Fic: Resistance (chapter thirteen)

[mjartrod]

CHAPTER 13 Trying to shake the dizziness away as he trailed the path back to the room where Dom had been left imprisoned, Matt racked his brain, wondering who could have possibly attached a tracking device to his coat, when they’d done it and for what reason. He had miraculously been granted an opportunity to escape as a result, but... what the hell was going on? This was all too much for his still fogged up brain to cope with. And he couldn't afford to waste energy on anything that didn't directly relate to finding Dom and getting out of this shithole unscathed. Everything else would have to wait. A couple of unfriendly looking people ran by the black haired man in the murky hallway, fortunately sparing him no more than a quick curious glance, but when Matt spotted yet another gang member at a distance, this one armed, he decided not to take any chances. Skidding into a smaller side corridor cluttered with old filing cabinets, he waited in silence as the man stomped by. He couldn't help but notice the collection of lab coats hanging from a coat rack on one of the walls. On impulse, he took one and put it on; it was a feeble attempt at a disguise but if he was in luck it would be enough to deter any unwanted scrutiny. He was forced to pause, closing his eyes and leaning against the wall for support, as a tremor racked his body. His blood pressure had to have dropped dramatically from the sodium amytal he had been injected with, but Matt was confident that those bastards would have needed to administer him with a lot more for him to be rendered unconscious. After a few minutes more retracing his steps, it was with infinite relief that the singer recognised the door to the room he'd been searching for. He was about to break into a run towards it when he found himself rooted to the floor in trepidation, it dawning on him that he didn't have the key. “Fuck it.” Going for it anyway, Matt pumped his fist in glee when he noticed he needn’t have worried - there was only a heavy barrel bolt latch, and no padlock. Double checking no one was around, he shucked the door open and barged into the small cell. He was greeted by the sight of his frail looking band mate, still sprawled awkwardly on the floor and apparently only semi-conscious. “Dom…” He was kneeling by his side in less than a second, shaking his shoulders and turning him over. The drummer’s grey eyes rolled back and he did not respond. “Dom, get up! We’ve gotta get outta here. Come on!” Pulling him up by one slack arm, Matt glanced nervously over his shoulder as he forced his friend into a seated position. Dom’s head lolled onto Matt’s shoulder, his body slumping against the singer's limply. “Shit, Dom, come on, get that fine fat arse off the floor!” “Better fat like mine than flat like yours...” Dom slurred against his neck, lifting a weighty arm around Matt’s shoulder for support with great difficulty. “Fucking wanker…” Matt’s lips curved into a genuine smile, an insult from Dom never having sounded so good or been so welcome. “Come on, get up before they come looking for us again...” Dom's legs refused to cooperate fully but the anxiety and adrenaline gave Matt a strength he never would have believed himself capable of and, pulling the drummer’s arm more securely around his neck, he hauled him up with gritted teeth, dragging him out of the room. The coast seemed clear when he scanned the area, trying to figure out which direction they had arrived from. There had been stairs, he recalled. Loud voices and echoing footsteps carried over from somewhere in the building and he jostled Dom against him to get him moving. They staggered along together, Matt forgetting he didn't believe in any deities as he prayed fervently that he and Dom didn't cross paths with any of the criminals. They reached the end of a hallway, several large windows in the wall of the adjacent corridor. There were no stairs in sight, but there was an elevator to the left. It was stopped at the lowest level and Matt pushed the call button, propping Dom against the wall and leaning on the windowsill to have a peek outside while they waited. They weren’t very high up, perhaps on the second floor, and the harbour was very close. They were definitely at a port, as he could see the shadowy outlines of warehouses and shipping containers. It took Matt a few seconds to notice several vehicles parked below, in the darkness. He gaped, eyes widening - they were police cars. He never thought he'd be so happy to see ‘The Man’. But how in the world had they got there? It had to have something to do with the tracking device they’d found on his coat! “Dom.” He patted the drummer’s chest insistently. “Dom, look. The police are here, their cars are outside!” Maybe this meant that they had finally figured out Zhang's scheme and how he had been the one behind the scandalous theft from Warners. “You hear that? Dom?” Placing a hand on the blond’s cheek, Matt turned his face to him, thumb inadvertently brushing over the small patch of dried blood below his nose. He tried to tame his vengeful, murderous thoughts by telling himself that at least Dom was recovering rapidly and moving with more ease now. “You feeling better?” “Yeah, yeah. I’m alright, I’m fine...” Dom swallowed thickly. “We’re not gonna run away from the police any more, are we? Just wanna get out of here... go home…” Matt shook