Chapter 6 - The Traitor's Footsteps
I held my breath as the brass door handle rotated with agonizing slowness.
My finger hovered over the trigger of the heavy pistol.
Vincent sat on the floor behind me, pouring rubbing alcohol directly into his open wound.
He didn't make a single sound, but his face was slick with a cold sweat.
The wooden door creaked open, swinging wide into the dim armory.
A figure stepped into the doorway, perfectly backlit by the hallway lights.
I aimed the gun squarely at the center of their chest.
"Don't shoot!" a frantic voice whispered.
It was Renzo.
He was covered in dust, clutching a bloody combat knife in his right hand.
"The Russians are everywhere, they are executing the survivors," Renzo panted, stepping closer.
I kept the gun aimed at him, remembering Vincent's exact words.
"Stay right there, Renzo," I ordered, my voice surprisingly steady.
Renzo looked at the gun in my hand and offered a condescending smirk.
"Put the toy down, Clara, before you hurt yourself," he sneered.
He took another step forward, entirely ignoring my warning.
I glanced back at Vincent, who was watching Renzo with cold, calculating eyes.
"Why is there fresh blood on your knife, Renzo?" Vincent asked quietly.
Renzo stopped in his tracks.
"I had to cut a guard's throat to get past the kitchen," Renzo explained quickly.
Vincent slowly shook his head.
"The guards in the kitchen were my men, Renzo," Vincent replied.
Renzo's friendly expression melted away, replaced by something dark and venomous.
He raised his left hand, revealing a green fragmentation grenade.
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The safety pin was already pulled, dangling loosely from his pinky finger.
"Drop the gun, Clara, or we all burn together," Renzo commanded.
