Night had begun to brighten. The sky had taken on a lighter shade.
Beyond the canopy of trees, the fain glow of sunlight peaked over the
horizon.
As
nocturnal creatures had begun to retreat, one stalked the forest.
Samantha’s gaze was as heavy as her gait. Rugged leather boots sunk
into fresh dirt, following alongside the trail of tire tracks.
There
was slight hesitation each instance she trod upon a dead branch, or
happened across a patch of noisy foliage. Her breathing would hasten,
and her eyes would dart to and fro, in search of a hidden ambush.
When it would become clear her anxieties were unfounded, the hunt for
Peter’s captors would resume.
While
she was the sole pursuer of these criminals, she was not alone. One
piece of assistance was currently swinging slightly across her chest,
held to her body by a shoulder strap. The double barreled shotgun was
not as heavy as the weight of worry upon Samantha’s shoulders, yet
it’s stopping power, judging from its sheer mass, was significant.
There was not a light yet that would reflect off the blued steel
barrels, nor catch some of the simple engravings etched upon them.
Its stock was of pure polished wood, that would have been a deep
cherry color. Yet now, in the early morning, the wood was as dark as
all the other trees from which it was made of.
A
belt of slugs hung across Samantha’s opposite shoulder. Each was
meant to fragment upon launch, scattering into a refined, yet brutal
spray of blunderbuss. In all, they did not weigh as heavily as the
shotgun, yet still, their mass contributed significantly.
The
last bit of assistance she had called upon was strapped upon her
side, attached to her waist. In a dark leather holster lay a
colt-style pistol, operating with a single action hammer.
It
was with these tools that she ventured into enemy territory. Samantha
had come across a clearing. Across the dull dawn sky, she could
perceive a monolithic structure, the silhouette of the warehouse. Her
breathing hastened, yet her pace became slow and deliberate. Her eyes
strained, searching for any sign of movement.
From
her pocket, she produced a scope, the kind that would fit atop most
hunting rifles. Within it she peered, making use of what little
natural light there was now available. It was apparent that the
clearing within this forest was man-made, for the terrain had been
paved over with concrete. Several crates lay outside, as well as an
old pickup truck, the one that matched the vehicle Peter’s captors
escaped with.
Samantha
continued to survey the area. She spotted an entrance to the
structure, a lift door that was currently open. That was when her
precautions became justified. Within the mouth of the entrance were
three guards, their pale faces the easiest to spot in the dark. Two
were conversing, while the third was surveying the area with a pair
of binoculars.
Spotting
a massive bush, she took cover behind. Her stomach twisted as she
heard the rustling of leaves and the breaking of twigs. She
determined her hiding spot should at least provide adequate cover,
though she had to bend her head forward, for even in her crouched
posture, she was barely taller than the bush.
Near
the entrance of the warehouse, Samantha’s maneuver did not go
unnoticed. The guard manning the binoculars had caught the slight
movement in the bushes. He focused intently upon it, yet, due to the
dim illumination of dawn, could not perceive anything, or anyone
else.
Putting
down his binoculars, he elbowed his nearby peers, who ceased their
conversation.
“Hey,
movement near the southeast,” he grunted.
“Probably
an animal.” the other dismissed, “There’s a lot of deer around
here.”
“Pretty
burly for an animal,” he argued, “It also could be a cop scoping
out the place.”
A
small smile appeared on his hood-covered face, as his fellow drew his
pistol. His bald, pale face was twisted into annoyed resignation.
Following the directions of his paranoid peer, he ventured out,
tediously confident of a false alarm.
His
approach slowed as he drew close to the bush. He could definitely
make out an unusual shape crouched behind. The bush itself was
massive, easily overtaking him in height. The silhouette within,
though barely visible, appeared humanoid. Grunting, he veered off to
the side, as if he had seen nothing.
However,
the guard did not make his way back to his peers. If he alerted them,
surely, there would be a chance their unknown adversary would escape,
and perhaps bring back company. If he attacked then, a clear shot,
and clean victory would not be guaranteed. The elements of deception
and surprise would have to suffice.
Once
he was sure to be out of the sneak’s line of sight, he made an
about face, venturing into the forest. Black leather boots barely
made any noise, as the treads expertly rolled over soft dirt. As he
made his approach from the other side, he could confirm that indeed,
someone was scoping out the place. Samantha’s crouched form was
clear as day.
A
small smile formed on his lips, for he realized he was dealing with a
young woman. Indeed, a far more appealing catch than what he was
expecting. As far as he could tell, her eyes were still oriented in
the direction of the warehouse.