his head reassuringly. “No, no, we’re not gonna run any more, I promise we’ll go straight to them now.” The elevator pinged, the floor indicator showing it had reached the second floor, and the doors slid open. Dom got in first, no longer requiring Matt's assistance, and the singer followed him, punching the button for the lowest level. It would be a fast trip down and if they were fortunate enough not to see any of their captors and perhaps if there were more windows or maybe if they found the police right away... Matt’s conjecturing was ended by two armed men suddenly appearing at the end of the corridor. Their eyes met and the Englishman identified one of them as part of the group who had abducted them from Michelle’s place. Matt’s mouth went dry. Shit. “Dom, get down!” The two musicians threw themselves against the walls of the elevator either side of the door just as a hail of bullets flew their way. They crouched low with their arms covering their heads, the noise deafening, bullet after bullet lodging in the walls and floor. Despite sliding closed with unnerving slowness, the elevator doors shut before more damage could be done and, with a jerk, the compartment started moving, shots still be being fired into the exterior doors. Matt breathed out loudly, his legs failing him as he slid to the floor, the back of his head thudding against the metallic wall. “I thought we were going down?” His eyes shot open at Dom’s words, the drummer on his feet, sounding confused but more alert as he gazed at the control panel. It displayed a big, red ‘3’ for the third floor, an illuminated arrow signalling they were going up, not down. Matt swore viciously in his head and scrabbled to his feet, rushing to press the emergency stop button, but nothing happened, despite him bashing it repeatedly. Multiple indicator lights were glowing, as they would during a malfunction, and there were several bullet holes marring the smooth aluminium. There was a jolt, the two musicians grabbing at each other for support, and the elevator stopped, having reached the top floor. The doors opened with a wrenching screech; the air outside was thick with smoke. “For fuck's sake, why isn’t this working?” Matt fiddled with the buttons and kicked the wall as if that would help, but to no avail - the elevator was no longer functioning, and wouldn’t be taking them anywhere any time soon. Walking carefully out, fairly confident his motor skills were sufficiently recovered, Dom surveyed the area for alternative exits and checked for the presence of others, keen for them not to be surprised yet again by someone who was definitely not looking for an autograph and a photo. There was a single door at the end of the hall, opposite the elevator; oversized and rather grand in the utilitarian surroundings. To Dom’s left, several large windows, like those on the second floor; a little ahead, halfway to the door, a corridor leading to the right. After only a few seconds of inhaling the smoke clogged air, Dom was coughing, covering his mouth and nose with his hand. The source definitely seemed to be down the hallway. Matt joined him, face wretched with concern, and they peeked into the corridor together. Their worst fears were confirmed - there were flames emanating from an open door. The fire was burning strongly and so extensive as to stop them from going in that direction for fear of being caught in it. The only option left seemed to be the imposing door opposite the elevator, so Matt advanced towards it boldly, not wanting to waste any more valuable time. It was doubtful there was anyone in the room beyond, at any rate. The windows in the hall did not open and, as he looked outside, Dom realised with some apprehension that the police cars they’d seen only minutes earlier were no longer visible; he didn't know whether that was a good sign or a bad sign. He then examined the side of the building, looking for an external fire escape. There was a flight of stairs that linked the ground to a metal platform at first floor level, but it didn’t go any higher. Aside from that, there was only a large pipe running down the wall, all the way from the roof to the cracked concrete below. Matt had tried without success to open the door and had returned to see what had gotten the blond’s attention. “I don't see any emergency exit here,” Dom said. “Fuck that, help me with breaking in.” Matt pointed to the door. “There must be a way out through there.” The smoke was stinging their eyes as Matt pushed on the door handle again, ineffectively bumping his shoulder against the wood panelling in an attempt to force the lock. Dom joined him and they coordinated their efforts to hit the door with the full weight of their bodies at the same time, both coughing as the fire spread insidiously and sucked the oxygen out of the air. The door initially gave no signs of budging but, after repeated strikes, it ultimately gave in. It swung open suddenly and the two friends fell into the room in a heap, limbs entwined. They quickly disentangled themselves, springing to their feet as they rubbed their battered shoulders. It was a spacious office, decorated with what was obviously quality furniture: heavy dark wood bookcases, glass-fronted cupboards, plush couches and abstract paintings on the walls. There were many papers spread across the broad mahogany desk and scattered on the floor, too, as if a strong gust of