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TIME-CHASE by Bobby Asghar : Chapter 1

Click cover to read the first chapter of TIME-CHASE - http://bobbyasghar.com/tracker.html - https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B015BLQQ50 - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B015BLQQ50

BOBBY ASGHAR The notion

BOBBY ASGHAR The notion of shelter was a non-starter to Lopez: there was nowhere to hide. The only way in or out was through the door, and Cage wasn’t going to hold them off for long. Her right arm was useless. She was good enough with her left, but her gun was out in the hall. “Need a gun,” she said, thinking out loud. Cage looked into sea blue eyes which burned with both suffering and enmity, and were streaked with reflected lightning as gunfire tore in through the doorway. He shook his head: he didn’t have a spare. Lopez twisted away, scanned the room for an answer. She glanced down at her own red trail. Then her eyes stretched wide as a heat-seeker slid in through the blood. “Cage!” she cried out, twisting back, and she threw herself at her partner as the heat-seeker detonated. A dire sense of urgency dragged Cage back to harsh reality, and his pain shook him. He couldn’t see from his burning left eye, but he could feel it run wet across his skin. His right was hazy, swirling smoke, his partner on top of him, her head on his chest. “Lopez,” he said, sputtering blood. She didn’t reply. “Lopez!” He strained to reach for her with his one good arm. Her eyes were open, her head and back matted with blood. Though she’d sacrificed her own life to shield him from the discharge, she’d died in vain: the heatseeker had done more than enough to incapacitate him. His left arm and side were riddled, as were both of his both legs, he was blind in one eye, and was pinned beneath her limp weight. His gun was a blur to his right, on the floor, too far to reach. Clawing at the slick red tiles, he tried to 8

TIME-CHASE wriggle free, to squirm closer to his gun. Groaning, twisting beneath his dead partner, he pushed sideways at her shoulder, shifting her weight. Finally sliding her off, he stretched right, reached for his gun, as a dark giant stepped in through the open doorway. Cage’s blood wet fingers brushed the base of his gun grip, the intruder’s shadow sweeping over him. Then a heavy boot pressed down against his hand, pinning it to the floor. “Still alive,” the giant said, his mockery evident even through the distortion. The enforcer shuddered, sprayed spittle as the big man’s boot ground harder, but he wouldn’t cry out. The enforcer’s resilience gave the giant pause for thought. He glanced at the dead woman, then back at the man underfoot. Keeping his weight on the enforcer’s fingers, he crouched down to squat and snatched the security pass from his chest. The black of his eyes swelled at the sight of the Search and Destroy insignia on the enforcer’s pass. “Trackers,” he said, his rancour fuelled. He crushed the security pass in his hand, and then dropped it into the spreading red pool on the floor. Drawing at his own animus, Cage clenched his left fist. “Time,” brown eyes said over the com. The enforcer lashed out, but the giant saw it coming—the swing was weak and flailing—he caught the enforcer’s wrist, held it firm. The enforcer wouldn’t have been a match at his best, much less debilitated. Still, it might have been fun. “Look at you, all broken and busted,” the giant said, grinding his boot harder. “You ain’t all that . . . less without a gun hand.” Finally yielding to his pain, the enforcer cried out. 9

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