Chapter 22 Field Duty #2
Isaac nodded once, all business. “We’ll transport the bodies to the rally point. Let’s clear the floor and help the other squads with anyone still alive downstairs.”
While I waited with him, the four soldiers cleared the rest of the floor, searching for anyone else, anyone who might be alive.
They found no one.
As we regrouped near the stairwell, the walkie-talkie on Isaac’s belt erupted in static. “Eyes on enemy. Level one. Over.”
My heart jumped into my throat.
Isaac unclipped his device. “Copy that. How many? Over.”
“At least twenty. They’re at the front, but circling back. Get down here. We’re going in now. Over and out.”
Isaac glanced at me, visage stern. “Remember what I said. No hesitation.” He pulled a pistol from his holster. “Where’s your blade?”
Hands shaking, I yanked out my combat knife.
“Stay close to me. I’ll cover you, okay?”
“Wait,” I said. “What if—what if we just waited?”
“Not an option,” he said without further explanation, then briefed the other soldiers. “Shoot to kill, men. We meet at the rally point as discussed.”
My body transformed into a buzzing wire as we returned to the main stairwell. Khattab opened the door and motioned for us to follow. Shouts from below bounced against every concrete surface.
Hustling down the steps, we made it to the second floor before I slipped the knuckles from my pocket. Breaking glass and the thuds of fists against flesh greeted us as we rounded the last flight.
I braced myself for the coming fight. My senses zeroed in on a primal, innate survival instinct, one I barely remembered I possessed.
In a flurry, a Hunter dashed through the door to the stairwell, weapons raised. As Maldonado raised his gun and fired, the Hunter hit the floor, and we spilled into the lobby. My stomach dropped.
Outnumbered.
I was transported back to the battle at Safe House Red, the chaos of gunfire and smoke and blood. With a surge of adrenaline, I gripped my weapons so hard my knuckles blanched. Lucas’s voice murmured in my ear, guiding me. If you can, you run.
I mapped out the quickest route to the broken door we’d come through. Several floor-to-ceiling windows had been smashed, but no matter which I chose, a throng of fighting soldiers stood in my way. I gritted my teeth and picked a window.
With my knife and bladed knuckles in the defensive position Lucas taught me, I darted through a couple of fights without anyone taking notice.
One of our men stumbled into me after being shot in the chest. He dropped at my feet.
My eyes darted up to find who shot him. The Hunter stood with his back to the broken window I’d been heading toward.
His gaze swept down my body, eyes widening. A cocky grin spread across his face. I backed away and ran toward another window. I was caught around the waist and spun to face a different man.
If you ever need to use this, you go for the throat.
I didn’t hesitate, slamming my reinforced fist into vital, life-giving structures. He choked, and something sharp scraped my lower belly.
He fell to the floor, and I turned again, heading for the window, ignoring the pain and blood saturating my clothes.
Two Hunters blocked me.
Never attack first.
I waited.
“Where’d you get those knuckles?” one asked.
The other man lunged for me, and I dodged him the way Lucas had taught me. I managed to sink my knife into him as he retreated. Not a fatal blow.
He swung his arm and sliced me twice more in the stomach below my vest—glancing, shallow blows that burned like fire. I cried out, clutching my stomach.
The one who’d asked about the knuckles shoved me to the ground. He leapt on me, and his broad hand wrapped around my throat. His smile turned psychotic as he crushed my windpipe. Black sparks burst into my vision.
Don’t panic when you can’t breathe.
Right hand up. Right foot outside his ankle. Roll.
Our positions reversed just as Lucas showed me. I buried my knife in the man’s liver. The other soldier yanked on my left arm, and my knife clattered to the floor.
I jumped to my feet and ran.
The soldier chased me, but the path to an open window was now clear.
I leapt through it.
He followed, calling for help. “The bitch just got Rogers!”
For the first time, I was grateful for Lucas’s forced cardio workouts. I ran, but the pain from my wounds turned the asphalt to sand, making each step harder than the last.
Behind, pounding footsteps stalked me.
