The Executioner

Hundred and Thirty-Five

Hunter had run out of time.

With deadly determination, Tyler raised his weapon, aiming it at Garcia’s head and pulled the trigger.

Click – nothing.

Tyler’s face burned with rage and confusion as he tried one more time, but again the gun didn’t fire.

In a flash, Hunter jumped to his feet, his hands magically freed from the handcuffs. Before Tyler could react, Hunter delivered a well-placed punch into his ribs, crushing the air out of his lungs. He tumbled to the floor but managed to swing his right leg around with tremendous force, hooking away Hunter’s legs. Hunter hit the ground hard with the small of his back, the impact sending a sickening shudder through the rest of him. Awkwardly, he immediately rolled left, anticipating and escaping Tyler’s follow-through head-crushing kick.

Tyler never let go of the gun. He finally realized what had happened. Before Hunter placed his weapon on the floor and kicked it over as he was ordered to do, he’d skillfully thumbed the safety into the lock position. Clever. It gave Hunter the precious seconds he needed to react. But Tyler wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. He unlocked the weapon, swung his arm around and fired.

Hunter rolled right this time, but not fast enough. As the deafening gunshot noise echoed through the basement room, he felt a searing, nauseating pain envelop his left arm. He had to think quickly. He knew a second shot was coming fast. Before Tyler could aim the gun again, Hunter’s instincts took over and he kicked out. His left boot found the same patch of ribs as his fist moments earlier.

Winded, momentarily powerless and propelled by Hunter’s kick, Tyler’s defensive reaction was to roll away towards the metal table and underneath it to the other side, creating a temporary barrier between him and Hunter.

They both got to their feet at the same time. Blood was dripping down Hunter’s arm, but he knew he’d been lucky. He’d heard the bullet explode against the wall behind him, which meant that despite the excruciating pain the bullet had exited his arm cleanly. No bone or major arteries were hit. He saw the gun in Tyler’s right hand rising towards him again. This time Hunter was certain luck wouldn’t be so kind. In a desperate survival reaction, he jumped forward. His good arm stretched high above his head in a diving position. He knew he couldn’t get to Tyler from where he was, but he could get to the metal table. And that’s exactly what he did, pushing it and smashing its edge into Tyler’s upper thighs. Unbalanced, Tyler stumbled back, crashing hard against the brick wall. But he still held onto the gun. His eyes burned with murderous hate as he lifted his head, searching for Hunter, his finger tense against the trigger once again.

Left – nothing.

Right – nothing.

Where the hell was he?

Hunter’s sweeping floor kick came from under the table, taking Tyler’s legs from beneath him. Tyler flew up in the air and hit the floor awkwardly with a cracking noise. Shoulder first followed by his head. The impact strong enough to fill his vision with splashing balls of light for a couple of seconds. As they faded, his eyes focused on the barrel of a gun.

‘As I said before,’ Hunter said, holding Garcia’s gun that’d fallen to the floor when the metal table was pushed. ‘It’s over, Dan.’