State of Attack by Gary Haynes

Author:Gary Haynes [Haynes, Gary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781474030724
Publisher: Carina
Published: 2015-08-16T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 53

At the top of the stairs Tom had passed through an unlocked wooden door. The sparsely-lit corridor appeared to be empty and he moved as quietly as he could over the concrete floor. He held up the hurricane lamp that had been his only source of light in the basement, but after twenty paces or more he froze.

Two Dobermans were sitting like minor Egyptian gods a few yards in front of him. But these were no statues. They began snarling, revealing rows of lethal white teeth. If they both came for him at once, he knew he might only be able to shoot one of them before the other started to rip at his flesh. Grimacing, he felt his whole body tense. He dropped the lamp and raised the Glock.

As if reading his mind, they bolted towards him, eating up the concrete like racehorses at full gallop. Without thinking, his mind went into fighter mode, just as they both leapt for the kill. He threw himself backwards, raised the handgun and shot the first dog in the chest. Despite hitting the concrete and jarring his head, he kicked upwards with his right leg and caught the second dog between its hind legs, with the full force of his instep. A searing pain in the small of his back made him grimace and moan between gritted teeth. It felt as if he’d been jabbed there with a jagged stick.

He scrambled up and saw that the dog he’d shot was lying on the ground, with its tongue out. The second dog had yelped as he’d kicked it. The impact had sent it careering behind him. Just as he turned, he saw it leap almost half-heartedly at him again. He put up his left forearm, felt the teeth sink into his flesh, although it didn’t have the strength to reach the bone. Ignoring the pain, he yanked it up onto its hind legs and put the barrel of the HK to its left eye and shot it.

He steadied himself, knowing that the muzzle blasts, accentuated by the confined space in the corridor, would have alerted whoever else occupied this place and he only had eight .45 ACP cartridges left in the semi-automatic pistol. Full metal jacket, for sure, but only eight.

He saw a slither of moonlight beneath a wooden door about three yards up. He ran for it. The door had a rusted circular handle and, testing it, he breathed out deeply with relief as he felt it twist upwards and heard the bolt retract.

He emerged from what he could now see was an old farm building, with off-white walls and a red tiled roof. He shivered in the cold night air, the sky cloudless, and looked about like a nervous animal. The yard in front of him was paved with large slabs of stones, a crumbling brick wall ahead. There was some ancient farm machinery strewn about, a two-wheeled cart, a drag harrow like a huge gaping mouth of filed blackened teeth, and a furrow plough.

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