my eyes bloodshot and my stubble into its eighth day of growth. I was numb.

Somewhere it had gone wrong.

I
was supposed to
help
people. Make things
better
. Save the world. Clearly, I had messed up. This was evident in the fact that I was drinking rum at ten in the morning waiting for the funeral of yet another woman I had let down.

I took a deep breath and drew in the aromatic Colombian air. As I did I realised this was where my mind had been for that fleeting, and apparently portentous, moment a week ago, when I was rushing up the building to save Karla. A smell from somewhere had reminded me of this place. And now, here I was.