Chapter 5 - The Darkness inside
In the pitch black, panic erupted instantly.
"Power’s cut!" Nina yelled, pulling her night-vision goggles down over her face. "Positions! Secure the perimeter!"
Gunfire instantly shattered the darkness. The high-pitched screech of angle grinders cut through the rain as Rossi’s assault team began slicing through the steel emergency exits.
Flashlights flickered on, their beams cutting wildly through the dusty air. Red laser sights danced across the concrete walls.
"Marcus!" Carrie screamed, reaching out blind in a room that was suddenly loud beyond endurance. Without her sight, the sudden barrage of gunshots and screaming was an agonizing wall of noise that completely overwhelmed her senses.
"Carrie!" Marcus called back, but his voice was cut off by the heavy thud of a body hitting the floor and the sound of breaking glass.
Raleigh didn't panic. In the dark, he had the absolute advantage. The dog’s sense of smell and hearing were a hundred times sharper than any human's night-vision gear. He didn't bark. He slipped into the shadows like a panther, his massive paws silent on the wet concrete.
Through the darkness came the terrified screams of Rossi’s breach team.
Raleigh moved from shadow to shadow with lethal efficiency. He wasn't killing out of hatred; he was hunting the men who carried weapons near his girl. A crunch of bone here, the sound of a heavy body being dragged into the dark there.
"Hold your fire!" Sean roared over the din, firing his custom silver pistol into a shadow as a grenade bounced across the floor. "He’s in the room! Don't shoot the dog!"
Carrie fell to her knees, burying her hands over her ears. The noise was unbearable—the concussive blasts, the smell of cordite, the metallic tang of fresh blood in the damp air. She felt like she was drowning.
She fumbled in her pocket, her wet fingers sliding over the wooden whistle. She pulled it out, but her hand was shaking so badly she dropped it onto the filthy floor.
"No, no, no..." she whimpered, her hands crawling blindly across the concrete, searching for the small piece of wood.
A heavy boot stepped on her hand.
Carrie gasped in pain. A rough hand grabbed her by her braids, yanking her head back.
"Found the little bitch!" a voice growled in Spanish. It was one of Rossi’s top lieutenants. "Call the dog off or I snap her neck right now!"
"Carrie!" Marcus yelled from across the room, but he was pinned down behind a forklift by heavy automatic fire.
The lieutenant hauled Carrie to her feet, pressing a cold pistol barrel directly against her temple. "Whistle for him, kid! Call him over so my men can put a cable around his neck, or your brains end up on the floor!"
Carrie stopped crying. She took a deep breath, feeling the barrel of the gun cold against her skin. She didn't have her whistle. She had only her own voice.
Instead of whistling, she opened her mouth and began to sing.
It was a simple, wordless melody—the lullaby her father used to hum when he brought home injured deer from the forest. Her voice was small, fragile, and completely devoid of fear, floating through the bloody, smoke-filled warehouse like a light in a tomb.
The chaos in the warehouse slowed down. The gunfire faltered.
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From the dark corner of the room, two burning amber eyes emerged. Raleigh stepped slowly into the light of a burning oil drum. His coat was slick with rainwater and blood, his chest heaving, his teeth bared in a terrifying grin.
He wasn't looking at the gun. He was looking at the man holding Carrie's hair.
