The Cold Darkness of the Night: Chapter 37

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Chapter 37 

 

 

Michael and John flew around the corner in the hallway. Both sets of eyes examined their environment, looking for shadows to slip into before their attackers caught up with them. They found a spot a split second before the mercenaries exploded down the corridor, bearing down on them.

 

 

Dishevelled locks of curly red hair blazed in the sunlight as a pale man climbed out of his blue Toyota Corolla. The dark freckles dotting his skin stood out in stark contrast against his pearlescent face. His tattered shoes crunched on gravel while he moved to his trunk. His wrinkly, black baggy sweatpants swayed with his steps. He grabbed a black pump-action shotgun. As he pumped the slide, his faded grey sweater fluttered in the breeze.

 

 

A sawed-off shotgun wobbled and bounced as it cut into dark recesses, followed by the man in a green windbreaker. He rushed alongside the shapely woman in leather. Once they were halfway down a hallway, approaching clamouring footsteps materialized into the mercenaries who chased John and Michael.

 

 

They burst around the corner, spoiling for violence. Infectious aggression beamed through their eyes. The hardened killers were like mighty demons, spitting fire and mayhem as they charged in a blood wake. They lusted for torment and carnage, longing to savagely rip apart anyone who crossed them. A great ocean of crimson, shredded flesh, and mangled organs would be all that remained when their work was done. The unstoppable force would saturate the entire world.

 

 

Brian and Bill cautiously stepped into the warehouse and slunk into black crevices and open spaces, searching for the gunfire. It seemed suspiciously quiet inside. Uncomfortable sensations crept in at their extremities and leaked into the rest of their bodies. They got a robust sense of foreboding. The spell was abruptly broken as they heard heavy scrambling footsteps nearby. The uncharacteristic silence was shattered even more by the staccato of gunfire.

 

 

The man with a goatee felt a sudden jolt of energy. He instinctively spun around as the din spread to every inch of the gnarled, rotting wood. His long hair swayed in an arc. He snapped into action, his ostentatious shoes rapidly closing the distance between him and the cacophony.

 

 

John and Michael’s enemies ran right past them, distracted by outrage. Abrupt flashes of astonishment mirroring their own, they stopped when they saw the attractive woman and her partner. The two of them each dove into the rooms on either side of the approaching mercenaries.

 

 

The pale freckled man followed Bill and Brian, watching them slip into the warehouse. He maintained stealth even though he knew that the bloodshed had already begun. This was pure instinct. Crossing the threshold, he was mildly stunned. No one was in the entrance or surrounding area, despite his estimation that shots had been fired just inside. Hearing a gun battle close by, he carefully moved toward it.

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