Haversume’s raised arm movement could not have been clearer. It was a signal, and that signal could only mean one thing.
Michael had known that the moment would come. He had thought he was prepared for it. But to stand and watch the signal that could end his life? To be so utterly helpless in that moment? So totally reliant on Dempsey’s success? He had not been prepared for that, and so he had not known how to react when instant death did not come.
The sound of shots rang out from the hillside, breaking everyone’s reverie. There was no stopping what would happen now.
With Sarah and Harry so exposed, Michael’s instincts kicked in.
He broke into a sprint. Haversume was just ten yards away. Clearly he hadn’t anticipated Michael’s charge. He started to raise his pistol, but had no time to use it.
Michael’s punch was thrown as he still ran. His movement made the blow clumsy, but his momentum made it powerful. It landed on Haversume’s jaw before he could pull the trigger and sent him stumbling to the floor.
There was no time to follow up on the blow. Michael scooped Harry into his arms, grabbed Sarah and hauled them both into the nearby foliage.
From behind the cover of an oversized tree trunk Michael turned and looked back into the clearing. And he was not happy with what he saw.
Both groups had fallen back to their own vehicles for cover. From there they were firing wildly in each other’s direction, each bullet having just the barest chance of hitting its target. What they had hoped would be a quickly won battle was already becoming a hopelessly entrenched war. One from which Haversume could easily escape.
Michael would not allow that to happen.
He turned back to Sarah and Harry and took a moment to free them from their restraints. He then carefully removed Harry’s gag, before finally turning back to Sarah. There was no time for Michael to explain what was happening around them. No chance to reassure them. If they were to survive then Liam would need every one of his men. Including Michael.
‘Stay here and stay down.’
It was all that Michael could say.
Without another word he pulled the 9mm Smith & Wesson M&P he had been given by Liam and moved back through the surrounding undergrowth until he was level with the three off-road vehicles. A group of Haversume’s men were behind the first, safe from the guns of Liam’s men. But not safe from Michael. To them he was invisible.
From here Michael could break the deadlock.
He tightened his grip on his weapon as he moved the final few yards, to where he would have the clearest shot. Just the wrong side of the undergrowth, the spot left Michael more exposed than was ideal. But one final look back towards Sarah and Harry justified the risk.
It was their safety that most motivated him as he pulled the trigger.
One man went down from Michael’s first shot. A stream of blood seeped from the open wound on the man’s neck. He fired four more shots in quick succession, taking out a second man and causing a third to dive for cover.
It was an effective attack, but a hazardous one. With his attention on his own targets, there was no way Michael could have noticed as one of Haversume’s men emerged from behind a second vehicle and opened fire.
In Michael’s career he had heard pain described in many ways. Particularly the pain of a gunshot. He had heard recollections of a burning bite. And of a strange feeling where the victim’s strength has been sapped, with their energy and even their ability to think clearly drained away. These sensations were exactly what Michael felt now as a single bullet passed through his shoulder and forced him to drop to his knees.
He looked up, his mind already hazy from the effect of the bullet. The shooter he had not spotted was now striding towards him, his weapon raised. No doubt ready to deliver a final barrage of lead.
But before he could do so a bullet burst through the skull of Michael’s would-be killer. Michael saw two more bullets take the lives of two more of Haversume’s men, and realised they were coming from the hillside, not the clearing.
Joe Dempsey.
Dempsey’s lethal, long-distant shots were devastating Haversume’s men. They had abandoned the cover of their vehicles, which had proved useless as protection against the trained sniper. This had in turn made them easy prey for Liam’s people, and so what had been a battle was fast becoming a massacre.
The clearing was a vision of hell. Michael saw that as he turned a full 360. All around it were bodies, cut down with bloody abandon. Horrific sights that Michael hardly registered. His focus was both absolute and elsewhere, looking for one man and one man only.
And then, through the smoke and the gore and the darkness, Michael found him.
Haversume was crouched behind the five-foot stump of what must have once been a vast Irish oak. He seemed to be paying no attention at all to the death of his men, concentrating only on keeping his body behind the oak, out of the line of fire.
The sight released even more of Michael’s adrenaline, sending renewed energy surging through his veins. It dulled the pain of his open wound.
He would not let Haversume escape unscathed.
Michael ignored the danger that was all around him. The lessening but still heavy gunfire. He strode through it, his Smith & Wesson aimed ahead of him and his finger repeatedly squeezing its trigger.
Four times Michael fired before Haversume knew he was there. Each bullet had dug into the trunk behind which Haversume had hidden; the most effective shield the clearing had to offer.
The fourth shot had come close, thudding to a halt just inches from Haversume’s head. But it had also caught his attention. Peering around the trunk, Haversume saw Michael’s approach.
Michael would never know what cold mental calculation compelled Haversume to do what he did next, but he would always regret it nonetheless. Because Haversume did not choose to fire from his hiding place. And nor did he choose to wait until Michael was close, to allow for a better shot.
What he chose to do was run. Full sprint, in the direction of the cabin.
Haversume took off with a speed Michael had not anticipated, firing behind himself as he did so. Bullet after bullet, all fired over his shoulder at a rate that denied him any accuracy but which nevertheless forced Michael to dive for cover, stopping him from firing back.
He forced himself back to his feet, ignoring the pain from his wound, in time to see Haversume enter the cabin and close its door behind him. Where the rest of the Lawrence family still were.
Michael ran towards the cabin. Haversume would not hurt anyone else he cared about.
Liam spotted his blood-soaked brother through the gun smoke.
Luck had drawn Liam’s gaze to Michael’s lumbering, injured figure as he slowly rose from the floor in the distance. At the same moment – in the same line of sight – he caught a glimpse of Haversume, gun in hand, as he entered the cabin.
Instinctively, Liam followed after his brother, knowing the danger he was about to step into. Liam ignored the final shots being exchanged around him, got to his feet and left the safe cover the cars had provided. As he ran he could feel the heat of bullets as they passed him. He was now a moving target, drawing fire as his steps turned into a sprint.
Liam moved faster than he had in twenty years, driven by the need to catch Michael before he could reach the cabin door. For an instant Liam thought he might fail. That he might lack the legs to cover the distance. But as Michael stumbled on the cabin’s first step he felt a final rush of adrenaline and found one more gear.
There was no hesitation. Michael reached the cabin first. Dazed, exhausted and losing blood fast, he pushed open the unsecured door without a thought to his own safety.
Liam was not so naive.