Free Chemical Burn by Quincy J. Allen Page B

been. Faster than any human, I sidestepped and crouched down, reaching under the back of my coat in a single, fluid motion as I spun to my left.
    The gun that had been pointing at my head thumped. The round harmlessly embedding itself in the wall behind Guido. The vlain gave off its high-pitched whine as my hand closed around it.
    The weapon came out easily. I extended my arm, swinging the blade in a tight arc. The curved blade passed through the fat man’s mid-section, slicing through skin, muscle, fat, and intestine. He grunted as his belly flopped open like a bloody, toothless mouth.
    Natalia came up from her roll into a low crouch, the Glock in her hands. My backswing passed through the fat man’s neck with a sickly-wet squelch, like a cleaver hitting a side of beef. Blood sprayed across the counters and sink as the blade opened his throat. His eyes went wide in surprised horror.
    “What the fuck!” someone yelled from upstairs.
    “Vincent, what happened?!” burst through the radio.
    Natalia let off two fast shots, chest then head, which sent the man with the radio reeling backwards as he fell.
    Guido shot blindly into the kitchen from the sunroom. I ducked down into a low crouch, taking two steps towards him as bullets sailed above me to the left and right. I came up as hard as I could, burying the stiletto blade up under his chin and angling it back into his brain. His head snapped back, and his arms swung down lifelessly at his sides. As I yanked the blade out, I heard the splat-spattering of the fat man’s intestines spilling onto the kitchen floor behind me.
    Without pausing, I leapt towards the hallway as both dead Italians thudded to the floor with loud thuds.
    Footsteps hammered down the hall upstairs.
    I reached into a pocket, pulled out another flash-bang and clicked the buttons on either side. I flashed past Natalia, leapt over Vincent’s body, and ran down the hall, zigzagging left and right, pushing my weight off the baseboards.
    A silenced thud sounded from above, and wood splintered near my foot. Without looking up, I hurled the flash-bang at the vaulted ceiling above and behind me as I kept running. It hit the ceiling and detonated, filling the hallway with light. I heard a yelp from above as the shooter was blinded. Shots rained down randomly into the hallway.
    I grabbed the stair rail, let my momentum swing me around the post, and leapt from the bottom landing to the middle stair. Another leap propelled me to the top. The last gunman came into view, standing in the middle of the sitting room, holding his eyes with one hand and firing the gun with the other. My last leap, the vlain held high in the air, carried me the last six feet to the gunman. I brought the blade down across his elbow, with a thick CHUCK! as it passed through flesh and bone. Before he could scream, my back swing took his head almost completely off. The arm hit the floor with a squishy thud, and he crumpled in a heap, blood squirting across the hardwood floor. His head, attached only by a thin flap of skin and muscle, flopped backwards with the top of his head now resting between his shoulder blades.
    “C’mon!” I yelled. “More are coming!” I ran to the back door and looked outside.
    I heard Natalia get up, sprint down the hall and race up the stairs. She grimaced at the body lying on the floor and, leaping over the pool of blood, came back to the bedroom. I stepped up to the glass and looked out the glass doors onto the patio.
    “Get it! Fast! ” I ordered. I could see the upper half of my truck beyond the deck.
    Natalia slipped the Glock into her belt and flipped the nightstand next to her bed onto its side. She then stepped up to a print of Munch’s The Scream , pulled the painting off the wall, and threw it on the bed. She exposed a wall-safe with a combination dial, a handle, two small red lights, and a thumb-reader. She slid her finger over the reader, and one of two small red lights turned green. She quickly