Page 62 of Assistant to the Assassin

He thrashes like a fish out of water, clawing at me and digging into my leg. I lean down and bite into his ear, pulling as hard as I can until I feel the muscle rip and blood spurt onto my face. I spit out what remains of his ear onto the ground, and Harrison manages to grab on to my fallen rock, using it to slam into my wound. I let go of him, too preoccupied by my pain to stop him from getting to his feet.

His face is covered in blood, and his teeth are stained red from it as he growls, “It should have been me. It should have been me!”

I punch and kick at the tree, not caring that my skin is splitting open and my knuckles are bruising. Behind me is where I buried my mother, in this foreign land without any church service or clothes. She’ll stay here in this hellhole forever because I couldn’t protect her.

“It should have been me,” I sob, punching even harder. “It should have been me.”

I try getting up, but Harrison kicks me in the stomach, sending me right back down.

He places his foot on my injured leg, keeping me in place as he brings the rock down on my head. “I want you to know how it feels to watch the only person you love die when you can do nothing about it. I will leave you on the verge of death, unable to move or scream as you watch me cut your little girlfriend into pieces.”

He discards the rock and throws his body weight on top of me, knocking the air from my lungs. His arms wrap around my neck, keeping me in a chokehold as he continues talking. “Every time I’ve killed, it hasn’t been personal; they were just a means to an end, an obstacle that needed to be taken care of. But I will enjoy killing you and that little bitch.”

“I won’t let you get anywhere near her,” I wheeze out, struggling against his grip, but it’s no use. With only one working arm and leg, it’s impossible.

Harrison drops his voice to a whisper, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Watch me.”

I watch on the camera as Henry and Harrison beat the absolute shit out of each other. Just when I think Henry has the upper hand, Harrison deals a blow that makes the tides turn, and then the cycle repeats itself. The two are so evenly matched, fueled by adrenaline, pain, and bloodlust…who will win the fight depends on sheer luck at this point.

And I have a feeling Henry’s luck is running out.

I push out of my chair and march into the weapons room, grabbing on to a handgun and a magazine before I start towards the living room. Ambrose follows after me, his voice frantic. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Henry needs help or else he’ll die,” I respond, letting each door scan my face so I can get through.

“You can’t go out there!” he argues.

“Ian is preoccupied and even if he left his spot now, he might not make it in time.” Once I reach the elevator, I turn around to face him, trying to keep my voice as steady as possible. “You said you didn’t have any formal training in combat?”

Ambrose nods shallowly.

“I was in the CIA. I’ve been trained for years in how to fight,” I lie. “I’m the only one who can help him now. I need you to stay here for Ian. He needs you.”

Ambrose clearly doesn’t like this idea, but he relents, taking a step back from the elevator doors, which have just opened.

I step inside, pressing the button to go up.

“Good luck,” he tells me as the doors start to close.

I give him a nod, only allowing myself to breathe once the elevator starts moving and I’m all alone.

This might be the single most stupid thing I’ve ever done. I mean, what am I thinking? From the cameras, it seems like Ian and Henry are fighting off the remaining two mercs, but the cameras don’t cover the whole island. There’s a chance someone is out there looking to avenge their teammates. I also could just stumble into a landmine or spiked pit by accident. Sure, I’ve seen the map of where each trap is placed, but I don’t know it by heart.

Stupid stupid stupid idea.

But if I don’t at least try, there’s a chance Henry might die.

When the elevator doors slide open, I sprint down the hallway to the ladder that leads up to the door to the bunker. Despite being made of metal, the door isn’t all that heavy as I push it open with both hands, but it is heavy enough to make a loud thud as it hits the ground, and I cringe as I pull myself into the daylight.

If there is someone lingering around here, they’re going to investigate that noise.

Stupid.

It won’t be a problem as long as I keep moving. Henry is about a mile to the north, so with a deep breath, I start running in that direction, inserting the magazine into the gun and loading a round in the chamber—another stupid decision, but whatever.

I try to picture the map of the booby traps in my mind, and I think I’m doing a pretty good job at avoiding them, but I might just be getting lucky. As an extra precaution, I copy what Harrison did and throw rocks and sticks around the path around me. I hit a couple trip wires, but nothing goes off, indicating to me that the bomb or gun has already activated. That’s good; it means there’re probably not as many traps still active in the area.

I estimate I’m about halfway there at this point. My entire body is slick with sweat, I’m waving a gun around while moving at a full sprint, and the hem of my pants is getting stained with the blood of random mercenaries I am running over top of, whose blown-apart carcasses lie scattered around the ground like a scene from Final Destination. I’m pretty used to seeing gore, but this is a bit much for me to see. The air is already starting to smell from the bodies cooking under the heat, and I have to fight the urge to throw up.

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