and Soren parked near one with busted windows that looked abandoned.
Night had fallen, and the collection of silent warehouses made them seem ominous, like sleeping giants.
Soren popped the trunk on his beaten-up Toyota Camry, and walked around to the back of the car to his mobile arsenal. When he’d gone to attack the guai two nights ago, he’d packed his car with far more guns, grenades, and ammunition than he needed. Now he was glad it was still here. It gave him plenty to choose from.
He put on a tactical weapons vest and began strapping on weapons: two Beretta M9s, a couple of knives, several flashbangs, and a few fragmentation grenades. He dropped flares and extra ammo in the appropriate pockets, and as a finishing touch, strapped on a large, black assault weapon whose make and model he’d forgotten.
Soren felt no fear as he walked toward the warehouse that Terry had marked. It was a strange feeling to no longer care about his own welfare. It gave him a huge advantage over his enemies, one he intended to exploit.
The only anxiety he felt was for Alex. He thought of how scared the boy must be, snatched from his mother and locked up with a host of different monsters. Terry’s warning had also gotten to him, needling him more than he wanted to admit. As far as he could remember, Terry had never cautioned him against anything. Hell, Terry had purposely sent him to face a gorgon with nothing but a mirror and a gun, neither of which proved effective. So it bothered him that Terry didn’t think he was up to this.
Soren walked down the road without seeing another soul, and made his way to the warehouse door. A cold wind from the nearby river blew litter down the street, but nothing else stirred. There were several broken windows and the place had a neglected air. If he hadn’t known better, he would have assumed this, too, was abandoned.
It was possible that Terry had given him the wrong address as a way to discourage him, but he thought that was unlikely. It would buy Terry a little time, but Soren would never trust him again.
Soren tried the door handle and discovered it was locked. He pulled a lockpick from his jacket pocket and easily opened it.
He walked in expecting to find some guard, but there was only a dark hallway. The emptiness of the place made him uneasy. Terry’s information could be outdated—or, far more likely, he was walking into a trap. But he wasn’t going to turn back now.
He walked down a long hallway, holding the assault rifle out in front of him. At the end was another door, which he opened.
This one opened into a large, darkened room. Soren walked in. It was so pitch-black he couldn’t see the edges of the room. Instead of a warehouse, it felt like he was walking into a large cavern. The only sound he heard was his own footsteps echoing back to him.
Soren had excellent night vision, but he still needed some sliver of light to see, the same way a cat or other nocturnal animal did. But in this warehouse, there was nothing.
Soren paused and debated. He kept his right hand on his gun, and reluctantly pulled a flashlight from his vest with his left. He’d still hoped he could sneak up on whomever had captured Alex, and waving a bright light around in a darkened room was liable to draw attention he didn’t want. But given the ease of his entrance, they probably knew he was here already. This smelled like a trap.
He turned on the flashlight and scanned the room with the beam. He saw only a bare, concrete floor. But he felt a prickle on his skin, and had the sense that he was being watched. He thought he heard a shuffling noise from the darkness surrounding him. But when he shined the flashlight in that direction, there was nothing there. He kept his finger on the trigger, acutely aware that he didn’t know what was waiting for him, or how many there were.
He hurried across the room, hoping to find a door. Having chosen this confrontation, there was no going back. If he’d walked
Night had fallen, and the collection of silent warehouses made them seem ominous, like sleeping giants.
Soren popped the trunk on his beaten-up Toyota Camry, and walked around to the back of the car to his mobile arsenal. When he’d gone to attack the guai two nights ago, he’d packed his car with far more guns, grenades, and ammunition than he needed. Now he was glad it was still here. It gave him plenty to choose from.
He put on a tactical weapons vest and began strapping on weapons: two Beretta M9s, a couple of knives, several flashbangs, and a few fragmentation grenades. He dropped flares and extra ammo in the appropriate pockets, and as a finishing touch, strapped on a large, black assault weapon whose make and model he’d forgotten.
Soren felt no fear as he walked toward the warehouse that Terry had marked. It was a strange feeling to no longer care about his own welfare. It gave him a huge advantage over his enemies, one he intended to exploit.
The only anxiety he felt was for Alex. He thought of how scared the boy must be, snatched from his mother and locked up with a host of different monsters. Terry’s warning had also gotten to him, needling him more than he wanted to admit. As far as he could remember, Terry had never cautioned him against anything. Hell, Terry had purposely sent him to face a gorgon with nothing but a mirror and a gun, neither of which proved effective. So it bothered him that Terry didn’t think he was up to this.
Soren walked down the road without seeing another soul, and made his way to the warehouse door. A cold wind from the nearby river blew litter down the street, but nothing else stirred. There were several broken windows and the place had a neglected air. If he hadn’t known better, he would have assumed this, too, was abandoned.
It was possible that Terry had given him the wrong address as a way to discourage him, but he thought that was unlikely. It would buy Terry a little time, but Soren would never trust him again.
Soren tried the door handle and discovered it was locked. He pulled a lockpick from his jacket pocket and easily opened it.
He walked in expecting to find some guard, but there was only a dark hallway. The emptiness of the place made him uneasy. Terry’s information could be outdated—or, far more likely, he was walking into a trap. But he wasn’t going to turn back now.
He walked down a long hallway, holding the assault rifle out in front of him. At the end was another door, which he opened.
This one opened into a large, darkened room. Soren walked in. It was so pitch-black he couldn’t see the edges of the room. Instead of a warehouse, it felt like he was walking into a large cavern. The only sound he heard was his own footsteps echoing back to him.
Soren had excellent night vision, but he still needed some sliver of light to see, the same way a cat or other nocturnal animal did. But in this warehouse, there was nothing.
Soren paused and debated. He kept his right hand on his gun, and reluctantly pulled a flashlight from his vest with his left. He’d still hoped he could sneak up on whomever had captured Alex, and waving a bright light around in a darkened room was liable to draw attention he didn’t want. But given the ease of his entrance, they probably knew he was here already. This smelled like a trap.
He turned on the flashlight and scanned the room with the beam. He saw only a bare, concrete floor. But he felt a prickle on his skin, and had the sense that he was being watched. He thought he heard a shuffling noise from the darkness surrounding him. But when he shined the flashlight in that direction, there was nothing there. He kept his finger on the trigger, acutely aware that he didn’t know what was waiting for him, or how many there were.
He hurried across the room, hoping to find a door. Having chosen this confrontation, there was no going back. If he’d walked
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