Everything that worried him before is now on his side.
He pulls back and silently raids the outer staff lodgings from behind.The commandos have been sleeping here.Quiet like a snake, Lachlan sticks to the edges but there’s no one inside.
He finds weapons.
He findswater.
And he finds cocaine.
Water first.
He forces himself to take small, controlled mouthfuls.Swallow one, swish and spit, swallow one, swish and spit.When he hasn’t thrown it up, he deems it safe to drain the whole bottle.He then takes two weapons, all the ammo he can find for those guns, cuts himself a generous line of coke before snorting it in one go and stuffing additional supplies into a backpack.He devours a granola bar, drinks more, snorts more because his tolerance is very high and then Lachlan heads out into the bushes.
They know he’s missing by now.
They’re searching for him and the other two.
Craig Fenwick has the rest of his people pouring gasoline he found from the backup generators in the bunker.They’re drizzling it strategically, intending to burn the island in the hopes of smoke flooding the safe room ventilation to force Jules out.
Itisthe end of the line.
Final days desperation.
Lachlan checks his weapon, can’t afford a jam, and heat sometimes makes the metal expand, but these are top-range.
He’s always liked MP7s.
Once he starts firing, he’ll have to move fast.
He chooses his starting point carefully, using the placement of the red pool to weaponise glare.He takes aim, sighting through a makeshift scope.They seem to be in teams of two.Smart, but not smart enough.
Slow exhale, trigger squeeze.
Pop.Pop, pop, pop.
He’s always had exceptional aim.
Four down.The others start yelling and running towards him.Lachlan pulls back behind the pool, obscured in the bushes as he moves to the right.Lachlan quickly takes out three more.
Someone lights the fire.
It’s spreading fast,catching.
Craig Fenwick comes into view, the bitemark Lachlan gave him covered with gauze, brown in the centre.He lookssickly.
Lachlan takes aim.
Not a headshot, not for him.
He wants to get him in the neck, right through the bitemark, but someone runs past and accidentally takes the bulletforhim, brains splatter all over Fenwick, who falls back hard against the wall, and then scurries away.
‘Motherfucker,’ Lachlan mutters.
There is no time to be wasted now that the fire is spreading.
He unleashes automatic fire on the men who run towards him, stays hidden until they’re too close and has to move again.He passes the failed attempt to kill Fenwick, sees the knife he dropped.
Lachlan’s knife, the custom build.He takes it, kissing it just once, and then shoots several more.He heads into the ruined mansion, barefoot, his soles are getting cut to ribbons.The wreckage is insane.Bodies, blood, glittering debris.
