the radio for back up. We can’t let them leave this facility.”
And just then Kate bust through the door holding a pistol she’d stolen from the weapons cache they raided. When she glanced down at the two men Locke opened fire and she jumped behind Locke’s desk. Bullets splintered holes into the wood as Locke emptied his clip.
Then Locke noticed the quiet behind him. The firing had ceased. Locke peaked over the wall through the window and saw a dozen soldiers dead on the ground and the prisoners making their way towards them.
Locke turned to Chris. “Chris, we’ve got-,” and then Locke’s words halted as he felt the cold steel of Chris’s 9mm pistol on the side of his temple.
“Get up, General,” Chris ordered with a taste of bitterness in his voice.
Locke slowly rose and the other prisoners piled into Locke’s office with their guns pointed at him. Chris snatched the pistol out of Locke’s hand and his hands fell limp to his sides.
Kate jumped onto Locke’s desk, strutted over it and landed on the ground in front of him. Strands of ragged hair fell across her face and she smiled as she let her pistol hang loosely in her hand at her side.
“I told you, General,” Kate said.
Locke pointed towards his desk behind Kate and raised his eyebrows. “May I?” he asked.
Kate looked back and saw a box of cigars on his desk. She walked over to it and picked one up and ran it under her nose taking in the smell of tobacco. “My grandfather smoked these until the day he tied. Anytime I get a whiff of one of these I always think of him.” She tossed one to Locke.
Locke pulled the cigar clip out of his front pocket and chopped of the end. He flicked his lighter and roasted the end of the cigar as he puffed long, slow drags of the Cuban. His face became clouded in a gray of smoke. He let the fire fill him for one last time and then put the cigar into the corner of his mouth and took a good look at what would be the last sights he’d see on this earth.
The barrel of Kate’s pistol hovered inches from Locke’s face as she placed her finger on the trigger. “I told you, old man. I told you that it was a mistake to put your trust in men,” she said through gritted teeth.
Locke took the cigar out of his mouth and the smoke from the tip wafted from his face down to his side as he ashed the cigar onto the carpet of his office floor. “The only mistake I made was not adding retinal scans to the cell doors,” Locke replied.
He walked closer to her so that his forehead was pressed hard against the barrel of the pistol. “You think your idea protects you from those that try and oppose you. The only thing that does protect you is the piece of steel and composite that you’re holding in your hand,” Locke said. “And we have better trained gunmen than you do.”
A slight smile twitched on Kate’s face. She squeezed the trigger and the bullet went right between the eyes and then out the back of Locke’s skull as bits of blood, bone, and brain matter sprayed across the office floor. The cigar rolled out of his hand once he hit the ground and Kate bent down to pick it up. It had bits of blood speckled on it as she rolled it between her fingers and then took a long drag and blew the smoke straight up into the air. “Let’s move,” she ordered and the group filed out of the door as Kate bent down and put out the cigar on what was left of Locke’s left cheek. “I never liked my grandfather,” she said as one of the other prisoners took Locke’s phone out of his pocket and took a picture of him lying on the ground.
When Samantha pulled up to the building she sat in her car for a moment after she turned the engine off, then unbuckled her seatbelt and headed for the door. The guard at the entrance let her in and the small office she walked into was poorly maintained. The carpet was musty and worn. The wallpaper was peeling off in places around the
And just then Kate bust through the door holding a pistol she’d stolen from the weapons cache they raided. When she glanced down at the two men Locke opened fire and she jumped behind Locke’s desk. Bullets splintered holes into the wood as Locke emptied his clip.
Then Locke noticed the quiet behind him. The firing had ceased. Locke peaked over the wall through the window and saw a dozen soldiers dead on the ground and the prisoners making their way towards them.
Locke turned to Chris. “Chris, we’ve got-,” and then Locke’s words halted as he felt the cold steel of Chris’s 9mm pistol on the side of his temple.
“Get up, General,” Chris ordered with a taste of bitterness in his voice.
Locke slowly rose and the other prisoners piled into Locke’s office with their guns pointed at him. Chris snatched the pistol out of Locke’s hand and his hands fell limp to his sides.
Kate jumped onto Locke’s desk, strutted over it and landed on the ground in front of him. Strands of ragged hair fell across her face and she smiled as she let her pistol hang loosely in her hand at her side.
“I told you, General,” Kate said.
Locke pointed towards his desk behind Kate and raised his eyebrows. “May I?” he asked.
Kate looked back and saw a box of cigars on his desk. She walked over to it and picked one up and ran it under her nose taking in the smell of tobacco. “My grandfather smoked these until the day he tied. Anytime I get a whiff of one of these I always think of him.” She tossed one to Locke.
Locke pulled the cigar clip out of his front pocket and chopped of the end. He flicked his lighter and roasted the end of the cigar as he puffed long, slow drags of the Cuban. His face became clouded in a gray of smoke. He let the fire fill him for one last time and then put the cigar into the corner of his mouth and took a good look at what would be the last sights he’d see on this earth.
The barrel of Kate’s pistol hovered inches from Locke’s face as she placed her finger on the trigger. “I told you, old man. I told you that it was a mistake to put your trust in men,” she said through gritted teeth.
Locke took the cigar out of his mouth and the smoke from the tip wafted from his face down to his side as he ashed the cigar onto the carpet of his office floor. “The only mistake I made was not adding retinal scans to the cell doors,” Locke replied.
He walked closer to her so that his forehead was pressed hard against the barrel of the pistol. “You think your idea protects you from those that try and oppose you. The only thing that does protect you is the piece of steel and composite that you’re holding in your hand,” Locke said. “And we have better trained gunmen than you do.”
A slight smile twitched on Kate’s face. She squeezed the trigger and the bullet went right between the eyes and then out the back of Locke’s skull as bits of blood, bone, and brain matter sprayed across the office floor. The cigar rolled out of his hand once he hit the ground and Kate bent down to pick it up. It had bits of blood speckled on it as she rolled it between her fingers and then took a long drag and blew the smoke straight up into the air. “Let’s move,” she ordered and the group filed out of the door as Kate bent down and put out the cigar on what was left of Locke’s left cheek. “I never liked my grandfather,” she said as one of the other prisoners took Locke’s phone out of his pocket and took a picture of him lying on the ground.
When Samantha pulled up to the building she sat in her car for a moment after she turned the engine off, then unbuckled her seatbelt and headed for the door. The guard at the entrance let her in and the small office she walked into was poorly maintained. The carpet was musty and worn. The wallpaper was peeling off in places around the
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