The Crimson Fall (The Sons of Liberty Book 1) (18 page)

He sprinted into the alleyway as lightning flashed above, followed by a thunderous boom and the sound of the cars behind him screeching to a halt. Men shouted and cursed at him as he ran. His back abruptly began to tense up and he realized he was waiting to hear the fatal gunshot; a thunder not born of the sky but of man’s brutality. He wondered if the killers would go next to those waiting for him in the townhome once they had finished him off.

His thoughts shifted to what he had in his pocket and he began to scold himself for not trying to see what was on the USB drive so he could have told the others before he arrived. If they killed him now, no one would likely ever know what secrets Sue Chambers had died for. He thought of his family and he knew that once Lukas had the total control he sought, he would come for them. But in his moment of desperation, as the rain plastered his hair against his pounding head, a peculiar thing happened that surprised even him.

Adam began to pray.

Not for himself initially, but for those he would leave behind. He wondered if Rick would get the family to safety in time. He had almost forgotten how to talk to God, and the words sounded strange and foreign in his mind. He asked God for help in that time of need. Adam told himself he could survive if he could flee fast enough—that his time to die had not yet come—but even he wasn’t so sure as the shouts of multiple armed men pursued him. Still, he prayed.

And he ran harder.

The alleyway came to a fork, with the right side blocked by what looked like more than one delivery truck. Adam veered left and almost tripped over his own two feet as his momentum carried him forward. Up ahead, he saw that the alley turned back north and hope began to well up within him as he thought he might actually make it to the house before they could catch him. He could still hear his pursuers from behind, but his years of hitting the pavement in the early hours of the morning kept him well beyond their reach.

He turned right, smashing into a couple of small trash cans that sent debris sprawling across the ground. Adam’s heart sank as he looked up. A locked, chain-link fence, twelve-feet tall with barbed wire stretched across the top, stood not thirty feet away, between him and the street beyond. Frantically looking for a door or window or any escape route, Adam spun around just in time to see three men rounding the corner.

The masked men stopped a few paces away, huffing and puffing as they spread out in the narrow alleyway. Two of the men held steel Louisville Sluggers and the third had a long blade drawn that gleamed in the rain.

The one thing all three had in common were the deadly pistols holstered at their sides.

The man on Adam’s far left looked back around the corner and shouted to someone. Adam looked around for something to defend himself with while the men stalled, but all he saw was the garbage scattered on the ground and a large green trash bin next to his attackers.
This is it
, he thought. From behind the men, the cop who had pulled Adam over came rushing around the corner. Blood seeped from his now crooked nose and hate surged from his eyes. He drew his gun and took a step toward Adam.

“Stop!” one of the masked men shouted. “He said clean and quick, like a mugging. No guns. Nothing to tie us to it. Period!”

“Wait!” Adam shouted as he held his hand up, pleading for his life. “You don’t have to do this. Just wait a minute. I’m a United States congressman, damn it! You don’t know what you’re doing!”

The angry cop shouted furiously at Adam. “Shut the hell up!” He paused to spit out a mouthful of blood. “You’re going to pay for that back there you son of a bitch!”

“Quit your bitching,” one of the other men said. “Let’s just stick him and get the hell out of here.”

“Fine,” the uniformed killer said. He turned back to Adam and holstered his side arm. “More sport without a gun anyway, but I ain’t making no promises that it’ll be clean and quick. I’m gonna’ cut you up and drink your blood.” The others looked at one another and laughed as they drew their steel and advanced.

Gun. Elizabeth. Behind my belt.

The pistol.

Adam saw his chance. His mind and adrenaline had been racing so fast that had forgotten about the forty-five tucked away under his shirt.
Ten shots, four guys.
He took a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves, envisioning the shot before he took it like he always would while hunting. But this hunt was more like a dangerous duel with a pack of wolves that didn’t know he was armed. He silently whispered his battle creed as the men approached.

