Page 200 of The Grey Wolf
“Tell me where they are, Armand. They’re no use to you now, but they can save your family.” There was silence. “No?”
Lavigne stepped aside and nodded at the man behind Gamache.
Armand felt him tense, brace. The sort of thing a person does instinctively when about to shoot.
God, take this child…
The last thing he heard was the unmistakable sound of turbines slowing down.
He fell forward, his face hitting the concrete. He never heard the shot.
Beauvoir was at the stairwell door when he heard the gunfire.
Bursting through, he found himself in a long, wide-open corridor.
The sound of the shots were echoing, fading. Into silence. Complete and utter silence. The rivers on either side were still. Nothing moved. Nothing moved. Nothing moved.
He saw bodies sprawled on the concrete by the door to Pump Room Two.
The fireflies. They were all around him.
But they were making a strange sound. A sort of ringing. No. More like screaming.
Had the woman in Chicoutimi and the man in Gaspé seen fireflies too, just before they died? Was it some sort of illusion as the optic nerve failed?
Armand hoped they had. It was almost beautiful. Would even be peaceful, if not for the shrieking in his head. He felt numb. No pain. Not even fear. Just a sort of detachment.
Family. Family…
Jean-Guy grabbed the top two bodies, hauling them aside.
Armand was face down, blood covering the collar of his white shirt, soaking in. It was coming out of his ear and pooled in his left eye. His hands were zip-tied behind him.
“No,” Jean-Guy pleaded. “Nonononono.”
He put his hand against Armand’s face and held it there. Afraid to turn him over. Afraid to see.
The fireflies dissipated, as though frightened away. Armand felt something on his face. A hand. Warm. Reassuring.
He couldn’t see. There was something in his left eye. But still, he knew who it was. And felt a stab of joy. Jean-Guy was alive.
Out of his good right eye he saw a blurry gunman. Dead. On the ground.
And Armand knew what had happened. In the instant the man had shot, someone else had shot the gunman. The man’s bullet hadn’t done its job. Not entirely. Not yet.
Armand felt his hands cut free. He was being turned over. Jean-Guy was kneeling beside him. Holding his hand. Saying something.
He saw his lips move but could only hear the shrieking in his head. He tasted blood and knew he was blind in one eye. Had the bullet exited there?
He moved his lips.
Jean-Guy bent close.
“Go.” Armand thought he’d spoken but couldn’t hear his own voice. “Stop them.”
Beauvoir looked at the open door to Pump Two. “The poison?”
“It was put in.” The words, weak, came from the woman slumped against the wall, a handgun lying at her side. “I heard the gunman confirm it just before I shot them. We’re too late. The senior tech in there has another poison.”
