Page 27 of Sinner
Eleven
Mary shutthe door behind Flint and faced the closest guard.
He lifted his gun and pointed it at her head. “I mean it, I’ll shoot.”
The blood pounding in Mary’s ears drowned out all sound, and she forced herself to calm. Peace. Gather. Assess. Prepare. She heard her breath. Her heart. The snick of his metallic weapon, and then she entered the zone.
Time slowed.
She flicked her wrist. A dagger unsheathed from within her sleeve. A glint flashed in the air, and the knife was embedded in the guard’s neck before he could blink. He dropped, the gun went off. Plaster on the roof sprayed white dust, making the air murky.
Perfect cover.
She zipped to his side, retrieved her knife, ignored the gurgling and blood.
Under the cloud of dust, Mary ducked behind a support pillar and pulled her second knife from her right sleeve. She flipped the blades in her palms as she centered herself.
Her breath. Her heart. Listen.
Mary closed her eyes and concentrated. Where were they?
A boot scuffle. A man’s low voice. The crackle of a shoulder mic.
She rolled the daggers around her fingers and caught them in her palms. The blades were dull at the edges, but sharp at the points. Perfect for throwing and piercing.
There.
Mary released at two approaching shadows emerging from the dust. She ran forward, watching as the blades hit their mark in the center of their necks. They went down gurgling and gasping for air.
Six to go.
She continued, darting past the felled soldiers, yanking the knives out by the handle loops. Refocus. Retarget. To the right… and thirty degrees to the left. She threw.
Whoosh.Thud, thud.
Two more down. Four left.
A quick assessment showed the throwing knives were too far to retrieve. For a moment, she wished for her sword—a perfectly balanced Katana gifted from theOnna Bugeisha. It was in the van. Also too far.
The remaining guards watched their comrades fall, but then their weapons were up. Assault rifles. Mass destruction in a small space.
So was she.
“You shoot, you risk the children,” she shouted as she crouched and released small knives from straps at her ankles. She slid them between her fingers so three blades poked through each hand like claws growing from her knuckles.
They zeroed in on her position.
They aimed. Fired.Crack! Crack!
Mary twisted and ducked behind a support pillar. Bullets whizzed by, bursting the brick mortar, sending another cloud of dust into the air. A stinging pain sliced her right shoulder blade, and she hissed. Debris or bullet. She tested her arm by rotating. It burned, but she’d live.
They fired again and the white cloud of plaster bloomed, making her mouth dry when she breathed. Every time they did that, they gave her cover in the dust. She had to hurry. Creeping quickly, stealthily through the white bloom, she slipped to the next pillar, then the next. She crouched low. They hadn’t seen her move and still trained their weapons on the spot she’d vacated, waiting, converging.
She darted toward their cars and, as quietly as she could, punched the rear wheels with her bladed fists until air hissed out.
They should’ve checked behind them, because she was on them before they knew it.
She was a dark tornado, whirling and dominating. She slashed the closest guard across the neck, twirled, then sliced the second above the eyes, blinding him with his own blood. Then she punched him. Hard. The blades pierced. Hand to hand combat was sloppy, but she was angry. Furious. They were bulls in a china shop, discharging their weapons like their surroundings didn’t matter. Like the children didn’t matter.
