Chapter 8 - Father’s Wrath
The interior of the lodge erupted into violent chaos.
Silas moved up the grand oak staircase leading to the second floor, his SIG Sauer held high in a tight, two-handed grip. Glass shattered overhead as two mercenaries breached the skylight, rappelling down into the upper hallway.
Silas fired before their boots hit the hardwood floor.
Three shots struck the first mercenary in the chest, tearing through his body armor and dropping him over the balcony railing. The second hitman managed to raise his submachine gun, spraying a volley of bullets that chewed through the drywall inches from Silas’s head.
Silas ducked into a doorway, rolled across the floor, and came up firing through the door frame. The heavy nine-millimeter rounds caught the mercenary in the side, dropping him instantly. Silas walked over, stepped on the man’s rifle, and finished him with a single shot to the head.
"Upper floor clear," Silas reported coldly into his headset. "Marco, report."
"Dock team eliminated!" Marco’s breathing was heavy, accompanied by the sound of fresh shotgun shells being slammed into a magazine. "We've got four more mercenaries advancing through the western treeline. They have heavy explosives, Silas! They're trying to breach the bunker wall from the outside!"
"I'm coming down," Silas said sharply.
Silas sprinted down the back service stairs leading to the basement level. The heavy steel door to the subterranean bunker was located at the end of a long, reinforced concrete corridor.
As Silas turned the corner into the corridor, he saw three mercenaries setting breach charges against the reinforced steel vault door.
"GET AWAY FROM THAT DOOR!" Silas roared.
The men turned in shock. Silas didn't give them time to raise their weapons. He advanced down the narrow corridor like an unstoppable force of nature, firing with terrifying speed and precision.
The narrow hallway amplified the deafening roar of the gunshots. The first attacker dropped instantly with a bullet to the neck. The second raised his rifle, but Silas closed the distance, grabbing the barrel of the gun, twisting it violently to disarm him, and driving a tactical combat knife straight up through the man’s chin.
The third mercenary scrambled backward, pulling a sidearm, but Silas threw the weight of his body into him, slamming him against the concrete wall. Silas grabbed the man by his tactical vest and repeatedly smashed his helmeted head into the concrete wall until the mercenary went limp and collapsed to the floor.
Silas stood in the blood-stained corridor, his chest heaving, his hands drenched in crimson, his breathing ragged.
Silence fell over the basement.
Silas took a deep, steadying breath, wiped the blood from his brow with the back of his sleeve, and stepped up to the steel vault door.
He hit the intercom button. "Clara. It's Silas. Open the door."
There was a loud, mechanical clunk, and the heavy ten-inch steel door swung open slowly.
Clara stood inside, holding a tactical shotgun, her face tense. Behind her, sitting in the corner of the small, brightly lit room, was Maya, wrapped tightly in her wool blanket, holding Buster’s collar with both hands.
When Maya saw Silas standing in the doorway—covered in dirt, sweat, and blood—she didn't cry out in fear. She let go of the dog, stood up, and walked straight over to him.
Silas dropped to his knees on the concrete floor, ignoring the blood on his clothes, afraid to touch her with his dirty hands.
"Maya... stay back," Silas rasped out, his voice hoarse. "I'm dirty."
Maya didn't listen. She stepped forward and wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, burying her face into his bloodied collar.
"You came back," she whispered softly into his shoulder. "You didn't leave."
Silas felt a tear cut through the grime on his cheek. He closed his eyes and wrapped his long arms around her, squeezing her tight against his heart, holding the only thing in the world that mattered to him.
"I will always come back for you, Maya," Silas vowed, his voice thick with emotion. "Always."
Marco walked down the corridor, his shotgun resting over his shoulder, his clothes torn and covered in soot. He looked into the vault, saw Silas holding Maya, and let out a long, exhausted breath.
"The perimeter is clear," Marco reported softly. "All hostiles neutralised. The helicopter fled south. The police in Geneva Lake have been bought off—they won't arrive for another hour."
Silas stood up slowly, keeping Maya in his left arm, his right hand resting on Marco’s massive shoulder.
"Is the car ready?" Silas asked.
"Which car?" Marco asked.
May you like
Silas looked down at Maya, then back up at Marco. His eyes were cold, hard, and terrifyingly clear.
"The car to Cincinnati," Silas said. "It's time to end this."
