The Reckoning at the Docks
The hiss of a ruptured radiator cut through the sudden silence of the port. White steam billowed from under the crumpled hood of the SUV, mingling with the heavy smell of burnt rubber and spilled oil.
She stepped out of the sports car, keeping her stance low and her weapon raised, tracking the driver's side door of the wrecked vehicle. Every muscle in her body screamed from the morning's brutality, but her grip on the firearm remained rock-solid.
The front passenger door of the SUV creaked open.
The remaining guard stumbled out, coughing through the smoke, his face bloodied from the airbag deployment. He reached blindly for the weapon dropped on the floorboard, but before his fingers could touch the metal, she fired a single, warning shot into the asphalt centimeters from his hand.
"Don't," she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous, low register. "Kick it away."
The guard froze, looked into her cold, uncompromising eyes, and slowly used his boot to slide the submachine gun across the concrete. He raised his hands, backing away from the vehicle.
She didn't waste another look on him. She stepped past him, approaching the shattered rear windshield she had blown open earlier. Through the haze of smoke and safety glass inside the cabin, she saw Ethan. He was pinned beneath the slumped weight of one of the neutralized back-seat guards, but he was alive, his eyes wide as he looked up at her.
"Hold on," she muttered, grabbing the handle of the rear passenger door and ripping it open with a surge of adrenaline.
She hauled the heavy weight of the guard off Ethan, offering him her hand. He took it, coughing as he crawled out of the smoky interior and onto the solid concrete of the docks. He leaned against the side of the SUV, catching his breath, staring at her in absolute disbelief.
"You jumped on a moving van," Ethan breathed, a breathless, hysterical laugh escaping his lips. "You actually jumped on a van."
"You said it yourself—there's no use being locked up in the house," she said, a ghost of a smirk pulling at her lips despite the raw pain in her throat.
But the relief was short-lived. The driver of the SUV was missing from his seat.
A sudden shadow fell over them from the top of the blue shipping container towering right beside the vehicle. She caught the movement a fraction of a second too late. The driver had scrambled out of the opposite side and climbed the cargo crates, and now he was looking down at them, a heavy iron crowbar raised in his hands as he prepared to drop down directly on top of them.