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The stranger yanks the knife out and the blade is covered in blood. More blood spurts from the injury, and the wounded man’s knees buckle. The other men shout and raise their weapons.
The stranger grabs a fistful of the man’s clothing and uses him as a human shield as bullets fly. He takes his victim’s weapon and returns fire, all the while advancing on the other men.
Holy forking shirt balls.
There’s something familiar about this man’s movements and singular focus. Perhaps it’s an attitude that I’ve witnessed before. He’s not cold and calm, but he’s not frenzied and chaotic either.
Two more of the men topple to the ground, screaming, both with bullet wounds in their legs. One of them drops his axe. The stranger could have killed them, so he either wants them alive, or he wants them to suffer. Every line of his body speaks of hate. This man is steadily taking down his enemies with silent and controlled rage.
The men on the ground have run out of bullets. The fourth man has his gun up but he’s not firing as he backs away, the whites showing all the way around his eyes.
Still holding on to his very dead and bullet-ridden human shield, the stranger stalks closer to him. When he’s six feet away, he throws the corpse at the last man standing, who fires, but it’s too late. He goes toppling to the ground under the weight of his dead friend, and his gun skitters away into the darkness.
The stranger stares down at the man and slowly transfers his weight from one foot to the other as if he’s savoring this moment. I can’t see his face, but from his exultant attitude, I’m certain there’s a smirk on his lips.
I thought I’d witnessed all the carnage I was going to tonight, but as the stranger turns around and heads for the axe, I realize how wrong I was.
Still ignoring me, he scoops up the weapon and hefts it in his gloved grip, testing its weight and balance. He must notice as the uninjured man throws his friend’s corpse off, but he doesn’t react until his victim is nearly on his feet. As he starts to run, the stranger takes two long paces while raising the axe above his head, and he brings it down on the man’s back. There’s a crunch of bones breaking, and the man screams. He rips the axe out and lifts his enormous arm once more, bringing the weapon down on the man’s skull. As the blade penetrates bone and brain, the man’s scream is cut off, and he falls to the ground.
The stranger gazes pitilessly at the bleeding corpse for a moment, and then turns away, leaving the axe buried in his skull.
He’s not in a hurry now. The wounded men are crawling on their bellies through all the blood toward the door, whimpering and sniveling. I’m edging in that direction as well, hoping he somehow hasn’t noticed me or he just doesn’t care that I’m here.
The stranger examines the two bleeding men on the ground, contemplating them like they’re cockroaches he wants to crush underfoot. He seems to be enjoying their pathetic attempts to escape. There’s a machete strapped to his back, and he reaches behind his head to pull it free.
One of the men’s flailing legs connects with the stranger’s black boots. The stranger lifts his foot and brings it down on the man’s ankle, pinning him in place. He raises the machete and brings the blade down as fast as lightning, severing the man’s leg mid-calf.
The man screams, an inhuman sound of someone out of his mind in pain and terror.
The stranger kicks away the severed limb, and then raises his machete and cuts off the man’s other foot. He takes one long step over the wriggling body and gives the other man the same treatment. I wince every time the blade hits bone and concrete. My hands lift to cover my ears, but they hover over either side of my skull. He means to go on cutting little pieces off these men while they die slowly.
I can’t take the carnage and the screaming any longer. “Just kill them already.”
The stranger freezes. The seconds tick past painfully as I wonder if he’s about to attack me.
He flips the blade in his hand until it’s pointed downward, and then thrusts it through one of the men’s rib cages and straight into his heart, before dispatching the other man in the same manner. The screaming stops.
The man raises his machete and gives it a downward flick, and the blood coating the blade spatters against the floor.
Silence reigns in the warehouse. I can hear the pattering of the rain overhead once more.
I need to get the hell out of here.
Though it makes pain blaze through my ankle, I make one tiny step to my left—
The stranger swings around and faces me.
I wish I could see his eyes. Is he wondering what to do with me, or has he already decided that I’m a dead woman?
There’s no way around this killing machine to the exit, so if I want to leave, I’m going to have to persuade him to let me.
The stench of all these dead bodies is almost overwhelming, but I straighten my shoulders, lift my chin, and declare, “My name is Zenya Belyaev. I came here tonight to collect that delivery.” I nod at the pallets which are off to one side. “Radar jammers and detectors. Illegal in this country and worth half a million on the black market. They’re yours if you want them. I never saw you here. I’ll walk away and you’ll never hear from me again.”
It’s a good deal. Any sane criminal would take it.
The stranger doesn’t even glance at the pallet. Instead, he starts to walk slowly toward me. I thought he was intimidating as he was slaughtering four men, but nothing compares to his predatory advance. He moves like a panther, that bloody, glistening weapon brandished in his gloved hand.
I want to back away. I want torun, no matter how much it hurts, but the second I do he’ll break me like a doll.
