LIGHTNOVELWORLD Chapter 91: Race to Life
Under his loosened coat—hanging on her shoulders, her dress ragged, in a lifeless portrait, an unconscious Neva lay still, seated on the passenger seat of Ishmael's car.
She's stopped screaming, stopped struggling... stopped keeping the faith. Her senses ceased, she's drowned deep into the ocean with no light and air for breathing.
She was ravaged; beyond repair.
Outside, Ishmael and Zev stood by the same car—Neva had been forced in; trading words.
"We'll fly straight to Epriocia. Make sure you've resolved the issue here." Ishmael sternly instructs Zev.
He now wore, just the black shirt with four buttons loosened, folded up his elbow, for he had wrapped his coat around Neva's form.
Zev nods in response. "We'll take it from here." He says. Then his gaze shifts to Neva, glancing at her through the agaped tinted window.
She had a frown crumpling between her brows, even in sleep; she seemed shattered. He felt funny to have compassion for her.
He's more aware how ruthless Raka could be. But to wreck her apart, without any mercy, when he beholds the lengths he routed to have her.
He slits away the unknown stare he gave her. Raka was beyond his apprehension.
Meeting Raka's gaze, his death stare sends chills down his spine. "Done gawking?" He asks. Zev lowers his head, "A-apologies Raka." With a scowl, Raka dismisses him.
Bang!!
A gunshot fired at Ishmael. Howbeit, he was a veteran, austerely familiar with the surprise attacks.
"Raka! Are you alright?" Zev asks, startled at the sudden assault. They were both, crouched down, shielded behind the car.
"Yeah," Ishmael replies, his gaze piercing, lining towards the direction the bullet was fired from.
"Barely." He says, the bullet touched and recoiled the mass of the bulletproof car. He was spared of dire straight to the head with a rapid reflex.
The gang of men holds their ground, vigilant. They were taken aback by the sudden attack, the first fire being directed at Raka. They were prepared for anything, but absurdly missed to discern the invader's scheme.
"Fuck!" Rhett hisses, his eyes cold-blooded.
On the farther side of the scene, he was inside the driver's seat of a cab, which he insisted on maneuvering himself, while the owner sat there on the passenger seat with bulged, shocked eyes.
He had positioned the car, for a perfect aim at Ishmael, firing a bullet at him through the window.
He had to be cautious approaching the troop. Thus, he routed through untrailed paths, obscured within the looming trees and rugged valleys.
Rhean still carried with the baby carrier grip, he cries aloud in fear.
The poor boy flinched hard, traumatized by the horrid noise so close.
Rhett just had a pistol in his possession. And the reckoning of Raka's men more than fifty. Clenching his jaw, he steps on the accelerator, divulging himself, the car engine roaring towards the closest gang guarding the area.
"What are you doing?! Are you out of your mind?!" The car owner exclaims terrified.
Rhett pays no heed to the wailing baby or the turmoil in the middle-aged man's voice.
The two SUV's were parked further in the road from the cottage. In-charge for keeping an eye at the Agent; the task which they failed in miserably.
As the car thunder's towards them, they mount upright with their guns to shoot him down.
"Duck!" Rhett commands the middle-aged beside him on the passenger's seat, stucked up, clutching the seat for the life of him. And just as he cowers down in a reflex, bullets thunders down at them.
The chilling, aggressive noises pressuring the inked birds in the woods to fly far in crowds.
Rhett had sunk his head down, covering baby Rhean with his body. The front windshield shattering glasses on their form.
The car rushes forward fast and ferocious still. And jarring the minds of the troop, the car unswervingly crashes on to them. Four of them were send flying, rammed by the car, they lay bloody on the ground.
"Kill him!!" Ishmael roars at his forces.
The gun aimed at the cab, the gang starts raining bullets at Rhett. The rest of the unharmed comrades from the collision, nearer to the car, geared up at the same position, they continue firing, endeavouring to kill him once and for all.
Rhett slyly gets out the destroyed car. His arm wrapped around the baby's head—in an attempt to drown the noise in his sensitive ears.
The remaining five people parallel and close; a perfect aim.
The gun fires unceasing at him, the pistol gripped with a single hand, his expression blood thirsty, Rhett launches violent bullets at the troop.
