Hi. This is an extract, not a short story. Even posting the whole of chapter one would exceed the word count. Sorry it doesn't really come to an end but if you enjoy, I have lots more where this came from.
In Carnosa’s line of work, the early darkness which had descended over the city was welcome. At the very least he couldn’t hide without it. Whether running from his crimes, shielding his identity, or watching anonymous as the city began to tear itself apart, he traded in shadows. The ability to merge with them was every bit as necessary as a keen aim.
With a kind of satisfaction flanked by a tug of adrenaline, Carnosa smiled. Beyond the grimy mullioned windows, Sirion had just appeared in the square.
Through a gap in the curtains, he could just make out the buildings opposite. With the rain sparking off the cobblestones they were only distinguishable because of the faint lights chequered across the upstairs windows. He could see the fountain overflowing in the centre of the square. The pool of water beneath the rather dated mix of granite and blue weathered copper had swollen, and it lapped violently at the edges. Even as he tried to blend into the plaza, Sirion’s stride was unmistakable. He limped, a relic from a less reputable shot perhaps and he was hunched over from the biting cold on the wind which cut through sodden clothes like fire. Still, it was smooth enough to move through the deep night without effort or pain. He was obviously an old master.
Carnosa sighed. One hand he ran up the barrel of his rifle, the other he placed against the condensation which had so inconveniently clouded the window. He judged angles and distances as though he had all the time in the world. And he waited, clearing his mind so quickly and effortlessly it was as though he had swept clean a cluttered tabletop in one motion. Sirion stayed planted to the spot, star struck or petrified by time. He stared up through the rain and it coursed down his face in heavy tears. He seemed to be savouring it in the knowledge that his very seconds were numbered.
There was a sudden noise, halfway between a door slam and a thunder clap. Carnosa started then regained composure to give the scene below his complete attention. Sirion was the same. He seemed to straighten and his eyes roved hawk like at the sound. On lonely nights like this, even a professional could momentarily lapse into redundant thought. Noises in the night kept them sharp.
Of course, thinking of the fallen helped to kill the daydreams too.
Men like Sirion kept Carnosa in work, but they were a caustic blight tightening a noose around the city’s neck. They inhibited authority, more specifically the few who controlled the army and the police, the Glomerata. Their stench in recent months had ebbed into every recess like an incoming storm surge, and the government had slowly started to lose control. Now they were hanging onto a knife edge by mere fingertips. Hundreds were dead or missing, thousands of lives, innocent lives, families and livelihoods rent apart while the targets of men like Carnosa escaped unscathed. These hundreds dead in a city of less than half a million souls was unforgivable.
A shiver ran down Carnosa’s neck. The rain streamed on.
Sirion loped another three steps. He stood now almost directly in front of the fountain, and because of that, he found himself shifting quickly as a wave of gritty water spilled over onto his leg Carnosa felt a smile curl his lips at that.
Peregrine silent, he lined his sights on the man’s lean chest.
A single gunshot later Sirion lay abandoned like a sack of flour. His limbs thrashed as though to shake the rain or to desperately warn the three others who were escaping out of range down a side street. Carnosa cursed at that. Those were, after all, the next in line to the title of the city’s most wanted. One woman who had fallen into the war by unhappy circumstance, two men who had lost just enough, and had just enough malice bred in their souls to make them a threat. He glanced back to the plaza. Sirion lay still, tendrils of dark blood seeping down in the direction of the harbour.
“One down,” Carnosa breathed. “Seven hundred left to go.”
*
"Isla, she's there."
Riona turned away from the window, letting the curtains drift back into place and shut out the world again. In response to the extra anxiety in her voice, Isla looked up from a thick wad of blueprints. She was tall, and the light struck her face suddenly, sparking like headlights over a bump in the road as it caught in her bright blue eyes. Isla ran her thin fingers through long, dark hair. Hours ago, before they had even started to panic, it had come undone from the knot she usually dressed it in.
"Just there, under the canopy." Riona pointed to the square of watery light cast by the security lamp of a corner shop, not that the newcomer was easy to miss. "Who is she?"
"She's new," Isla said quickly, calmly in a voice that easily dismissed the way Riona’s hand shook and her face drained of colour. Squinting at the figure, she was certain of it. "You see the way she's not checking over her shoulder? She's never been here before in her life."
"She's not one of them?"
"Not a chance." Dismissively, Isla went back to the blueprints, replacing her reading glasses, a sure sign that she was finding it difficult to concentrate. The rest of them should have been back by now. She snatched a glance at the grandfather clock slicing away their vital seconds. It stood in the corner as oblivious as ever.
They made excuses for their sins, calling it gathering information for the most part, but it was still fighting, still contributing to the rampant chaos that was the city. Luca, Adele, Tai (Rio’s brother, for heaven’s sake). Now they were late, every moment which passed made it seem more likely that their lives were in the balance.
The large room descended once more into silence as they both began to contemplate what would come next if anything happened to their friends. Below them, the front door closed. There were feet on the stairs, a key grating in a rusty old lock, then nothing.
Still at the window, Riona sighed. She looked back over her shoulder, seeming every inch the younger sister. "What if she is?"
"Rio -"
"Alright. Don't panic, I know."
If, or more hopefully, when, the other three returned, they could discuss it properly. At worst they would have to file a report about the threat. Isla groaned and threw down the blueprints with one more resigned glance to the grandfather clock. "I can't take this,” she confirmed, already heading for the stairs. “We're going out to find them. Come on."
