Chapter Seventy-Six
WALKER STOOD, NAKED, sweaty, and caked with blood from his jaw to his thighs, the new wound in his right leg seeping, his chest heaving, looking down at the dead Afghan at his feet.
He turned and walked toward the FBI agent, the long, bloody blade in his hand.
He knelt and sliced through the restraints around Stanton’s hands and feet.
“Jarrett Stanton, I’m Chris Walker. I believe you’ve been looking for me.”
The FBI man’s eyes shifted between the naked warrior before him and the dead man whose blood was pooling on the floor.
“Hold this,” Walker said, handing Stanton the blade. “Stand by the door, and if anyone comes in, stab them in the heart.”
The former CIA operative darted into the attached bedroom and returned moments later with a Browning A-5 shotgun in his hands and a ripped bedsheet tied around the deep gash on his leg.
He quickly peered through one of the small windows and leaned the shotgun against the wall.
“Hard to see out there,” he said, pulling on his jeans and T-shirt that the Afghan had thrown into the corner. He then knelt to put on his socks and boots.
“This is a Browing Automatic 5 shotgun,” he said, picking it back up. “It’s only got five shells, hence the Auto-5.”
Stanton still had not said a word.
“I checked and it’s loaded with double aught. Belle’s grandfather had it here for home defense. Stanton, are you getting this?”
“Yeah,” Stanton stammered.
“Okay, five shells. How many bad guys did your buddy Bates leave outside?”
“What? Ah, two. Two guards armed with AKs.”
“Where did your partner go down?”
“Just in front of the Tahoe.”
“Do you have more firepower in there?”
“My M4.”
“Good. This is our plan. We are going to walk, not run, out of here. For a split second they might think it’s the Afghan.
They believe the noises they heard in here were torture.
As soon as I see one of the guards, I am taking him down.
Then I’m finding his friend. If we only see one guard, the other might have gone with the two who have Belle in the shed. ”
“How do you know she’s in the shed?”
“I heard her scream as they dragged her in but she’s not screaming now, so we have to move. You with me, Stanton?”
“Yeah.”
“You hold on to that blade. Once I take down the guards, I want you to get to the Tahoe and retrieve your M4 from the truck. I won’t have time to see if Bates really put my weapons back in my car so I’m going with the shotgun.
When you get your rifle, come help me in the shed.
Don’t go to your partner until all of them are dead.
As hard as it is, we need to win this fight first. You have a trauma kit in the car? ”
“Yes.”
“All right, then it’s win the fight first and then render aid.”
“Who are you?” Stanton asked.
“Just a guy with five rounds in a shotgun. You ready?”
“Ready.”
“Good. Now let’s go save the fucking day.”
Walker tucked the shotgun under his arm and opened the door. He walked across the narrow porch and was halfway down the steps when an overly muscled man covered in tattoos standing over a woman on the ground turned toward him.
Before he could raise his AK, Walker seated the Browning firmly in the pocket of his shoulder and pressed the trigger. The double-aught pellets ripped through the night and tore into the upper chest, neck, and head of the Kalashnikov-wielding guard. He was dead before he hit the dirt.
Walker scanned the front drive, but there was no sign of the second guard.
He turned, ran for the shed, and was halfway to it when a man in khakis and a white T-shirt threw open the door with an AKM at waist level, finger on the trigger.
Most of Walker’s 0.33-inch-diameter lead balls impacted his head. Gravity took him straight down, his body wedging the door open.
The recoil-operated semiautomatic shotgun fed its third shell as Walker charged through the entry.
The inside was lit with an old lantern that cast a light orange glow across the swamp boat, workbench, and tools.
Walker clocked three bodies. One man at the back of the shed was struggling with Belle.
He had an arm around her neck from behind.
His other hand was fighting to maintain his grasp on the pistol grip of his AK as Belle thrashed, attempting to break free.
Another man closer to Walker was fumbling to pull up his pants.
The SEAL adjusted his aim and sent his next barrage into the man’s naked pelvis. The lead pellets shredded his penis and testicles, breaking his pelvic bone, which caused him to stumble forward and crash to the ground. Walker put another volley of lead into his head from inches away as he passed.
He pressed forward toward the man struggling with Belle.
The banger’s left arm was still hooked around her neck, using her as a human shield.
His back was to the far wall. He saw Walker advancing, shotgun in hand, and attempted to turn the AK in line with the demon coming for him.
Belle spun around in a violent rage; the roar emanating from her lungs echoed in the confines of the small space.
Her thumbs went into her assailant’s eyes.
He threw her to the side just as Walker shoved the barrel of the shotgun into the jugular notch between where his two clavicle bones met at the top of the sternum.
Pinned to the back wall of the shed, the man’s eyes were shades of horror and disbelief.
“?Quién eres? ?Qué eres?” Who are you? What are you?
Walker pulled the trigger.