A straight aim at the head, they fall down; bleeding and dead on the raw ground.
The rest of the gang, blasting unceasing fire at him. Clamoring the bullets on the vehicle's masses.
He angles himself down, protected by the width of the cab, hunched down, he runs towards the slain men. The armored SUV, offering greater protection.
The baby was wailing out loud, the violent clamour shrouding his painful cries; wishing for his mother's safe embrace. Little soul's face almost beet red, panic-stricken. His throat sore from coarse weeping.
Rhett obtains the machine guns from the dead troop. And obscured behind the car, the gun jagged at the foe, he rumbles down fires at the drove, butchering the men without mercy, they drop dead on the ground.
Roars the engine of an SUV, Ishmael drives away from the revolting scene, storming out at a rapid speed.
"No Neva..." Rhett trails off, his heart crumbling in shambles. He knows he could get her back safe, but he couldn't help the anxiousness weighing heavy on his senses.
Gritting his teeth, he climbs inside the SUV, starting the car, stepping on the gas, he furiously expedites the velocity—shadowing Raka.
The gang hurls inside their own cars, they know better; their bullets would do no harm to the armoured SUV.
Thunders away the cars, one after another, shrill screeches, booming noises, blasting glares of headlights in the narrow road of the village, the grim darkened sky, wearing a glowering face.
Through the rear-view mirror, Ishmael could see the car darting fast for him. He glances back at Neva, safeguarded by the seat belt, eyes closed and unmoving.
She had fainted; as he assaulted, raped her inhumanly; unable to bear the trauma—he forced her to endure it through.
At the speed he drives, her fragile form drooping down. His gaze fierce and grim, he looks straight ahead, rashly accelerating the car.
In the route of the town, beyond the village, Rhett had almost caught up to Ishmael.
A brutal spar of the cars, rushing alike a gale, the people walking on the side of the pavement, they hasten to evade any misfortune.
The netizens on the stores, through the translucent window, they behold the uproar with stunned expressions, pausing their while for a moment to ponder about the abrupt, repressive scene.
Seven SUV's, chasing whirlwind, they rumble out the narrow avenue. The people had never seen, wherein the earth shook from the bellow of the blaring cars.
When Ishmael reaches the four way street, he doesn't wait for the red light to turn green. With how close Rhett was driving, he parallels Raka, ignoring the red warning.
Some of the cars, of the gang left behind tumultuous, they step on the break, the vehicles to cross paths, squeezing through with their SUV's.
The race furious, roaring engines, Rhett could almost overtake Ishmael's car, blocking the way.
And just then, when he thought he did it, new invading cars, from out of nowhere, upsurps his target; obstructing his way to Neva instead.
Ishmael glances at him through the wide angled, curved design of the rear-view mirror.
He smirks darkly, swirling the steering wheel to a different route.
The cars from both the front and behind, they compass Rhett's own, halting him with the engine still running.
He curses, his features withering away in aversion; an unspeakable fear of losing Neva.
Baby Rhean had calmed himself down, his breathing still ragged, Rhett rubs his back to soothe him.
The SUV's behind still aproaching, he swerves the car so he could parallel the driver's seat of window at them.
The cold eyes, looking through his heartless soul, positioning the machine gun at the driver formost to him, he thunders fires at them, straight, fixed at one focal point.
The windshield cracks from the insane force, the man, maneuvering the car is shot down.
The SUV sways violently, losing control, the man on the passenger seat panicks, he whirls the steering wheel to avoid crashing and serves stop in the middle of the street.
Rhett aims the gun, now at the gas tank, rumbling bullets at the same spot. The bullets being simulataneously fired at his SUV, with just slight grazes on the mass.
The gas tank ignites, the target SUV exploded, growling fire surrounding the hazy street, clouding smoke, blinding the vision with the gloomy horizon.
The man on the car, rushing fast forward, he widens his eyes at the scene, attempting to step on the break, the car in the rear not far distance, they crash with the blown up SUV.
The narrow boulevard blocked, the scene was in shambles. The two SUV's chasing behind, could not hold him still, for three of their comrades cars rammed against one another—sealing the path.
Rhett veers the car to the traffic of enemies before him, repeating the same act, weakening the armored windshield, striking fires of bullets at the same point.