Hellfire: A Suspense Thriller (A Hawk Tate Novel Book 4)

by Dustin Stevens

  Tucked into the corner of the room, they were just two more people in a sea of many. From where they were, Rembert would have been nominally evident by virtue of his size, the girl invisible as she stood tucked behind him.

  Throughout, both were acutely aware of the guards at the front of the room and the weapons they carried.

  The last twenty minutes had been a whirlwind. It had started with the heavy thudding sounds from outside, thunderous wailing that could have been anything from fireworks to bombs.

  After that had come the quick relocation, being yelled at and prodded forward, the group practically sprinting from one room into the next.

  Third in line had come a secondary explosion, this one undeniable, the sounds quick and angry.

  Something was certainly happening. Deep in the recesses of his brain, the place where things like hope still resided, Rembert wanted to believe that this was the work of Hawk. That he had found his way out, was making good on his promise to return.

  As much as he wanted to believe that, the much larger portion of his mind forced him to remain more realistic. Capable as he may be, Hawk was just a single man in a foreign country. The odds of him having survived a heavily guarded warehouse were slim enough.

  To bring down this kind of chaos just hours later would be asking the impossible.

  The more realistic option was that whatever they were hearing now was an outcropping of the very reason they had been abducted in the first place. They had been part of a much larger scheme, an act that was just now coming to fruition.

  The fact that they had been consolidated, left under the watch of just a few guards, certainly lent itself to that.

  “They look nervous,” the girl said. She didn’t have to clarify who she was referring to, her focus locked on the front of the room.

  Grunting softly, Rembert couldn’t help but agree, an admission that brought about the same feelings within him.

  Nervous people, he had found, tended to make rash decisions.

  Given that these two were holding high-powered weapons and standing guard over a room full of hostages didn’t exactly put him at ease.

  “What do you think’s going on?” the girl asked again.

  Rembert knew the question was more rhetorical than anything. The girl was simply trying to work through whatever emotions she had.

  He didn’t take it personally. Didn’t bother pointing out a second time that he couldn’t speak.

  Not that it would have mattered, any thoughts he had ripped away by the sounds of gunfire in the hallway right outside.

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  The guard’s features had barely even settled from his fall to the floor when the door above him erupted. A series of bullets ripped into it, sending shards of wood cascading down over his head and across the floor.

  Moving in a diagonal stripe, they passed from right to left.

  Directly toward where I was still sitting, tucked up tight on my knees along the wall.

  There was no doubt the shots were coming from the hallway behind me. They gouged chunks from the exterior of the door, not ripping out from within.

  Inside the confined space, the sound was nothing short of deafening.

  Whoever was behind me had the jump. Bullets were already flying, being fed in by an automatic rifle with a large clip.

  There was no way I could turn and get off a decent shot, not before he was able to put a handful of bullets into my back.

  An even worse option would be trying to retreat and use the door for cover, the smooth tile slick beneath my feet, fresh blood droplets striping everything around me.

  Driving forward off my right leg, I dropped the Glock from the same hand. Reaching out, I grabbed the front torso of the man I’d just killed, jerking him away from the door.

  Bullets continued pelting the door and wall, plaster and sawdust both hanging in the air, as I dove hard for the narrow stretch of space I’d just opened up behind the man’s body.

  For what felt like an eternity, I hung in the air, suspended as I made my way at my target. From the far end of the hall, I heard a man scream, a blood-curdling yell that reminded me of the southwest Native Americans I’d read about in history books.

  Hitting the ground hard, I ignored the stab of pain that shot through my arm, the wound on my elbow opening up again. Fresh warmth dripped down over my forearm as I tugged the lifeless body back over me, curling my legs in as tight as I could.

  I was a good bit larger than the guard. His body did little more than cover my torso, my shoulders and head exposed. Extending my left arm out straight before me, I felt the man jerk twice against me, more blood bursting forth as rounds found his flesh.

  Under the makeshift shield, I got my first glimpse of my attacker. Not much different than Cruz, he had black hair shorn tight and sunglasses on, despite the hour. In his hands was an assault rifle, a steady pattern of muzzle flashes sprouting from the tip.

  Holding the gun like some sort of modern-day Rambo, he stood in the middle of the hallway, a snarl on his features. Twisting from side to side, he sprayed the wall a few inches above me, oblivious where he was aiming or what he might be hitting.

  I had no such luxury.

  Taking just long enough to get a bead on his position, I squeezed off two quick rounds. The first drew nothing, whistling straight past him. The second hit him in the shoulder, jerking his upper body to the side, the front end of his weapon twisting with it.

  A terrible marksman with my left hand under the best of conditions, I adjusted my aim a few inches and squeezed off two more rounds.

  The first hit in the center of his throat, shredding his Adam’s apple.

  The second was two inches higher, passing through his open mouth as he continued to scream. On contact, it jerked his head backward, hitting hard enough to lift him off his feet.