His
pistol was trained on her. It was brought against her back. Samantha
did not move, and the guard wondered if she felt the barrel’s
deadly touch. Her flannel jacket was thick and burly, and far larger
than expected, even if it fit her rather nicely.
Still,
introductions were in order. Her attention and a complete
understanding of her current predicament was necessary. “Hey
gorgeous,” he began, “bit late for you to be snea-”
The
man’s tounge was caught in his throat, for he realized that
something was incredibly wrong. Despite her crouched posture, she
still appeared to be at least equal to, if not even greater than his
own height. As she slowly drew back, squatting instead of crouching,
it became clear just what he was dealing with. His head only came up
to her chest. If she were to stand to her full potential, he couldn’t
imagine even making it past her waist.
The
shock of such a revelation stole his breath, and froze him in place.
“Oh
dear God…”
Samantha
acted decisively. Her arm shot out, quicker than he expected. Her
reach also exceeded his expectations as well, as he had been slowly
backing away out of pure fright. A mammoth hand engulfed his pistol
hand, much like how an adult’s hand could completely entrap a
child’s. With no hesitation, Samantha applied pressure, even as the
guard began to apply pressure to the trigger of his pistol.
Yet,
her grip was overwhelming, not allowing for much movement. She
continued to squeeze, feeling the resistance of metal, and the
contracting of the guard’s hand as it attempted to compensate the
great force applied to it. Soon enough, there was not much resistance
his hand could provide.
A
sickly crackle emerged from her ensnaring hand, as limbs popped out
of their joint sockets, bones snapped, and metal bent. The man opened
his mouth to scream, yet was silenced by Samantha’s other massive
paw. And so, the guard was left with the torture of silent pain, as
his hand, and pistol were rendered to broken bent forms in the giant
girl’s fist, useless to all.
Samantha
let out a curse, lost in the cool early morning air, as she thrust
the guard’s head down wards. Her knee rose to meet him, bashing
against his temple. She could discern a small crack upon impact, as
all tension in his muscles dissipated.
Out
cold, the guard lay prone. Yet, all activity from him did not cease.
Samantha heard the crack of static emanating from the man’s waist.
At the most opportune time, his fellows were attempting to reach him.
A voice, covered with electric cackles spoke from the device.
“Hey,
hey, you found anything? Over?”
As
gruff as her voice could get, Samantha didn’t bother try imitating
the guy. Surely, they would know the difference.
All
she could do was exclaim in a hushed tone, “Shit, they’ll know
I’m here.”
The
voice out of the walkie talkie repeated, “Report back, over!”
All
presumption of subtly and stealth were thrown out the window. It was
time to go to war. Samantha had taken off into a sprint, her legs,
twice the length of an average man carrying her amazonian frame
towards the warehouse quickly. Her eyes darted across her field of
vision, before settling upon some crates nearest to her position
…
Sinclair
paced about rapidly, aware that his own little hideout was in high
alert. He knew not the threat that had caused this. Handsy and
Oddball had both rushed in, presumably to provide him with update.
“The
fuck’s going on?” he demanded, his harsh tone falling upon
relatively calm expressions, “the cops are storming the place?”
“They
got one of our guys.” Handsy reported, “I don’t see any sirens
though. Should we waste the hostage?”
The
psychopath looked back towards Peter. His bruises and cuts were still
fresh, while his faced remained puffed and distorted. The young man’s
head hung down, listless and motionless. Were it not for the slight
puff and contraction of his chest, he could have easily been mistaken
for dead. Perhaps in a few hours, he would be.
This
had crossed Sinclair’s mind. His pacing had stopped, for
contemplation weighed upon his mind. Yet, it did not take him long to
come to a decision.
“Sounds
like one troublemaker,” he dismissed, “Give ‘em a piece of our
mind, but keep him alive. I think our guest here needs some company.”
As
both his accomplices rushed out of the room, Sinclair paced about
again, much like a predator in wait.
…
The
crates Samantha had elected to hide behind were of sufficient height
as to not make crouching a requirement. She stood a head taller than
a single crate, yet there were two stacked. Her cover was racked by
gun fire, some semi-automatic, and other automatic. Samantha was sure
that should she try finding a different spot, her fate would be
sealed.
