The Spy Devils by Joe Goldberg (top rated books of all time .TXT) 📕

sent a force through the metal case. The destruction was instantaneous.

Bridger’s ears were ringing so bad he thought his head had exploded. It took a few shakes of his head to get enough of his senses back so he could scan the situation in the room.

Most of the glass wall was gone. The ceiling over the explosion had partially collapsed into the four-inch deep, circular hole in the floor. The force of the exploding C-4 had blown the couch against Bridger and Peter, scooping them to the wall like a shovel, the burning and splintered furniture slamming them against the far wall. The cracked television fell off its mountings onto the floor by their heads.

Peter was next to him on the floor, coughing and covered in white dust. All the glass windows and doors leading to the patio were shattered. Broken tables, chairs, and debris were scattered around the room. Dust and smoke from small fires swirled in the air. He grunted as he used his body to tip it back and leaned against it to steady himself as he stood on wobbly legs.

The metal Hillcrest case had become red hot shrapnel and sliced into the men like porcupine quills. The smoke was too thick to his left, so he couldn’t see what happened to Li Chu. The Dragon Fire man nearest to the explosion, the one who liked to stick a gun against his neck, was dead. What was left of his front was red and pulpy, looking more like a well-tenderized steak at the meat counter.

The man who stood behind Peter was alive. He was about five feet in front of Bridger, on his hands and knees, groaning, full of holes that were dripping blood and pieces of his head onto the floor like melting candle wax. He was missing most of his scalp, and it looked like a chunk of his right arm was gone and a few fingers on his left hand.

Through the smoke to his right, Bridger saw the sentry by the door bent over at the waist, looking at the floor, shaking his head. He was bleeding like a fountain from gashes in his neck, chest, and legs, but Bridger considered him as operational.

Bridger had to decide who to kill first. Should he risk turning his back on the nearby Scalpless as he goes for Bleeder as the more imminent threat? Does he have time to take out Bleeder and get to Scalpless before he recovers and shoots Bridger in the back?

Bridger flashed his eyes down to look at Peter’s face. It was white with shock. Blood was flowing from another cut on his head. He was still coughing as he inhaled the smoked-filled air.

“Get out of here,” Bridger yelled into Peter’s ear. Bridger grabbed Peter’s arm, dragged him over the smoldering couch, and shoved him toward the shattered wall of glass. He stumbled over the wreckage and fell. “Get the hell out!” Bridger yelled again. Peter stood and stumbled through the opening onto the patio.

Bridger picked up the broken leg of a wooden chair and took a step toward Scalpless, who was trying to stand. He swung the wood up like an uppercut, slicing Scalpless across the face. When he hit the floor groaning, Bridger raised the chunk over his head like a knife and swung down hard, jamming it deep into Scalp’s right eye socket.

Without waiting, he turned to the man by the door.

Bleeder was upright and looking at what Bridger had done to his colleague. He reached for the Makarov on the floor at his feet. Bridger took three large steps to close the distance between them. As Bleeder raised his weapon with his right hand, Bridger threw his right arm up, grabbed the Makarov by the muzzle, and twisted it outward to stay out of the line of fire and loosen Bleeder’s grip.

He hit Bleeder with a left across his jaw. That was when he was reminded of the earlier trauma to his left wrist. The rush of adrenalin and numbness was not enough to cover the paralyzing waves of pain that rolled up his arm and through his body. His eyes filled with tears, and he felt his knees go weak.

With Bridger’s punch, Bleeder fell back against the wall as more blood pumped from the cuts. He recovered quickly. When Bleeder saw Bridger immobilized in pain, his swollen left arm at his side, he torqued up his right leg and hit Bridger in the left arm and side with a powerful roundhouse kick. Bridger saw it coming at the last instant and slipped his body on an angle to lessen the blow.

Bridger grunted as the air was forced from his lungs. He saw Bleeder pull his arms back to set up strikes to his head. Bridger was still holding Bleeder’s gun by the muzzle in his right hand. When Bleeder came in for the kill, Bridger swung his hand up, hitting Bleeder under the chin with the butt of the gun. When he fell back against the wall, Bridger stepped in and speared Bleeder in the throat twice with the gun grip. Bleeder grabbed his throat, wheezing as he slid to the floor.

Bridger figured he had about ten seconds before any Dragon Fire re-enforcements arrived. He checked the gun to make sure it was working and loaded. He flattened his chest against the wall, crouched, and held the gun out with his right hand toward the lower part of the door. In a few seconds, he heard the quick steps of a man approaching.

The MSS man ran through the door holding his gun chest-high with both hands. Bridger shot him in the right knee as he passed, sending bone and blood flying. The man screamed, spun forward, and fell to the floor. He rolled onto his back, reaching for his missing knee. Bridger stood above him, aimed, and mechanically fired one round into the man’s face.

Bridger turned, slid left, pointed the Makarov through the door, and emptied the magazine