watching.
Very few minutes passed before an armed man came around the side of the dilapidated building. Over his shoulder, hanging loose on its strap, was an automatic weapon. Nick concentrated on breathing as quietly as possible, but his heart speeded up. The man was wearing black body armor like the dead man at the murder scene. He’d found his quarry. The fact that he was out-gunned and out-numbered was frustrating. He’d need to get closer to see if they had the children. Bright light speared out of cracks and crannies from within the building. Luckily, with all the doors and windows missing, that would make it much easier to see inside.
As he was assessing the cover closer in, his eyes were drawn to a flicker in the undergrowth to the left of the man. A heartbeat later, inexplicably, the guy was gone. He blinked hard, staring at the sun-bleached grasses in the long shadows of twilight. A soft rustle in the weeds, and he saw a pair of boots dragged away. A shiver pricked its way down Nick's spine. Someone was hunting the hunters. That was an unforeseen complication.
Another mercenary stepped through a collapsed doorway with a mug in his hand. He looked both ways. “Allen?”
Nick held his breath.
There was a soft groan from the weeds.
“Allen?” The man dropped the mug and drew a sidearm. The movement was fluid, practiced. Nick had no doubt this was a professional unit. From the body armor to the weapons, it was obvious they had the kind of resources that didn't seem to exist anymore. He looked closer at the gun. It was a small, powerful looking thing that Nick coveted immediately.
“Allen, are you okay?”
There was no answer. The mercenary moved cautiously toward the weeds. Dried stalks and new growth combined to make a seemingly impenetrable mat. He looked behind, to the sides, one step closer. Nick felt sweat running down his neck. He hesitated to warn him. If these were the men that he was looking for, they had gunned down a young woman for no apparent reason. Or was there a war he was unaware of? Was this a retaliation from the other side? Should he remain silent and let some other, unknown party take action? Nick saw the flicker again and the man went down. Not quite as soundless. A grunt and a muffled thud of impact. The hair stood up on Nick's arms. His hesitation may have cost a life, and he had no way to judge the consequence. He wasn’t even sure if they were dead or unconscious.
Someone ran in a crouch from the weeds to the factory wall. Nick got his first look at the assailant. He was thin, but muscular, long white braid down his back, bright against tanned skin. Only a faded green tee shirt and jeans. Not a soldier. Not a mercenary. Then he turned and looked right at Nick, putting a finger to his lips for silence. Nick locked eyes on him. The man pointed to the wall and raised three fingers.
Nick was stunned. How had he seen him? How did he know that Nick might be an ally? Before he could think of any answers, the man ghosted into the building. Nick ran over and took his place at the wall. Two against three were better odds, although he still wasn’t sure what the sides stood for. At the very least, he’d be able to see if the children were here. If not, he’d get back under cover in the woods double-time.
The mercenaries had made a haphazard camp in the far corner of the building. Lamps flooded the area with light. Nick reassessed his assumptions about the soldiers. The setup didn’t look as organized as it could be. Three men sat at ease, one reading, one eating and the third poking at a cook fire. To one side a teenage boy was tied to a pillar. He'd been badly beaten. Nick felt sick looking at the kid. He concentrated hard until he saw the boy's chest rise. At least he was still alive. Who were these bastards that they would torture a boy? That eliminated any remorse he felt about the bodies in the weeds outside. But then another element of the scene hit him. One of the floodlights
Very few minutes passed before an armed man came around the side of the dilapidated building. Over his shoulder, hanging loose on its strap, was an automatic weapon. Nick concentrated on breathing as quietly as possible, but his heart speeded up. The man was wearing black body armor like the dead man at the murder scene. He’d found his quarry. The fact that he was out-gunned and out-numbered was frustrating. He’d need to get closer to see if they had the children. Bright light speared out of cracks and crannies from within the building. Luckily, with all the doors and windows missing, that would make it much easier to see inside.
As he was assessing the cover closer in, his eyes were drawn to a flicker in the undergrowth to the left of the man. A heartbeat later, inexplicably, the guy was gone. He blinked hard, staring at the sun-bleached grasses in the long shadows of twilight. A soft rustle in the weeds, and he saw a pair of boots dragged away. A shiver pricked its way down Nick's spine. Someone was hunting the hunters. That was an unforeseen complication.
Another mercenary stepped through a collapsed doorway with a mug in his hand. He looked both ways. “Allen?”
Nick held his breath.
There was a soft groan from the weeds.
“Allen?” The man dropped the mug and drew a sidearm. The movement was fluid, practiced. Nick had no doubt this was a professional unit. From the body armor to the weapons, it was obvious they had the kind of resources that didn't seem to exist anymore. He looked closer at the gun. It was a small, powerful looking thing that Nick coveted immediately.
“Allen, are you okay?”
There was no answer. The mercenary moved cautiously toward the weeds. Dried stalks and new growth combined to make a seemingly impenetrable mat. He looked behind, to the sides, one step closer. Nick felt sweat running down his neck. He hesitated to warn him. If these were the men that he was looking for, they had gunned down a young woman for no apparent reason. Or was there a war he was unaware of? Was this a retaliation from the other side? Should he remain silent and let some other, unknown party take action? Nick saw the flicker again and the man went down. Not quite as soundless. A grunt and a muffled thud of impact. The hair stood up on Nick's arms. His hesitation may have cost a life, and he had no way to judge the consequence. He wasn’t even sure if they were dead or unconscious.
Someone ran in a crouch from the weeds to the factory wall. Nick got his first look at the assailant. He was thin, but muscular, long white braid down his back, bright against tanned skin. Only a faded green tee shirt and jeans. Not a soldier. Not a mercenary. Then he turned and looked right at Nick, putting a finger to his lips for silence. Nick locked eyes on him. The man pointed to the wall and raised three fingers.
Nick was stunned. How had he seen him? How did he know that Nick might be an ally? Before he could think of any answers, the man ghosted into the building. Nick ran over and took his place at the wall. Two against three were better odds, although he still wasn’t sure what the sides stood for. At the very least, he’d be able to see if the children were here. If not, he’d get back under cover in the woods double-time.
The mercenaries had made a haphazard camp in the far corner of the building. Lamps flooded the area with light. Nick reassessed his assumptions about the soldiers. The setup didn’t look as organized as it could be. Three men sat at ease, one reading, one eating and the third poking at a cook fire. To one side a teenage boy was tied to a pillar. He'd been badly beaten. Nick felt sick looking at the kid. He concentrated hard until he saw the boy's chest rise. At least he was still alive. Who were these bastards that they would torture a boy? That eliminated any remorse he felt about the bodies in the weeds outside. But then another element of the scene hit him. One of the floodlights
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