John Wick - Chapter 48: A Fierce Battle (II) (Patreon)

Nate watched through the hole in the wall as the black SUV swung halfway around, its front end pointing straight at them.

Was this bastard seriously going to ram the building?

Talk about fighting dirty.

But it was way too slow.

The SUV even reversed slightly before starting forward. Before it could pick up any speed, Nate leaned out, raised the Rattler, and fired twice.

The driver's head burst apart, blood splattering across the window.

His foot came off the accelerator.

The SUV gradually slowed, rolled forward a little farther, then stopped three or four meters from the wall.

At this distance, the Rattler was basically a hammer that spat fire.

The damn thing didn't even have bulletproof glass.

What made them think this was a good idea?

There had originally been three vehicles.

With the middle SUV now sitting out in the open, a huge gap had been created between the other two, eliminating much of the enemy's available cover.

The remaining three men had completely lost their nerve.

They broke into a run toward the woods, away from Nate.

“John!”

Nate shouted, then burst from behind the corner and sprinted toward the SUV only a few meters away.

Bang!

A sniper round cracked past him.

Whether [Intimidation] had thrown off the sniper's aim or the man had simply missed, Nate didn't know.

The bullet whistled past his left side.

Bang! Bang... Bang!

John heard him and immediately began firing continuously, suppressing the sniper.

Under John's cover, Nate reached the rear wheel of the SUV.

He shouldered the Rattler and fired a long burst into the back of the man running in front.

The distance was barely more than thirty meters.

All eight rounds hit.

By the time the man pitched forward, his body had already twisted halfway around in midair.

The other two ran even faster.

One glanced back and fired blindly over his shoulder.

The bullet disappeared somewhere into the night.

Nate chased them for another couple of steps, firing repeatedly while moving.

One round struck a man's shoulder.

He stumbled but kept running.

Click.

The Rattler was empty again.

There was no time to reload.

Nate instantly returned it to his Loadout.

His right hand shot to his waist and drew a throwing knife. With his left, he pulled the ring on another and gripped that one too.

Both blades pointed forward.

A flick of his wrists sent them flying one after the other.

The first knife spun through the air and buried itself in the lower back of the man ahead.

He screamed, staggered another two steps, then dropped to his knees.

One hand desperately reached behind him for the handle, but he couldn't reach it.

The second knife, thrown from Nate's right hand, struck the last man squarely in the back of the skull.

He didn't make a sound.

His entire body tipped sideways and crashed into a utility pole, his legs twitching several times before going still.

Nate sent another throwing knife into the forehead of the man who had previously been shot in the leg.

John's rifle continued firing in a steady rhythm.

With John covering him, Nate immediately turned and ran back.

He crouched behind the SUV's rear wheel, reloaded the Rattler, then used the vehicle as cover and poured fire toward the sniper's position.

Once John saw Nate was back in cover and shooting, he quickly changed magazines as well.

The instant Nate stopped firing, John resumed suppressing the last sniper.

The remaining sniper was clearly getting desperate.

His shots came faster and faster.

John remained completely calm.

Several rounds struck less than half a meter from him. His suit was already covered in brick dust and debris thrown up by the impacts.

But he didn't pull back.

To Nate, the rifle in John's hands almost seemed like part of his body.

John stood behind the broken brick wall with the HK416 braced against a gap in the masonry.

He barely moved.

Then he pulled the trigger.

One shot.

Two.

Three.

Each came at the same measured interval.

Steady single fire.

The shots rang through the empty night like someone striking a length of railroad track with a hammer.

Four.

Five.

Six.

After John's sixth shot, the blurry silhouette on the distant rooftop disappeared.

John kept the rifle trained on the rooftop for a little longer.

Once he was certain the threat was gone, he finally lowered the weapon.

He took two steps aside and slowly sat down with his back against the wall.

The HK416 rested across his knees.

He looked toward Nate behind the SUV and gave him a nod.

Threat eliminated.

