Free The Border Reiver by Nick Christofides

chaos, it doesn’t mean we can turn a blind eye to crime. You have to come with us now, for the murder of three of our NSO colleagues and the unlawful killing of Bob and Jean Scott and your own wife, Esme Bell.”
    Nat was reeling; he could see how this story could be believable. But, he also knew the truth, and the injustice placed more pressure on him, the atmosphere had become so heavy. Like a cornered wild animal and so full of rage, his grip tightened on the ball-peen hammer which he had been holding by his side but out of view behind his leg. He stood closest to the smaller paramilitary, about three paces away.
    The four men were bathed in the orange glow of the street lights, and their breath was beginning to form condensation as the air temperature dropped. The street was dead quiet and a slight drizzle began to fall. Nat had no plan at all; he had a hammer. They could have guns. He looked at each of the four faces in front of him: Truter was totally relaxed, assured but losing patience with the silence. The other men were watching intently, but also unnervingly calm, as if this type of situation - and far worse - were second nature to them.
    Nat spoke to the smaller paramilitary, “Were you at my house last night?”
    “Yes,” he replied, and as he lifted his chin to give the affirmative, Nat saw the deep desperate scratch marks on the man’s neck.
    “You shouldn’t have done that.”
    “Done what?”
    “The woman, my wife…”
    Before any of them had time to register the words, Nat had taken an enormous step forward. He swung the heavy hammer with every inch of power he could muster, meeting the man's temple with a splintering crack underscored by a dull thud. The hardened steel drove through his cranium with ease and mashed two or three inches deep into his brain. He went to ground with immediate and devastating paralysis.
    While his body convulsed, as his mind came to terms with the irreparable damage which had just been inflicted, Nat raised the tool again - this time aiming it at Truter. Although the three men in front of him had been surprised by the speed and unadulterated violence of his attack, they were quick to gather their composure and Truter dodged backwards, avoiding Nat’s lunge. The hammer connected with the shoulder of the Eastern European, who gave an audible wince and fell to one knee. As Nat realigned his body for the third attack, he looked up to find himself staring down the barrels of two guns which were levelled at his head. He understood immediately that this was it: someone was going to pull the trigger.
    He heard two shots, but felt no pain and saw no muzzle flash from the guns in front of his face. As Truter and the mercenary turned to see who was attacking them now, Nat turned the other way and ran as fast as he could into the lifesaving darkness of the park. He was no sprinter, so he tried to keep changing direction as he went. As he ran, he heard three more gunshots; the first whistled past his head. The second slammed into a tree trunk to his right. The third ripped through his left shoulder like a freight train through a car left on the tracks. The force of the impact threw him off his feet and he rolled through the dirt, but he was back on his feet in the same motion and he carried on running. It was only after another ten paces that the excruciating burning sensation oozed across his body from the epicentre in his arm. The limited paralysis of the pain lasted for about ten seconds in which he staggered on, and then his mind cleared, adrenalin kicked in once again, and he was running freely.
    He knew this park, he had played in it as a child and he knew that the stream running through it went underground about fifty yards ahead of him. This was his new plan, get into the darkness and pick them off one by one in the confined space if they followed, or escape and reorganise if they didn’t.
    He crouched behind a nearby tree in the darkness to see what his pursuers were up