Hunters, Matt Rogers [pdf ebook reader .txt] 📗

King sprinted over, hauled the body aside, and rolled Slater onto his side to minimise the risk of vomiting if he choked before he came to.

An ominous silence settled over the house as Slater returned to consciousness. King sensed him come back, but didn’t see it. His attention was fixated on a revolving door of vantage points — the front door, the broken window, the side passage. But there was no sound whatsoever. He knew he was impaired from the unsuppressed gunshots, but his sixth sense told him that was it for the first wave.

Still, he whipped the barrel of his SIG from door to window to hallway, just in case he was wrong.

He’d been wrong before.

Slater spluttered beside him. King’s arm flared with pain as Slater moved his head.

He gently lowered Slater’s skull to the ground and shook out his left arm to test it.

Horrific pain flared.

King went white, winced, and pinned the arm to his side.

He wouldn’t be using it for some time.

He risked a glance down at Slater and saw the man blinking hard, composing himself. The man’s nose was already a swollen mess.

Slater looked up at him. ‘As bad as yours?’

King remembered his own nose was broken. He couldn’t breathe through it, and now that someone else had drawn attention to it he felt the pain.

King saw Slater’s septum puffing before his eyes. ‘Probably.’

Slater blinked again. ‘What happened?’

‘You got knocked out.’

‘I see that. I feel alright.’

‘Adrenaline.’

‘Wait…’

Slater rolled to his knees and retched, a common occurrence after awakening from involuntary unconsciousness. No vomit came up. He breathed out, a deep rattling exhale, and composed himself.

King said, ‘I don’t know if you can walk.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Slater said.

He got a foot underneath himself and levered up to a kneeling position. Then he wobbled at the hips and fell straight back down to the kitchen floor. King saw goosebumps rippling along Slater’s forearms. The man was spooked, and for good measure.

It’s a terrifying, alien sensation when you lose control of your basic physiological functions.

Slater took a breath, then snatched up the CQBR and aimed it at the shattered window frame above the kitchen sink.

King said, ‘Don’t be stupid. Put that down.’

‘Drag me,’ Slater said. ‘By the collar. I’ll cover you.’

King shook his head disbelievingly at the resilience. Slater was too mentally compromised to even get his feet under him, but still his automatic instincts were disciplined. He was doing what he could to help.

King said, ‘I’m defenceless if I drag you.’

It was true. He couldn’t lift his left arm to aim a weapon if he was dragging Slater with his right.

Slater said, ‘That’s what I’m here for. We need to move. Come on.’

King watched Slater brandish the CQBR rifle. His aim was all over the place, his hands shaking involuntarily, his focus wavering with each breath he took. He was in no position to competently cover for King, but there were few other options.

Then Violetta and Alexis burst into the room.

King wheeled, frantic. ‘No! Get back in—’

‘We heard you,’ Violetta interrupted. ‘You can cover us. We’ll get him to the garage.’

King hesitated, then heard glass crunching over his shoulder.

He wheeled back to the window.

There was a silhouette in it, filling the whole frame. Tactical gear, helmet, visor — the works. He was taking aim with a M4 CQBR variant, identical to the gun Slater wielded.

King’s stomach dropped hard.

The mercenary fired a single round.

That was all he managed.

King blew his throat apart with a concentrated three-round burst before the guy could squeeze off any more shots. He fell back from the window, clutching his neck as arterial blood spurted from it.

King spun.

He thought his heart had stopped.

Violetta was frozen in place, her hair tousled, her face pale. Her eyes were wide with shock.

King feared the worst, but a glance at her belly revealed it was untouched.

Then his gaze wandered sideways and he saw the bullet hole in the plaster wall beside her.

Inches from her right shoulder.

Maybe everything could be okay…

‘Fuck,’ King said, unable to hide the relief in his tone. ‘Get to the garage, both of you. I’ll handle Slater. If anyone’s getting shot it’s me.’

They sensed the devotion in his voice, and both women high-tailed it for the garage.

King said to Slater, ‘Your aim better be decent.’

Slater said, ‘When isn’t it?’

Right now, King thought.

He watched the rifle barrel sway like a hypnotic pendulum, then snapped out of his trance, dropped his weapon, snatched Slater’s collar, and slid the man across the tiled floor out of the kitchen.

They passed the ugly man with the bullet in his neck, who was curled up in the corner, facing the wall, blood everywhere.

King said, ‘Who was he? Why is his fucking gun holstered?’

Slater said, ‘An old coworker. Think he was trying to prove a point.’

King went silent for a beat as he dragged Slater. ‘Shit.’

Slater said, ‘Yeah, shit.’

23

Slater kept the CQBR trained on the window frame.

Well, one of them.

There were four windows swimming around in his vision. He had to guess which was the real one. He saw double, triple, quadruple, and it made him realise he hadn’t been this compromised for a long time. Besides ingesting a mammoth dose of Bodhi in Wyoming, he hadn’t faced serious physical or mental adversity for several consecutive operations.

Not since New York, when the lights went dark on the whole city.

King dragged him out of the kitchen and he let the rifle droop, trying to condense all his focus into returning to full health. It wasn’t easy. He willed his vision to centralise, willed his reflexes to return. Nothing happened. The brain is mysterious and complex, but the rules are simple enough. Take a smack to the head that’s powerful enough to black you out and you’re going to be swimming for some time. No way around it.

King got him into the darkened garage as the roar of gunfire started up again from the front of the estate, a second wave of gunfire lacing the front of the mansion.

From somewhere nearby Violetta said, ‘We’re