Her
head pressed against the crate. It was cold to the touch. Its coat of
paint had begun to flake. It vibrated, as if caught in an earthquake,
each tremor the result of bullet. While the cracks of gunfire filled
the morning air, Samantha could discern another set of sounds. She
heard the flurry of hurried footsteps. They were drawing close,
providing her with a hunch.
In
her hands, she gripped her double-barrel shotgun. A thumb pulled back
the hammer of the left barrel. Her finger stood ready at the trigger.
The patter of footsteps hastened, heading to her left. Meanwhile, the
rate of gunfire had slowed, perhaps as to not hit the man that was to
ambush her.
Her
breath steadied, as she readied her gun. She could here the paces of
the one to her left, about to turn the corner.
On
cue, a man, clad in a black jacket, and wielding a semi-automatic
rifle had popped into her view. Samantha could read the shock on his
face, as his neck craned to make eye contact with her. This
hesitation was a fatal mistake. She pulled the trigger to her
shotgun, the resulting gunfire evocative of a cannon going off,
rather than small arms.
The
massed blunderbuss tore through the man, sending shards of flesh, and
streams of blood out his back. The sheer force of Samantha’s
shotgun was too much for the man, and upon impact, he was lifted off
his feet, before tumbling down, meters away from where he stood. When
the guard came to rest, he was but a corpse, tattered and motionless.
Her
attacker dispatched, Samantha took the time to glance around the
corner. She could spot around three guards at the entrance. They
appeared motionless at the moment. Wasting no time, she advanced,
keeping her shotgun at the ready. A prone pickup truck, in even worse
shape than the one that carried off Peter, stood in parallel with the
entrance. The cover it provided would be less substantial than the
cargo crates, yet, Samantha had determined it would make an excellent
staging position for her to plan her next move.
She
could hear cracks of gunfire as she made her advance. Her posture was
hunched over, for her immense size gave her a rather large profile.
Yet, her legs were able to carry her at a swift velocity, certainly
far quicker than the average man could manage. In a few seconds, she
was seated, back against the truck, shielded from the hail of bullets
that assaulted the truck. So far, the vehicles steady metal frame
proved sufficient in absorbing ammunition, yet Samantha doubted she
would be allowed to remain there for long.
Footsteps
were heard once more, yet the gunfire persisted. Samantha could
discern a plurality of paces. Without even taking a peek, she could
tell the men at the entrance had begun to encroach upon her position.
Unlike her previous victim, their steps were more measured, slower.
Soon
enough, the crack of firearms had begun to slow. The three guards
were against the truck, no doubt readying a pincer attack. Two would
head one way, and one the other. Samantha would have to anticipate
where the one would go, so she could break the entrapment easiest.
However,
a stupidly simple idea had popped into her head. Were she not
clutching her mighty shotgun she would have brought a palm to her
forehead for not thinking of it earlier.
In
one movement, she stood at her full height, while also facing the
truck she had braced her back against. She briefly caught the rather
surprised faces of the men awaiting her on the other side. Before
they could bring their weapons to bear, Samantha kicked at the truck.
Her boot collided with the cabin, shattering the window in the
process, as well as bending the frame. The truck was sent sliding a
short distance, carrying the three guards along with it. Desperate
shouts of surprise could be heard from the men as they were unwilling
and unexpected passengers of the pickup.
Yet,
the pickup did not remain prone, it tipped back, looming over the
men. Their screams became blood-curdling, before the pickup fell, its
metallic bulk falling upon the three. A sickening crunch was heard,
silencing them for good.
With
a full view of the entrance, Samantha spotted a newcomer. Unlike his
now crushed peers, he did not possess a simple rifle. He was armed
with something that possessed a larger barrel. The barrel was fed
with a massive wheel, each round appeared as large as a fist.
A
grenade launcher.
Samantha
could not help but shout out, “Son of a bitch!” as she began
scurrying away. Though she still was a good distance away from the
door, she could tell the heavily-armed man was sporting a most
gleeful smile.
The
weapon was fired, its payload delivered with a soft thump instead of
an explosive crack as all other arms. A second later, the round
landed just behind the truck, sending orange flames and black smoke
spewing from the impact point. Samantha had managed to land a good
distance away, but was still hit by a concussive blast that knocked
her down.
Still,
she managed to roll over. As she did so, she pulled back the hammer
to her second barrel. Once landing on her stomach, she took aim at
the entrance. The man had been tracing her movement with the barrel
of the launcher. Another round had just popped into place.
Samantha
managed to squeeze off a shot just in time. Her buckshot exploded
forwards. Nearly thirty feet was she from the entrance, and yet, her
aim was true. The man was lifted off his feet, almost performing a
back flip, before landing in a lifeless heap within his own base.
