Anthony DeCosmo - Disintegration

In essence, she told him to peek in one of the windows to ascertain the situation.

Trevor made an okay sign-rather universal in itself-then he surprised her by waving a flat hand over his head.

Nina bit her lower lip. Sal saw the back of her neck burn red.

Stone had signaled that he understood and then told her to cover this area.

He then separated from his group, maneuvered around a burned out Ford Maverick, and stealthily approached one of the front windows.

Nina, behind the overturned tub, watched with a crinkle in her brow as he glanced inside the dirty window then, while leaning against the building, found Nina’s eyes-or, rather, her glare-and relayed what he had seen.

First, he held his hand wide open.

Hostiles.

Next, he held up three fingers with his thumb over his pinky meaning the number ‘six.’

Last, he held his hand to his throat followed by one finger straight up.

Hostage. One.

Sal heard Nina growl.

Forest bent her right arm at the elbow, held the hand perpendicular to her shoulder and waved. Even an elementary school kid knew the motion signaled him to return.

Trevor took his place at the front of his column and smiled. Her brow crinkled more.

She pointed at herself then held her hand toward the front of the building in a fist with the thumb on top.

I’m going to breech.

Just to piss her off, he traced his finger in the shape of an upside-down 'U', telling her to breech the door. As if she might actually kick in the window.

With her cheeks burning red, Nina pointed at Trevor, then pushed her finger down and circled it, telling him to take his team to the rear of the warehouse.

Trevor flashed the "okay" sign, paused for along second, and then swept his hand slowly, palm up, toward the building essentially saying in an age-old motion used by so many New York City doormen, after you…

Sal whispered, "Are you two done flirting?"

If looks could kill…

Trevor led his team to the rear loading docks. Nina waited a moment then-feeling the need for violence-advanced her element to the front door.

Sal placed the barrel of his shotgun against the door latch. Nina used her fingers to count silently to three at which point Sal pulled the trigger. The blast echoed across the parking lot and out into the wilderness. Slivers of paint and wood exploded. The lock disintegrated, as did a fair measure of the doorframe. Nina kicked open what remained of the limp door and bolted through with Danny Washburn and Sal several paces behind.

One large room-cluttered at its edges with scattered boxes, rusted barrels, Metro shelves, and an old forklift-dominated the warehouse's interior.

Five of the leather-clad Mutants with the oversized mouths gathered in a tight group at the center of the room surrounding a live hostage. A sixth Mutant sat atop a high stack of crates gnawing on a femur. The remains of two other hostages lay strewn across the floor where fresh blood mixed with ancient oil and grease stains.

Nina rushed forward, surprising the enemy. Her swift movement and uncanny precision surprised them even more. The battle computer inside Nina Forest’s mind raced for targets, angles, cover, and projected counter-moves.

Her first shot from her MP5 skewered the throat of a Mutant, dropping the creature to a lifeless hulk before it could react in any way. Even as that initial bullet fired, she locked on the next target. Another burst from her gun. The first round missed and hit the far wall. The remaining bullets from the burst slammed into another monster’s chest as it pulled a cumbersome flintlock from a holster.

Nina cut and rolled to her left. Her short ponytail fluttered in the air. She righted her roll and knelt next to a metal drum. Her speed and determination unnerved the Mutants to the point that they did not notice more humans entering through an open loading dock door, or even the men behind the woman. Nina captured their complete attention.

Forest fired again. A trio of bullets sprayed a third Mutant; the heavy mace it wielded slipped from its dead hands but had not yet hit the ground when enemy number four felt lead from Nina’s weapon. That brute’s flintlock exploded a shell into its own booted foot as its finger yanked the trigger in a death spasm.

Nina did not pause to observe falling maces or spasms. A fifth Mutant sat atop the high stack of crates. Her tactical analysis gave that one next-to-last priority because she realized-in a quick glance upon entering-that its hands were occupied with bones.

She raised the iron sights of her gun but before she pulled the trigger that Mutant tumbled from the crates. Jon Brewer, entering through the loading docks with Trevor, plugged it before Nina could claim every kill.

Regardless of Jon’s prize, Nina Forest struck fear into her enemies and awe into her comrades. She saw everything.

What looked fast and heated was-to her-slow and methodical. Like an expert nine-ball player, Nina thought a shot ahead, planning and strategizing in the blink of an eye. The gun- whatever the weapon — became an extension of her body. The noise, the smoke, the flash of the muzzle; these were the sights and sounds that filled her with purpose.

As he watched, Trevor realized what made Nina Forest a great warrior. Not some Amazonian strength or perfect marksmanship but her instinct, her mind, her eyes…they worked faster than the bullets she fired. She understood battle: every nuance. She moved fluidly with every part of her body working to fire, for defense, to kill. She wore her cloak of death dealing comfortably.

Naturally.

Trevor’s admiration subsided as he realized what she planned next.

The last Mutant held a knife to the throat of a late-20s man with brown hair, lots of razor stubble, and the first cuts from what would have been hours of sadistic slicing. However, that blade wavered, suggesting the monster sought to negotiate.

Nina discarded her Mp5 and approached the remaining creature and its hostage with her pistol in a two-hand grip.

Trevor tried to intervene. "Nina…wait…"

Blam! Blam!

She fired two shots because the first missed the thing’s head by an inch. The second exploded its oval skull. The knife and the monster fell to the floor.

The captive staggered; shocked that two bullets had nearly grazed his head.

Nina said nothing to the hostage, nothing to the others. She casually retrieved her assault rifle and made to exit the building.

Woody Ross and Sal approached the rescued man who shook uncontrollably.

Trevor's eyes darted from the freed hostage to Nina as she walked away.

Danny, at his side, said, "Christ, that woman is the angel of death."

Trevor stormed after Nina.

"Hey. I said hey!"

Nina stopped, her shoulders slumped in annoyance, and she turned to face Trevor.

"What the Hell are you doing?"

"I’m killing monsters. That’s what you want me to do, right?"

He looked at those blue eyes with fire in his own.

"You nearly killed a man."

She answered, "Nothing to it, I killed the monster. What’s the problem?"

"The problem" he told her, "is that you missed with your first shot. So you ain’t perf-"

"The thing is dead. You should be happy. Listen-"

"No," he commanded, "you listen. This isn’t only about killing the bad things. It’s about saving people. We aren’t going to win this by shooting without thinking."

"Is that so? Well then maybe you got yourself the wrong girl."

Nina turned to leave. Captain Jerry Shepherd stood there. She stopped dead in her tracks, having never before seen such a disapproving expression from Shep.

"Nina…" Shep shook his head, then walked around her toward the freed hostage whose sarcasm echoed through the place: "Hey, be sure to thank Eva Braun for nearly killing me."