Titan Fall - Book 18 of the Damned of the 2/19th

Search and Destroy

The cheap door of the duplex blew out of the frame when my boot slammed into it, just to the side of the lock. The doorframe splintered and shattered, the deadbolt tearing free and the chain snapping. The door broke in half as it flew into the room, but I was already moving, following it into the small frontroom.

Three men were on the filthy couch, all of them jumping to their feet. A woman was passed out on the floor, boneless and limp from heroin. Another woman screamed at us to get out as I bent slightly at the waist, grabbed the coffee table, and threw it to the side, flipping it over.

Heather, right behind me, slapped the screaming woman with the back of her hand, the sound of meat on meat cracking like a pistol shot. The woman went down, blood spraying from her mouth, flipping backwards over the chair she had been sitting in and crashing to the ground.

I punched the one on my right hard under the xiphoid, feeling the small piece of bone under the sternum snap off under my fist. The guy spun as he went down, grabbing his chest.

Everything was moving so slowly.

Foster stepped up and drove his fist into the face of the guy on my left as I slammed my boot into the chest of the guy in the middle, pinning him to the couch. The guy Foster hit wobbled, so Foster hit him again and he went down.

Bomber moved past me, Kincaid right behind him, as they moved to sweep the two bedrooms and the bathroom.

I ignored them, pulling back my leg and slamming it into the chest of the guy in the middle.

"Hello, Donovan," I said, pushing my boot harder against him.

"Who the fuck are you?" Donovan gasped.

"I want information, you're going to give it to me," I said, pulling my foot back and standing up. Donovan grasped, rubbing his chest.

I grabbed the guy I'd punched, who was gasping, and slung him off the couch. "Move, asshole," I snapped. "Mind if I sit?" I asked Donovan, sitting down.

"You're gonna be in a world of hurt," Donovan said, straightening up.

I whipped my arm back, slamming the back of my elbow into his face, throwing him against the couch. His nose splattered.

"I live in a world of hurt, Donny," I said. He groaned and covered his face with his hands.

I smashed him in the face with my elbow again. "This is going to hurt you more than me."

I lit a cigarette, waved the Zippo till it went out, then turned toward him suddenly. He was bent forward, holding his smashed face, and I slapped my hand on the back of his head, tilting his head down, then pushed the heated ventilated 'stove-pipe' of the Zippo on his neck.

He screamed as flesh sizzled.

I yanked it back, grabbed his hair, and pulled him upright on the couch.

"My brother's will..." he started.

I drove my fist into his crotch, feeling his cock and balls crush and deform against my knuckles, and then pushed the back of his neck to fold him back up.

He started to vomit.

I slapped my right hand over his mouth and nose, still holding his neck tightly. The vomit hit my hand and stopped, some of it squirting out between my fingers, but most of it flooding into his sinus cavity and gushing out his nose. He squirmed, trying to get loose as his stomach heaved again.

"You're in trouble, Donny," I said softly.

I let go of his mouth, let him clear his mouth and windpipe, then yanked him back up.