  Just as I had a moment before, he seemed to levitate there, hanging in the air, before landing in a heap on the ground.

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  Four more to go.

  Two directions to pursue them.

  Stretched out in front of me was a large hallway. One man was sprawled through the center of it, a puddle of blood working steadily away from him. The remains of another were lying in a choppy mess, most of it smeared across the front of me.

  Behind me was a heavy door. Considering it was closed and somebody was standing guard outside it, I had to assume that’s where the important people were based.

  The heavy guy with the dark mustache from earlier. Whoever else might have been brought in.

  If I was still with the DEA, there was no question that’s the direction I would have gone. Taking the leader would have been the most important objective, without question. All effort would have been expended to get inside and make sure they were neutralized.

  Only then could I move on any remaining guards.

  The problem with that now was, I didn’t care who was in charge. Not really, anyway. My goal was to preserve those hostages, to find the people that had been brought in against their will and make sure they made it out alright.

  And that meant I had to go in the opposite direction, even if it meant someone else might slip away.

  Keeping the Glock in my left hand extended before me, I managed to wriggle my way out from beneath the remains of the guard. With so many heavy rounds having entered his body, most of his connective tissue was shredded. Limbs moved almost of their own will, bodily fluid leaking from every possible source.

  By the time I managed to extricate myself, the remains were nothing then a twisted mass. The front of my shirt clung to me, the dark material stained almost black with blood. The jeans I wore felt much heavier than I knew them to be.

  The stench of death clung to me, practically hanging like a fog in the confines of the hallway.

  Which was fine. It wasn’t the first time I’d been around it, and my busted nose masked the majority of the aroma.

  What it did let through managed only
to heighten that long-dormant part of me. The part that still remembered doing this for a living, running all over places like the one I was now standing in.

  Shifting out to the right, I put my back toward the door I’d just entered through. Knowing that the entrances to where the hostages were hidden were on the far side of the hallway, I wanted to be sure to be facing that direction on approach.

  And I damned sure wanted to make sure I didn’t leave myself exposed to whoever was behind those double doors.

  Inching away from the twisted remains of the guard, I could feel the viscous remains of bodily fluid sluicing off me. In tiny droplets it hit the floor, demarcating my path as I eased down the hall.

  In either hand were the Glocks, my gaze rotating between the two sides.

  Best guess, there was at least one person behind the double doors. There would be no call for a guard otherwise. And regardless if the guard from the roof survived or not, he likely hadn’t made it back down to lend a hand.

  So at most, there were two guards remaining. Two guards spread between four doors.

  Two of which were still boarded up tight.

  And two of which had support slats sprawled on the floor outside of them.

  Including the very one I had first stepped through just hours before.

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  Every part of me wanted to go straight after that fourth door. I wanted to burst through and make sure Rembert and the others I might have endangered earlier were okay. Of everybody that had been on that plane, they were the ones I had the closest resemblance to a personal connection with.

  The more prudent part of me knew that wasn’t the wisest of decisions just yet.

  At the moment, I still didn’t know if a single hostage was alive. Or if they had been moved yet. Or any of a hundred other things.

  What I did know was that the guards likely wouldn’t have taken the time to lock the doors on empty rooms, or even rooms full of dead bodies.

  They also wouldn’t have barricaded themselves in after the fact. If anywhere I was going to find the people from that plane alive and needing help, it was going to be behind those two doors standing locked.

  Which still had to be my primary focus.

  With the Glocks still held at shoulder height, their barrels extended wide in either direction, I sidestepped down the hallway. Every few seconds I alternated my glances, looking in either direction.

  From where I stood, I couldn’t see any obvious cameras placed high along the walls. That didn’t mean they weren’t there, today’s technology enabling them to be smaller than a pencil eraser.

  I was acutely aware that somebody could be watching every move I made. Coupling with the clock that continued to race forward in my mind, I moved as quickly as prudence would allow.

  By the time I reached the first door in order, sweat was pouring from my skin. Lactic acid burned in my deltoids from holding the weapons at attention.

  Every nerve ending in my body seemed to be pulled taut.

  Once this was over, I had no doubt my entire system would crash hard and long. In direct reaction to the stress I was under, I would succumb to a comatose state, not to be moved for the better part of a day or more.

  I just had to make sure I made it that far.

  Pulling up even with the first door, I pushed my way across the hallway. Without the wall behind me, I had the same sensation of being exposed that I’d felt on the stairway outside, shoving myself across the open expanse as fast as possible.

  Not until I was safely across, my rear pressed tight against the wall again, did I take another breath, again checking my surroundings in either direction.

  Content that everything was clear, that the two guards now lying dead were the only cover for the area, I shifted my gaze to the door beside me.

  The barricade was so basic, it could barely even be considered as such. Nothing more than a pair of two-by-fours, one was stretched across the top half of the door, a second around knee level.

  On either end were a trio of wood screws securing them tight.