On
her knees, Samantha pulled two more rounds from her shoulder sling.
The thick cylinders were loaded in the breech of her shotgun. The
blued steel was no longer cold to the touch as it had been earlier
than night. In fact, it was comfortably warm. As she snapped the
breech back, Samantha soldiered forth, her massive frame more akin to
an approaching storm.
The
entrance she now solicited had a ten foot clearance, requiring her to
bend down as to not hit her head. She breathed easier, having
survived the first engagement. Yet doing so, her guard was lowered.
Waiting
behind were two men, one to her right and one to her left. As she
passed through, the one to her right leapt up, brandishing a knife.
The other ducked down, heading for her legs.
Caught
by surprise, Samantha could only jerk back. Her shotgun could not be
brought to bear on her assailants, for they were far too close. She
stuck out a leg, bashing the man going from them in the head. He fell
back, still conscious, but clearly dazed.
Still,
with the other man on her shoulder, she had to keep moving. He kept
on her, yet could not steady himself so as to plunge his knife down
her neck. Samantha then swung to the side, sending his body jerking
and swaying. It was as if the man were riding a raging bull. Despite
gripping nothing but fabric, he could feel the muscles that lay
beneath, and the overwhelming strength that they could bring.
As
she continued moving, Samantha’s hands managed to get a grip on the
man’s legs. With a massive grunt, she bent over, throwing him to
the ground. The impact forced a burst of air out of his lungs, while
the trauma left him temporarily immobilized.
He
gazed listlessly upwards, before Samantha came into his view again.
She appeared to stretch forever, into the ceiling, although he
suffered a mere trick of perspective. The Amazon betrayed no words,
as she lifted her boot. He caught a brief glimpse of dirt-caked
treads, and smashed leaves. It was the last sight he ever beheld of
his life, as she stomped down. The sheer force and weight of her foot
and leg smashed the man’s face in, and caved his skull. What was
left was a bloody mess of mushy flesh, splattered blood, and bits of
bone.
She
turned back, observing the other man coming to. In two quick strides,
she made it to where he was. The man had been crouched down, trying
to shake off the last remnants of dizzyness. He was not given the
chance to as a massive hand took him by the collar. He was lifted up,
before being smashed into one of the walls.
His
eyes met those of his furious assailant. Her mouth was formed into a
gritted scowl. Her brow was furrowed along the ridges. Her eyes, blue
and clear, burned with explosive fury.
For
a second, he was held there. His feet hung a clear six feet off the
ground. The man flailed his arms against Samantha’s grip, to no
avail. Not a single ounce of her strength relented against him. As
his movements slowed, Samantha closed in. Her hot breath washed
against his face.
“Alright
you little scumbag, where are you holding him?” Her question was
spoken as if making a statement, not a query.
There
was a second of silence. The man allowed himself to smile, as he
asked most sheepishly, “Who?”
He
was pulled from the wall. There was no sign of strain from Samantha,
supporting the weight of a full grown man on her own with one arm.
The man was brought back violently against the wall, causing his head
to jerk forward far to quickly. Bright spots had begun filling his
vision. It did not take much for him to recall the sheer trauma this
woman could cause.
Samantha
had done away with any form of subtly. Her voice bellowed against the
wall, throughout the building, from the heights of the ceiling, to
the depths of the ground as she shouted, “Don’t waste my time!
You’ve got my boyfriend, where is he?”
The
man didn’t lose his smile. It was the sort of smile one had,
heading into a tornado. It was the sort of smile possessed by a lone
warrior, surrounded by ten thousand of the enemy. It was a smile that
dared death itself. It was due to this smile, that Samantha knew her
question was fruitless.
“Boyfriend?”
he began, attempting to sound as mocking as possible, “Just what
kind of freak is he-”
The
woman’s grip tightened around his neck. Her hand was almost too big
for the job. Only two fingers and a thumb could wrap around it, her
other fingers hand to be splayed across his shoulder.
Her
actions were instinctual, a pure reaction out of sheer rage. It was
not, by any means, accidental. Samantha was in no hurry to calm
herself down. As the man’s face became swollen, his mouth agape,
his eyes listless, and his body still, a sense of catharsis swept
through her. She suppressed a small grin of satisfaction, as she felt
his trachea crumble under immense pressure. This satisfaction only
increased in measure, as small cracks of vertebrae could be heard.
