Chapter 39: Melee
Hanks gripped the radio handset, knuckles white from the force. The voice on the other end dripped with mockery and cruelty. Clearly hostile.
"What do you want?" His voice was ice, forcibly suppressing the surging rage.
"Simple." The other side spoke deliberately. In the background, Glenn's muffled sobbing could be heard.
"That police car you just drove out, plus all weapons and ammunition. Deliver them nicely."
"Don't try anything cute, officer." The voice turned sinister. "We watched your whole performance."
As if to prove his point—
BANG!
A crisp gunshot.
Less than a meter in front of the police car's hood, dust erupted from the ground. The bullet sparked sharply off the gravel.
Hanks's body tensed instantly. His instinct was to duck, but he forcibly restrained the useless motion.
They already had him locked in their sights. Moving rashly now meant death.
"So, officer?" The radio voice returned, toying with him like a cat with a mouse.
"Trade supplies for your buddy's life, or watch his brains splatter?"
Hanks's brain worked at maximum speed. He had no intention of being a lamb for slaughter.
Damn it. Too little intel.
But the enemy knew everything. Even last night's sensation of being watched came from them.
Had to buy time. Find an opening.
"How do I know Glenn's still alive?"
Hanks spoke into the radio while his eyes desperately searched for any opportunity.
"Tch, so demanding." The other side snorted impatiently. Static crackled, then Glenn's tearful voice came through. "Officer! They've got lots of people! And guns... Ah!"
A dull thud and Glenn's pained grunt followed. The transmission cut off abruptly.
"Heard that? Kid's got loyalty." The voice took over again.
"Now. Immediately. Drive to the intersection ahead and turn right. There's an abandoned factory."
"Park the car at the entrance. Get out. Drop all weapons. Raise your hands and walk over."
"Don't make me repeat myself. My patience is limited. Next shot won't be at the ground."
The radio clicked off.
Hanks slowly lowered the handset. His eyes were ice. Fists clenched tight.
He glanced at the backpack in the passenger seat. Survival resources he'd barely managed to obtain.
But Glenn...
Hanks was no bleeding heart. But he couldn't abandon someone he'd fought alongside.
He took a deep breath and pulled a smoke grenade from the backpack.
Checked the pin expertly, then stuffed it in an easily accessible tactical vest pocket.
Then restarted the police car. Following their directions, he slowly drove toward the intersection ahead, turned right, heading for that abandoned factory.
Hanks's gaze swept the factory environment rapidly. Rusted buildings. Tall corroded gantry cranes.
Discarded metal bins piled in corners. Shattered windows. Every detail burned into his mind as he analyzed possible terrain advantages and threat points.
The factory gate stood open. Inside was a relatively open loading area. But the situation was far worse than imagined.
Over twenty people packed the factory interior. Nearly everyone armed.
Beyond common machetes and baseball bats—at least seven or eight hunting rifles and shotguns, plus five or six handguns.
They stood scattered, leaning against abandoned equipment, eyes vicious. Like pre-apocalypse gangs?
Glenn was bound with hands behind his back, face covered in bruises and blood, body trembling slightly. A tall thin guy pressed a shotgun to the back of his head.
The leader was a scarred man holding a pump-action shotgun. Seeing the approaching police car, he showed a satisfied grin.
Hanks stopped the car at the factory entrance. Through the window, he quickly assessed the firepower comparison.
Twenty-plus people. Over a dozen guns...
Direct confrontation would be suicide.
He took a deep breath, pushed the door open, and slowly exited with raised hands.
"Everything's in the car and this pack."
Hanks hefted the heavy assault backpack, voice working to stay calm.
Scarface had a cigarette in his mouth, pointing his shotgun at the ground. "Put the pack down. Slowly take off that gear you're wearing. Don't make us do it."
Hanks didn't move. His gaze went to Glenn. "First I confirm my man's alive."
Scarface waved impatiently. The tall thin guy roughly yanked Glenn's hair.
"Officer..." Glenn's voice was full of fear.
"Looks like he's still breathing." Hanks nodded, setting the assault pack on the ground at his feet.
"Now release him. Let him walk over. This stuff is yours."
Scarface sneered. "First take out your pistol. Put it on the ground and kick it over. Quick."
The atmosphere reached breaking point.
Hanks's eyes narrowed slightly.
His gaze met Glenn's for an instant. An almost imperceptible nod.
Then he slowly reached out his right hand toward the P226 pistol grip at his waist.
Every eye focused on his drawing motion. At least four or five gun muzzles locked onto him.
The instant the pistol was about to leave the holster—
Hanks's motion suddenly changed.
Four times agility. Quick Draw. American Quick-Draw.
The P226 leaped from the holster like black lightning. Didn't even show obvious aiming.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Three shots practically tore the air.
The tall thin guy's forehead exploded.
Scarface's gun-holding right shoulder took a hit. He screamed. The shotgun nearly flew from his grip.
Another guy with a hunting rifle closest to Hanks had his chest erupt in blood. He fell backward.
"Glenn! Get down!"
Hanks rolled like a donkey. His left hand pulled the smoke grenade, yanked the pin, and threw it forward.
HISSS! Dense gray-white smoke exploded instantly, swallowing a huge area.
"Boss is hit!"
"Fuck! Kill him!"
Chaos erupted instantly. Shouts, coughs, curses, and blind gunfire merged into chaos.
Hunting rifles and shotguns roared at close range. Pistol bullets whizzed everywhere.
Countless pellets and rounds slammed into the police car body, clanging. Glass shattered instantly.
Hanks used the smoke cover to lunge like a cheetah into the chaotic crowd.
BANG! BANG!
While moving rapidly, he fired selective shots, blowing open a raider's head who was shooting wildly.
Close quarters. Melee.
Making their numerical advantage and hostage threat far less effective in close combat.
A guy swinging a machete emerged from the smoke. Hanks was already in his face.
Left hand batted aside the knife hand. Right hand P226 muzzle pressed nearly against his chin and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
Blood mist sprayed from his back skull.
Hanks didn't pause. Sidestepped a lunging knife.
His right hand pistol swung down, the grip smashing hard into the attacker's nose bridge.
CRACK! Teeth-grinding bone snap.
"Ahh!" The scream barely started—
Hanks's knee drove hard into his gut, making him curl like a shrimp.
BANG! Another shot finished an enemy trying to raise his gun nearby.
Smoke, gunfire, screams, chaotic crowd...