I am the hunter. They are the prey.

The officer with the broken nose advanced first, withdrawing a long and sinister blade from behind his belt, and smiled through a grill of bloodied teeth.

“You ready to die mother—”

Adam drew the gun and pulled the trigger. The bullet struck the corrupt cop in the center of the chest, sending him sprawling backwards onto the pile of trash as his eyes went wide with shock and death.

The other three stopped dead in their tracks, surprise replacing their previously cocky demeanor. Adam leveled his gun at his next target—one of two men that were diving for cover behind the green trash container. He pulled the trigger twice, hitting the man once in the lower face and effectively ripping his jaw and mask off below the nose, causing him to let out a strange, mouth-less cry of shock.

The third killer dropped his bat and reached for his side arm while the second assassin clumsily tried to draw his gun as he tripped over the man without a jaw. Adam knew they weren’t going to follow their no shoot orders from here on out. They were now fighting for their lives just as he was. Adam prayed to God to guide his hand as he took aim again.

He quickly fired three more shots before the standing man could pull his firearm fully from its holster. The first two rounds flew wide, but his last one hit the man in the right hand, blowing his fingers off and plastering them against the wall behind him. The guy shrieked in agony and fell to his knees, clutching his bloodied limb.
Two down, one hurting, but one armed and untouched.
Wanting to take the last guy down before he was able to gather himself, Adam quickly rushed toward the masked man that had frantically crawled for cover behind the trash bin. Adam fired blindly, emptying his pistol but missing the masked man completely. Adam threw himself forward, slamming into the unhurt attacker and grabbing the guy by his arm just as he finally ripped free his sidearm.

Adam smashed the man’s hand against the brick wall three times, trying desperately to dislodge his now drawn firearm. Underneath the two struggling men’s feet lay the dying assassin Adam had shot in the face. His eyes were wide with horror; his hands tried uselessly to hold together what had been his face. Adam slammed his attacker’s hand against the wall once more, but the man slugged Adam in the face with his free hand. Adam held onto the guy’s arm with all his strength as stars danced across his vision. The masked killer grunted and bent his wrist, aiming as best as he could, and fired right next to Adam’s head, blowing his ear drum out and sending the round ricocheting off the steel container next to them. Something sharp struck Adam in the back of his ribs, and he knew immediately that a fragment of the shattered bullet had hit him. Adam shoved the attacker’s arm back as hard as he could, let go with one of his hands and threw a blind uppercut that glanced off the man’s wet face. Adam drew back with a growl and punched the man in the jaw as hard as he could and then smacked his gun hand against the wall once more, sending the firearm sprawling a few feet away.

The assassin gritted his teeth and head butted Adam in the forehead, blurring his eyesight and almost knocking him out. He fought for consciousness and fell onto his back. A jolt of pain shot through his side where he had been wounded. Adam’s attacker slumped down, groaning and clutching his face. The masked man gripped his head and wiped away a rapidly growing stream of blood that had started to flow from underneath his mask. He shouted for the man lying on the other side of the alley that had lost his hand to help. He then reached over sluggishly, fumbling blindly for his pistol so he could finish the job.

Adam wavered and shook his head in an attempt to clear the stars away. He then looked around for something to defend himself with. The man who had been shot in the hand stood up—nursing his jagged stump with a curse—and reached around with his left hand for his side arm, blundering as he tried hopelessly to draw it. Not finding anything on the ground, Adam turned over onto his stomach, kicking one of the steel baseball bats that had rolled underfoot as he did so. He grabbed the bat and let out a snarl as he rose and swung at the man with the bloody limb. Adam hit the guy in the side of the head and heard his neck separate from his spine with a loud snap. The masked assailant dropped to the ground like a marionette with severed strings and his eyes rolled back into his head, never to open again.

A shot rang out to Adam’s right; the bullet struck his bat and hurtled upwards, bouncing between the steel steps of the escape ladders above with a series of deescalating pings.

