Breed

Chapter Thirty-eight

Mahmoud tried to slow his breathing. The press of the gun barrel in his neck was cold and hard, and he couldn't help but imagine the scorching lead firing out of it. Sweat dripped down the back of his shirt, but he dared not move, not even to breathe.

The door into the room burst open, and two people in tight black paramilitary gear, including full face helmets, filled the doorway. One knelt down, low to the ground, and used the door frame for protection as she lined up a shot. The other tried to aim with one hand while holding the other palm down towards the floor.

Suddenly the floor beneath them bucked, and Mahmoud felt his legs go out from underneath him.

The red dot from the two intruder's pistols danced over the gunmen flanking Mahmoud, until they found purchase above their body armor. Both intruders pulled the trigger, and the gunmen fell.

"Check your corners," the female intruder said, remaining crouched," I'll cover you."

The large man made it to the first doorway and posted to one side of it. Another man filled his spot at the entryway, then the woman stood up and entered the room. She snaked around the couch, then pointed her pistol at Mahmoud. He put up his hands. "Don't shoot," he said.

"On the floor," she said. Mahmoud slowly lowered himself to the ground.

Then she proceeded to flank the opposite side of the door as her partner.

Two more people filtered into the room. "Saw something," one of them said, pausing at the end of the couch to peer into the adjoining room. "Movement in the dining room."

"Want to clear the room?" the first woman asked.

"Gladly." She held out her hand, and concentrated, until she was holding an explosive. She flung it inside, and put her hands on her hips. "We've got three, two-" The dining room table flipped over as explosives upended the room.

But something had also rolled back to them. "Grenade!" the first woman inside yelled, leaping onto the small gray cylinder. It didn't detonate.

"Here," another intruder said, giving her a grenade pin.

She slipped it into the grenade. "It's deactivated," she said.

"Stairs!" The last woman said from the entry.

A gunman went rolling down a flight of steps on the far wall. When the gunman reached the ground floor she kicked off the ground, falling back into a darkened room at the foot of the stairs.

"Anybody get off a clean shot?" one of them asked.

"I'm not sure," one of them said.

"No," Mahmoud said from the floor.

"Shut up," the big man said. "You're dead, and the dead don't talk. Unless you're a zombie."

"I'm not dead," Mahmoud said, "you haven't gotten me killed yet."

"Either way, shut up," the first woman said. "We need to split. You're with me," she said, nodding to the skinnier of her two male partners. They snaked along the wall. "Cover the stairs," she said, focusing on the doorway where the gunman disappeared. "Can I get a light?"

"Sure," her partner said. He held out his hand and it caught fire, He flicked his fingers, and flecks of fire rolled off. They caught the carpet, and smoke started to roll off the places where they smoldered. "Crap," he said.

"No," she said, "it's good. The light wasn't enough. Maybe we can smoke her out. But you're on the stairs. Open doors to clear, but don't go inside."