Blood Song (Chapter 6, page 1 of 20)


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Chapter 6

Angus

The first sniper grunted softly as I snapped his neck. I left his body where it lay and quickly disassembled his rifle, putting the firing pin in one of my pockets. I felt the exultation in Oliver's mind as he decapitated the second one a few moments later. Show off.

Hugo had been right about the snipers. Fortunately we'd managed to find them fairly easily. They smelled of gun oil and sweat, an easy combination to track down when you know what to look for. We sensed another four heavily armed human males hiding in the bushes just on the perimeter of the warehouse property, four pairs of eyes that dimmed as they died four separate muffled deaths.

Oliver and I stood then, obscured by silence and bushes and pushed our minds out into the warehouse, ignoring the immense wall of thought of hundreds of individuals, seeking the one we had come for. We found him in the centre of the mass, but somehow below them.

"Basement," said Oliver, and I nodded. That would make this easier for us, knowing that he was safely tucked away. I was struck by the substance of his thoughts as I reached out to him though. He seemed different, somehow. Angrier. More determined. Harder. I wondered what Anne had done to him to effect a change like this.

"She'll pay tonight," grated Oliver, "and Mark will survive. He was going to change anyway, Angus. She just sped the process up."

"Can you find her?"

"I don't know what I'm looking for. There are too many of them in there."

"I know what you mean. Let's check out those outbuildings."

The two satellite structures were surprisingly empty, so we called Hugo and Fergus, who were waiting a mile or so down the road. Oliver and I were kitted out in military style ballistic vests and helmets, courtesy of one of his many hordes of allegedly decommissioned equipment. They were heavy and slightly cumbersome, but we could not afford to take risks tonight. There was too much at stake, and one or two stray bullets could kill us. Possibly.

Oliver had decided not to play with the C4 tonight. Too much noise, too much time needed to set it up. We'd stuck to the basics. Oliver had a couple of blades in his fists, short enough to allow easy movement in the press of bodies, and long enough to inflict real and devastating damage. He had other objects in pockets and belt hooks that defied any real description, apart from sharp. They looked like what you'd get if blades could evolve.

I too carried a few knives, but I'd brought the two trusty Glocks Fergus had sourced for me a couple of weeks back. My pockets were filled with extra magazines.

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