Soon
enough, the poor man could bear no more. His neck gave in, the bones
crumbled with a mighty crack. His head tilted listlessly to the side,
as if attached by string to the rest of his body. All movement
ceased, save for a few last jerks of neural activity.
A
critical eye inspected her latest victim, before she tossed his
corpse to the side. Her ears, now sharp from adrenaline, detected
additional movement. Readying her shotgun, she proved prepared as
another appeared around the corner of a massive crate, further in the
building. He was only in view for the blink of an eye, before he too
fell to a round of buckshot.
She
did not face a lone challenger, however. Three more scurried behind
him. Their weapons were at the ready. The red head knew she would not
get enough time to challenge them in a gunfight, and thus, sprinted
towards the crate, obscuring them from view. Unlike those outside,
the crate’s here were easily the size of a small condo. Samantha
even wondered if the object she hid behind was cargo, or simply an
entrance to another room.
Nevertheless,
at such proximity, she would quickly get overwhelmed easily if she
wasn’t careful. The worst case scenario would be to get surrounded.
Judging from the tactics her enemies had employed earlier, they
appeared to be aiming for such an advantage, and would no doubt move
to do so the next time she came into view.
With
a sigh, she looked upwards. A hand fell to her waist, and she
released the holster to her sidearm.
The
other three remained still, their weapons at the ready. Two carried
pistols, and were right up against the crate, while one hung further
back, armed with a rifle. The man back motioned for the other two to
move, and they began to slink around the crate.
A
series of metallic poundings stopped them in their tracks. The crate
was vibrating, and for sure, their oversized adversary was on the
move. Yet, the stomps echoed around the warehouse, making it
difficult to pinpoint which direction she had taken. The man back
swung his head towards each direction.
Yet,
neither direction would do him any good, for Samantha had climbed
atop the crate, and raced across it. Each step left a dent in the
material. In a few seconds, she had made it across, in full view of
her enemy. With no hesitation, she took a leap.
The
man with the rifle had spotted her out of the corner of his eye.
However, by the time he had realized what he saw, Samantha was
already in flight. Her twelve foot frame flew far, propelled by her
mighty legs. By the time he brought his rifle to bear, she was
already on top of him.
Gravity
did the rest of the work. As she came down, the man was thrown down
on his back, subject to her full weight. One of her boots came to
rest on his wrist, completely annihilating it. He would have
screamed, were it not for the fact that Samantha’s other foot came
down upon his chest, absolutely shattering his ribcage. All that
would exit his mouth would be a gush of blood and bile.
By
the time she had landed, and incapacitated the first man, did the
other two turn around. One raised his pistol, while the other began
scurrying to the side. Samantha too, raised her weapon. There was a
shot, a single small crack. The projectile met its mark. Etching a
deep dent into blue steel. Samantha felt her shotgun flail. Throwing
off her aim. The shock from the impact had managed to make her lose
her grip on her weapon.
The
man smiled, his gun still trained on the amazon. He raised his
eyebrows, while shaking his gun. Samantha saw his grip relax upon the
handle of his weapon.
Her
action was instantaneous. In one quick motion, she brought her Colt
up, and fired off a single shot. Such was the speed of her counter,
her arm was nearly rendered invisible. Her aim was true, she had hit
the man, directly in the face. The powerful round, fired from perhaps
the most powerful handgun in the world, blew his head clean off.
From
her side, she heard a curse. Samantha instinctively rolled out of the
way, as two quick shots were unloaded from the last remaining man.
Reorienting herself, she readied her pistol, yet, was pointing at
empty space, where earlier, a man had stood. Her eyes darted about,
yet she could not find where the man had run off to.
There
was a roar of an engine. Samantha felt her breathing stop. She heard
the rolling of tires, and the lumbering of metal. The illumination of
the warehouse was adequate, considering the dark sky outside,
allowing Samantha to pinpoint exactly where the mechanical noise had
come from.
The
last runaway had found himself a heavy forklift. It lumbered into
view, as its driver lay safely behind a blocky canopy. The engine of
this mighty beast lay in a metallic square container. Its tires were
tall, with massive treads that could accommodate boot tracks.
With
a roar, the forklift charged forward, at a velocity almost impossible
for its size. Samantha realized too late, within the cluttered
warehouse, that she had little room to maneuver. She raised her colt,
and fired two times. Her first bullet was caught by glass. The second
one managed to break through, but missed her intended target.
