green. There was no reason to assume there was any sort of ambush waiting, but he last as long as he had because he operated on the belief that there was never a reason not to assure there was an ambush.
He surveyed the area a few moments more and then said confidently, “Clear.”
Two of the shadows along the wall detached themselves and moved into a crunch toward the back door.
His men treaded cautiously side by side and they had their rifles at the ready, and balaclavas covering their faces. They all moved to the back door, but in the meantime, the scout had come in through the front, making certain that Gray didn’t try to beat a retreat in that direction. They converged at the opposite side and slowly advanced.
Gunfire broke out in the alley behind the trains. There was a sighting of Dorian Gray over the hostile band. Vicious commandos, desperate to get away, opened fire on Dorian, who returned fire with extreme prejudice. The sound echoed off the grimy brick walls of the area. Bullets ricocheted off the rusted worn out cars. Frightened rats scurried for safety. Broken glass,
DORIAN GRAY
• 66 •
cigarette butts, syringes, crack vials, and other debris crunched beneath the heels of the shooters.
Armed troopers converged on the murky passage, massing on both corners, just out of the line of fire. They exchanged hand signals and counted down silently before rounding the corner, their rifles aimed high and low. Dorian sprinted after them.
He kept his gun drawn and his eyes probed the darkness. His ears strained to hear which way his quarry had gone. For a few, frustrating moments, he was afraid that the fiery terrorists had given him the slip, but then he thought he heard some furtive footsteps ahead, just around a corner.
He signaled the men behind him to be on their guard. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, keeping him sharp. Dorian welcomed the extra edge.
Sure enough, the minute they rounded the corner, they were met with a furious hail of gunfire. Muzzles flared in the shadows. Bullets sparked off the walls, chipping away at the stonework. Dorian and his men pulled back, seeking shelter while returning fire.
“KEEP FIRING!” The enemy leader screamed.
Dorian heard him and, on top of a car, saw his enemy’s figure rise, holding a machine pistol. A spray of automatic fire was coming right at him.
Little did Dorian know a commando had slithered through the defenses, and had a bead on him.
JOHN GRAVAGLIA
• 67 •
The targeting laser shifted all the way to Dorian. But the shooter was too late to realize his fatal mistake. He’d been thrown off by Dorian’s size.
He had a submachine gun and managed to squeeze off a round before Dorian reached him. Dorian barely noticed as he grabbed the weapon’s barrel, forcing it upward as the shooter squeezed the trigger on full auto. Bullets sprayed all over the place.
Dorian wrenched the gun from the other man’s hands and shot him with his own weapon.
One of Dorian’s men reached through the debris and sprayed up with his sidearm. A shooter’s first bullet caught his shoulder, nailing him back against a wall. He felt the second bullet punch like a fist into his chest. The next three bullets were buttons that entered in a straight line down his chest.
Then another bullet slammed into his chest, a second blow almost on top of the first, nearly knocking the wind from his lungs.
One hit the arm he had thrown up over his face, leaving it feeling bruised and numb.
The third round sailed past his head and up over the Manhattan skyline.
The kid collapsed on the asphalt, struggling to catch his breath. He wondered what the assassin had been firing. Because it felt like several of his ribs were broken.
His chest was on fire.
DORIAN GRAY
• 68 •
“Cody’s down!” Yelled Henry, and then returned fire on his friend’s killers.
Dorian picked up Cody’s rifle and dropped down on one knee, firing through the one shade of cover that was available, nailing two enemy soldiers that were rushing at them. Eventually those guys were going to try flanking. And then, Dorian figured, he and his comrades were screwed.
As if the hostiles had heard him thinking, a group of them came from his left flank—three of them, one firing a shotgun nearly took Dorian’s head off.
As one, Dorian, Henry, and the rest of the team all swung left, firing as they did, all of them were ripping into the oncoming soldiers, making them dance with the impacts of the bullets, splashing the walls with fresh red blood. But there were always more where these came from. They were going to run out of ammo—and then what? Maybe scrounge weapons from the fallen.
The faction had taken casualties, heavy casualties, but they’d still managed to push what remained of the team into position two. And he wasn’t worried. Not just because of the snarling hostiles—who fought as if possessed—but due to the fact that something even more dangerous was prowling the battlefield.
“I don’t know about you, Dorian, but this is getting too hot for me.” Henry said, exchanging rounds to the shooters at the other side.
Dorian gave out a loud sigh. He wasn’t the kind of person who would cut and run, but this was getting too heavy.
JOHN GRAVAGLIA
• 69 •
“It’s your call, bro,” Henry commented, taking cover from an oncoming blast.
“You know what you signed up for, Henry,” Dorian finally replied. “We stick to the plan. We’re so close.”
Henry stared at him with a dumbfounded look. “I like you, Dorian…but you’re crazy.”
“What can I say? It’s part of my charm.” Dorian replied, as he jumped up with his gun ready, facing the enemy.
He opened fire, and the front line of hostiles collapsed. Bullets whipped over Dorian’s head, and slammed into an old team car. They were like insects blackening the air.
Shells burst on the ground, instantaneous blossoms of fire and shrapnel. Henry ran, shouting at the others to get back, get under cover, but the vast train yard was the size of a professional football field, open and flat and broad, and there was hardly any cover.
Sniper teams were taking roof positions around the train yard. Each team included two shooters one of which was armed with a thermal scanner. The scanners came online, and thermal images of three people appeared.
“Target is the tallest one in the middle.” Henry said to Dorian.
Dorian muttered profanities to himself. If some damned sniper dispatched the mark before Dorian had a chance at him.
As for the rest of the assault force, Henry knew then they’d lost the element of surprise. No more time
