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Beth had reached the edge of the panelling, her eyes slitting and throat trembling with the effort of holding back a hack to expel the fumes. Daylight through the kitchen door was eight feet away. How shallow the river would be, she had no idea. She could be diving straight onto jagged rocks and, in a few seconds, she’d know. Beth tensed the muscles in her calves.
The square of daylight was blocked as the figure of the gunman stepped into the passage. Through the smoke she could see his weapon arm out straight, aiming above her crouched position. He hadn’t heard her approach. Beth sprang upright and forward.
She aimed the crown of her head at his paunch, struck him solidly in the stomach and heard the wind escape his body. Beth kept on going, trampling him as he fell backwards.
He thudded onto his back and she was crouched over him, trying to get upright again. Beth kneed him hard in the face, stamped at his injured shoulder, but his hand grabbed her right arm and she cried out, dragging smoke into her mouth as his fingers locked painfully hard around bone.
He pulled her down towards him so she couldn’t use her legs. Beth tried to jab her left fist into his face, but he caught it by the wrist. She was immobilised, but so was he. Their linked arms trembled with the exertion of Beth trying to get free and him trying to hold onto her.
She put her entire weight behind her left fist, tried to force it towards his face and extend her fingers so she could push them into his eye socket. He twisted his head away and grunted as he tried to lever his shoulders off the floor.
Beth realised if both his hands were restraining her, he must have released the gun. Where was it? As his strength forced her back, she could barely see his gritted expression below her. A fresh gust of smoke completely obscured his exerted features. Beth felt the passage invert as the dizzy overture of a blackout seized her. She hacked against the fumes, but its exertion made her weaken in his grip. She knew he would release her soon – momentarily. Then his hands would be about her throat and he could throttle her while she was barely conscious.
Beth was still crouching over him, the bottom half of her body across his waist. She straightened her knees, stood up and then leaned back so she could aim her melting boot at his face. She stamped where she thought it was and felt her sole connect with something hard. Beth stamped it again, using it to push back from his grip. She screamed and slammed her boot down as hard as she could, wrenching his arms up with the action. His fingers released her and she stood up straight, recovered her balance and jammed her boot downwards again. It struck the floor. He’d rolled out of her way.
Beth headed for the fading daylight, stumbling over his bulk and grasping fingers and staggering into the kitchen where the smoke alarm shrieked, radio blared and coffee grinder and food mixers buzzed. Was there a knife block nearby? But she could barely see the floor. Lying on the tiles to her right, however, was a small black shape. She reached for the gun and turned, waving it in all directions as she reversed towards the doorway.
She banged her spine against the screen and stumbled out backwards, gun trained on the kitchen. She stopped at the wooden balustrade and waited as the screen swung back into the smoking frame.
It slammed quickly outwards again as the gunman emerged, his hand holding his burst nose, blood cascading down his chin. His left eye was closed and his right rolled up at her as he took a faltering step forward.
“I’ll shoot.” The smoke in her throat shrivelled the warning to a whisper. She knew she’d have to anyway.
The gunman came at her and her finger hooked hard on the trigger. It stuck there.
The Gunman smiled through burst lips, a film of red on his crowns. “You really don’t know how to use that thing, do you. Mh?” He came at her.
Beth’s finger instinctively flicked against the solid trigger again. The gunman halted midstep and grabbed his arm.
There had been no shot. Beth knew she hadn’t fired the gun.
“Jesus...” the gunman said breathlessly. He bunched his body around the arm and gripped it tighter.
Beth took a step back as he lurched diagonally to the balustrade.
“Call an ambulance.”
He said it clearly enough, but she couldn’t believe he had. Beth barked more smoke out of her lungs and spat. Then she put her boot against his side and shoved hard. He hinged over the balustrade and dropped into the Flathead.
