Well, that lasted all of half a night. Blake stalked across the dark night road, the moon hanging brightly overhead. Oh well, I always work better alone. He felt a mixture of emotions. He was unsure and questioned himself at every turn, but he had to lock that away from now. It was about time to get on to the main task.
He stood outside the entrance to the Walmart and peered inside. The gang was in disarray; people ran around madly while a man held a dead corpse. His cries pierced through the walls and filled the outside air. Fortunately, the area was devoid of the Pusermites, so the only threat to Blake was the White Thorns. And now was the perfect time to attack.
As he watched their movements, he made careful note of their patterns and their numbers. It was 17, unlike the 19 that should be there – which means that the two Unseen must have already escaped. Shit, he thought. Quietly opening his backpack, he brought out 4 trip plates and put them in the right pocket of his lab coat. He hooked his two hunting knives to his belt and held the two throwing knives in one hand. With his final free hand, Blake brought out a square piece of paper and closed his backpack. Without any of the people inside noticing him, he walked straight in front of the door and stood there for a moment. It was finally time to begin.
He flipped the piece of paper in his hand and stared long and hard at the image of him and his son's smiling face as anger burned inside him and exploded into a fireball, a fireball that devastated anything and everything in its path. He slid the picture back in his pocket, took one knife from his other hand, and took a deep breath.
The backpack was too heavy. Running inside, he slung it off his shoulder and lobbed it at the crying man, hitting him in the back of the head. Continuing his sprint as he toppled down, Blake grabbed the backpack again and used his head as a stepping stool, thrusting downward with all his might and feeling a satisfying crumple. 16. Jumping off the head, he twisted his body in the air and threw his first knife into the nearest body. 15. He landed on the ground lightly, and threw his next knife in the same direction. 14. But it was far. Blake had lost precious time.
By the time he was able to recover the two knives, a group was already running wildly towards him from the other side while the others in that area went to get their weapons. 4 people – the perfect number for 2 knives. Blake rocketed towards them and whipped his knives into the skulls of the first two. Immediately recovering the knives, he jumped up and flipped over the others' attacks, slitting their throats upside down. 10.
The sound of a gunshot resounded throughout the Walmart and a loud ping pulled Blake's knife out of his hand. With a small pang of fear, he crouched, body parallel to the ground, and watched the wave of bullets fly over him. Time was now extremely strained. Blake dropped his other knife and slipped both hands into his lab coat pocket, immediately sliding the 4 plates on the ground. As predicted, they all met their marks and the corresponding 4 men fell to the ground on their face. Keeping his low angle, Blake rushed forward and grabbed the two hunting knives from his pocket. There was still 1 standing, but his trigger hand trembled uncontrollably and the bullets flew everywhere. When he caught up to their position, Blake sprang up and spun, swinging the knives in wide arcs that slit the throats of the 4 fallen men and plunged into the neck and skull of the one standing next to them. 5.
He rolled to lessen the impact of hitting the ground, but his momentum drove him into a checkout aisle and black spots danced in his eyes as his skull exploded with pain. He was now injured and weaponless. He had to get up quickly, but he got dizzy and lurched to the side. He grabbed the counter, panting, and surveyed the scene around him. 4 more were coming, though far away, from different directions – 3 with knives, 1 with a gun. God dammit. He had to fight through it.
He ran towards the 5 corpses and grabbed two hand guns from their pockets. Heavy guns weren't his style. But getting them out were a pain, and a bullet appeared in his shoulder. Blake screamed and clutched his shoulder, falling to the ground and dropping his guns. Frantically, he squirmed over behind the checkout aisle before the next bullet could plunge into him. He shook his head. Not today. With his good arm, he groped for the gun, heartbeat echoing in his skull. Finally, he found it, retrieving it. He loaded it, stood up, and fired. 4.
With the gun in his hand, Blake was unstoppable. 3. 2. 1. Each recoil ruptured his body and new pain found itself in his shoulder. He looked around and confirmed that nobody was near before he allowed himself to sink down and rest.
