"Stay here," Rhett remarks.
They were crouched down behind a large, abundant, green willow tree, within the blossoming shrubs—by the serene, green emerald lake.
Looking through the misty moon, shrouded by lustrous woolly clouds in the sombre dark blue sky.
Wild shrubs and pearly bright flowers of blooming wildflowers, permeating throughout, under the weeping shadows of the verdant willow.
They had almost made it to the faithful church.
However, the illuminations of golden victorian lanterns erected all over the edges, flickers at the sight of armed gang, strolling around the compound of the church.
"No," Neva whispers, bothered, grasping tightly his arm.
He rives his gaze from analysing the arena and back to lace his eyes with the flurried woman—seated beside him on the ground, fatigued.
"I'll be back here with you, before you even realise." He assures, caressing her warm reddened cheek.
She shakes her head, drawing his hand away, instead she holds it close to her chest. "You can just shoot them from here."
"Their count is large, and I don't have a spare magazine conserved." He calmly responds.
"Isn't it enough? You even got the gun from the man you shot." Neva presses, her voice withering away, her orbs moist and blurred.
All these guarded troops, and Rhett alone resisting them. She abhors the illusion of the scene she envisions.
"That'll make noise. I for the world wouldn't want you in danger." Saying, he leans in and kisses comfortingly her forehead.
The assault rifle didn't have a silencer on, if he made a noise, ganging up altogether, the troops would storm down attacks on them.
And lamentably, there remained hardly any ammunition left in the intruder's gun.
"Either way, I have to go. Take cover behind the tree." He hands her a pistol, making her frown, loathing the feeling of an eerie gun in her hold.
"Remember everything I've taught. You've got a great aim. Use it if you need to." He folds her fingers around the pistol, securing both of her hands around the grip of the weapon.
"You know I won't be able to." She whimpers, tears trickling down her face.
"You wouldn't need to, I'll make sure of that. But there's an if of one percent. I believe in you. Do you believe in me?" He asks her, a faint smile feathered on his lips.
She nods, "I do, but you need it more."
"I have this savage, it's more than enough." He declares, grabbing the rifle.
"Be safe," she says, sniffling. He smiles. "I will."
And without a sound, he slithers away from her.
Her gaze trails his filmy form, lurking through the dark shadows of the chilling trees.
He, in a breath, vanishes from her eyes.
Leaning her back on the willow tree, head tilt back on the rugged trunk, she let's her tears fall inaudibly.
The armed man dressed in all black, a black skull cap donned over his head. He's calmly examining the area.
Rhett behind him, the rifle hanged on his shoulder, unseen he looms ruination over the man.
Leaning in close, he whistles a little sound in his ear. And with a whirl of his head, Rhett in the span of the last exhale breaks his neck with a single snap.
A limp body dropped in his arms, he's silently dragging the body in the dark, deposing it behind the bushes.
In the omnious penumbras, he preys on the brute, stripped of eyes from his herd. An unclawed hand wrapped around the mouth, he slits the savages' throats with a twinkling dagger bleeding.
He executes the assasinations, with extreme, akin flawless advances. He doesn't allow a fraction of an eye in commiseration of the souls he ripped away.
Rhett had an apocalyptic aura oozing out of him.
Agent Czar; he had not a void space for mercy in the heart.
The lingering assailant slowly cognizances the dissapearing forces. Grazing his chin and his head, Czar simultaneously breaks his neck.
He grabs the assault rifle with a silencer on, —from the loosened hold of the fallen man, casting away his own.
He tilts his head in wonder; they were hardly any strain to deal with. Why did they want to ambush the countryside?
A man had heed to his presence. Still unsure, he carefully, steadily steps into the darkness. His gun, vigilantly aimed around at the inaudible, ominous force.
Rhett aims his rifle at the man, the cold tip of the silencer poking at his forehead. The perplexed man, didn't apprehend the iminent dead. For, in a blink of an eye Rhett explodes his brain.
Rhett seals his eyes, hot vermillion blood splattering over his face.
The victim falls on the ground in a thud, hauling in consciousness.
"Who's there?" A man voices out in an anxious tone. Rhett walks out the shadiness, the fluttering lanterns gleam bright, chiselling golden brilliance upon him.
The man bulges his eyes out at the imbrued red trickling view of him—positioning the gun to kill him. Nevertheless, before he could drive his finger to pull the trigger, Rhett blows up his head to liquids. Then arrives the never-ending footsteps of troops.
He groans in anger, and adjusts the assault rifle, to a full-automatic firing mode.
The rumbles bullets, bruttaly rupturing off their skulls. They sprawl out dead on the ground, one drop after another, with an absence of a final lament; for their brain and skulls were gruesomely masticated off the neck.
His priceless fancy; ornamenting heads with bullets.
When there remained no savages near distant, he rushes back towards the willow tree, wedging through the lush—pricking shrubs.
"Angel?" Neva flinches at his softly murmer.
She had her head buried in her hands; praying to God to let him be unharmed.
He caresses her shoulder. "It's fine, I'm here."
When she glimpses up at him, her lips quivers at his bloody sight.
