Severance Kill

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Calvary went backwards through the window in a sunburst of glass, the fragments fanning and spinning on either side of his field of vision. The force of the kick had been great enough to propel him slightly upwards as well as backwards so that he felt for an instant as though he was hanging motionless, four floors above the courtyard.

Better this way, he thought.

He twisted slightly in midair, because without visual data his chances of survival would drop from minuscule to nonexistent, and craned his neck. Four storeys down, the concrete floor of the courtyard lay like a morgue slab, lit by a sheaf of late-afternoon sun. Clinging to the wall of the building was the wrought-iron creeper of the fire stairs.

Better that he puts up a fight.

Already he was plummeting, the cold beginning to bite, and the pain from the kick. By contracting his stomach muscles he was able to jackknife so that his backwards momentum was offset. He lunged closer to the wall, shot out an arm, felt his fist bounce off hard metal. It meant he was within reach of the fire stairs. His grip clamped round a step. Suddenly, jarringly, he stopped falling.

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