Their Obsession (Four Mercenaries 2)

“Selling Boar? What the fuck? You just left him there?” Pyro shook Clover, and the boy didn’t resist it, as if all the strength he’d gained in the past year had gone.

Tank pushed Pyro away. “There’ll be time for that. Stay calm, or we lose,” he said into Pyro’s face, which had a layer of dampness over red skin now. His eyes burned as if he were a devil in disguise about to unleash his fury on the world. And this fury wanted to tear Clover apart.

Tank swallowed. “Pyro. For fuck’s sake, you have to stay focused now. Boar needs you alert, so don’t lose your shit, all right?”

Pyro took a deep breath and clenched his fingers on the sides of his head. “You don’t leave people behind!”

Clover hunched his shoulders and wouldn’t meet their eyes, but tears dripped to his dirty feet, a glint in the morning sun. “There was no other way. Drake told me to go,” he uttered.

Tank stroked Clover’s matted hair. “You did good. You got us to come here. Let’s go. We’re wasting time.”

Pyro squared his shoulders but led the way, his movements stiff as if he were a machine. Clover clenched his fingers around Tank’s hand like a lost child. He wasn’t himself, and all Tank wanted was to stop time and talk to him, find out what the fuck had happened, but time was a force even he couldn’t fight, so they all got into the car as fast as possible.

Having beat Pyro to the steering wheel, Tank sped down the peaceful street. His brain burned with the worst of possibilities, but he couldn’t let them overcome his mind now. Time to act, he told himself, time to act. His entire focus was on following Clover’s directions, but when two black vans drove right past him through the quiet industrial estate, he was torn whether he should reach the facility or check what kind of cargo the vehicles carried. This was why they usually travelled in more than one car.

Following through on the original plan was an executive decision he made without telling Clover and Pyro about his thoughts on the vans, but when he headed for the open gate and spotted a body lying at the side of the asphalt road, his breath sped up. The facility was surely evacuating fast, all assets to be taken. And what assets were more important than people?

“Is he hurt? Should we take a first aid kit?” Pyro asked.

“I don’t know. They separated us after the zoo. I m-met Drake, but Boar was somewhere else.” Clover rubbed his face. “They put us in a room in the basement, so maybe he’s there too.”

Pyro muttered something, his voice dark. He was the embodiment of Tank’s deepest emotions, but someone needed to keep their head clear, so Tank pressed on the gas pedal and dashed down the driveway, toward a blocky building that looked like any other eighties office complex.

Wind whisked pieces of A4 paper, documents someone must have dropped in their hurry to leave following the security breach, but Tank’s focus was singular at this point, on a small truck facing away from the main entrance to the building, awaiting its load.

Sweat rolled down his back when he saw a man jump out of the cab with a rifle in hand, but Pyro opened the door, hung out of it, and shot, hitting the guy’s forehead.

Tank had considered leaving their car farther away and sneaking up to the facility, but that ship had sailed, and with the gate wide open and unmanned, they had to focus on their only advantage—surprise.

“Clover, duck in the back seat and stay there.”

Pyro aimed again, but still found it in him to snarl at Tank. “After leaving them there, the least he can do is come with us.”

It was like having a dragon blow fire into Tank’s face, but he wouldn’t budge. “Clover. Stay. Use one of my spare handguns if needed,” he said before leaving the vehicle. He didn’t bother to check whether the boy followed the order. He knew.

The pulsing in his head might have been a distraction, but he welcomed its rhythm, because it reined in the situation, offering a countdown. Everything moved in slow motion, even his own legs when they stepped over the second corpse he’d seen today.

Noticing the ghost of a movement beyond the entrance was as easy as breathing, and he gestured at Pyro, taking shelter on one side of the door while Pyro hurriedly leaned against the other.

His gaze swept over the scene to confirm whoever was coming wouldn’t spot their dead colleagues right away. But then he looked across the roofed porch, at Pyro, whose fingers shook from the effort not to charge just yet.

Leave one alive, he told him in one of the gestures they used for voiceless communication.