Carrion (The Bren Watts Diaries #1)

Chapter 112

BREN

"Shots fired! Shots fired!"

"It's coming from upstairs!"

Fourteen bullets were left in Betty. Eight men. Make it count.

I strode toward the door adjacent to the master bedroom. Footsteps resounded from behind; perhaps the sniper perched up from the window, watching Haskell did his thing behind the plume of smoke. Now, he's distracted, caught off-guard by the gunfire next door.

I quickly strode toward the door, leaned my back next to the doorframe. I gestured for Peter to take the other side. The footsteps grew closer, and I tightened my grip around Betty.

The door swung open, and the rifle's barrel appeared at my periphery. Now's my chance! I struck, grabbed hold of the barrel, and pulled the soldier toward me. Once his body pivoted and faced me, I pushed Betty on his gut, two shots, heard his croaked shout against my ears, and he crumpled down to his knees. His grip loosened on the rifle, so it was easy for me to pull it off of him. I threw it to the side, and within a split second, I raised Betty higher, placed the barrel under his chin, and pulled the trigger. His jaw shattered, blood shot out from the top of his skull, and the soldier slumped to the ground.

That was all under two seconds, but it gave Peter enough time to take out the second one.

The second soldier stepped in, letting out a muffled yelp, surprised by the ambush. It would only last for a split second. Thinking quickly, he raised the rifle and aimed for my back, but Peter was already beside him, raised the Beretta, and shot him on the temple. He went down, unmoving.

I rolled over toward the bed, still worried that there might be more men beyond the room. The commotion was getting quieter, and we were quickly running out of time. I didn't hear any shouts from beyond the space, only from below, so I grabbed the map off the bed, folded them into my pocket, and gestured for Peter to move into the adjacent room.

A clean sweep. I followed close to his heels. We made it into the room, found it empty.

"Clear," Peter said, though his aim never wavered toward the dark corners.

I replayed my count earlier twice over: Donahue and Garrett were downstairs, the soldier guarding the back door, and the three at the front...all accounted for. No one's on the second floor.

I made a curt nod: two down, six more to go.

A door into the hallway opened up opposite of the landing, blocked by the thick handrails and columns. I slowly opened it, took a peek, and saw dark figures moving up the stairs wearing something over their eyes. Night vision goggles. Smart. They had killed the lights downstairs. I didn't know who was leading, but there's at least four of them coming up.

I took out the grenade from my belt. Peter saw, and he quickly moved behind the bed. I pulled the pin, counted to two, and threw it over the handrails. I saw it hit the stairwell landing, clattering like a golf ball on the foot of the first soldier.

"Grenade!" That was all he shouted before a mad dash for cover.

The grenade rolled toward the stairs, hit the first two steps, going down and down, dancing below their feet. I jumped over the bed and took cover beside Peter just as the explosion shook the house.

Men screamed; the door cracked from the shockwave, though it did spat out splinters from where some of the debris had wedged into the wood. I staggered to my feet, leaning hard against the bed frame. I didn't waste time to move and headed back into the radio room with Peter taking point.