We burst through the door and into my weapons room. I grab the Barrett M82 and a Sig while Rex grabs an M4. I hand him an extra ammo clip, nodding gravely as he holsters his sidearm.
The biting wind whips at my face as we rush out of the front door, then hurry down the snow-draped gravel road. I pull my scarf up over my mouth and nose, my legs burning as we slog along the tree line.
Rex scans the area with binoculars. “Nine hostiles. All armed. Shit. Six of ‘em got Cal and Devon cornered down an alley.”
“Fuck.”
Moving into position, I peer through the scope of the sniper rifle until I spot the boys. Devon’s standing between the small group and Cal, both boys have their knives out. Not that the blades will do much against bullets.
My jaw clenches and I fight to remain calm, to keep focused when all I want to do is run down there and slaughter every last one of the trespassers.
This ismytown, and that ismyboy they are threatening.
I maneuver the scope a bit when one of the men, who’s wearing some freaky ass tragedy theater mask that’s red with black highlights, comes into view.
He’s big.
Too big.
Could easily break the boys.
And Devon’s glaring right at the bastard.
I take slow, steady breaths, waiting for Rex to make his way closer. He’s around the corner, and no one’s spotted him yet.
He gives me the signal, coming up from the rear as I shoot, dropping two of the bastards.
The third shot, aimed at the asshole with the red mask, misses.
When Devon lunges at the fuck I abandon the M82 and bolt from my position, drawing my Sig as I sprint down the slope.
More gunshots echo through town, mingled with shouts and shattering glass.
Bile claws its way up my throat. Cal better be okay. He has to be.
Out of nowhere, I’m tackled to the ground, chilling psychotic laughter filling my ears. I throw my head back, connecting with whoever’s on top of me.
Only they laugh more.
The giggling is haunting. Makes me sick to my stomach.
“Mac!”
I turn my head and spot Cal, who’s rushing toward us as I flip this fucker off my body.
The crazy shit is wearing a green comedy theater mask, only it also seems to be clownish.
“Sick fuck.” I aim at the bastard, about to pull the trigger, when something rips into my left shoulder like a red-hot poker. Took a few bullets before so I know exactly what just happened.
I stumble and drop my sidearm. Cal stops dead in his tracks, eyes wide. Please God, don’t let him watch me die.
Closing my eyes for a second, I take a deep breath, then open them and peer at the guy a few feet away with a gun, the muzzle still trained on me.
A knife is jammed into the guy’s neck. As the body falls, Devon, drenched in blood, stands there.
Jesus, fuck.
Rex wasn’t kidding about him being more dangerous than he looks.
