Page 68 of Hunted in the Shadows
And not a moment too soon, as the sound of the remaining attackers caught up. Cliff backed around the corner, firing a deafening shot. Then,click—the sound of an empty chamber. He muttered under his breath as he ejected the spent magazine with a grace that was almost clinical. He slammed the fresh one home with a satisfying snap. Standard steel bullets. Maybe they wouldn’t kill a monster, but it would certainly stop these fuckers.
“Where's Gwen?” I asked, adjusting my grip on the semi-automatic in my right hand. Judging by the weight, it had maybe five or six shots left in the chamber. Not great, but it would have to do.
Cliff’s eyes snapped behind me and widened. I pivoted to see the flash of movement through the reinforced window.Fuck—a few of the hunters had gone through the interior to cut us off at the entrance. The main door flew open, a man and woman filling the doorway. I raised my gun, planting my feet with a deliberate movement.
“We don’t have to do this,” I said, even as tension built in my trigger finger.
The woman’s expression twisted with betrayal rather than rage. I tried to place her, but at a brief glance, nothing seemed familiar.
“You think you’re above the marshal because you’ve got a good kill streak?” she snarled. “You were supposed to bewithus. Have you lost your minds?”
You don’t understand, I wanted to snap back. My eyes cut briefly to the dock to my right, jutting into the water with steel-lined crates secured by cutting-edge locks.
Maybe theydidunderstand—it was possible half these people knew Rhett was selling out everything hunters had stood for, piece by piece. Maybe they just didn't care, and profit was more appealing than standing on principles.
She adjusted her grip on the pistol between her hands. The man beside her tensed, mirroring her practiced body language. Even a stand-off would be a victory for them, if they could delay us long enough for Rhett or the others to catch up.
A cry tore from behind us, shrill and wild. I snapped my head toward the sound, but before I could make sense of it, something small—somethingfast—blurred past right past me. Gwen threw herself at the man on the right. He cursed, seizing her under the arms to throw her off. She landed like it was a dance—graceful, almost beautiful in her steady movements. Gwen spun, kicking up from the ground to the back of the man's knees. He staggered forward, and she leapt onto his back, arms locked around his throat.
The female hunter spun her weapon onto Gwen, only to falter. Rage flickered with shock. “What the fuck?Gwen? I thought you were dead.”
More footsteps pounded behind us. Three more men. Cliff turned on them, his movements defensive and calculated as he held them at bay.
I fired off a round, catching the female hunter's shoulder and making her stagger away with a scream of pain.
As the male assailant lost consciousness from Gwen’s grip, she sprang from his body, letting it slump to the ground, and caught the woman in the stomach with her boot. Even seeping blood from the superficial gun wound, the woman wasn’t going down without a fight. Her surprise that Gwen had miraculously resurrected clearly didn't supersede her survival instincts. She caught Gwen’s knee with a brutal kick that sent her down. I charged forward, but Gwen was back on her feet. She tackledthe woman's legs and wrestled the gun from her grasp, swinging the handle down to the back of her head with a sharpcrack.
The female hunter went limp, sprawled across the wooden planks.
Breathing heavily, Gwen dismounted, her skin gleaming from exertion. For a slight thing, I had to admit she was damn impressive.
“You’re bleeding,” I said, eyeing a streak of crimson on her cheek when she brushed past me. It looked like a fingernail scrape—like someone had clawed at her face.
“You wanna kiss it better or get out of here?” Gwen asked, not looking back at me.
I jogged behind her, using Cliff’s cover to start across the bridge. Gunshots had turned to blows—fists and elbows connecting in a blur beside the shattered remnants of the siren's tank. But more men were coming, and even Cliff couldn't hold them off forever.
Then, I saw him—the younger hunter who'd been holding onto my weapons. He cut through the chaos, eyes locked on me with abject panic.
Gwen started toward him, only to stagger back as a warning shot exploded near her boots. She fell hard on her side, her gun sailing from her grasp. It skittered across the damp wood before ultimately dropping off the side, vanishing with a hollow splash into the swamp.
Fuck.
“Not another move!” the young hunter barked. “I’ll shoot you next time. I swear I will.”
He stepped fully into our path, his face pale and set with determination.
“You really wanna follow orders from a guy like Iverson?” I took a menacing step closer, noticing how the kid's grip on thegun—my gun, I realized—began to shake. “A guy who’d sell out his own people for the right price? You’re nothing to him.”
I took another step toward him. I kept my weapon lowered, silently offering a peaceful stalemate.
“You don’t know anything,” the kid snapped. Fear wavered beneath the ambition in his gaze as he sized me up. He straightened instinctively, trying to close the gap, but the inches I had on him wasn’t lost on either of us.
I let a small, cruel smile touch my lips. “You heard him earlier, didn’t you? You're ajoketo him.”
This struck a chord. He readjusted his grip on the gun with a growl of outrage, knuckles white as he leveled a shot at my chest. The space between us had shrunk to just two feet—close enough to smell the clammy sweat on him.
“For the record, I meant what I said before. It really was nice meeting you,” he said. “But even the Appalachian Reapers aren’t immortal. I’m sorry, but I have to do this.”
