Leo slammed on the brakes and his body swayed sideways along with the screeching sound. He gnashed his teeth and said, "Today?! The seventh victim! Who could it be?"
"I'm sorry, I can't guess this." Li Biqing's low voice came from the other end of the phone.
"You've already done a good job." Leo comforted. "You don't have to think about how to stop those murderers, leave that to us. You just need to continue your analyses and speculations."
"Alright." The Chinese boy answered, followed by another sentence: "Leo, be careful."
"Rest assured, I will." Feeling the concern from the other person's words, the federal agent answered softly, then hung up the call and restarted the car.
He continued driving for a few minutes, then there was a sudden "bang" from the back of the car. Leo immediately felt that the car was shaking left and right, and he could hardly hold the steering wheel.
A flat tire, such a gravel road in the countryside is really a hell. He cursed in the bottom of his heart. He stepped on the pedal repeatedly, slowly stopped the car to the side of the road, and went out to check the situation.
Sure enough- it was a flat tire on the right rear wheel. He bent down to check the tires. When he saw the triangular iron cones that had been pierced into the rubber, his heart jumped: this was not an accident! A sense of crisis emerged spontaneously. In the blink of an eye, his fingers had inserted into his coat, and pressed the holster to pull out his gun, but he was still one step behind. His ankle was grabbed by something as hard steel, dragged it backwards, and his entire body fell down from the force!
In his moment of fall, a scene suddenly appeared in Leo's brain: a sharp weapon will hit him from behind, the blade will pierce him in an oblique manner, avoiding the ribs and directly plunging into his lungs. He won't even have time to cry out- he will fall dead by the car in an instant!
It's like the Grim Reaper's sickle-sharp, frosty and full of killing intent, piercing through his skin. His back could almost feel the icy blade of wind, and the cold sensation ran straight down from his spine to his feet. Between the line of life and death, he bent his left forearm to the gravel road as a support, tightened his thighs with all his might, he twisted his feet like two strand of wires and turned sharply, breaking free from the restraint. Without waiting for his eyes to focus, his right hand pulled the trigger in the direction of the figure without hesitation.
A gray, cold light swept in front of his eyes, and a muffled sound was released as the Glock 18 gun flew out of his hand. Leo grasped his right wrist, which was sore in pain due to the huge impact, turned over and rolled out two or three meters away. He blocked the attacker's lethal strike, but also paid the heavy price of losing his weapon. Originally he had a spare XR9 pocket pistol inserted in his ankle, but unfortunately it got pulled out at the moment of the first attack earlier.
However, he also took the opportunity to see the attacker's appearance. Although the other party wore a hood and he could only see a pair of small eyes emitting a cold light like a serpent, it was clear that this is a Caucasian man, and his height and weight matches with the data obtained from the footprints at the murder scene. This person is the likely one who left white pieces, the Black player!
It turned out that the seventh victim chosen for today, that white knight chess piece, was himself! While the opponent raised his knife and rushed over, Leo who was lying on his back, supported his arms with his hands, and kicked the other's tibia. With his deadlift strength of 350 kg, anyone who gets kicked by this leg will not feel good, or might even cause a fracture. But when Leo's leg planted firmly on the assailant's calf muscle, he felt like he just kicked an iron plate, and the shock caused his feet to hurt and turn numbed.
The attacker took the opportunity to stab the agent's calf with a knife, and left a bloody hole on his ankle. If Leo hadn't contracted his feet quickly, his ligaments might have been cut by this knife.
This is a fighting expert! Leo thought as he swore inside and leaped sharply. His right leg swung at the opponent's knife-wielding wrist, but he was easily avoided as the other raised his hands abruptly. Just when his right leg was about to dropped to the ground, the assailant scrambled to step forward to grab his right foot, and the sharp blade was about to stab his right waist, near the kidney.
The speed of the knife was too fast, and with his legs still seized, avoiding it seemed impossible. Leo was forced to spin his body around his waist and take the knife on his back. The blade went through his suit and the spilling blood instantly made the dark fabric darker.
After two consecutive strikes, although the wound was not deep and his vitals weren't harmed, the constant blood loss and severe pain still greatly reduced his speed and physical strength. Leo felt even more chilled: his opponent's skill was no less than that of the combat expert, Anthony. This is no longer the level at which he can confront him head-on!
As Leo saw the knife's light cut through the air again, a feeling of despair rushed from the bottom of his heart and it almost froze his brain. However, his survival instinct was to strike at this moment- he threw a handful of gravel that was secretly clasped in the palm when he fell to the ground at the other's face!
The masked man raised his hands subconsciously to cover his head and face. Leo took advantage of this fleeting opportunity to compress his leg muscles like a spring, and slammed it out. He flew three or four meters towards the grass on the roadside in the blink of an eye and grabbed his Glock 18. While the man rushed over, he gripped the handle of the gun in one second. As there was no need to raise the trigger safety, his finger quickly pulled the trigger and fired three shots when he turned over.
When he saw Leo grabbed the pistol, the hooded man judged that the situation was over. He thought that this was an easy kill, but apparently, this white-faced federal agent was a hard bone for him to chew. He made a quick decision, leaped out sideways before the sound of gunfire, and rolled into the tall cornfield.
This gravel road is not far from the rural town of Thomson and despite its quiet location, there are still plenty of reclaimed fields on the side of the road. With the tall summer corns and green-covered vast fields, the masked killer's figure soon disappeared into the green curtain while being chased by several bullets.
The hot stillness reappeared on the country road. With his clothes thoroughly soaked with blood and sweat, Leo took a deep breath of the air filled with the smoke emitted by the gun muzzle, and his clamouring heart that kept slamming on his chest finally slowed down.
The dizzy spell caused by excessive blood loss swooped in his brain like a group of vultures. He took off his suit jacket, ripped his sleeves and wound it around his waist and ankle to tighten his back and ankle injuries. He then returned to the driver's seat and started the black car.
His current position is 230 kilometres away from downtown Chicago so it's impossible for him to go back and find a doctor. He can only drag the broken tire and continued driving towards Thomson village and hopefully, there's a clinic that can suture his wounds in that remote town populated with less than 600 people.
Twenty minutes later, the car stopped in front of a bungalow on Thomson's main street. Leo glanced at the striking red cross signboard, dragged his weak footsteps to the glass door, and stood in his blood-stained body in front of the doctor in a white coat. He pulled out his credentials before the other side panics: "FBI, I need your help."