Chapter 54: Departure

Jackie emptied both pistols in a rapid barrage and rushed toward the rear.
He needed to lower the rope quickly so Arthur and the others could climb up.

The pursuers closed in, but their advance was cautious.
As usual, Jackie fell back to the next piece of cover after each volley, then struck back fiercely.
They seemed to accept this slow progress—no one wanted to be the first to stick their neck out and die for the company.

That hesitation bought Jackie precious time. He quickly secured the hoist mechanism and fastened the safety rope to the iron coffin he was using as cover.
The machine started, hauling the others upward—but it would take time.
And until then, Jackie had to fight.

The pursuers soon sensed something was wrong. They had crept forward for a while without facing Jackie’s usual storm of gunfire.
After advancing a bit further, his guns roared to life.

This time his fire was fast and heavy, with little aim—he wanted to create an illusion.
An illusion that he still held the upper hand.

Sure enough, the enemy’s counterfire came slower than usual. But they weren’t fools. It didn’t take long before someone called it out.
“He’s bluffing!”

The smart ones only shouted, but the pressure on Jackie mounted fast.
Damn it. As the bullets hammered his cover, he realized with horror it wasn’t nearly as solid as it looked.

This was bad. He needed to move—but his safety rope was tied to it.

Grinding his teeth, Jackie untied the rope, wrapped it tightly around his left leg, and looped it several times.
Firing a few shots for cover, he slid down the iron platform and crawled behind another coffin holding a living prisoner.

And then—the thing he dreaded most happened.
A bullet struck the lift mechanism. It kept running, but the device holding it groaned under the strain.

With a loud crack, it snapped backward—only to be yanked to a halt by the safety rope tied around Jackie’s leg.
The sudden pull nearly knocked him off his feet. Veins bulged across his forehead as he strained with all his strength to steady himself.

The rope cut into his flesh like a knife, and worst of all, his leg was already going numb.

“Dios no lo quiera.”

Muttering the prayer, Jackie wedged his leg into a gap in the iron platform and raised both pistols again.
His friends’ lives depended on him. There was no room for hesitation now.

“Come on, you bastards!”

V went up first—Arthur was half-crippled and might need help.
As they neared the elevator door, the storm of gunfire outside hit their ears.

“Looks like Jackie’s swamped.”

V pulled herself up, then reached back and hauled Arthur after her.
Arthur climbed with difficulty, his pale face regaining a little color as he muttered through dry lips,
“Damn it… down there, I thought I was just a mole digging tunnels.”

Being underground brought its own kind of pressure—the suffocating feeling of being trapped with no escape.

Jackie alone held off the gunfire at the elevator doors. Unless he fell, the big man would always shield his friends.

No time for rest—the three immediately joined the fight beside him.

“Hey.”

Arthur slid next to Jackie, emptying his revolver.
“You wouldn’t believe how sexy that fiery lady was.”

He fumbled to reload, still cracking jokes.
“Funny. Save it for when we’re alive and out of here.”

Jackie’s grim expression softened a little. The burning pain in his leg was good news—it meant it was still alive. He had no desire to drag around a useless iron limb.

“Alright, alright… thought you missed me. And my shooting.”

With a snap, Arthur locked the revolver’s cylinder back into place and fired another six rounds.

The forty or fifty pursuers soon lay dead under their guns. If any escaped, it wasn’t their concern.
They were all wounded as it was.

“Jackie, time to go home, buddy.”

Arthur slid Prelude back into his waistband, freeing a hand to clap Jackie on the shoulder.
“Yeah… but I might need some help here.”

Jackie’s hands shook as he unwound the rope, slick with blood, from his leg.
Arthur gestured at the mess.
“Alright… fine. Just wish you could say for sure we didn’t drag you up by your leg.”

Jackie tossed the rope aside.
“Too bad. Truth is, it was thanks to my leg.”

Arthur’s mouth twitched, but his voice stayed steady and rough as ever.
“Thank God you didn’t tie that rope around your neck.”

“Shut up, Arthur. We’re moving.”

V’s sharp voice cut from behind. She glared daggers at Arthur until he stayed quiet.
“You take Jackie. His leg’s bad.”

“Great. One casualty helping another. That’s just like you, V.”

Under the night sky, the four retraced their path. Dawn was still two hours away. What had started as a full squad was now down to only three who could walk properly.

Arthur carried Achilles. Rebecca stayed close to Arthur and Jackie.
V, sensing the danger had eased, darted into the darkness to set something up.

“That old woman’s a pain,” Rebecca muttered.
“Maybe she’s just in a rush. Who knows.”

Tonight’s mission had been a close call. It seemed to stir Arthur’s true nature—or maybe relief just loosened him up. Either way, Jackie wasn’t in the mood to listen.

“How are you holding up?”

Lucy’s voice came through the comms.
“Not bad. At least no one’s missing.”

V answered, stepping out of the shadows. Her tall, curvaceous frame carried a sharp, commanding air. Her high ponytail swayed with each step.
“Truck’s clear.”

Lucy fell silent again—true to form.

“You damn woman, where’d you go?”

Rebecca never called her “old woman” to her face. Wild as she was, she knew her limits in a fight.

“Left something behind. You’ll see soon enough.”

V glared daggers at Arthur, making it clear she didn’t want to hear from him.

They regrouped at the truck. David leaned against a massive tire, his legs wrapped in pieces of Lucy’s coat, dark blood seeping through.

“How are you, kid? You don’t look so good.”

David lifted his head, hesitated for a moment, then spoke,
“I’m fine… Arthur, did you… did you find a way to cure my mom?”

Arthur stood, tossed him a silver case.
“Hope it works.
Cheer up, kid. You can still talk, even if you can’t stand right now.”

In the truck bed, the detonated EMP lay charred black.
David, Jackie, and Lucy stayed in the rear—two wounded and one makeshift nurse.

Up front, the trio remained the same.
V drove. Arthur sat in the passenger seat. Rebecca sprawled in the back.

She hadn’t even taken off her dress shoes, trampling the seat into a mess. Now she was bent forward, butt in the air, hands on the backs of the front seats.

At the huge steering wheel, V slid on a pair of black silk-rimmed sunglasses.