The eye of the lion

Today, after all these years, I’ve come to the conclusion that maybe if my mind had not formulated that idea before what seemed to me to be my certain death, I most probably would not have survived the fall.

But also maybe, just maybe, the prophecy of a black girl, the descendent of great seers from Sierra Leone had to come true, and because of that, it was my destiny to carry on living after that terrible night.

I don’t know. And perhaps I never will. But I’m sure that somehow, our destinies were already inexplicably linked, since long before we met.

We had survived that night, battered and injured, but there was no guarantee that things would carry on that way. In fact I felt worse than I had ever felt in my life.

Randall frankly looked terrible. I didn’t dare move him, but I was afraid that if I didn’t the fire or an explosion would reach us and manage to complete what the fall hadn’t.

I took a few wobbly steps towards the burning ruins of what only a few hours ago had been the most advanced genetic engineering factory in the world, looking for any possible survivors (at the back of my mind had formed the unspeakable fear that Kelly or Kratz had been able to escape in time), but it only took a glance for me to realize that no-one could have survived in the smoking furnace of iron and concrete before me. The employees and guards had taken off at the first sound of the alarm - it’s hard to find good employees these days, I thought - and I was almost sure that only the four of us were left inside the main factory building when it collapsed.

I looked towards Chelmsford refinery, and my eyes took in the horrible vision of monstruous flames rising up furiously against the sky, more than a hundred and fifty feet tall, devouring the little that was left still standing after the initial explosions.

“Damn pig,” I thought, fighting to prevent this thought from increasing the head-ache that was hammering in my temples.

“The Nazi bastard must have planted enough C-4 to blow up the refinery four times over,” I said to myself, feeling the attack of a shadow of remorse. “I should have planted a bullet in him that night.”

But I didn’t want to think any more. I didn’t want to start analyzing. I wanted to leave. I had to leave.

In just a few minutes the firemen, policemen, press, rescue services and military of the whole of damned Essex, of half of England I mean, would arrive at the site. And there was no-one else in sight to interrogate about the catastrophe, no-one else to point the finger at for having caused this infernal chaos. I could already see our bleeding faces plastered all over the headlines.

This idea alone gave me strength.

Like a rheumatic monkey I walked back to where Randall was lying and I examined him. He was bleeding everywhere and moaning. He could have a broken neck or broken spine, which would mean that trying to move him could kill him, but there was no other option. I wasn’t going to leave him alone there to die, and neither could I let us get arrested.

I don’t really remember how I managed it, but exerting a super-human effort which made my fractured ribs grind together, and brought tears to my eyes, I lifted Randall from the ground and started to walk with him towards the road that led to the entrance of Netgen.

As we were pressing forward with great difficulty, I realized with sadness that my team had been wiped out. They had never abandoned me in dangerous situations before, and given the time that had passed without them coming to my aid, I could only arrive at the painful conclusion:

They had all died.

If not in the explosions, then at the hands of Kratz.

It was a bad time to be wounded and exhausted, carrying Randall in the middle of the night, alone and surrounded by all the fires of the inferno. Like a nightmare scene in a crazy halloween movie.

My strength reached its limit a few minutes into my futile attempt to abandon the place. Hardly had we crossed the inspection booth at the main entrance, when I came to the conclusion that we would never make it. I would surely faint.

I tried to hold Randall up so that I wouldn’t drop him, but little by little we bent over, as though under the effects of anesthesia, until we landed up sitting on the asphalt of the road. At least I couldn’t be blamed for breaking the English dude’s head.

My vision started to blur.

My hands started to tingle like crazy. I started to fall down slowly next to Randall, and as I did so I saw something that looked like head-lights coming down the road. My hand tried to move, stupidly wanting to raise a gun I hadn’t brought with me that day. But it couldn’t move any more.

The night devoured me.