Page 194 of The Fourth Option
“Yeah.”
“You hold on to that blade. Once I take down the guards, I want you to get to the Tahoe and retrieve your M4 from the truck. I won’t have time to see if Bates really put my weapons back in my car so I’m going with the shotgun. When you get your rifle, come help me in the shed. Don’t go to your partner until all of them are dead. As hard as it is, we need to win this fight first. You have a trauma kit in the car?”
“Yes.”
“All right, then it’s win the fight first and then render aid.”
“Who are you?” Stanton asked.
“Just a guy with five rounds in a shotgun. You ready?”
“Ready.”
“Good. Now let’s go save the fucking day.”
Walker tucked the shotgun under his arm and opened the door. He walked across the narrow porch and was halfway down the steps when an overly muscled man covered in tattoos standing over a woman on the ground turned toward him.
Before he could raise his AK, Walker seated the Browning firmly in the pocket of his shoulder and pressed the trigger. The double-aught pellets ripped through the night and tore into the upper chest, neck, and head of the Kalashnikov-wielding guard. He was dead before he hit the dirt.
Walker scanned the front drive, but there was no sign of the second guard.
He turned, ran for the shed, and was halfway to it when a man in khakis and a white T-shirt threw open the door with an AKM at waist level, finger on the trigger.
Most of Walker’s 0.33-inch-diameter lead balls impacted his head. Gravity took him straight down, his body wedging the door open.
The recoil-operated semiautomatic shotgun fed its third shell as Walker charged through the entry.
The inside was lit with an old lantern that cast a light orange glow across the swamp boat, workbench, and tools.
Walker clocked three bodies. One man at the back of the shed was struggling with Belle. He had an arm around her neck from behind. His other hand was fighting to maintain his grasp on the pistol grip of his AK as Belle thrashed, attempting to break free. Another man closer to Walker was fumbling to pull up his pants.
The SEAL adjusted his aim and sent his next barrage into the man’s naked pelvis. The lead pellets shredded his penis and testicles, breaking his pelvic bone, which caused him to stumble forward and crash to the ground. Walker put another volley of lead into his head from inches away as he passed.
He pressed forward toward the man struggling with Belle. The banger’s left arm was still hooked around her neck, using her as a human shield. His back was to the far wall. He saw Walker advancing, shotgun in hand, and attempted to turn the AK in line with the demon coming for him. Belle spun around in a violent rage; the roar emanating from her lungs echoed in the confines of the small space. Her thumbs went into her assailant’s eyes. He threw her to the side just as Walker shoved the barrel of the shotgun into the jugular notch between where his two clavicle bones met at the top of the sternum. Pinned to the back wall of the shed, the man’s eyes were shades of horror and disbelief.
“¿Quién eres? ¿Qué eres?”Who are you? What are you?
Walker pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
STANTON APPEARED ATthe door with his M4 as Walker took off his T-shirt and slid it over Belle’s head. The lower part of her dress remained around her waist, and her Doc Martens were still on her feet.
“It’s clear,” Walker called to Stanton.
“Mirabelle?”
“I’ve got her,” Walker said back.
Stanton pivoted and ran back toward his vehicle.
Belle buried her face against Walker’s chest, her rage turning to sobs.
“I’ve got you,” Walker whispered.
“They didn’t… I mean, I fought them and you got here in time,” she said.
Thank God.
