Chapter 57 - Blood on the Conveyor
Below me, the sweep team advanced along the central conveyor belt, their weapon-mounted tactical lights slicing through the clouds of airborne salt dust.
"Sweep Sector Three," their team leader said over an open sub-vocal frequency, his voice echoing faintly through the cavernous hall. "Target is wounded and traveling with two non-combatant assets. Lethal force authorized on the escort. Capture the heirs alive."
I waited until the rear guard passed directly beneath the high-tension cable of an overhead salt hopper. In my hands, I held a four-foot length of rusted scaffolding pipe I had pried from the catwalk railing.
I didn't drop the pipe. I dropped myself.
I descended from thirty feet, striking the rear operator squarely between his shoulder blades. The impact drove him violently into the concrete floor, knocking the breath and the weapon from his body. Before he could cry out, I brought the heavy iron pipe down across his helmet strap, silencing him instantly.
The click of his rifle striking the deck alerted the other three.
"Contact rear!"
Automatic fire erupted instantly. 9mm rounds ripped through the air, sparking against the steel salt hoppers and pulverizing the concrete pillars around me. I rolled hard to my left, diving beneath the steel frame of the primary conveyor belt as bullets chewed through the rubber belting inches above my head.
I brought up the fallen operator's weapon—a suppressed MPX—and leaned out from behind the heavy iron stanchion. I fired two controlled pairs. The second operator crumpled as both rounds found the unarmored junction between his neck and shoulder.
"Grenade!" the point man shouted.
A heavy, cylindrical canister clattered across the concrete, rolling toward my shelter. It wasn't high-explosive; it was a flash-thermal charge designed to blind and incinerate within enclosed spaces.
I kicked a rusted iron wheelbarrow directly over the canister just as it detonated.
The blast erupted in a blinding, concussive flash that violently lifted the heavy iron wheelbarrow off the floor, absorbing the shrapnel but sending a wave of superheated gas washing over my legs. The shockwave rattled my vision, but through the haze of smoke and blinding white dust, I saw the team leader advancing, his weapon leveled directly at my head.
Before he could pull the trigger, a sharp, clean crack echoed from the overhead observation booth.
May you like
A high-velocity round punched through the side of his tactical helmet. He collapsed forward into the salt dust like a puppet with its strings severed.
I looked up. Clara was standing on the narrow catwalk platform, the rifle smoking in her hands, her face cold and pale against the shadows.
