Farrow noticed a line of sweat dripping down his temple. His adrenaline was at maximum. He walked directly up to the door, leaned back and kicked down the entire door and the frame with it.
Alik took in the scene in half a glance. The foyer was massive with two staircases curving up on either side of the expansive space. Positioned around the room were some twenty-five gunmen. Each of them was pointing their weapons directly at Alik and Farrow.
“Hello Alik Winter. And this must be Farrow Schone. Dr. Williams is not too pleased with you,” the voice over what sounded like an old speaker system chided.
Alik counted no fewer than four surveillance cameras around the room. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who the voice belonged to or how he was seeing everything that was happening remotely.
“Arkdone. I’ve come for my family.” Alik’s voice boomed off the cement walls all around.
“Of course, you have. But as you can see, I’m not willing to hand them over. May I introduce you to my Monarch Slaves? These men and women have a very special skill set. They are all killers. Unlike you, Alik, they have no qualms about taking a life. Here allow us to demonstrate.
“Sweep the room!” Arkdone ordered cryptically.
From behind his back, Alik pulled out a screening gas grenade, yanked the clip and threw it into the middle of the Monarchs. Smoke billowed into the room from both ends of the canister. Several of those closest to it dropped their weapons and ran from the scalding heat it gave off while another five were struck with coughing fits thanks to the grenade’s hydrochloric acid. The effect was just what Alik was looking for. It provided cover for him but not for the Monarchs; not with Alik’s eidetic memory having perfectly mapped and memorized the locations of the attackers around the room.
Blind bullets flew from the Monarch’s weapons. Farrow dove for cover behind one of the massive potted plants on either side of what used to be the front door.
Alik felt his body surge with adrenaline coursing through his veins at a terminal velocity. He gripped both Uzis and walked directly into the line of fire, arms outstretched as though willing himself to be crucified for his act of violence. Unlike the ‘expert’ Monarchs, Alik was perfectly trained and precise in his aim. His eyes were staring straight ahead, but his memory of the room and the position of each person in it was perfect.
Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop!
His weapons were alive and breathing bullets in his deft hands. Ninety rounds each was plenty for the initial twenty Monarchs, but more kept spilling into the room. Doors on either side of the foyer opened wide and in streamed more guns. From the upper floor, more guns came running down, guns alight.
Alik didn’t stop.
From behind him, his profoundly heightened senses knew Farrow to be shooting strategically. She was acting as his sniper, picking off the most dangerous of the Monarchs as they fired or ran toward him.
The gunfire was a deafening thunder, but he didn’t need his sense of hearing. His perfect muscle memories knew exactly how many bullets he had left. A surge of attackers came in from the left. Alik dropped his Micro Uzis as the last of one hundred eighty rounds popped furiously from his hands. His hot, tingling hands grabbed a clip to reload when his weapon was kicked out of his hand and flew spinning across the marble floor.
He looked up to see the coal black, dead eyes of a man who stood as tall as him; standing in a martial arts ready stance.
With Farrow behind him, still able to use her Micros to defend him from others, Alik yanked his eight-inch knife from its holster and in one deft movement stepped toward his attacker. The dead-eyed man growled and tried to push Alik back so he could kick or punch, but Alik stayed right in his face. Dead—Eyes stepped back and tried to punch when Alik responded by stepping forward, blocking his punch with his left hand and dragging his razor-sharp hunting knife across his throat in a swift, deep move that had blood gushing from Dead-Eye’s carotid artery.
Behind him came another attacker. This guy’s technique was brute force. He began by punching the back of Alik’s head.
Alik jumped into a full round house and made contact with his face. He spun as he flew and landed with a meaty thwack onto the concrete floor.
Alik glanced at Farrow, who had just run out of bullets herself and together they ran up the stairs, jumping over bodies as they went and being chased by another batch of fresh attackers.
Fifteen men and women raced out of the rooms on either side of the stairs and ran up the steps right behind Alik and Farrow.
No words were exchanged between the two, but they knew they were looking for their family. Each door they came to was either opened or kicked down forcefully. In each room, there were people strapped to beds and though it broke Alik’s heart to have to leave them, he had to find his brother and sister and the others.
Behind them, panting and footsteps were their theme music.
“You can run, but you can’t hide,” Arkdone’s voice chimed happily.