His wild shot missed, and the man on the left swung a serrated combat knife at his outstretched arms. He fell back, dodging the blade by a hair. It swished through the air near his hands. The guy had put too much into it. He’d been hoping to take a limb off. He staggered forward, thrown off balance by exerting maximum effort and missing. King kicked him hard as he stumbled into range, just above the knee. His boot crushed into tendons. He heard a loud snap and the man went down screaming, twisting away from the source of pain.
By then, the second man was already on King. He swung an identical knife, both probably purchased together, both seemingly badass until they were put up to the task of attacking an ex-Special Forces soldier. This time, King’s weight was resting heavy on his lead leg and he had no time to completely avoid the attack. The blade caught the back of his hand, slicing along the skin and drawing blood instantly. He winced and let go of the Beretta involuntarily, a natural reaction to such an injury. It clattered to the forest floor and as he retreated the second guy stepped over it, advancing toward King. The Beretta was impossible to access without going through the second guy. Perhaps King had underestimated them. One of them had just effectively disarmed him.
He squared up to the man, head pounding. The guy’s friend was struggling to get to his feet behind him, sporting a freshly broken leg. For now, it was one on one.
King feinted a low kick. If the guy across from him had any kind of martial arts experience he would know not to over-react. He smiled inwardly as the man flinched as hard as he possibly could, bringing both hands down to protect his stomach against a non-existent kick. By the time he had covered himself up fully, King had bull-rushed him. He slammed into the guy, putting all his weight behind the impact, knocking him senseless. As their bodies clashed King seized the man’s knife hand in a vice-like grip and shook it. A sharp, targeted move, full of violence. The guy’s grip slipped and the knife cascaded away.
King caught it.
He reached down and plucked it out of the air by the handle before it hit the ground. Up close, King heard the guy’s heavy breathing and panic as he realised that his enemy excelled in a messy, close-quarters fight. By now there was no time to separate the two.
King brought his arm up and sunk the blade into the man’s gut, all ten inches of it, tearing through skin and opening his stomach. He slid the knife out with little resistance. The man stood in place, frozen in shock. King decided to end it quickly and shoved the blade up under his chin. The knife penetrated through his mouth and burrowed into his brain. He was dead before King pushed him away.
His limp body clattered to the forest floor and King stepped over him and snatched the Beretta off the ground. The guy with the broken leg raised a hand in desperation, as if to say Wait! but King was beyond caring. These two men had tried to kill him. They’d intended to stab him to death, two on one, an unfair ambush. They had asked for it.
He fired twice, which was all that was necessary. Both 9mm rounds hit home, dotting the top of the guy’s forehead. He jerked back and face-planted the dirt. Just as dead as his friend.
Mulling over what had occurred would come later. Right now, there was no time to think. These two were nothing more than hired goons. He checked his wounded hand. Bloody, but far from life-threatening. He wouldn’t bleed out from the cut. He would worry about it later, just like everything else.
He turned back to where he had last seen the figure. The man who had shot at him from a vantage point. That was the man he wanted. Preferably alive, so that he could piece the mystery together. Without a shadow of remorse he set off on the same path, leaving the pair of corpses in the undergrowth. He would not come back for them. He would forget they had ever existed.
The forest grew thicker the further he headed into its depths. Brambles and foliage and trees pressed in on all sides, obstructing his attempts to move efficiently. He found himself zigzagging down the hill, eyes wide, searching desperately for any sign of the shooter. So far, nothing. He ducked under a cluster of branches, Beretta raised. Unsure of how many rounds left. The adrenalin rush had obscured his ability to keep track of the ammo count. He would simply keep firing until the gun clicked dry.
He’d reached the bottom of a small valley. A rocky hill ascended in front of him, home to clusters of boulders wrapped in moss and plants. At the base of the formation there was a gap between two of the boulders, the space in between spiralling away into shadow. A cave of sorts. As soon as King broke out into the open area, a shot whistled past him. The crack of the report came blasting out of the cave, accompanied by a sharp muzzle flare. King fired back, two or three rounds, straight down the entrance. He saw nothing but darkness. It was impossible to tell whether he had hit his target. He would never know unless he ventured inside. Which was a foolish thought in the first place, as his adversary would be able to see him much clearer than he could see back.
King crossed the space in front of the cave quickly, before the man inside had time to regroup and fire back. Hopefully, his warning shots had made the shooter recoil, abandon his aim. He made it safely to the lip of the cave and ducked behind one of the boulders, creating cover between them. He pressed himself against its wet stony surface and waited.
It made for a tense and difficult situation. The woods lapsed into silence, all wildlife scared off by the gunshots traded between the two men. King listened for any kind of noise from the cave, breathing heavy.
He thought he heard a noise. Footsteps on the rock, approaching fast. He stuck an arm around the boulder and pumped the trigger of the Beretta, once, twice, three times, firing blind. He continued to unload the clip. He lost count of the shots. He knew the Beretta M9 had a fifteen-round box magazine, but he had no idea when it would expire.
Finally, the gun clicked. King waited a moment, allowing the ringing in his ears to settle. Then he stuck his head around the corner, searching for any sign of a body near the lip of the cave.
Nothing visible.
A cacophony of heavy gunfire came back at him. He felt the displaced air all around his head and ducked back behind cover. The noise of the automatic rifle was deafening. The shooter had planned to overwhelm King with a swarm of bullets as soon as he stuck a limb out of cover. King heard the rounds continue to whizz past and knew aggression was taking over. The man was spraying and praying, hoping he had hit King.
Hoping it would all be over.
When King heard the unmistakeable click of another empty magazine ring out from the cave entrance, he didn’t hesitate. Now was his chance. It may be the only one he got.
He raced around the corner and charged headlong into the cave. At first he saw nothing but darkness. Then his heart skipped a beat as a figure came rushing out of the shadows. He hadn’t been expecting such a sudden response. He got one look at the man’s outfit — expensive khakis, a brand new bulletproof vest, jet black gloves, a woollen balaclava covering his face. A professional version of the last two men. This guy had experience. He moved with the agility of someone who kept themselves in impeccable shape. King began to regret adopting such a foolhardy approach, but by then it was too late.
The pair collided and sprawled out across the rocky floor of the cave. They had met just inside the entrance, before King could sink into its dark recesses. Enough light spilled into the space to make their surroundings visible. King knew he had potentially met his match, and an urge to gain the advantage early overtook him. He scrambled to his feet and charged at the man, dropping his shoulder low, attempting to crash-tackle him into the opposite wall.