Page 42 of The Sleepwalker (Joona Linna #10)

Time seems to grind to a halt – as it does in the cold glare of a camera flash – as Gregory and Peck realise that ?ke could detonate the belt before either of them has time to react.

If he yanks the fishing line, the small charge inside the detonator will set off an explosion, a blast large enough to kill them both and destroy most of the buildings around them.

Joona takes his seat, and Gregory and Peck slowly put their hands on the table. The colour has drained from both of their faces, and their eyes are wide and panicked.

‘People like me spend their whole lives preparing for a visit from people like you,’ ?ke mutters. ‘But you think you can just waltz in here, wave a few papers and take our kids away.’

‘No, we—’

‘Yeah, yeah, you just want to talk to Lotta,’ he says with a smile.

‘We do.’ Peck nods.

‘Everyone knows the politicians are corrupted by the power elite, moving taxpayers’ money to their own accounts .?.?. It’s no secret .?.?. But what does that make social services, the courts, the police? Mercenaries and traitors, that’s what .?.?. Snatching our kids and selling ’em to the Jews.’

The boy approaches the table with an elk rifle.

‘Tell your son to put that gun down and go inside,’ says Joona.

‘Dad?’ the boy asks, pausing a few metres away.

‘You can start by shooting this Jew if he doesn’t drink up, Knut,’ says ?ke, pointing at Peck.

The boy raises the rifle, rests the butt on his shoulder and takes aim. Peck quickly picks up his mug, takes a sip and presses his lips together.

‘More,’ ?ke barks, pulling the fishing line taut.

‘I’m OK, thanks.’

‘Is this really the hill you want to die on?’

The boy’s finger is now on the trigger.

Peck drains the rest of his mug in two big gulps and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. ?ke refills the mug and then leans back and studies the three officers.

‘Social workers .?.?. Who do you think you are, eh?’ he says. ‘Coming to my farm, asking your questions .?.?. We’ve said we don’t want anything to do with you, but you just keep on coming back.’

‘I hear what you’re saying, but I think there’s been a misunderstanding,’ Gregory tries to explain.

‘We don’t need no supported accommodation for—’

‘We’re not from social services.’

‘No?’

‘No, we’re police,’ says Gregory.

?ke stares at him and slowly grinds his teeth. The rifle is too heavy for the boy, and the barrel has begun to tremble in his hands.

‘We understand that you want to be left alone, and we respect that,’ says Peck, anxiously licking his lips.

‘Oh, I like this. This is perfect,’ ?ke says with a grin. ‘Police officers, drinking methanol and eating human flesh, talking about respect.’

‘We’ll come back another day,’ says Joona.

‘Or not. What d’you reckon?’ ?ke asks, tentatively pulling on the line. ‘I swear, I don’t give a damn. I’m not going to rot away in some fucking Guantánamo.’

‘I feel weird,’ Peck tells his colleague.

‘Just take it easy,’ Gregory whispers.

‘Sorry, but I think I need to lie down.’

‘You’ll stay right there!’ ?ke snarls.

Peck gets up on unsteady legs, knocking his chair over behind him and clapping a hand to his mouth.

‘Shoot the Jew!’ ?ke shouts. ‘Shoot him before—’

A sharp crack cuts through the air, reverberating between the buildings. The recoil causes the boy to stumble back. Peck is hit, and he sways to one side. The full metal jacket bullet has gone straight through his throat, and blood has begun to spurt out of the exit wound and down his back.

The boy’s eyes are wide, his lips pressed tightly together. He knocked over a bucket of hen feed when he lost his balance, and he casts an anxious glance in his father’s direction.

‘Sorry,’ he whispers.

Dark blood is now pouring down Peck’s torso, and he gropes for something to lean against, reeling back.

‘Shoot the rest of ’em now.’

Gregory breathes heavily through his nose as he attempts to pull his gun from his holster with shaking hands.

The boy turns the rifle on him, lifts the butt to his shoulder and closes his left eye.

‘Don’t do anything stupid now,’ Gregory tells him, holding up both hands. ‘Listen to me .?.?.’

