Deception | Sequel to 21M (discontinued)

I. Ramshackle

ramshackle (adjective): in a state of severe disrepair

Harry's POV

Six weeks before..

Obnoxious clusters of gravelly dust hover the ground the moment the soles of my boots make contact with the shell floor. I can't tell if it is the heavy anticipation weighing in on my chest that causes my eyes to glare upward at the other men with such motive, or if it's the way I can barely feel my lungs in the freezing air. Either way, I trudge along, pushing my way to the front of the group.

My cheeks and nose have taken up a bright red color, and the stinging of my chapped lips further numbs the longer we await our call to bring the battering ram through the splintered fragments of a door. Its cracked corners and loose hinges gives off the sense that breaking through won't be nearly as troublesome as if it were new and modern.

"On the count of three!" I hear Garrett shout, his strong voice loud over the harsh whipping of wind. As he says the words, I feel a drop of rain cascade down the bridge of my nose. On cue, lightning strikes the sky, lighting up behind the grey swirls of clouds and causing thunder to reverberate the ground.

"One.. Two.. Three!"

Like predicted, the flap of wood slams back against the wall and all the men surrounding me start to tread into the old, abandoned house. My finger looms over the trigger of my riffle, waiting for any unwelcoming visitors or men with guns aiming back at us.

Even though the havoc surrounding me is loud and distracting, my mind is only concentrating on one thing. Everything else is silent and put on the backburner. I can't fail her again after everything we've been through. I refuse to accept defeat.

"I'm marking the upstairs," I shout to no one in particular, heading in a direction that no one has managed to slip away to yet. The red laser light that aims from the snout of my gun bounces from stair to stair as I try to quicken my pace. I hardly focus on my heavy breathing or the way sweat builds on my clammy skin even in this freezing room.

The adrenaline giving me this heart-in-throat feeling sends me back to the days in academy where doing protocol runs was on the everyday agenda. So many hours spent on training for this type of situation only to be wasted on multiple dead ends. But this time I have an objective, one I can't just shrug off even if I absolutely tried.

As my boots clank on the wooden floorboards and I descend further down the balcony overlooking the whole living room beneath, the loud rumbling of men's uniforms brushing together fades out. I no longer hear their grunts and whispers, just the sound of rain falling heavier on the instable roof.

I'm cautious of how much weight I put into each step as I realize more and more that this house is very rickety and unstable. Much to my dismay, it is also something that I was hoping it wouldn't be: truly abandoned and empty.

My left hand is held under my right, grasping a flashlight so that a few feet ahead of me is always lit and is somewhat possible to see. As I reach a bend and also the first doorway, I re-grip my gun and crack my neck, pausing momentarily before using momentum to kick off my halted spot and trudge forward.

Like I was trained to do, my eyes roam from left to right, top to bottom, ceiling to floor and window to window. I can only make out what is lit by the faint light coming from my hand, but still the smell of rotten wood and broken dreams immediately informs me that this room hasn't been touched in years. Possibly decades.

The wicker hamper is chewed out by rats, the beams of wooden supporting the pointed roof are rotting, and each corner holds cobwebs. I even manage to catch glimpse of a fat mother rat scampering by my feet before jumping back in shock.