He laughs and coughs through a bloodstained smile.
“You think your opinion matters to me? You’re an insect. A parasite. A product of western capitalism who thinks they’re superior to the rest of the world, just because you sit and you talk and you offer an opinion about other people’s problems. You know nothing of true war. Of real struggle. Of real values. Time and again, people like you use warriors like me for your own battles, then cast us to one side the moment we’re no longer of any use. Well no more! Today, I will send a message to the entire world, showing them that everyone is expendable — not just the men and women who choose to fight for their people!”
“Roman, you’re certifiable, do you know that? This ends now.”
I leap forward, as much as I can under the circumstances, leading with my left elbow. He wasn’t expecting it and catches it square on his right cheek. We both fall to the floor — him flat on his back, dazed, and me on my hands and knees.
I can’t let him get any kind of advantage. I don’t have much energy left. I’ve lost a lot of blood and it’s getting harder to stay conscious than it is to fight with him. I crawl forward so I’m level with him and hammer my right fist down into his face. Once, then twice. His lip splits and blood runs slowly down his chin.
I go to stand, intending to kick him a couple of times, but as I get to my feet, Ketranovich’s left hand grabs my ankle. I can see what’s going to happen, but I’m moving too slow to stop it. He rolls over and slams his right elbow into my left knee. It immediately gives way and my borderline dead weight loses what little support it had left. I crash to the floor, my left leg throbbing in pain.
Oh my God…
I grit my teeth and fight to ignore the pain. I roll over on my back, bringing both legs up to my side. I quickly rub my knee to get the blood flowing again, as well as trying to take some pressure off my knife wound — which doesn’t look or feel all that good.
I look over, preparing to defend the inevitable onslaught from Ketranovich. But nothing comes. He simply struggles to his feet and slowly, stubbornly, sets off once more for the detonator.
I roll on my front and reach behind me for a Beretta. I’m lying on the ground, as straight as I can, with my right arm outstretched. I close one eye and take aim. I can see a dark blur, with a lighter blur either side dancing around. I blink rapidly to clear up my vision. It doesn’t work and I relax my arm a moment, closing my eyes tightly.
If I’m honest, right now, I could just as easily never open them again, but that’s the easy way out… I can’t allow myself to stop. Not yet.
I take a few deep, painful, breaths and take aim again. The dancing blurs slowly merge together and I can see Ketranovich clearly once again. He bends down for a moment, then stands up slowly and turns toward me. He has the detonator in his left hand.
Ah, shit!
This is it. Bottom of the ninth. Do or die. I only have one shot, and if I miss, he’ll hit the switch and it’ll be game over. I don't think or hesitate.
I fire once. The gunshot echoes around the compound.
The second it takes for the bullet to reach Ketranovich feels like a lifetime. I hold my breath and wait.
The bullet hits him in the chest, dead center. He lets out a scream of pain as he flings his arms into the air and staggers backward. The detonator once again flies out of his hand. He takes a couple of steps back and falls to the floor.
Goodnight sweetheart.
I let out a long breath and drop my gun.
It’s over.
I roll over on my back and close my eyes. I want to take a nice, deep, relaxing breath, but I’m in far too much pain for such luxuries.
God, I feel like I've been stabbed in the stomach or something.
Oh, wait…
I prop myself up on my elbows and look down at the wound.
I huff dismissively. I've had worse…
I roll onto my side and push myself up into a sitting position. I hug my knees to my chest and sit squinting in the afternoon sun, listening to the eerie silence that’s descended on the compound.
What a day…
I check my watch.
Christ, it’s not even lunchtime!
I look over my shoulder and see Ketranovich lying on the ground, not moving. I breathe a sigh of relief.
That’s a good sign at least.
I reach for my gun and painfully try to stand up. I stagger over to his body, one hand clutching my stomach, the other clutching my Beretta. I need to make sure he’s dead. And Dark Rain along with him.
I approach him and tap his leg with my foot. There’s no reaction. I raise my gun and take aim at his head. I look at him for a moment and fire three times. His skull all but disappears, dissolving into a dark red puddle on the sand, which slowly expands around him.
Better safe than sorry.
I look around and quickly find the detonator. I holster my gun and look behind me, over at the main gate. No sign of the cavalry just yet.
Sadly, there’s no sign of Clara either…
I’ve got a bullet with her fucking name on it.
I hold the detonator in my hand, looking at it for a moment. It’s hard to believe that such a small device can control such devastating power. I put it in my pocket and take out my phone. I sit back down on the dirt and call Josh.
“Adrian, thank God!” he says as he answers. “You alright?”
“Yeah, I'm good,” I say, wincing in pain. “It’s all over. Ketranovich is dead, and I have the detonator. I just wish I could’ve stopped them shooting down the airstrike.”
“Adrian, don't blame yourself for that, okay? It was a tragedy, but forget about it now — it'll be handled by all those government types. You’ve done enough. I’m just glad you’re alive.”
“Me too. I just wanna get out of here, Josh. I need a holiday.”
“I'll book the flights right now, Boss,” he says, laughing. But his tone soon changes. “What happened to Clara?”
I look around again, but I know it won’t change anything. Her bike’s still there, resting on its side from earlier. The hangar door’s still open. I want so badly to go after her and put a bullet right between her eyes. But right now, I need all my energy just to stay conscious.
“No idea,” I say. “She disappeared while I was fighting Ketranovich. I don't know if she's still on site or not, and if I’m completely honest, right now, I don't really care. If she's alive, I'll find her and kill her. But… not now.”
“That's the smartest thing you've said all week,” says Josh, laughing once more. “Get outta there, Adrian.”
I look over at Clara's motorcycle again and smile. “Way ahead of you, my friend.”
I hang up and walk over to the bike. Taking one last look around, to make sure Clara isn't lying in wait and planning to shoot me or anything, I use what strength I have left to lift the motorcycle up and climb on. I start it up, taking a final look at Ketranovich’s body, then speed off across the courtyard, through the main gate and out to the desert track.
I blast down the dirt road, past the warning sign about the compound, heading for the main highway. After a couple of miles, I spot the first helicopter in the air. Quickly followed by two more. Ahead of me, I see a convoy of vehicles speeding toward me, leaving a thin trail of dust behind them in the distance.
The helicopters approach and hover above me as I turn off the track and hit the highway. I immediately slow down, eventually stopping. I sit with the engine idling, one foot on the ground, my arms folded across my chest. My right hand is resting on top of my stab wound. The convoy reaches me a minute later and slows to a stop.