The Silver Ninja®: A Bitter Winter (Extended Preview of published book)

Chapter 2: A Taste of Death

CHAPTER 2

A Taste of Death

The cats gathered around and licked the blood off the face of the former head of security. Cindy fell back and landed on her bottom. Her hand patted around the floor and stopped atop a slimy rock. Her fingers had poked into something soft and squishy. She looked down and shrieked when she saw her finger pushing an eyeball inside the skull of her shift supervisor. They were dead, they were all dead.

"Oh my God, Oh my God." Her hand trembled as she spoke into her radio. "Fourteen to Command One. I need—I need police officers at the lower level loading dock. 10-34 Young. Send a—" There was a hole the size of a quarter punched into the shift supervisor's head. She closed her eyes and held the radio with both hands. "—send a 10-54 Union."

The radio whistled and popped over a bed of buzzing noise. "Hello? Command One do you copy?" She couldn't hear anyone over the growling radio. "Are there any ESU units on this frequency? Hello?" She checked her boss and the shift supervisor's body for the master keys but they were missing. A sound of whispering in the windless corridors made her freeze where she was. There were men talking in hushed tones. Cindy pressed the radio to her chest and crouched next to the parked van.

"Did you hear something?" the voice said.

She steadied her breath but couldn't stop the pounding in her chest. Her neck and back ached from the stress flooding her system. She pushed against the driver's side door and listened. Heavy boots thumped over the crunch of loose asphalt. Each step jingled like keys or handcuffs. Was it the police? She leaned past the headlights for a better look.

A group of men, six from what she could gather, stood behind the open hatch of a delivery truck. A man wearing a bullet proof vest and gas mask climbed into the back of the truck and began prying open crates with a crowbar. Definitely not police, but they didn't look like Mubarizun terrorists either. For starters, MOA members were poor and didn't have access to much equipment. These guys were unloading machineguns from the back of the truck. They must have been hired mercenaries, but who hired them?

Cindy tried to call 911 through her cell phone but she had no reception. She was connected to the Wi-Fi but for some reason the call wasn't going through.

"Probably a cat. You see how many are down here? It's like a cat house. Get it? Cat . . . house?"

"I got it you moron. And since when do cats sound like women?"

"Well they are puss—"

Cindy's radio screamed with distorted, ear splitting noise. "—up *static* Rep—me—ge." She frantically twisted the volume knob and shoved the speaker against her jacket.

"I knew there was something over there." The mercenary raised his gun.

Her sneakers squeaked against the floor. There were mechanical clicks of pregnant ammo box feeders being snapped onto their weapons.

"You were supposed to kill all the security guards."

"I did!"

Cindy bolted from the van and ran as hard as she could. She slid around a corner and crashed into the wall leading to the stairwell. The footsteps chased after her but she didn't dare look back. She tore up the stairwell steps and rammed through the heavy doors at the top. She slammed the doors shut and put all her weight against them. Her shirt became wet with fear as she waited for the doors to slam into her back but they never did. Did they stop chasing her?