The Warriors Series Boxset II

by Ty Patterson

  The blade came up, sliced through the wire that was stretching over his neck. Its upward motion turned to a sideways and downward swing.

  Zeb ducked low, reached far behind him and the felt the point enter hard flesh with an accompanying hiss of breath.

  He was turning to thrust again when another change in the stillness warned him.

  He threw himself down, rolling fast, towards the window.

  Just in time.

  Three muted sounds, like books falling on a floor. A continuous roll, not separate trigger breaks.

  A pro.

  To my left and behind me. One man to garrotte me. Another to cover and shoot.

  He counted the moves in his mind, the moves the shooter would make.

  Stop firing. Track me. Resume.

  On the third count, he rose, took one step and hurled himself out of the front facing window.

  Glass splintered and gave way. Two more rounds tried to stop him, met air and darkness and went their solitary ways.

  Ajdan shifted immediately, his Sig Sauer pointing straight and steady.

  There wasn’t anyone to aim at. Carter had vanished in the night.

  He didn’t relax. He searched the dark with his eyes, his ears tuned for the faintest sound.

  Far away, in the distance, he heard engines and doors slamming.

  Those sounds couldn’t have been made by Carter. He couldn’t have gone that far so quickly.

  ‘How bad is it?’ He asked in a low voice.

  ‘Left abdomen punctured. Not deep. Will hold for some time.’

  Ajdan didn’t feel rage or bitterness. He had stamped those emotions out a long while back. His friend would make it or he wouldn’t.

  There wasn’t certainty in their business.

  For now, they had to shut down Carter.

  He approached the window, hugged a sidewall and peered out cautiously.

  The night peered back at him.

  Shiraz came from behind, handed him a small mirror.

  Ajdan angled the mirror to see outside.

  Exterior white walls came into view. The front yard. Pavement.

  No Carter.

  He shrugged at Shiraz’s questioning look. His eyes flicked momentarily downwards, saw the spreading dark stain on his partner’s body suit.

  They had to finish this quickly.

  ‘Let’s secure the house. It might be a trap.’

  The two flanked each other, covered one another and moved.

  Shiraz in front. Ajdan behind. Their guns ready.

  Chuck’s bar wasn’t difficult to take down.

  Chuck, Pike, and Bundy were huddled together at the bar, an older couple was at a corner table, and a solitary man was at another.

  Kadin entered the bar, his four men following him, took in the occupants and stepped to the left.

  One man shut the door behind him.

  Another went to the rear exit – the service exit – and shut it.

  Chuck stared open mouthed for a moment and then yelled. ‘Hey, buddy? What’s up? Why’re you closing the exits?’

  Pike and Bundy echoed his questions.

  Kadin walked over and gave him the eye. ‘We’re shutting you down for some time.’

  Chuck opened his mouth to protest, Pike and Bundy rose, became voluble.

  All three subsided when Kadin removed his handgun and placed it on the counter.

  ‘This doesn’t need to hurt.’

  One hood went to the other occupants, took their phones and placed them on the counter.

  Kadin held his hand out at Chuck.

  Chuck didn’t move. ‘Who’re you guys? What’s going down? You know the cops are just a couple of streets away.’

  Kadin sighed, grabbed the gun and brought its barrel down on Chuck’s forehead.

  They didn’t get any more resistance.

  His men herded the occupants, took them down to the cellar and locked them in.

  Four hoods stayed inside, one went outside to patrol.

  Chuck’s bar was now Boiler’s.

  Kadin pulled out his phone. ‘Secure,’ he said and hung up.

  Secure. Just like in the movies. Heck, this was better than any flick.

  Zeb flung himself sideways, air rushing past him, his left hand reaching out desperately.

  It missed one rope, found the second. Fingers closed around it, grip tightened.

  His body’s swing turned. It headed back to the house. To a white wall. At collision speed.

  His legs shot out, his knees braced and absorbed most of the impact. His head still jarred and if his teeth hadn’t been locked tight, his tongue would’ve been bitten off.

  No time.

  A leg shot out. A hand reached out. Another rope was gripped.

  He ran on the face of the house, rounded a corner, drew a deep breath and hauled himself to the roof.

  He lay prone for several seconds, letting his pulse slow down, his breathing normalize, his night vision stabilize.

  He rose, removed glass splinters from his shoulders and hair. One splinter, embedded in his right eyebrow, stubbornly refused to budge.

  A stream of blood ran down his face when it did.

  It’ll stop. It’s not blinding me.

  He took stock.

  His Benchmade was inside the house. All his weapons were inside. He was bare handed.

  Weapons weren’t a problem, however.

  He went to the plastic water tank, bent beneath it and removed a cache from its underside.

  Glock. Holster. Kevlar vest. Magazines. Another Benchmade. NVG. Blood blocker compress packs. Bandages. A stun grenade.

  A cache that any self-respecting deep black operative would be proud of.

  He suited and belted up.

  Now to see where they are.

  He went to a panel on the parapet and flipped it open. The recess would normally have fuses and switches for the house.

  This one had all of those. It also had a screen on which feeds from the various cameras from within the house played.

