He took the first step up the stairs, revolver in hand. His foot took it with a heavy thump, leg numb from cold and pain. Head spinning he swayed lightly in the stupor of his delirium.
Teresa knelt atop a wall, watching their retreat. Long red hair falling lightly down the back of her dark uniform. He turned around to say something to the other two, a light remark about the mission, about the stupidity of it all.
CRACK!
He ran his hand hand along an ovoid knot on the staircase handrail. So smooth. So perfect. Then his hand ran into a splinter. He didn’t bother removing the sliver of wood, it wasn’t worth it. He looked up, shadows stalking him from the corner of his eye. His hand explored the gun in his hand, the cold iron, the smooth oak grip, the six rounded chambers that smelled of powder.
Levi slipped between the two guards as they fell, necks bleeding from his daggers. He was so quiet now, none of the joking from before. Teresa had been with them for two years, day after day. All it had taken was a single shot, a single fall.
There had been no time to send her on.
Levi opened the darkened door that the guards had been standing before. He shouted out.
CRACK!
Tears fell on the steps as he continued on. They were probably his, but he wasn’t sure anymore. Nothing made sense after two days without sleep. He hadn't slept since Teresa fell, he had just ran. He could feel the weapon in his hand waiting patiently for the hair trigger of pressure it knew would come.
Andulov pushed the bathtub along the rails built into the floor. They could hear boots pounding down the hallway. Ortano placed the charge against the base of the door as Andulov revealed the secret passage. He scrambled down the secret staircase, feet almost slipping in the rush. He could smell smoke, the soldiers were lighting the door on fire.
Ortano looked up just in time to see Andulov thrown against the wall as the charge went off. Ortano was thrown off the ladder by the blast. He hit the ground and rolled, coming up he just kept on running. He couldn’t tell where he was, a sewer maybe. There was that terrible itching feeling between his shoulder blades though, even after he had gone a good hundred paces. He could almost feel the gun placed at his back.
CRACK!
The pressure built up in his trigger finger. There was only one person to blame for all of this. A set of red varnished double doors stood in front of him. He reached out with his hand toward the cold brass knob and turned it. Stepping through the door he pulled the trigger.
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