Page 140 of Shrapnel

Jackson held up a hand to Noah, two fingers to his eyes then rotated his wrist. Noah made a face.

“He’s saying keep your eyes open,” Owen told Noah. “And head on a swivel.”

Noah may or may not have stuck his tongue out at Jackson, but Owen wasn’t going to point that out.

Jackson pulled open the front door, Noah filing in behind him. Shoulder to shoulder they advanced one step at a time. Stance wide, shoulders hunched, they led with their guns. Noah’s should have looked small and garish compared to Jackson’s long M4 but it looked weirdly lethal in his hands.

They split around the counter, moving in single file into the short narrow hallway that led to the kitchen. The AC kicked on causing the papers tacked to the walls to rustle and flap, brushing their shoulders.

“Kitchen should be up ahead,” Owen warned them. “Walk in freezer to your immediate left. Remember, the pizza oven is probably on.”

Zooming in, he could see sweat beaded up on their foreheads. It was probably hot as hell with all the ovens on.

Noah was in front, his gun wavering a little. Even through the lens of a camera, he looked nervous, eyes darting around the room. He stepped lightly, boots squeaking against the linoleum.

They breached the hallway, guns scanning the kitchen. Just as Noah stepped forward he stuttered, the sound of snapping plaster loud in the comms just before screaming.

Noah went down like a ton of bricks, his gun dropping to the floor. Owen desperately changed the camera view to see that Noah had stepped over a plastered-over hole in the floor. The thin plaster caved the moment he stepped onto it, revealing a hole full of razor-sharp jack-looking things. They had three evenly pointed spikes about the size of his palm.

“Caltrops,” Jackson muttered.

Noah was howling in pain, tears streaking down his cheeks. There wasn’t much blood. The caltrop was still stuck in his foot. They looked like they were made of sheet metal. With a shaking hand, Noah tried to remove it from his foot. He cried out when it didn’t budge.

“Don’t pull it out, it’s probably embedded in the bone.” Jackson stepped forward, about to kneel to help him when something caught Owen’s eye.

“Get down!”

Jackson threw himself backwards into the hallway just as the far wall where his head had been exploded in plume of grease-stained dry wall. A mass of nails, screws, and other shards of metal were stuck in the wall.

“It was a tiny trip wire attached to a shotgun. He’s got this place rigged! You need to pull out now.” Owen shifted through screens like a maniac looking for more lethal traps.

Jackson rolled to his feet, crouching. The long barrel of the M4 had gotten trapped under one of his long legs. He struggled to right it in the narrow hallway. Just as he got it free a gun clicked across the room.

He didn’t wait, just moved. He barreled forward, catching Mateo in the stomach. They both slammed into the office wall, guns trapped between them as they scrabbled. Jackson head butted Mateo so hard the entire wall shuddered. Spitting blood, Mateo wobbled before managing to get a hold of Jackson’s hair, yanking his head back and slamming the edge of his hand into his neck.

Stumbling back, Jackson gasped horrible hacking sounds, breath wheezing. The M4 clattered to the floor, spinning out underneath a prep table.

Mateo shook his head, blinking stars from his eyes. He spat blood and snarled at Jackson. “Two against one isn’t very balanced.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jackson wheezed, hands on his knees as he moved to pull his machete.

Mateo advanced on Noah, bringing up his handgun. Noah kicked like a mule. The caltrop still stuck in his foot sank into the soft flesh of Mateo’s thigh. Owen wasn’t sure who screamed louder, Noah or Mateo. The two prongs ripped out of Mateo and blood poured down his leg, soaking through his pants.

He swung his gun to Noah who was reaching for his own, fingers too short to grab the gold-handled weapon. Owen was internally screaming, desperately willing the gun to leap into Noah’s hand.

Something sailed through the air, striking Mateo in the head. He faltered back, gun falling from his fingers as he struck the wall again. A frozen log of pepperoni rolled across the screen. Jackson had thrown the pepperoni log like a football, striking Mateo in the face. The freezer behind Jackson rocked as he pushed off it, teeth bared in a feral snarl as he slammed into Mateo again.

Jackson’s machete was on his hip, but he was busy holding back Mateo’s good hand. He didn’t see the prosthetic until it was too late. Mateo pushed a plastic finger into his eye socket. Jackson grunted, falling back as Mateo pressed forward. The prep table banged to the floor as they fell against it.

Blood and something viscous poured down Jackson’s cheeks as he tried to keep Mateo’s prosthetic from his eye and his good hand from around his throat. Still wheezing, he tripped backward until his back hit the wire conveyor moving through the pizza oven.

Mateo’s good hand pressing into Jackson’s neck, he twisted Jackson toward the open end of the oven. Coils glowed orange as the machine belched out heat. Jackson’s guttural cry of pain sent shockwaves through Owen. Bent backward, hands busy trying to hold Mateo at bay, all he could do was try to keep from being forced into the oven. The heat was so strong that Jackson’s hair began to burn, coiling up from the heat and singing the side of his neck.

Owen was screaming into the comm, grabbing the gun beside him. If he ran, could he make the distance in time?

On one leg Noah swung a pizza peel into the side of Mateo’s face. The thin metal crumpled as it struck, sending Mateo flying. Jackson collapsed to his knees, covering his face as he tried to catch his breath.

Mateo lunged for his gun, leaping across the floor to where the black handgun had dropped.