  The screen was powered by a long-life battery. So were the cameras inside.

  The night vision cameras threw up the two hostiles as orange-yellow blobs.

  They were fanning out, room to room, seeking him. Hunting him.

  Ajdan and the other killer were in the second bedroom

  Who else could it be?

  How did they find me?

  He scrubbed the thought. Now wasn’t the time for hows.

  They will be ready. Prepared. Coming from behind won’t work. They may be prepared for the flash-bang.

  The two blobs were now in the middle of the room. Two engines sounded, grew louder, faded.

  He cocked his head. The village hardly saw traffic at night.

  The blobs were exiting the second bedroom, were heading to the third.

  He put the traffic out of his mind.

  The third bedroom had a rear-facing window. It was open, to allow for air circulation.

  A wild thought entered.

  Can it be done?

  What do I have to lose? I’ve practiced it. If it doesn’t work, I’ll try something else. So long as I’m outside, I’m good.

  Thought became action.

  He memorized the assassins’ pace, their direction of travel, rose and headed to the parapet.

  He slithered down a rope on the side of the house, braced his legs against the wall and stood perpendicular.

  The rope, his body, the wall, a triangle.

  The third bedroom window was ten feet away. The nylon rope was long enough.

  He reached down and slashed the rope beneath his legs.

  His left hand twisted around the rope, his legs braced and then he was running on the wall.

  Three steps, then airborne, flying out in an arc, like a pendulum.

  The nylon taut and straight and turning into his hand and body, all stretched out in a thin dark line, flowing in the night.

  Flying from one side of the house to the other.
>
  Going over the window in the middle.

  His right hand straightened, the Glock at its end. Its sight became larger in his vision.

  The sight moved. Took in the fast moving wall. The edge of the window.

  The darkness within.

  Not darkness.

  One shadow.

  The shadow moved.

  The sight moved.

  His trigger finger moved.

  Four shots pierced the night, punched through the darker shadow, and then he was out of sight.

  His arc shortened. His flight dipped.

  He landed; again vertical on the side of the house, bent his knees, and absorbed the shock.

  His left hand moved of its own accord. Switched ropes.

  The Glock got tucked away in his shoulder.

  Right hand gripped the rope. Left hand followed.

  He rolled over the parapet swiftly and headed to the screen.

  One blob was down.

  The other was in the first bedroom, from where he had escaped.

  The blob looked at the camera. His gun came out. The camera went dark.

  The second assassin, Ajdan, going by his height, shot out the rest of the cameras in the upper floor.

  Zeb had no eyes in the house.

  Not a problem. Now it’s one on one.

  Boiler checked with all his men.

  All were accounted for.

  The bar was in his control.

  His men were patrolling the street.

  Milton Mills was his.

  He gestured at Lambo who floored the SUV and drove it to Jenny Wade’s house.

  The five of them spread out, moved swiftly down the paved walk, Boiler in the lead.

  At the door, he stepped aside for Diesel to pick the lock. During their surveillance, they had found that the lock was basic.

  It put up no resistance and gave way easily, the door swinging wide open for them to enter.

  Boiler strode in. Passed the living room

  Headed straight to the dining room where a light was burning.

  It was late at night, but Jenny Wade was up, going through school work.

  She felt the draft first, then heard the steps.

  She looked up.

  Her eyes widened in disbelief at the men ranging in front of her.

  The first man had cold eyes. Green. His face was hard.

  She recognized him. She had heard of him. She had wished never to see him. He was here now.

  Her mouth widened, a scream came out.

  ‘Olivia. RUN!’

  Ajdan was sure Carter was on the roof.

  He had, somehow, come off it and had shot Shiraz through the window. Four shots, three of which had caught his partner in his chest.

  They both were wearing vests, but the fourth shot had caught Shiraz in the throat.

  Four shots in less than ten seconds, within the narrowest window of opportunity.

  Ajdan had underestimated Carter. This wasn’t any ordinary soldier. This wasn’t just any other special forces operative either.

  There were probably a handful of men in the country who could make such shots count. Carter was one of those handful.

  Get away.

  That was Ajdan’s priority now.

  He lay face down on the landing and peered down the stairs. It was empty.

  He strained his ears.

  The house ticked, the refrigerator hummed. Somewhere outside, a door slammed.

  No. Carter wasn’t down below.

  Ajdan would have sensed him.

  He moved cautiously downstairs, crouching, making the smallest possible target, taking a step at a time.

  Once he reached bottom, he changed positions swiftly.

  No lance of flame came seeking his way.

  The landing faced the kitchen. He had to go through it to get to the front door.

  He took one step.

  Another step.

  The refrigerator came in sight. Dark. Tall. Gleaming in the night light.

  A shadow moved on its surface.

  Ajdan threw himself to the floor and fired a short burst in the direction of the shadow.

  His rounds impacted something.

  The wall.

  Not human flesh.

  ‘You killed Hank Parker.’

  Ajdan didn’t start at the voice. His gun didn’t waver.

  Carter’s voice was normal, as if he was having a social conversation.

  The voice came from the corner facing the refrigerator.

