Her comrades.
As the adrenaline pumped through her like a house anthem, she paid little heed to the threat before her and clambered onto the top of the crate and into the port. She slowly slid along the top, careful not to alert anyone to her presence.
As more gunfire rang out, she abandoned her quest for stealth and reached the edge of the crate. The drop down was a sizeable nine feet, and she draped her legs over the side, turned and lowered herself down. As she did, her fingers slipped on the slick metal and she scrambled to keep hold. Her feet clanged hard against the crate and she dropped, taking the impact in her bent knees. Someone yelled out and through the torrential rain, she caught a glimpse of a burly man racing towards her, gun raised. A second gun man soon followed.
She turned and ran into the metal maze, cursing herself for running headfirst into a war zone.
There was no backing out now.
She needed to fight.
As she ventured further into the labyrinth, she knew they wouldn’t stop until they had her.
That wasn’t an option.
Rounding the next corner, she stopped and threw her back against the corrugated iron wall of the crate. She held her gun to her chest and took a few deep breaths.
Amara Singh didn’t fail.
Sam had moved through the narrow walkways of the port, rifle held up at eye level, the stock comfortably pressed into the crevice of his shoulder muscle. Every corner was well scouted and he progressed further into the maze, the sound of the gunfight echoing in every direction like a stray bullet.
Sam approached an opening at the end of the passage way, stepping out into the darkness, a lone floodlight illuminating the loading area. The rain was crashing down with a thunderous rage and Sam glanced at the sign.
Bay 26. Zone A.
Sam took another step forward, when from the dark corner of the opening, a bright light burst, followed by the echo of gunfire. The bullet hit Sam directly in the chest, a few inches below his scar. Spinning in the air, Sam crashed to the concrete, the impact into his Kevlar vest driving the air from him.
He lay still.
Footsteps splashed on the wet floor.
A hunter coming to claim his kill.
As the footsteps got closer, Sam’s instincts told him that the man was raising the gun again, a second bullet of confirmation was soon heading his way. In one fluid motion, Sam swivelled on the wet concrete, his hand releasing the Glock from its shoulder holster and he lifted it through the illuminated rain drops.
He saw the man’s eyes widen with a mixture of shock and fear.
That was replaced with pain as Sam unloaded two bullets from the handgun, both of them ripping through the man’s chest like wet tissue paper.
The man collapsed, his final breaths struggling to leave his body as he wheezed, staring vacantly at the rain as the puddles around him soon turned red. Sam stood, wincing as he stretched his chest out, when another henchman raced into the clearing, drawn by the gunshots like a moth to a flame.
Sam spun quickly on his heels and slammed his back against the crate next to his attacker’s entranceway. As the splashes echoed louder off of the metal, the man darted through the opening towards his fallen friend. In a flash, Sam reached out and grabbed the man’s collar, wrenching him backwards and off balance. Before the man could react, Sam struck a crunching blow with the grip of his pistol right between the man’s eyes, shutting his lights out and leaving him in a collapsed heap on the floor.
Sam swung up his rifle once more, carefully stepped into the walkway, and ventured further into the unknown. Passing into Zone B Sam halted as two flashes flickered at the end of the corridor, before an armed officer dove recklessly into the walkway, a barrage of bullets whipping inches above him and into the giant storage container. The young officer tried to scramble back to his feet, but soon accepted his fate as two more armed henchmen stormed around the corner with an unquenchable blood lust.
Sam instinctively pulled the trigger.
The first bullet cut through the dark walkway, slicing through rain drops before ripping into the throat of the first henchman, severing the jugular vein in a stunning outburst of blood. The henchman collapsed to his knees, hands clasped to the wound as blood seeped through his fingers and he fell before the officer who tried to crawl away.
The second guard raised his handgun in Sam’s general direction, shooting blindly into the dark. Sam had already dropped to one knee to change his position and a bullet soon imbedded itself into the man’s stomach. As he stumbled back pressing his hands to the wound, a follow up bullet to the chest sent him sprawling.
The officer pushed himself to his knees, splattered with the blood of the two men Sam had just eliminated. Reaching for his own gun as Sam approached, the officer was in self-preservation mode, having come so close to death. He raised it at Sam, who stepped forward, the young man realising that the very reason they were there was the same reason he was alive. The officer tipped back his helmet, revealing his youthful face and looked his saviour in the eye and nodded his appreciation.
Sam reciprocated.
The officer had no intention of stopping Sam, not when he owed him his life.
Sam plundered on, stepping over the now dead bodies in the walkway and approached the entrance.
Two officers lay motionless under the floodlights, their bodies riddled with bullets and Sam felt guilty for being a few minutes too late. He had avenged them, but seeing officers die in the line of duty was always hard to take, regardless of what line of the law you walked. As he squatted next to them and shared a
