Free Shattered by LS Silverii Page A

if he wanted to survive an encounter with Gray Man.
    Justice turned toward St. John as he fumbled for words. He apologized, not out of accountability but to express the unfairness of the situation he’d drug St. John into.
    St. John’s expression blanked, but Justice saw through the eerie green glow of his NVG that St. John wasn’t buying it.
    “Son, turn around and head back to the club. This is more than I expected. We won’t both get out alive. This is my mess—I’ll clean it up.” He leaned close to whisper, his eyes jetting wildly beneath the lenses.
    St. John listened with arms folded over his chest. “Fuck this, dude. Let’s just do what we came here to do, and get the hell back to set up a plan.”
    Justice’s fists pounded the air for emphasis. “We can’t. Things have changed.” He grabbed St. John’s left arm and pulled him into a crouched position. “I only suspected who Gray Man might be before, but now I know it’s him.
    “So what?”
    “I tracked this motherfucker for years.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I created him, and he’s been turned loose against this country. I’ve got to stop him,” he said coldly.
    St. John leaned too far forward and steadied himself on Justice’s shoulder. “A rogue agent?”
    “Worse. He was programmed to kill, and to kill in the most inhumane ways imaginable. The experiment was to turn his kind loose in foreign nations. The indigenous people thought they were devils— chupacabras in the Latin countries. The death counts created such terror in those countries that people, even soldiers, feared leaving their homes or villages.” Sweat glistened on Justice’s forehead and cheeks. “The project got out of control, so I was contracted. I eliminated most, but I heard he made it back from Iraq. It was part of why I gave the CIA the old up yours. Suddenly, they acquired a conscience about killing on domestic soil.”
    “You hunted them down?”
    “Sure did. Living off the grid brings a dangerous reality. All I did was hunt them.”
    “So who do we call now?” St. John’s mouth remained open at the harsh reality.
    Justice’s matted hair swung back and forth. “I don’t know.” Chill bumps exploded across him from head to toe—it actually burned. Justice knew he had a mission to accomplish. He sat with the knowledge for a moment, then, against his better judgement, he waved for St. John to follow him into the thick brush.
    Justice led the way through thickets and potential booby traps. St John seemed to catch onto the rhythm for moving more silently, but was not nearly as skilled as Justice—the damn guy was a ghost. Justice slowed as the foliage thinned. A stench assaulted his sense of smell. He ducked his nose but it was worse than anything he’d ever experienced.
    The overpowering reek of death blanketed him immediately. Justice knew he’d be ill but he’d have to be sick later. He had a mission to accomplish. He heard a distant roar of what sounded like a weed-eater. Specks darted across his field of view—swarms of mosquitoes and blowflies. He crept closer, staying low, to allow the NVG to adjust for maximum sight. There were multiple bodies here. A damn killing field.
    And he was responsible for the horror his eyes beheld. He knew his mind would never erase what it registered.
    He waved for St. John to turn back. Tremors in his hands and feet caused Justice to shiver. Clutching his throat, Justice knew his failure as a CIA op—his failure to get Gray Man—had cost many Americans their lives. He thrust his hand back to stop St. John’s advance, but he plowed past—wanting nothing to do with a retreat.
    St. John gagged, vomited, collapsed into the bile. Justice pressed on the back of St. John’s neck to keep him still and quiet. He felt the brother regain consciousness. St. John gagged into his vitriol again. Tried to lift his head to cast eyes upon the inhumane sight.
    Justice continued to tremble. Gray Man’s obsession had digressed in