Joona notices the fishing line slacken when ?ke leans forward, and he leaps up and pulls the man towards him like a shield.

The boy turns towards them with the rifle.

As Joona pulls ?ke back with him, he uses his free hand to reach beneath his coat and examine the damp blocks of explosive.

‘Run!’ ?ke tells the boy.

Joona finds the detonator and pulls it out just as the father tries to break free. ?ke swings around, jolts his arm upwards and hits Joona on the cheek. The two men lose their balance and crash into the table.

Joona drops the detonator.

The mugs tip over, and the bottle shatters on the ground.

‘Dad,’ the boy gasps, following their movements in an attempt to get a clear shot.

Joona grips the barrel of the rifle and yanks it to one side just as it goes off. The bullet whizzes past his face, making his ears ring, and the hot metal burns his palm.

He tears the gun out of the boy’s hands, and the child loses his balance and falls hard onto his knees, but he doesn’t seem to react to the pain.

The detonator is now swinging around ?ke on the fishing line, and Joona swings the gun around and rams the butt into his nose.

?ke’s head snaps back, and he slumps to the ground with a look of confusion on his face.

His mouth and chin are bloody.

Joona strides over to him and stamps on the detonator, pressing it down into the gravel as ?ke yanks on the fishing line.

The small charge goes off beneath Joona’s boot. He feels a jolt in his knee joint, and dust and small pebbles spray out to both sides of his foot.

The girl drops the rabbit, which hits the ground, scrambles to its feet and bolts away.

Peck’s eyes are closed, and he is breathing wheezily.

The boy gets up with an absent look on his face, blood seeping through the knees of his trousers.

‘Get the air ambulance out here!’ Joona shouts.

He grips the elk rifle with both hands and sees Gregory pointing his Sig Sauer at the ground, loading a round into the chamber.

‘Sorry,’ the boy whispers.

‘Get down!’ Gregory snaps, taking aim at his chest.

‘Lower your weapon,’ Joona warns him.

The boy turns away and sways unsteadily.

‘Stop, or I’ll shoot!’ Gregory yells as the boy starts walking.

‘Secure and holster your weapon,’ Joona shouts.

‘He shot Peck, for fu—’

‘That’s an order!’

Gregory steadies the pistol with his free hand and curls his finger around the trigger.

‘Look away if you don’t—’

The butt of Joona’s gun hits him square on the temple, causing his head to jerk to the side. Gregory slumps over and manages to catch his glasses just before they hit the ground.

Joona steps forward and kicks his colleague’s pistol beneath the house.

?ke has managed to get to his feet and is hurrying away across the gravel, his ponytail thudding between his shoulder blades with each step he takes.

Peck is still sprawled on the ground, spluttering blood onto his own shoulder.

The boy is standing over by the frozen field with a glazed look on his face.

Joona calls regional command and requests backup and an ambulance as he sets off after ?ke, who is running towards a rusty pickup over by the tool shed.

The girl watches him go without a single flicker of emotion.

‘Helicopter!’ Joona repeats, right as he hears a loud whooshing sound.

Peck has fired his distress flare. It races past him, low to the ground, and hits ?ke on the back as he opens the car door.

The bright magnesium light briefly illuminates the vehicle before the explosives detonate in a large, deafening fireball.

The shockwave is like a powerful kick to the ribs, and rocks and splintered wood fly through the air.

Joona lands on his back, his head slamming into the ground. The pickup rolls twice and then comes to a rest on its side. Burning wreckage from the shed is thrown into the field, and gravel rains down on the courtyard.

Joona gets to his feet.

Through the dust and smoke, he can see a crater in the ground where ?ke was standing just a moment ago.

The young girl is bleeding from a gash on her forehead.

On the ground in front of her, there is a sooty severed thigh.

‘Fuck,’ Gregory whimpers.

A large chunk of the main building is gone, and every window is broken.

A dead pine is in flames.

The hens that flapped up into the air come back down to land.

A piece of shrapnel from the explosion has penetrated the rain drum, and a thin, white cascade of water has begun to spurt out through the hole.