Man on the Inside

Man on the Inside - Part 9

"Sir, I can explain this," said William through clenched teeth, his head pounded and his gut cramped again. The sound of footsteps and rough voices echoed through the sonic hearing on his com. Retten's men were regrouping, and one of them had already found him. The red dot of the laser scope was edging closer on the ground. Where was it coming from? He couldn't tell, the only light came from the headlights of the guard's motor cart, and the residual smoke from the warehouse smothered it. "Could you please lower your weapon?"

"Oh God, you really think "please" is going to work?" commented Louis.

"I'll hear you excuses soon enough. On you knees," repeated the guard.

"You need to call backup," protested the agent as he got to one knee. The guard was ten steps away, and closing. "There are others still in the warehouse."

The guard took that information seriously and took one hand away from the gun to reach for the walkie-talkie at his hip. Three steps away, he paused.

"The heck..." he was staring at the red dot that stilled on William's chest.

The dart hit William harder than he expected, the impact while he was unbalanced on one knee making him sprawl backwards on the ground. Before the guard could fully turn around to see the shooter, he was darted in his arm, going limp and staggering to the ground within moments. William blessed the creator of Kevlar as he broke the dart off, and quickly pulled the guard with him into the shadow of the dumpster. More darts, less well aimed, plinked against the metal of the dumpster, sounding like a badly tuned steal drum. The guard was still breathing, how long he would be out was anyone's guess. William grabbed the guard's walkie-talkie, a chunky, ancient thing and switched it on.

Suddenly a cramp in his gut made him curl up and he pressed his hand to his stomach. Breath hissed through his teeth until it passed.

"Hello?" he rasped through the walkie.

"Wilson? That you?" said a tired female voice. "More kids break in?"

"Wilson's been shot. Get some backup to the east side of Warehouse five, now. And call 911; there's a fire." Before the woman could respond he clicked the walkie off and curled up tighter. It was like someone had reached their hand inside him and decided to toss his guts like a salad. Sweat beaded at his temples. "Damn that hurts. Louis, are you okay?"

"Stop squishing me and maybe I will be! I've been a hell of a lot better," snapped the voice over the com. "I'm bouncing around every where without warning and you're getting shot at."

There was a commotion from the other side of the dumpster. He could hear the shuffling of feet and the cocking of guns. William took out the gun strapped to his ankle and then took the gun still valiantly gripped in the guard's hand.

William slowed his breath, trying to get rid of the plummeting sensation in his spine. Just breathe it away. His SkySprecht, still on sonic hearing gave him a clear picture of the mouth of the alleyway between warehouses.

---

There were only five of Retten's men left, all of them singed.

"Did you get a clear shot?" asked the leader.

A man came up with the dart gun. "Yes, he took one right to the heart, but he was still moving. He might be wearing a vest."

"And he's sitting still," muttered the leader after consulting his blackberry. His voice went to a whisper. "How are we on ammo?"

"Got three darts left."

The other men whispered their ammo count, twelve bullets between the four of them.