I flew down the sidewalk into a dark, abandoned neighborhood. They gained on me quickly. I couldn’t tell whether there were two or three, and I was too afraid to check.
Taking streets at random, I zigzagged through the neighborhood and hoped my endurance would outlast theirs.
I hoped in vain.
Fingers grasped the medic pack strapped to my shoulders, jerking me backward. I fell to the pavement. A blade jabbed into my left leg.
A scream ripped from my throat. I lashed out with my remaining weapon.
“Shit!” The Hunter backed away just in time.
His partner had almost reached us when he leapt on me, his upper body pinning my legs to the ground.
Don’t spread your legs.
On my back, I struggled with him. He seized my wrist in a bruising grip to stay my weapon while his blade sank over and over into my left leg. Excruciating fire licked up my thigh with each stab. He wormed his way up my body, managing to insert one knee between my legs before his buddy arrived.
Think about where your knee is, Sophia.
I jerked my right leg up into his groin, and he released an animalistic groan, falling to my side.
Go for places that bleed fast.
He faced away from me, clutching his groin. His knife clattered out of my reach. I no longer had a weapon that could dig deep, so I took my knuckles to the vulnerable area behind his knee like Lucas taught me.
The other man grabbed me by my hair. “You bitch.”
I swiped the knuckles at him, slashing his arm, but it didn’t slow him. He wrenched me onto my side hard enough that asphalt eroded the skin of my arm. Blind anger twisted his expression. He raised his hand and slammed a knife through my left thigh.
My vision went black.
Oh, god.
The pain.
Agony sheared through every cell. It shredded my throat with another scream.
But if he was playing with me to prolong the torture, that single decision saved my life.
As he retreated, reaching for another weapon, I went for his throat.
I couldn’t give him the chance to jerk away, so I threw my arm around his neck in a deadly embrace.
It buried him deeper on the blade. His weight hurled me onto my back once more, and he fell on top of me.
Hot blood poured over me like bathwater.
When he went limp, I pushed him off me. His partner groaned, weak hands trying to stop the gush from the wound I inflicted.
He lay in a puddle of blood, his skin ghostly white in the dark.
He paid me no mind as I stumbled away, yanking the knife from my leg.
It clattered to the glittering cement of the sidewalk.
Blood pulsed from the wound.
Too fast. Too much.
I limped. Fire burned through every inch of my body, and blood seeped down my leg, soaking my clothes. I clenched the knuckles in my hand so tight it hurt.
Once the man’s groans faded behind me, I took stock of my surroundings. I stood on a dark street corner, and I had little time. Dizziness fought my pounding heart as it tried to compensate for the hemorrhage.
Where was I? Where could I go?
I glanced at the closest street sign. Twenty-fifth and Columbia. Seven blocks from headquarters. Fourteen from the rally point.
I wouldn’t make it that far. I turned my head, staring down the street that led to Evanston, only three blocks away. He wouldn’t be there, but he had supplies. I could make a tourniquet…
I tripped along, trying to keep to the grass to hide the blood trail as my left leg screamed in pain. When I reached the familiar steps to the house, I fell forward, knocking my shins hard onto cement. I had to crawl to the porch, smearing every surface I touched in blood.
Sparkles threatened my vision, obscuring the doorknob. Still, my hand wrapped around it.
Locked.
Numb fingers pawed at my pockets, and I dropped the knuckles on the porch in favor of gripping the key I always carried. Metal slipped into the slot, and the tumblers gave way.
I fell into the living room.
I should stop. I needed sleep. So tired…
I could close my eyes for only a moment.
But…tourniquet.
I whimpered as I forced myself back to my feet and stumbled to one side, catching myself on the sofa. Bloody handprints stained the fabric as I pushed forward and gasped for breath. My energy flagged.
No time to make a tourniquet. Consciousness fled as blackness crept up. I staggered through the master bedroom into his communications room.
I lit upon the lamp, glowing a soft white. My finger grazed the button for RED before I collapsed onto the carpeted floor.