I wanted Walter to drown in it. I wanted him to feel the cold, suffocating grip of death wrapping around his throat, squeezing until his world narrowed to nothing but the horror in front of him. So I moved.
In one fluid motion, I lunged forward, my body a blur of controlled violence. The knife in my hand flashed like silver lightning, slicing through the air with a whisper of death. The first man didn't even have time to register the pain before the blade found his throat.
Blood sprayed in a crimson arc, hot and thick, splattering across the faces of his comrades. His body crumpled to the ground, his fingers twitching in his final moments. I didn't stop.
I twisted, rolling low as the next man fired, bullets whizzing past me like a swarm of furious wasps. My knife found his stomach first, the blade sinking in with a sickening wet sound. He gasped, his eyes wide with shock, but I wasn't done.
