The rain was playing havoc with any visibility, and the officer on guard didn’t see the two men on the metal walkway above the crates, their rifles aimed down at them.
Like shooting fish in a barrel.
A gunshot exploded behind the officers, followed swiftly by another.
Both men flopped over the edge of the walkway and to the hard concrete fifteen feet below. They were dead before they hit the floor.
Sam Pope had aimed for the head.
He didn’t miss.
As the officer spun on his heel, his gun still up, Sam drove his own rifle into the officer’s gut, disarming him before flipping him over onto the concrete. The second officer reloaded his rifle, but Sam aimed his own at the officer’s head.
‘Drop it.’
The officer obliged and Sam motioned for him to move next to his fallen comrade, who was gingerly pushing himself to his knees. As they regrouped having come seconds from death, the two officers looked across at their fallen comrades and realised how lucky they’d been.
Sam ventured into the darkness of the walkway from whence they’d ran, only stopping as he caught a glimpse of the sign ahead.
Zone C.
As the footsteps approached with impending doom, Singh realised she was holding her breath. As the first gangster stepped out from the walkway and straight past her, she kept her composure, ensuring she kept deathly quiet. A moment later, his comrade followed, a heavy assault rifle in his arms.
‘Police. Drop your weapons,’ Singh commanded, stepping up behind him and pointing her own gun in his direction. The man held his hands up, turning slowly with a sadistic smile on his face. He was a broad man, with a thick physique and a unibrow that slithered across his beady, grey eyes. Singh kept the gun pointed on him, but with the rain obscuring her vision, struggled to see the first gun man.
She took her eye off him for one second.
The man dropped his rifle and lunged forward reaching for her gun, his powerful fingers snatching at her wrist. Singh rocked backwards, her boots slipping in the rain and her finger squeezed the trigger.
The echo of the gunshot in the metal confines was almost deafening.
The roar of pain from her attacker equally so.
The bullet tore through the man’s shoulder, a clean shot that had passed right through. With blood pumping from the wound, the man yelled aggressively in Ukrainian before lunging at Singh, his heavy fists fallen down like the hammer of god.
Singh dodged the first blow, the man’s flat knuckles cracking the concrete with a bone breaking thud.
The second blow caught her hard on the side of the head, a high pitch ringing drilled into her brain. Her vision went bright and she quickly regained composure, ducking the follow up strike and reached up and thumped the man in his fresh bullet wound.
He fell back in pain and Singh arched her back and planted both boots as hard as she could into his granite like chest.
The man doubled over onto his back, but as Singh tried to get to her feet, the second man slipped his hands under her arms and wrenched her up off the ground, using considerable strength to hurl her recklessly to the side. She collided with the metal container, her lip splitting on impact and it took everything in her not to fall to the floor. The man approached and as he reached out for her, she spun to her left, drilling a vicious kick to the side of the man’s knee, knocking him off balance. Quickly, she grabbed his hair and with her full force, drove him face first into the metal.
The explosion of blood from his broken nose was like a grenade and he limply dropped to the ground, dabbing at his shattered face with fear in his eyes. Singh readjusted and turned back to her first attacker who had gotten to his feet, his bullet ridden arm swung loosely from his body.
His eyes were wide with murderous rage.
She raised her fists and as he approached, she blocked his wild swing, before catching him with two swift hooks to the kidneys, ducking another erratic fist and lunged forward, driving her knee into his stomach. As he hunched over, gasping for air, she searched the glistening concrete for her weapon.
Any weapon.
A sickening thud was closely followed by a searing pain in the back of her skull and Singh slumped forward. The henchman with the broken nose adjusted his grip on the rifle, the collision of its stock with her head had nearly driven it from her hands. Singh woozily pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, her brain felt like it had been shunted loose. Her vision was blurry, and the freezing rain slithered over her entire body.
As she reached feebly for her handgun, a large boot pressed down on her forearm, the weight of it testing her bone strength. One of the men then reached down and lifted her gun from the floor.
Singh knew she was defeated.
Her head throbbed and Singh forced herself to look upwards, determined to look her killer in the eyes. She may have failed, but she would never cower. She had fought through too much in her life, beaten every obstacle that had been thrown in front of her. She had never backed down and now, as she lay on the soaking wet concrete of the port, she wanted to look death in the eye before it took her.
With blood dribbling down her lip and her eyes squinting from the throbbing pain in her skull, she locked eyes with the burly man who stared down at her. His face was a crimson mask, the damage she’d caused made her heart swell with pride. Beside him, his comrade grunted his fury, his hand pressed to the bullet wound in
