Plunging into the smoke, Norton watched the dark figure on the ground grow closer. Excitement built on his face.
He knew civilian psychology all too well. These people were slaves to their emotions. Unless the Black woman was a complete stranger to them, they wouldn't risk her life. And even if she meant nothing to them, she'd make an excellent human shield—at minimum, it would prevent them from shooting freely while he made his escape.
Swish-swish-swish!
But just as Norton was planning what to do after grabbing his hostage, rapid footsteps erupted from his flank. A powerful figure burst from the smoke and slammed into him.
It was Wilfred. He'd heard Norton's approaching footsteps and gunfire, realized the man's intent, and spotted the dark shape moving through the haze. There was no time to aim—so he'd charged, planning to take the enemy down with his body. He was confident his strength could overpower the man.
Norton never imagined any of these civilians would react so decisively. Caught off-guard, he was knocked to the ground. His shotgun flew from his grip. But his reflexes were sharp—his hands shot out and locked around Wilfred's throat, dragging his attacker down with him.
The two men crashed to the snow in a tangle of limbs, coating themselves in white powder.
Norton was an experienced brawler. Though Wilfred had gotten him on the ground first, his arm was clamped around the other man's neck like a vise. Veins bulged on his temples as he squeezed with everything he had. The moment they hit the ground, he started hammering punches into Wilfred's head.
Wilfred's face went red as he clawed at the arm crushing his windpipe. The impact of the fall combined with the ever-tightening chokehold had nearly made him black out.
No matter how he struggled, the bald man's grip refused to loosen. When fists started raining down, Wilfred had no choice but to use his hands to block.
He knew he couldn't last long like this. Desperately watching Norton's movements, he spotted an opening—the moment the man drew back for another punch. Wilfred clenched his fist and drove it into Norton's armpit.
The armpit was loaded with arteries and nerve clusters. A solid hit there could severely impair arm function—possibly even disable the attacker entirely.
"Son of a bitch!"
Seeing the incoming strike, Norton cursed and twisted away. He barely dodged—but in doing so, his chokehold loosened fractionally.
Feeling the pressure ease, Wilfred knew this was his chance. He roared and thrashed with everything he had. Seconds later, he'd wrenched his head free.
But before he could recover, a boot was already swinging at his face. His pupils contracted. No time to think—he crossed his arms in front of his head.
He hadn't forgotten what happened to that skinny kid. Even with his solid build, taking that kick clean would not end well.
The impact jolted through his forearms. Pain lanced up both arms as his body was launched backward, rolling across the snow.
Having kicked his opponent away, Norton realized the smoke was dissipating. He'd be exposed any second. Without hesitation, he lunged toward where Wilfred had landed—he needed a hostage before that happened. Even this troublesome man would do. Knock him out and drag him along.
But before Norton could take a step, another figure burst from behind him—this one gripping a knife that gleamed with cold light. The attacker sprinted toward him, blade driving at his kidney.
After Wilfred's ambush, Norton had been hyper-aware of his surroundings. He hadn't forgotten there were two other women. The instant Sylvia emerged, he detected her. He aborted his charge, spun, and delivered a savage back-kick to her stomach, sending her flying.
"Ahh!"
Sylvia hadn't expected him to react so fast. Her knife had been inches from its target when agony exploded through her abdomen. She staggered back several steps, the blade slipping from her fingers as she crashed to the ground, face twisted in pain.
"There you are!"
The smoke cleared completely. Norton saw that his attacker was the Black woman—and spotted two children with guns running toward them from a distance.
He quickly scanned the area. The other woman was still missing. Mentally noting the threat, he snatched up Sylvia's dropped knife and advanced on her.
She'd attacked him with a blade—which meant she'd probably lost her pistol somewhere. Good news for him. With this hostage, everything became manageable.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
But before he could take a step, gunfire cracked from his flank. He dodged reflexively, but his feet never stopped moving. There was no more room for hesitation.
Several strides brought him to the woman curled on the ground. He reached down to grab her—to use her as a human shield and force the others to hold their fire.
The instant he bent down, a foot rocketed toward his groin.
Norton had assumed Sylvia was still incapacitated from his kick. His attention had been split between his flanks and rear. He never expected her to pull this.
Instinctively, he tried to clamp his legs together—but he was a fraction too late.
"AAAAGHHH—!"
The groin was one of the most vulnerable points on the male body. Blinding, nauseating pain shot straight to his brain. Norton howled, dropping the knife, hands flying to his crotch. His knees buckled, and he collapsed, writhing in agony.
Everyone froze—Bryan and Sarah rushing over, Wilfred getting back to his feet and preparing to attack—all of them stopped dead, staring in disbelief.
But Wilfred recovered first. In three strides, he reached Norton, pressed his pistol to the man's temple, and pulled the trigger.
Silence.
He helped Sylvia to her feet, worry in his voice. "Are you alright?!"
Sylvia leaned against a truck, managing a pained smile. "I'm... I'm fine. I'll be okay."
Bryan and Sarah arrived, breathless, asking if everyone was okay.
The entire encounter had been far more chaotic than planned. Their original strategy was simple: ambush from behind, eliminate the bald man and his two guards in one strike.
But Norton had somehow sensed them at the last moment. Even then, they'd had the grenade—if nothing else, they could have flushed him out, then gunned him down.
They never expected him to react so decisively, throwing his own grenades first and completely wrecking their formation.
This taught Bryan a hard lesson about how naive his planning had been. A cornered dog will bite. A cornered killer—one with blood on his hands—would be far worse.
Still, despite the chaos, they'd eliminated the biggest threat. Even if the ending had been rather... undignified.
"Hm? Where's Anna?" Bryan scanned the area and noticed Anna was missing.
Hearing this, Wilfred looked around too. He raised his hand, pointing toward one of the trucks. "She's over—"
He stopped mid-sentence. His hand froze in the air.
His daughter's hiding spot was empty.
"LOOK OUT!"
Just then, Sylvia screamed from behind him. The next instant, Wilfred felt someone shove him hard from behind, pushing him aside.
Simultaneously, a gunshot rang out from somewhere. The bullet that would have hit Wilfred struck Sylvia instead.
BANG!
...
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