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The gunfire continues endlessly, the sparks lighting up the otherwise pitch-black warehouse. My ears are ringing now, which puts me at a grave disadvantage. If I can’t hear where the gunfire is coming from, how will I know where to shoot?
More blind firing.
Goddamn it, I hope I don’t hit one of my own. I’d never forgive myself.
I stay behind the boxes for a moment, watching for light or any sign of life at all. The ringing in my ears is deafening, and I know that using the light from my phone to see would instantly get me killed.
I reload my weapon, preparing to turn around and fire again with no guide, nothing to indicate that the people I hit will be my enemies.
Five more shots.
I’m almost out of ammo.
Fuck.
I don’t see any movement at all, no sparks, no running or fighting.
Emerging cautiously, I use the flashlight on my phone to see into the distance. All I find are bodies scattered along the rain-soaked pavement, deep red leaking from them like an oil spill. There are a few SUVs behind them, all of their windows blown out and shattered.
At first, I hesitate to approach the bodies under the assumption that there’s one lone survivor who will take me out.
If he hasn’t yet, he probably doesn’t exist. But the thought still rings in my head just as loudly as the ringing from the gunshots.
Erik steps up to me, and my first reaction is to turn around and elbow him in the face before I realize that it’s him.
“Do you know any of these guys?” I can hear him say faintly.
Before I respond, I sweep my phone’s flashlight over the dead bodies. None of them seem familiar until I get to the last two, likely the men at the forefront of the attack. They’re Marat Srokov’s two most trusted confidantes.
And now they’re dead.
“They’re Srokov. I don’t know how they found us here or why they chose to strike right now, but they’re all dead, and that’s what matters. Is everyone else accounted for?” I ask, turning my phone back toward the inside of the warehouse.
“Yeah, everyone else is good. Thank god,” he replies.
My heart is still beating out of my chest, and the adrenaline coursing through my body is begging me to find someone to kill, someone I can rip apart in the name of keeping my family alive.
But there is nobody, and this should be a relief more than anything.
“We need to get rid of these bodies and the vehicles right now. I’ll bring in more men and assign them with body disposal or moving product. Either way, we need to get our shit out of here. Marat clearly knows where we are, and he’ll strike again if he feels threatened,” I say to Erik as we begin searching the bodies for weapons.
I fucking hate being here. The cold rain, the incessant ringing in my ears, and the impenetrable darkness makes me think about River, at home and safe in her bed where I wish I was also.
I want her more than anything, and she needs to know.
11
RIVER
I’m looking out over the ocean, playing with a red string in my hands as I weave it through my fingers.
I’ve had this dream before. Many, many times since I came out of a coma.
The waves will soon grow higher as the water recedes from the beach, signaling to me that a tsunami is about to hit.
But I’ll continue to play with my string until the first wave hits, and I’ll wake up with a sheen of sweat over my forehead.
I anticipate the first wave with the bravery of a battle-worn warrior, staring up at its crest with no fear.