wind had blown them out of place. Matt grabbed one off the floor, but the writing was Cantonese and incomprehensible to him. There didn't seem to be an alternative way out, much to their distress, and they ended up looking to the room’s large windows, which faced the same side of the building as all the others they had seen so far, but these windows opened where those did not. The pipe Dom had spotted earlier ran right past one of them and would be accessible with the window pushed wide... A crazy idea popped into the drummer’s head and when he glanced at Matt, he realised that he seemed to be pondering the very same thing. “What if... you know... ” Matt spoke first, motioning to the pipe with calculatingly narrowed eyes. Dom weighed their chances. They were on the fourth floor; using the pipe as some sort of ladder to reach the ground, or at least the metal landing at the first floor, was bordering on dangerously stupid. There was no safety net below if they slipped. On the other hand, the fire was spreading, time was running out and there didn’t seem to be any other way out. Matt opened the window to make a closer inspection, noticing the thin metal loops that secured the pipe to the outside wall, where they could perhaps place their feet. Tricky but doable. If they fell, though... He eyed Dom worriedly. The drummer was probably still dazed and unsteady from the drugs administered during his interrogation. “You up for this, Dom?” Dom responded by climbing onto the sill and crouching in the open window, glad to be breathing the fresh, cold, salt-laced night air. He shook the pipe structure to check its stability; seemed solid enough. “We just have to hold onto the pole and slide down, right?” He turned to where Matt stood inside. “If strippers can do it...” Despite Dom's little smirk, an attempt to calm them both, Matt’s chest tightened painfully, and he wasn’t sure if it was due to the caustic smoke or the nerves. Maybe this wasn't such a brilliant idea after all. Or maybe he should go first. But Dom was already reaching a hand out to the pipe and carefully placing one foot and then the other on a metal loop, Matt gripping the windowsill apprehensively as he watched. The drummer circled the pipe with both arms, and, after giving the guitarist a reassuring nod, let himself slide down a short way, until his feet found the metal loop below. Matt watched him like a hawk, stiff and unblinking - if he looked away for even a millisecond, Dom would fall - as his friend descended in small, cautious increments until he reached the first floor metal platform at last, where he landed clumsily on his arse. He gave Matt a thumbs up, fussily adjusting his leather jacket, and the singer released the breath he’d been holding in a rush of relief, rubbing his palms on the stolen lab coat; he was sweating profusely from a combination of the heat from the approaching fire and gut-clenching dread. He climbed up onto the windowsill, stretching an arm out towards the pipe and preparing to join Dom... and froze. A group of men was approaching from a short distance behind the completely oblivious drummer, who was staring up at him expectantly with his hands on his hips. Before Matt could warn him, before he could even think of what to do, he was startled by a rustling noise from inside the office. Whipping around to look, Matt gasped, eyes wide, as he was confronted by the image of Zhang holding a gun. Pointed at him. He acted on instinct. Jumping back into the room, he narrowly avoided a burst of gunfire, the bullets passing within millimetres of him as he rolled across the floor to take shelter behind a couch. A glass-fronted liquor cabinet and one of the windows smashed, showering him with glass. “There’s no point in running, Bellamy.” Frantically scuttling between pieces of furniture, Matt kept managing to dodge the shots without really knowing how he was doing it. Zhang never took his finger off the trigger, yet always missed his target. In a matter of seconds, though, Matt found himself on all fours, with nothing to hide behind and nowhere to run to. When Zhang emerged into his line of sight amidst the smoke, blocking his way to the window which had so nearly been his salvation, it was to find Matt trapped in a corner, huddled on the floor with his knees held protectively against his chest and his back to the wall. He was going to die here. It seemed inevitable. “I am on a tight schedule but am so very pleased to see you,” Zhang said. “You can’t imagine the hassle you’re saving me by being here. I was convinced that you'd escaped and that I'd need to squander a considerable sum of money to find you again.... and now, thankfully, that won't be necessary.” “The police are here, if you kill me, they’ll know.” It was a last desperate effort, just as Matt noticed that the gun was being held with latex glove-shielded hands. There were no witnesses and there would be no fingerprints on the murder weapon. “They already know everything!” Irrationally attempting to back further away, he only succeeded in pressing his back harder against the wall. Zhang laughed derisively. “Thank you for everything. It was a pleasure working with you, Mr. Bellamy.” His eyes ran over Matt’s slight frame, taking in the white lab coat with clear amusement. “Or should I say Doctor Bellamy?” And he pulled the trigger. Matt squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the