“Come here you little shit!” The one remaining man shouted as he stumbled awkwardly toward Adam, the gun wavering unsteadily in front of him.

Adam’s head moved an inch to the side.

The man shot again, and Adam felt a searing pain on his cheek. He chucked the bat at his last attacker, striking him in the knee and causing him to curse and stagger again. Adam threw himself down to the ground next to the man he had just killed with the bat and pulled his body over him as one more shot whizzed by his head, tumbling across the concrete. Two more bullets hit the lifeless man on top of Adam in the back, causing what little air was left in the dead man’s lungs to come out in the form of a lifeless grumble. Adam’s muscles tensed up, and he waited for the attacker to shuffle forward and shoot him at point blank range. Another round hit Adam in the outer thigh, causing him to scream out as pain racked his leg. He reached down instinctively to grab his wounded leg but his hand fell on something else—something useful.

The dead man’s pistol,
Adam realized.

Adam clenched his teeth and ripped the gun out of the holster, praying to God that it wasn’t a Chambers System. He reached over the dead man’s body and with a defiant roar pulled the trigger as fast as he could. The masked man clenched his eyes tight and shook as each round crashed into him. He fell backwards and sent one last round forward that flew awry as he hit the ground.

Adam looked around wildly, aiming his gun at each motionless body, ready to pull the trigger again if anyone moved. But they all lay still. He had done it.

He was alive.

Adam lay back as the pain surged through his body in waves that shook him. His breath came in ragged coughs that jarred his side. He pushed the dead man off of him and rolled onto his back again. The rain fell steadily down the narrow alleyway, illuminated by the lights next to each fire escape.

Not this time Mr. President
, he thought to himself.
Not this time.

Exhaustion began to set in, but he rolled onto his stomach and painstakingly started searching the man that had been on top of him. He looked through his pockets only to find a wad of what had to be no less than fifty thousand dollars and a photo of Adam. Next to him the dead cop lay on his back, eyes open and unflinching as rainwater bounced off of his pupils. Adam crawled over to the man he had killed last to search him. He pulled himself up onto his knees, looked the man in the eyes, and sat back in shock.

The masked man was still alive.

The man’s eyes moved from Adam to the ground next to him. He had been struck four or five times in various parts of his body and Adam didn’t think the man would last much longer. He looked down and saw his hand twitch, grasping for the pistol that was just out of reach. Adam picked it up and held it against the man’s temple angrily.

“Think I’d be easy meat? How many more?” Adam shouted. “Who are you? Answer me!” Adam violently grabbed the top of the man’s ski mask, ripped it off his head, and then almost lost what little sanity he had held onto through the fight.

He was staring into the face of a dying John Fresnel.

John managed a weak grin and tried to utter something, but his mouth stopped moving and his eyes glazed over before the words could leave his mouth. Adam tried to breathe but no air came. Panic quickly set in. He had just killed the director of the Secret Service. More shocking, that man had tried to murder him first. Adam raised the gun and looked around to check the men once more. He knew others would be on their way soon and if he didn’t move fast they would find him there and finish the job.

He rose to his feet and almost passed out. The sharp pain at his back and thigh had turned into a constant and heavy throb. Each step he took only intensified the agony. He touched his face gingerly, feeling a shallow scar a few inches long that graced his cheek and thanked God it hadn’t been a half inch closer. He briefly thought about going back to his truck, but he didn’t think he would make it much longer without losing consciousness. He was close to the other street and he had to get to help. That is, he had to get to David’s house before the darkness finally seized him.

Adam hobbled over to the gate, raised the pistol, and fired at the padlock, shattering it with a flurry of sparks. He pushed through the chain fence and limped toward the street, clenching his teeth and fighting to stay awake with every step. The storm raged on as he made his way east. The street was completely empty and he wondered if the gunshots had driven away the last few bystanders or, in all likelihood, if the thunder had masked the battle that had been fought.