Page 15 of The Darkest Hour

Smoke curled around me.

That damn whistle sounded again from the hallway. Once again, the person had never left his spot, just lured the security around to die.

That’s it. I’m going to personally kill this motherfucker.

All my guns had fallen earlier, I grabbed another gun off the ground next to a body torn to pieces.

Blood splattered all over the place. With all the bombs that had detonated, it looked like two massive gangs had declared war on the island.

I doubt I’d be invited back to this club again or even this side of the world.

The front doors flung open.

Several wounded men stumbled inside.

Crossbow bolts whizzed through the air and sliced through most of them.

Are you fucking kidding me?

The few men that had missed being shot simply fell to the floor themselves and died from something else, probably smoke inhalation or shrapnel from the bomb.

Who the hell still uses crossbows?

One man shook on the floor. “There are. . .electric triggers. . .everywhere. . .bombs. . .computerized. . .bows.”

I kneeled by him. “He has the place rigged?”

“Y-yes.” He fell back down and gasped for air, his chest rising and falling like he’d just ran for his life.

No one else is outside. It’s all rigged. You step a certain place. Boom. The fuck face whistles and then. . .boom.

Using electronics took a lot of planning. People used triggers when they had a small team.

It’s not a big team. Probably two or three people. Maybe even one.

The fuckface whistled again.

I’d been expecting it.

I concentrated on the sound. It would have been musically pleasing, had so many people not been dying around me.

Hmmm.

There was something off about the whistle.

What is it about that whistle?

Something tapped at my head the whole time.

Never mind.

It had come from the hallway again. Clearly, this motherfucker is back on the ceiling. It was a good idea for him to shut off the lights.

I breathed in and out.

Fuck it.

Quiet rode out the air.