"Are you hurt?" She sobs out, he shakes his head—warmly embracing her. She weeps holding onto him tightly, soaking his chest in salty dribbles.
Her shuddering frame, her little whimpers, drilling his fragile heart.
She clenches her fists in his t-shirt, horrified of the darkened world, the past and the now clashing to haunt her.
"Shh... Everything's fine. I'm not hurt, not even a bit." He gently strokes her hair, breathing out a sigh of solace. Pulling away, he aches at her tear smeared face. He wipes away the dribbling tears with his thumb.
"Are you alright?" He asks.
She nods in reply, then she unzips the bag and takes out a thin, savanna pink, summer scarf. She gently caresses his chin, brushing the blood stains off of his face.
He smiles at her. His heart sweetened at her warm gesture. "Let's go." He gets the pistol discarded by her on the grass, and tucks it inside his holster. As she gathers the bag, he swoops her in his arms.
She gasps and nudges his chest away. "You shouldn't carry me." She remarks, but he leisurely starts sauntering towards the Country Church with her in his hold. "I don't want you looking at the grimy scene." He declares. "But, the gun?" She gestures at the assault rifle he left behind.
"I don't need it." He utters, his strides hastier—towards the rear of the church.
.
.
.
Landing her airily on her feet, he inspects the wall overwhelmed with serried flowering creepers. Tapping the walls, gliding away the vines, he observes the outline of the grey door that had unveiled.
"A secret door?" Neva queries, amazed, it had been well concealed behind the flowers.
"Yeah, but it's locked." He returns, thumping the door. He threads their eyes, "You have to step aside Angel."
She agrees, stepping away. He steps back, and lunges upon the door, cracking the door open, with solely a meagre strength in his shoulder.
"Wahh," Neva praises, in awe of her mighty husband. He shrugs. "It's just a rusty door."
Bang!!
A bullet rages at him from behind the door.
Neva's heart drops.
Rhett was slightly taken aback, a bolt out of the blue, but the instinct kicked in. He dodged the fire, the bullet inches away from his ear.
He frowns and glances at a traumatized looking Neva.
Clicking of feet—climbing up the stairs resounds through the underground shelter.
They missed the shot, the man had merged himself in the darkness, now unable to aim without his visible frame.
They dare step out the shelter, with truancy of fear in their chest.
Rhett grips the barrel of the shotgun, the gun firing in the air. His pistol steered at the middle aged man's temple. He discerns the panic-stricken citizens behind.
He sighs, "We won't harm you."
The shorter, middle aged man on gun point, he shakes his head. "Brothers! Do not worry about me! Kill these bastards!" He exclaims out loud, though the trembling legs defied him.
"I said we are no harm. I live here with my wife." He clears out to them.
Nonetheless, the man adamant jerks his head. "Do not trust them brothers! They are murderers! Shoot them down!"
Rhett hardens his jaw, piercing the muzzle of the gun in the man's skull, making him shut his eyes tight.
"Don't crap out time!" He snaps with irate eyes.
"No-!" "Let them in!" Before the man could continue nonsense, a tall young man walks out at the entrance.
He reveals himself, a reassured, lowered shotgun in his hand.
Rhett raises a brow; the lad's familiar.
"What are you spitting!!" The rigid man below the stairs retorts.
"I know him, we are neighbours." Jayden replies.
"I see now. He is a neighbour." A man striding up the stairs meets his affirmation.
"Traitors! Kill them!!" The man shouts rather furious.
And they all blare out to kill.
They were more than twenty of them, all armed, either with guns, blades, or bows and arrows.
They were violent, for they were terrified of the tragedy that had unfold brutally—before their uncomplicated eyes.
"God damn it!" Rhett exclaims.
His gaze then searches for a pale looking Neva. She tangles their eyes, her contracted hands clutching her swollen stomach tinting his orbs in worry.
"Angel," shoving away the middle aged man he marches to her.
The middle aged man gasps out aloud. He was scared out his wits.
Jayden had at end, perceived Neva he had foraged recklessly around for.
He runs towards her, "Oh Lord." Nervousness grips his heart, his features contoured in anxiousness.
She was in pain, cocooned on the ground, clutching her belly—solaced in the arms of her husband.
He glances back at the countryfolks. "Do you not see the pregnant lady? Let them in!" He rages at them.
The men now stood from the dark below to unveil the scene. Their eyes on the couple, stucked on the pregnant woman.
They exchange gazes at each other, nodding at their comrades in realization.
"They will be tolerated in the shelter." The severe man, who harshly surmised Jayden and his brother of being traitors mounts down the stairs. His grim silhouette, fading into the inked corridor.
"You can bring her in." Jayden says to Rhett. "Will you need any assistance?" Jason asks, standing beside his brother.
"No." Flatly replies Rhett.
Swinging the bag in his shoulder, he lifts her up in his arms, while she buries her face in his chest—her face scrunched up in agony.
He carefully descends down the weary stairs, deep into the dark. He's frightened, the menacing atmosphere hovering over the land. If she's in unbearable torment, he wouldn't be able to take her to the hospital.
The brothers, trades glances with each other. With the few men, who hadn't still left, they make sure the door is obscured and locked well.