Chapter 9 - The Final Stand
I burst out of the underground medical bay, sweeping the heavy submachine gun across the empty warehouse.
David had already left in the stolen jeep, desperately rushing to meet Patricia for his massive payout.
I sprinted toward Patricia's abandoned luxury sedan, praying she had left the keys inside in her panic.
The engine roared to life with the push of a button, and I tore out of the warehouse into the dark Richmond streets.
I accessed the sedan's internal GPS system, searching for recent destinations heavily programmed into the luxury vehicle.
One location was pinned less than five miles away: a private, heavily guarded executive airstrip.
I pressed the gas pedal to the floor, weaving recklessly through the midnight traffic with lethal determination.
I was no longer a grieving widow or a terrified mother on the run.
I was a highly trained United States military commander executing a combat mission against enemy combatants.
I crashed through the chain-link fence of the private airstrip, the sedan fishtailing wildly across the dark tarmac.
A sleek, white private jet was idling near the end of the runway, its turbine engines whining loudly.
David and Patricia were standing near the boarding stairs, exchanging a heavy, silver briefcase.
Nicholas and Gregory Ferguson stood behind them, completely surrounded by a dozen elite mercenaries.
I slammed the brakes, turning the car sideways to use the heavy engine block as tactical cover.
I kicked the door open and immediately opened fire with the submachine gun.
The deafening roar of automatic gunfire completely shattered the quiet night.
Three mercenaries dropped to the tarmac instantly, their armor utterly failing against the armor-piercing rounds.
"Kill her!" Patricia screamed hysterically, diving behind the landing gear of the massive jet.
David drew his weapon and returned fire, pinning me down behind the shattered windows of the sedan.
I reloaded my weapon smoothly, my tactical training completely suppressing my emotional trauma.
I fired short, controlled bursts, systematically taking down the remaining mercenaries one by one.
Nicholas and Gregory tried to run toward the safety of the plane's cabin.
I shot Nicholas directly in the kneecap, dropping him screaming onto the unforgiving asphalt.
Gregory abandoned his brother in pure cowardice, scrambling up the stairs and barricading himself inside the jet.
The tarmac grew completely silent, save for the whining jet engines and Nicholas's pathetic sobbing.
I stepped out from behind the ruined car, keeping my weapon raised and perfectly steady.
David was standing alone near the stairs, bleeding heavily from a fatal gunshot wound to his chest.
He fell to his knees, dropping his weapon as his hollow eyes stared up at me in absolute shock.
"Rachel," he gasped, blood spilling from his lips.
I did not offer him a single word of comfort as he collapsed completely onto the dark tarmac.
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I walked past my dead husband and picked up the silver briefcase containing the stolen military codes.
I aimed my weapon directly at Patricia, who was cowering pathetically beneath the massive wing.