  Ajdan tried to see through the darkness. He thought he saw a darker shape, but he had to be sure.

  It could be a trap.

  He moved stealthily, removed an empty magazine from his pocket and flung it at the shadow.

  He rolled immediately to his left, his Sig rising to cover the shadow.

  The magazine hit the wall and fell to the floor.

  No human shape.

  ‘You killed his family.’

  The voice was behind him.

  Ajdan dived away, poured a stream of lead at the voice, left to right, top to bottom.

  Magazine change.

  Gun ready.

  He put his head to the floor, tried to see against its reflection.

  A shadow moved, to the right of the voice.

  Ajdan pushed away with his feet. Resisted the urge to fire.

  He came to rest, eyes darting, ears keen.

  His ears heard it first. The whisper of something moving in the air.

  Like a limb.

  He waited for the sound to repeat.

  It didn’t.

  A twang sounded.

  Crossbow!

  He moved, but the arrow was faster.

  It struck him in the right shoulder, embedded itself deep in his flesh.

  His right side flamed in agony seconds later. His hand drooped. Sweat beaded his forehead.

  He brought his gun hand up. Control mattered.

  Anything was possible when he was in control.

  The shadow moved again. This time he fired and dragged himself away.

  Didn’t empty his magazine, knowing the arrowed shoulder wouldn’t allow a magazine change.

  One round slapped something soft.

  Triumph surged through him.

  Flesh. Carter!

  He raised his gun again.

  And then again, heard the sickening twang.

  The arrow went through him this time. Right through his left shoulder and exiting through his back.

  What kind of arrow is that? He thought dimly, blinking his eyes fast, keeping perspiration away, trying to contain pain and rage and fear.

  Trying to see through the night that seemed to have grown darker.

  His gun was still up.

  There was still hope.

  The shadow moved again.

  It came closer, became solid.

  Became Carter.

  He levelled his gun. It was feeling heavier by the minute.

  Carter batted it away casually.

  It flew, skittered on the floor and came to a stop.

  Carter crouched.

  His dark eyes bored holes in him.

  ‘Hank Parker had my back.’

  He moved.

  The holes swallowed Ajdan.

  Chapter 20

  Chuck shuffled nervously in the cellar, his arms wrapped around his body to keep in the warmth.

  The cellar stank of alcohol, old barrels, dampness, and sweat. It now also had the smell of fear.

  The old couple sat tightly huddled in a corner, under the sole blanket in the corner.

  The solitary man sat gazing vacantly at nothing, breaking his trance-like state to ask every now and then, ‘Will we die?’

  Chuck didn’t know if they would die. Pike and Bundy came to him and stood silently, none of them knowing what to say.

  The shock of their capture had worn off a long time back; then anger, argument, and debate had set in. When they realized escape was impossible, hope started leaking away sil
ently.

  Bundy moistened his lips. ‘Who are they? I never saw them before? What do they want?’

  He didn’t get an answer. They didn’t have any.

  They listened, but the cellar walls were thick and other than their own breathing in the small space, they heard nothing.

  Time passed slowly, and it felt like an entire day had lapsed when they heard a step outside.

  They rose as one, bunched together instinctively, the woman in their center.

  Something at the thick wooden door rattled and it swung open.

  Framed inside it was the biggest black man Chuck had seen. His eyes were flat, hard, cold, the assault rifle in his hand looked like a toy. He had tightly cropped hair, the muscles in his arms seemed to flex and ripple.

  Behind him, another head appeared. Bearded, equally tall, a white man. He too had short hair, he too had the same air of menace.

  Chuck drew around him the little dignity he had, clasped the hands of his friends and stood as straight as he could.

  ‘Make it quick,’ he said and hoped his voice didn’t quaver.

  The black man’s eyes changed. He glanced once at the bearded man, turned back to the hostages.

  ‘Make what quick?’

  ‘You’re going to kill us. Get it over with,’ Pike snapped, his irascibility rising.

  Black Man’s eyes grew round. His face changed.

  It relaxed; a smile grew on his face, so white and warm that something inside Chuck loosened despite the circumstances.

  Black Man chuckled, started laughing, a rich sound that washed over them like a warm caress. Bearded Man grinned.

  ‘Sir, no one’s killing you. Not tonight.’

  Livy had jumped out of her bed the moment she heard her mom scream. She had been disoriented for a second, but when her mom screamed again, she had hopped out of bed.

  She knew what she had to do. Her mom had told her so many times, had made her do it for so often, that it became habit.

  She breathed deeply, the way Mom had told her, tried to calm her thundering heart. She heard murmured noises from below, a sharp sound and a cry. Her mom’s voice.

  Her breath hitched. Her body trembled.

  ‘LIVY, RUN!’

  Her mom’s voice came again and this time Livy moved automatically. She grabbed her teddy, raised the window, and was hitching a leg over the sill, when something stopped her.

  She had to see. She had to know that Mom was okay.

  Her heart was galloping faster than a horse, she felt like going to the bathroom, but Mom had told her she had to be brave if something happened. Mom had told her to go to Chuck’s bar and stay there.