  It was the kind of thing that would take me less than two minutes back home in Montana. I could stick a screwdriver bit into a power drill and have every last one out in no time at all.

  At the moment, it seemed far more daunting. I didn’t have a drill, or even a basic screwdriver. Didn’t see either lying close by.

  There might have been one on the guard I had just killed, though I didn’t have the time or the inclination to go digging through his pockets.

  Especially to gain entry to a room that might not have a single living person inside.

  Checking either direction once more, I returned my attention to the door.

  The item looked to be the sort often used for the front doors of homes. Unlike the standard office issue that was generally nothing more than two thin panels with a lot of spacers and air between them, this was a solid chunk of hardwood.

  Which made just kicking my way through impossible.

  Muttering softly, I ran the possibilities through my mind, not coming up with many good options.

  I needed to see what was on the other side, and I needed to do it fast. Going back through the ceiling wouldn’t work, nor would trying to fashion a screwdriver and working at a dozen wood screws that were two inches long or more.

  Leaving me with only a single choice.

  Pressing my chin to my shoulder, I raised my voice just slightly and said, “Stand away from the door.”

  Pausing a full three seconds thereafter to make sure anybody inside had heard me and done as instructed, I twisted my body away from the wall. Both guns I pointed down at an angle, aiming just beneath the crosspiece serving to hold the door in place.

  Hoping I wasn’t about to do something insanely stupid, I fired both more than a half-dozen times, completely chewing away at the bottom portion of the door.

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  None of the dozen or so holes cleaved into the bottom portion of the door went clear through. Not on hardwood almost two inches thick, which was exactly the point.

  I didn’t want to risk injuring anybody inside, either through a direct shot or a ricochet. What I wanted to do was make the structure weak enough that I could tear right through it in the aftermath.

  Standing in the middle of the hallway, I didn’t bother checking my surroundings. If anybody was close, they already knew I was there from the earlier encounter with the two guards.

  My own shots might have the aid of a noise suppressor, but the Kalashnikov had sounded like a cannon within the narrow confines of the hallway.

  Holding the guns out as counterweights to either side, I rocked back. Pressing my weight against the ball of my right foot, I balanced for just a moment before exploding forward. Halfway there, I twisted my weight to the side, lifting my foot and driving my heel at the pattern of bullet holes across the bottom of the door.

  On contact, the splintering sound of wood sheering away could be heard.

  Not quite enough to punch clear through, I retreated a foot and repeated the move, this time my momentum sufficient to rip away a chunk of wood almost eight inches in width.

  More than enough to do what I needed it to, I dropped to a knee, debating whether to lead with a Glock before deciding against it.

  Just like before, there would be no point. No way had a guard locked themselves inside, and if they did, they would have already opened fire the instant the chunk of wood broke free.

  Lowering my chest toward the ground, I peered inside.

  The room was an exact replica of the one I had been in before, right down to the size and the lights blazing bright above.

  And including the more than two dozen people crowded tight against the back wall, all staring back at me, looks ranging from disgust to open fear splashed across their faces.

  For an instant, relief surged through my system. It forced a sigh out, the smallest modicum of tension releasing from my body.

  Just as fast, the fe
eling evaporated. I might have found a quarter of the people in need, but there were still plenty more to go.

  Not once in the ensuing hours had I thought of what I might say in this moment. A product of never thinking I would make it this far or simply not wanting to invite a jinx, I had no way of knowing, but the execution of it I hadn’t spent a second dwelling on.

  Which was why I had no planned remarks lined up. No words of encouragement or empathy.

  Just the extreme need to impart the urgency of the situation into the room.

  “We need to move fast,” I said. “I’ve weakened the bottom of this door. If you kick at it, the rest will come free and you can all crawl your way out.”

  The first response was nothing at all, just twenty-some remaining rooted in place, staring back at me.

  “Now!” I snapped. “I’ve got more people to find. If you want out of here, get your asses out through this hole and get outside.”

  My directive out, I pushed myself back to my feet. I didn’t have much time, knowing there were still guards nearby.

  And that they were likely holed up behind the double doors at the end of the hall or one of the two doors without braces on the opposite side.

  Moving away from the door, I left the people inside to do what they could. Already I had cleared a path for them, had opened up the bottom part of the door.

  The remainder would have to be on them. I could only do so much, especially with so many in need of help.

  I had only promised that I would return. I couldn’t make them want to live, too.

  The Glocks both still in hand, I walked to the next door in order. Finding the exterior of it to be much the same – the only differences being a few less screws and the wooden slats being put on crooked – I knocked twice at the door.

  “Stand back.”

  To my left, I could hear the muted thumps of people inside beginning to lash at the bottom part of the door, enlarging the hole I had started.

  Giving them nothing more than a cursory glance, I pushed back out into the center of the hallway and brought the Glocks to shoulder height again. Firing both in unison, I unloaded the remainder of the magazines before springing forward.