Murray Hill || A Superhuman Tale - 1

Chapter Fifty-Two

To their credit, the remaining mercenaries put up a vigorous defense. Nearly 20 remained in a large area adjacent to the armory, where they had every weapon they could carry and many thousands of rounds of ammunition.

Sam had no trouble finding them, and he gave them no real time to prepare when he did. From the moment he first spied the miserable lot, until the time he threw himself into them, only a few seconds elapsed.

The single greatest threat the Chicagoan saw was the .50 caliber rifle wielded by Bennet. It was a mystery why the once-cocky mercenary hadn't been present when Sam breached the wall. Sadly, for the dolt, the weapon was a bolt action rifle. Bennet got off but one shot, which whizzed past Sam's ear. The older man then closed, seized the rifle, and dispatched the skinny oaf who fired it with a single punch. You should have stayed with the Eighty Deuce, was all Sam thought.

He then used the heavy weapon as a club to batter those around him.

The remaining mercenaries fought hard but posed little challenge. Their weapons were of scant use against Sam, and by choosing the armory with its single door as a last defense, they'd boxed themselves in. Not that it would have mattered much.

The best chance the wretches had at survival—the one that they were too short-sighted to take—would have been to abandon their firearms and to meet Sam with their bare hands. Sam's strength was not without limit, and there were enough of the men present that, had they rushed upon him as one, they might have overpowered him.

The fools. A lifetime of military training had taught them never to forsake their weapons. Within five minutes, the punches of Sam's thick fists and the blows from the heavy rifle had finished them all.

No sooner than the last mercenary dropped to the floor, a piercing scream split the air.

"Sam!" he heard from Lydia's frantic voice, "they're coming!"

Sam dashed with all his speed to where the frightened young girl stood by an exit door. She merely pointed, and Sam hurried outside and up some stairs to the top of the HESCO wall. At first, he couldn't make it out. Then a small line of vehicles approaching the compound from the south hove into view. There were eight in total, and still were about three miles away. Pulling out the field glasses, Sam made out the outline of three Bradley fighting vehicles. The machines were fast, and each was armed with a light cannon, a weapon that fired a much larger and far deadlier round than the .50 caliber bullet that so badly had wounded Sam earlier.

The Chicagoan dropped down and raced to the other side of the compound, to where he knew Celia was being held. Rounding the corner, he found the broad heavy door to the room in which she was held had a thick, sturdy padlock on it.

"Shit," he swore bitterly.

Lydia was right behind him. Her cries were desperate and frightened. "Sam, hurry!"

Sam had nothing with which to cut the lock and no time to find the keys. He grabbed the well-made padlock in both hands and, placing his feet on the door on either side of it, pulled with all his might. He could hear Lydia crying out. Soon her cries were joined by the muffled shouts of Celia in the other room.

The Bradleys would be there soon, but he was not going to leave either girl. They were too close. Relaxing briefly, and catching his breath, Sam again threw the strength of his entire body into pulling on the sturdy lock.

As if by magic, he found himself lying on the ground, half rolled up on his injured neck. The pain was excruciating. It took a moment for his eyes to clear, and, when they did, he saw a frightened Lydia standing over him, urging him to get up. He looked down into his hand and saw the remains of the shattered lock.

He leapt up, threw open the door, and ran over to the small cage in which Celia was imprisoned. The flimsy cage flew from its hinges with one easy pull, and Sam scooped up the tiny girl and ran out to the compound. The heavy diesel turbines of the fighting vehicles sounded terribly near. He placed Celia on the ground.

"You have to run, baby."

She understood immediately.

Sam snatched up his confiscated backpack and headed for the compound gate. Thankfully, the portal was positioned on the side of the facility facing away from the new threat. Running by several unused trucks, Sam toyed with the idea of taking one, but balked. They wouldn't have time to find the keys and to open the gate. Also, their only possible salvation now was to escape through the mountains.

He rummaged through vehicles as he passed, snatching up a half dozen MREs, a few more bottles of water, and a rain poncho and its insulated liner. It was all they had time to do.

By some miracle, Celia led them to a foot gate, which she deftly opened. By that time, they could hear the rumble of vehicles, the shouts of soldiers, and the crackle of radios. With the door open and the enemy on their tail, the three fugitives ran headlong into the night.