Nate noticed that the webbing between the thumb and index finger of John's right hand had split open.

Blood was running down onto the rifle stock.

John didn't seem to notice.

He simply glanced at Nate, then turned his attention toward the open ground ahead.

Bodies lay scattered everywhere.

Some were still moving.

The combined smell of gunpowder and blood was so heavy that it made Nate's eyes itch.

He checked the time.

There was still more than half an hour until midnight.

Nate slung the Rattler over himself, bent down to pick up two magazines from the ground, and stuffed them into his pockets.

He walked over to the SUV that had been shot full of holes and opened the door.

The back seat was empty.

Gun raised, he checked the other vehicles as well.

No one.

Then he walked over to the man who had taken a throwing knife to the lower back.

The man was still kneeling there with his back toward Nate.

His gun lay off to one side.

The throwing knife was still lodged in his back.

Nate aimed his pistol at him.

“Who sent you?”

The moment the words left his mouth, he paused.

Why had he been asking that question so often lately?

“Fuck you!”

The man could barely keep his head up, but still managed to force out the insult.

“Idiot.”

Nate shot him in the arm.

He couldn't stand people like this.

Completely helpless, yet still determined to act tough and make him waste another bullet.

The man screamed.

“Do I need to ask again?”

His lips had gone white from the pain.

“Vi... Viggo!”

“Thanks.”

Nate shot him in the head.

He went around finishing off the bodies one by one, recovered their equipment, then returned to John and sat beside him.

“John, the name Baba Yaga really isn't an exaggeration.”

John didn't answer.

He looked down at his right hand, wiped the blood against his pants, and gripped the rifle again.

“From that distance, with this rifle, you actually traded shots with two snipers and killed both of them.”

Nate looked over at him, admiration plain on his face.

“You weren't bad either,” John replied. “You had ten men running from you.”

Praise from his idol.

Nate couldn't keep the grin off his face.

He certainly had his strengths, but if the day ever came when it truly mattered, he couldn't underestimate the difference weapons and equipment made.

There was a saying that went something like this:

If I've got armor and you don't, I can fight however I want.

If my weapon outranges yours, I can hit you however I want.

Those lines were probably more suited to weapon fighting, but the same principle applied to gunfights.

A handgun was essentially a spear that could stab someone dozens of meters away more than ten times in a row.

A rifle worked on the same principle, except it could do it faster and from hundreds of meters away.

The advantage was enormous.

Someone like John, who could fight snipers with a rifle and actually win, was ultimately an exception.

And someone like Nate, who could pull equipment out of thin air, simply didn't exist in the real world.

Nate was still enjoying the compliment when John looked at him in silence for a moment.

“Try not to use that ability of yours to produce guns out of thin air in front of other people.”

He was warning the younger man.

Nate had never really intended to hide it from John in the first place.

He trusted him.

For no particular reason, he simply did.

Nate smiled.

“Okay.”

Besides, aside from John, there probably weren't any surviving enemies who had seen him pull things out of thin air.

John didn't ask any questions.

He silently pulled the wooden splinter from his shoulder.

“It's been a long night, hasn't it?” Nate said, looking up at the pitch-black sky.

“Let's go.”

John got to his feet.

Police sirens sounded in the distance.

Nate took John's offered hand and pulled himself upright, then glanced toward the approaching sirens.

Judging by the number of patrol cars, it was probably that fat cop again.

Couldn't do much about the situation, but still had to come clean up afterward.

Being part of the NYPD in this world was a miserable job.

“My car's done.”

John handed the dust-covered HK416 back to Nate.

Nate took it and returned the rifle, the Rattler, his throwing knives, magazines, and the rest of his gear to the [System Backpack].

The two found an SUV that was still in decent condition.

John got behind the wheel, maneuvered around the landmines, and headed toward the Continental.

About a minute later, a series of violent explosions erupted behind them.

John said nothing.

Nate looked back.

Several police cars had overturned along the roadside and were engulfed in flames.

“Holy shit, they hit the mines!”