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We rushed into a dark entryway. There was a set of stairs, pitch black, to the left. Ahead was another larger room, but the whole place was dark.
“Fucking lights,” Dante said.
I found a switch and hit them.
We stood on a hardwood floor, scratched and dented and faded. The wallpaper was yellowed and curling in spots, and the place smelled like smoke. I heard something up ahead, a noise, a grunt.
“Down!” I yelled.
Dante and the others dropped just as gunshots burst out from the room ahead. It was deafening, and I clenched my jaw. I returned fire, rolling to the side until I reached the steps. I threw myself onto them as Dante moved backwards, firing down the hall. They reached the stairs, and Dante managed to get up on them, but Chad took a bullet to the back as he tried to get up. He staggered, blood spurting from the wound, and gasped as he fell to the floor.
I went upstairs, gun out. There was a door on the left, a door on the right, and a door at the end of the hall. I kicked open the first, found a guy in a dirty tank top sitting up in bed, shot him in the head. His skull smashed back and he fell down bloody. I hurried into the room, found empty pizza boxes and a mattress on the floor, an old Dell laptop shoved in the corner between the wall and the comforter. I cleared it, moved on, just as Dante kicked open the next door.
He fired his gun and more screams rang out. I came in the room behind him to find two dead men, both of them going for guns. The room was a mess, clothes thrown all over, beer bottles scattered, cigarettes piled in an ashtray.
Cosimo fired a few rounds down the steps. “They’re coming up!” he yelled.
I moved out, went to the last door, kicked it open. The room was empty, though just as filthy as the others. Two twin mattresses were on the floor, clothes were all over, and a TV was shoved against the wall.
“Clear,” I said as Dante came toward me. “You go help Cosimo, I’ll take the third floor.”
Cosimo fired a few more rounds and bullets tore up the staircase. There was shouting downstairs as more gunshots rang out.
“Ryan!” Dante yelled.
“They’re falling back,” Cosimo said.
“Go,” I shouted at Dante. “Get them. I’ll go up.”
Dante jumped down the steps, took them two as a time. I saw Cosimo follow, caught a glimpse of Ryan in the front door firing down the hall.
Downstairs exploded in gunshots as I hurried up the steps. I found another similar hallway, two doors and a third at the end. I cleared the first room, another empty, filthy hovel with a single bed and pile of broken cellphones in the corner. I went to the next door, tried the handle, but it was locked.
I threw myself sideways just as someone shot through the thin wooden door. I grunted, returned fire, then kicked it open and threw myself to the side again. More gunshots rang out and I managed to look around the corner.
It was the master bedroom, the largest room so far. It was cleaner than the others, with a bed on an actual frame, a desk against the far wall, clothes stacked neatly on the floor. A man crouched down behind the bed, firing at me from a revolver. I counted his shots, my jaw clenched. I had four bullets left in my magazine, so I held off, let him empty his chamber.
When I heard a click, I ran into the room.
“Drop it,” I shouted.
The man was in the process of reloading. He stared up at me, his eyes wide and wild.
I stared back at Santos, my heart racing.
“Drop the gun,” I said, my voice lower. My ears rang from the booming gunshots, but my hands were steady as sweat rolled down my back.
Santos didn’t move. He held the gun still, the chamber opened, a single bullet placed inside. He looked down at the gun then back up to me.
“Don’t,” I said. “You’re worth more alive.”
“You got nothing,” he said. “You’re just as empty as I am.”
“Don’t do it,” I said.
He clenched his jaw. He lifted the gun and swung the chamber back inside the gun, snapping it shut.
I fired before he could even aim his weapon. My bullet tore through his skull, knocking him back. I followed up with another shot to his chest then kicked the gun from his lifeless hand.
Santos’s empty, dead eyes stared up at me from the floor as blood pooled around his skull.
“Stupid fuck,” I said and reloaded my gun, slipping the spent magazine into my back pocket, and shoving the spare home.
I turned from the bedroom and was about to leave when a laptop caught my eyes. It was on the middle of the bed, a nice new Apple MacBook with the shiny silver metal case. I grabbed it, not sure why, then hurried back downstairs.