She
would not be able to fire a third. The forklift’s driver let out a
psychotic yell, as he crashed into the immense woman. Samantha’s
strength would not save her this time, as she was carried back, back
towards the crate she had hid behind.
In
short order, her back made contact with the crate. Samantha felt the
wind fly out of her from the force of impact. A searing pain shot
through her chest, as the vehicle’s weight was brought against her
massive frame. The forklift stood slightly taller than her, yet has
she braced her arms against it, her struggles proved a net loss as
the vehicle continued to advance.
Samantha
felt her biceps strain, and her knees buckle. She looked her enemy in
the eyes, watching him wildly stick out his tongue, and holler like a
hooligan in presumed victory, as he vigorously pressed on the
accelerator. Strain that took her muscles, leaked into her bones. It
appeared for the first time that night, it would be her’s that
would be broken.
“I’m
dining on giant bitch soup tonight!” she heard, hollered within the
shattered windshield.
With
a glare, Samantha release one of her arms, as she continued to brace
her knees against the vehicles advance. She was currently straddled
between the fork, and the crate. Only sheer constitution kept her
from becoming a bloody pancake.
Yet,
her next movements were swift. Her free arm reached through the
canopy. Her grip found the man’s chest, and before her could react,
he was pulled out.
He
flew, bashing his head against the crate he intended to smash his
enemy against. The blow sent him crumpling to the ground in a dazed
heap.
With
the man’s efforts off of the accelerator, the advance of the
forklift slowed, allowing Samantha to pry herself free. With a mighty
kick, she forced the heavy machine back, before it rolled to a stop.
A
loud exhale relaxed the towering woman’s posture. Her boots heavily
thudded against the floor as she approached the prone form of the man
who had nearly been the death of her. He lay face down. Aside from an
oscillating movement of his back, he lay completely still.
He
was brought to life once more as Samantha grabbed him from the
collar, lifting him up so that his eyes were even to hers. Again, he
was slammed into the crate. Feeling the strength of her grip, he made
no effort to resist. His eyes nervously twitched, relenting under her
hostile glare.
“I
hope you’re not as smart as the other guy.” Samantha began,
“Where are you holding your hostage?”
The
man shook his head, “None of your business.”
“If
you don’t squeal,” she threatened, tightening her grip, “I’ll
break you so you will!”
A
steely resolve, absent moments earlier, manifested within the man’s
eyes, “Try me!”
Samantha’s
bulky arm retracted, but her grip upon him did not relent. Her other
arm, once hanging down the side, was brought against the man’s
back. He was entrapped against her, his face in her chest, but there
was no trace of tenderness with her gesture. Both arms wrapped around
his torso, and beneath the heavy fabric of her flannel jacket, he
could feel heavy muscle that lurked within.
She
wasted no time increasing the pressure. The man’s spine began to
bend back. He grit his teeth, for the strain upon his back began to
become apparent. The woman’s chest, despite it being obscured by
her articles of clothing, was rather large, it took him the utmost
strain to peer up into her eyes. As always, her glare was
unrelenting, full of disgust and hatred. If she could kill with a
look, he would already be dead.
Finally,
his head was brought away from her immense body, but not of his own
will. Such was the strain on his spine, that his back had begun to
bend back all the way. He let out a scream, but moved to stifle it.
It was necessary to bite down on his tongue, sending a trickle of
salty blood down his throat. He could not stifle the pain, not as it
reached its apex.
There
was a mighty crack, deeper and more substantial than any gunshot. The
man’s view was turned upon its head, as he had now bent all the way
back, his spine snapped in two. A blood-curdling scream escaped his
throat, and there was nothing he could do to stifle it. Samantha’s
arms release him, allowing him to collapse in a broken heap upon the
concrete floor.
The
amazon brought a heavy boot upon his chest, the weight restricting
his breathing. As she leaned down, with the same tone, she repeated
her demand, “Mind telling me now? Or do you want to start lookin’
for amputee insurance, because I’m ready to start pullin limbs!”
Pain
had broken what resolve, if any, he possessed. Words could not escape
his mouth, yet his arms could still move. A finger directed
Samantha’s eyes to the far side of the warehouse, to a lift that
led to a balcony.
She
took her foot off of the man’s chest. “That’s more like it!”
she exclaimed.
Bringing
her shotgun to her chest, Samantha noted the dented barrel, and
cursed her carelessness. She couldn’t trust the weapon’s
operation,.Yet her colt, despite it being loaded with only five
rounds instead of six, was still operational, and still possessed
ammunition.