end, but the explosive bang of the bullet leaving the gun he had expected never came. There was a dull click, no more. And then silence. Followed by another click. One eye fluttered tentatively open to see Zhang gawking at the gun in pure disbelief. Had he run out of bullets? At that moment Matt felt as though the forces of the universe had finally aligned in his favour, and all the bad luck and misfortune that had haunted him recently had been erased. Zhang’s eyes met his and the singer’s jaw tensed, his brow drawn down in a threatening scowl. This was the man who had almost ruined his life, who had tortured one of the people he cared about most in the world and caused untold woe to the rest... Not to mention the worthless fucker had just tried to shoot him! Zhang took a hasty step back, but it was too late: Matt had sprung off the floor, utterly demented with rage, and launched himself in his direction with a fury such he had never known. Lunging at him like a bull, Matt’s head rammed into the man’s chest and propelled him backwards off his feet, the redundant weapon falling to the floor with a mundane thud. They hit the glass so violently, their impetus so strong and the open window where Matt had tried to escape so close, that they slid along the slippery surface and through the empty space, Zhang’s upper body ending up hanging outside the building in mid air. “No! No!!” Face contorted into an expression of absolute terror when he realised he was about to fall out of a window four storeys up, Zhang grabbed on to Matt, who was so blinded by wrath that he’d failed to realise that as he tried to throttle his enemy into submission, he was being pulled along with him. The businessman screamed in Cantonese as he clung on for dear life, his greater weight upsetting the musician's unsteady footing, and both of them tumbled over the sill. Matt acted instinctively, releasing the entrepreneur's neck and flailing out both hands, miraculously managing to turn himself around and grasp the edge of the window frame in a white knuckle grip. “Shit, shit, shit...” Matt could hardly breathe. When he found the courage to open his eyes and glance down, he found himself suspended a dozen metres above ground that was barely discernible in the pre-dawn darkness. Zhang had one hand bunched in the material of the lab coat, and it was all that was keeping him from falling. Gravity was too much for the singer's slippery fingers; he couldn’t find the strength to even try to move, instead focusing all his remaining energy on simply not letting go. Zhang was gasping and grunting as he tried to catch onto Matt’s leg with his free hand, the drag of the larger man's weight on his coat causing agony in his arms and shoulders, when a harsh ripping sound suddenly rent the night. Holding on tighter with desperately clenched teeth as the fabric tore completely and his body was wrenched downwards, Matt only vaguely registered the piercing scream as Zhang fell, the sickening thud of the criminal smacking into the metal platform below nothing next to his enormous relief at being free of his burden. Matt took a deep breath and willed himself lighter. He tried to prop his feet against the wall to give him some leverage to pull himself up, but they kept slipping against the building's smooth sides and panic gradually crept over him. His arms were quivering alarmingly as his muscles weakened with fatigue, and his precious fingers felt on the verge of fracturing. There was blood running down one of his wrists. Never before had he felt this heavy, his head about to explode from the strain. After all he’d been through in the past few days, all the ups and downs, the trials and tribulations, Zhang was finally exposed and more than likely dead, and Matt wasn’t going to live to see himself vindicated. His grip was going to fail and he was going to fall, suffering the indignity of going the same way as his tormentor. And he would never find out if Dom was safe... But then hands came, clasping his elbows with reassuring strength. They grabbed one shoulder, then the other. Matt heard movement, voices, as his body was hauled back through the window and laid to rest on the floor of the office, glass grinding beneath the soles of black boots next to his head. For a long moment, he couldn’t move, readjusting as the blood coursed through his veins, the pain in his upper body easing. When he eventually found the resolve to sit up and face his rescuers, he found several men dressed in dark uniforms hovering above him, all heavily armed and professionally intimidating. The smoke was thick above floor level, and Matt was seized by a coughing fit. “Matthew Bellamy?” He nodded dumbly, breathing with difficulty and unable to answer through his racking coughs. But then he remembered. “Dom.” His voice was so raspy and rough he barely recognised it. “Dom. Dom was...” He couldn’t stop coughing, eyes blurred with stinging tears, and obeyed numbly as someone pulled him to his feet and steered him along. “Where’s Dom, he was -“ “There is a fire, you come with us now,” someone told him as they made their way through the cloying fog of smoke to a concealed opening in one of the office walls - he and Dom obviously having missed it earlier - which led to a flight of stairs. “But-“ “You’re safe now, both of you. Answers come later.” At the moment, that was good enough for Matt and, exhausted, he asked no more.