The Great Game

A burst of fire immediately ripped into the chair. I could smell the burnt covers, a nasty chemical stench added to the already-foul air. No pain, though. Nothing got through. I sighed with relief, and popped a couple more shots off towards the doorway ahead.

“That’s impo…” Mayes was cut off in a loud crackle of blaster fire. He winked out a moment later.

Shit. Now I was on my own with the vicious bastard. I listened frantically, but there was nothing to hear. No movement, no shots, nothing.

I quickly rolled onto my back, facing the chair, gun ready. When the bastard came for me, he was going to get a nasty shock.

A moment passed, and then another. I tried to imagine how long I’d take creeping across a room, towards a waiting enemy. Fifteen seconds? Twenty? I thought about it a bit more, and decided that I wouldn’t do anything of the sort. I’d try to circle round to a different approach, or even better, try to flush him out.

Somewhere deep in the house, I clearly heard a large piece of glass breaking.

There was always retreat too, of course.

I rolled forward again, and snapped off a couple of cautious shots from the edge of the chair, then pulled back in. Nothing. I gave it a few seconds, then peeked round for a moment. No response, no shadowy figures in the dim doorway. I took a moment, and then stood up fully, ready to dive either way. Nothing.

Gun ready, I carefully came round from behind the chair, and crossed the room as quietly as possible. The light intensifiers kicked in, and the hallway brightened to a plain bit of corridor. Cheap wooden board floor, undecorated walls, a staircase up to the next level and a door through into what would be the dining room. At the far end of the corridor, another door opened into the kitchen. A hint of foul breeze was coming from that direction.

I worked round the staircase, and then ducked into the dining room, gun ready. No occupants. It was as ratty as the living room, and it stank almost as badly. I double checked it, and then swung back into the corridor. A faint yellow glow was coming from the kitchen. Keeping low and close to the wall, I advanced. The smell was getting worse.

A moment later, I saw why. There was a fat guy on his back on the kitchen table. He was nailed to it by a large knife through his throat, and by the bloating of the corpse, he’d been there for a week or more. What the hell? I steeled myself, and spun round into the room, trying to cover all the best firing positions.

The room was clear. I relaxed fractionally. The back window was smashed through, the back door partially barricaded. It looked like our guy was making a run for it. Except that the corpse was clearly Arthur Hallet. It didn’t make sense.

The yellow glow was intensifying. I looked over at the fridge. The side had been pulled open, and the light was spilling out of that. The fuel cell… Great. Just great.

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Today’s photo is Biohazard by Snapsi.

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