The pistol slammed into Sylvia's forehead again and again. Her consciousness faded. Finally, her jaw loosened, and Joseph ripped her off, leaving her sprawled on the floor, barely twitching.
Joseph stood, drenched in sweat, gasping for breath. He tugged at his collar, trying to recover. Then he looked up—and realized most of the hostages had fled while he'd been fighting.
His fury nearly made him explode. Those were his bargaining chips!
But then he spotted five or six children still huddled in a corner of the living room, left behind by the adults. He relaxed slightly. He still had leverage.
He found it strange that the soldiers hadn't stormed the building during the fight. He'd been completely pinned down—if they'd breached then, he'd be dead. What had stopped them?
What Joseph didn't know was that his position had been in a blind spot. The people outside couldn't see inside clearly. The fleeing civilians had been too panicked to explain the situation to the soldiers, who'd suddenly seen a mob burst from the house and had no idea what was happening.
And with children still visible through the windows, curled up in the corners, the soldiers had hesitated, fearing a trap. No one had dared to go in.
"I'll kill you, bitch!"
He looked down at Sylvia, still weakly struggling on the floor. The pain radiating from his ear stoked his rage to new heights.
This was all her fault. He raised his foot, ready to stomp on her skull and vent his fury.
But just then, Bryan arrived behind him, holding the knife Sylvia had thrown—the closest lethal weapon he could find.
Joseph was too tall for an immediate killing blow. Bryan went with what he knew: he aimed for the back of Joseph's knee and kicked with everything he had.
"FUCK!"
Joseph crumpled, dropping to one knee. He caught himself with one hand to avoid falling completely, cursing internally. Another sneak attack? What was wrong with these people?
Bryan didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, grabbed Joseph's forehead with his left hand, and pulled it back while his right hand swept the knife toward the exposed throat.
He'd used this move on Infected countless times. On a living person? Only once before—on that thug back at the warehouse. But this was the first actual kill.
Joseph felt the cold steel approaching his neck. These sneaky bastards really love going for the throat. His right hand shot up instinctively, catching the wrist holding the knife.
Then he realized—the arm was too small. A child's arm. He looked up and found himself staring into the cold, murderous eyes of a thirteen-year-old boy.
The sight made him shiver involuntarily. Then rage replaced the fear. A kid had gotten the drop on him. His grip tightened on Bryan's wrist as he tried to wrench the knife away.
Bryan cursed silently. The man's reflexes were too fast. He didn't have the strength to overpower an adult—the knife was completely stuck.
But if he let go and retreated, he wouldn't get far. Joseph still had the rifle. He'd be shot in the back. Should've gone for the kidney, he thought bitterly. At least that would've slowed him down.
Just when Bryan was running out of options, something shifted. As if receiving a signal, his eyes lit up. A small smile crossed his face.
He suddenly drove his left knee into the back of Joseph's skull while simultaneously releasing the knife and yanking his wrist free.
Joseph was inches from grabbing the knife. Stupid kid, he thought. Once I have this, I'll gut him.
Then his head exploded with pain. Everything went dark. The hand that had been gripping his chin was gone. He lurched forward, nearly blacking out.
Fortunately, it was just a kid—not enough force to do real damage. Joseph shook off the dizziness, though his head swam. Mild concussion, definitely.
But this was life or death. He forced himself to focus, bracing against the wall as he struggled upright.
He looked like hell—face haggard, eyes bloodshot. He quickly spotted the boy standing across the living room, leaning against the wall, wearing a satisfied smirk. To Joseph, it looked like pure mockery.
"AAAAGH—I'LL KILL YOU!"
Humiliated beyond endurance, Joseph reached for his rifle. He was going to end this little shit.
What he didn't notice was the figure that had appeared behind him while his attention was fixed on Bryan.
Bryan watched Joseph grab for the rifle without a trace of panic. He remembered a scene from some movie and decided to indulge in a little dramatics.
He formed his hand into a finger gun, pointed it at the doomed man, made a shooting motion, and silently mouthed: "Bang."
At that exact moment, Sarah stepped out from behind the furniture in the dining room. She raised the assembled shotgun, aimed at Joseph's back, and pulled the trigger without hesitation.
BOOM!
A thunderous roar filled the room. Countless steel pellets tore into Joseph's back at point-blank range.
The impact sent him flying forward. He didn't even have time to scream. The rifle slipped from his fingers. He crashed face-first onto the floor.
Bryan watched Joseph's body twitch and convulse, blood pouring from his mouth, his back a shredded ruin. The man was finished.
He felt no pity. The way Joseph had toyed with Allen and his mother proved he was rotten to the core. But watching another life end in front of him still left Bryan feeling... weary.
The world had already gone to hell. Why couldn't people work together? Why did some insist on sabotaging everyone else for their own gain? Did they really think that would help them survive? Or did they just want to satisfy their own twisted desires, not caring who else got hurt?
Bryan sighed deeply and pushed aside the complicated questions about human nature. He noticed the soldiers outside seemed ready to breach. He caught Sarah's eye and signaled her.
Then he looked at the children who'd been left behind—abandoned by the fleeing adults. Typical. Couldn't bother to help fight, fine. But they'd left the kids behind too? Would it have killed them to grab a child on the way out?
At least the children were either unconscious or had their eyes squeezed shut, hands clamped over their ears, too traumatized to see anything. They probably hadn't noticed what happened.
Bryan quickly curled up on the floor, assuming the pose of a terrified child.
Sarah got the message. She retreated to her hiding spot, rapidly disassembled the shotgun, and stuffed the pieces back into her travel bag.
This was all the Black woman's doing. Nothing to do with us. As for the shotgun wounds... well, the gun's disassembled now. They probably won't figure it out. Right?
Minutes later, a man in an officer's uniform led several soldiers through the door. They surveyed the scene with obvious surprise.
A squad leader approached the officer and whispered, "Sir, when you infiltrated earlier..."
The officer raised a hand, cutting him off. His gaze moved from Sylvia—unconscious on the floor, chest still rising—to the children in the corner. His eyes briefly swept over Bryan and the pile of furniture in the dining room.
"Don't ask questions. Get some people to clean this up. Then let the women and children come back."
"Yes, sir!"
The squad leader knew better than to press. He waved the soldiers forward to deal with the aftermath.
At that moment, the officer's radio crackled. A man's voice came through: "Justin, what's the situation over there?"
Justin unclipped the radio and cast a meaningful glance at Bryan, still playing scared in the living room. "It's handled. All suspects captured. The ringleader is dead. I'll finish up here and head back shortly."
...
Get 20+ chapters ahead on - P.a.t.r.e.o.n "RoseWhisky"