In the rear view mirror, Shawn saw the same suit-wearing gentleman that had been following him in their black sedan for the past half hour. Their overtness bespoke of their absolute confidence that he wasn't going to escape.
He hated being followed. There was never a way to be sure how many people were following you when you were on the run. It could be anywhere from two to twelve to three hundred guys in cars and helicopters, all waiting for him to go somewhere where there were no witnesses so they could make their move.
Shawn hadn't slept in twenty-six hours. One of the worst parts of being followed was knowing that there was nowhere you could go to hide when the guy chasing you wasn't even trying to hide himself. These two men in the sedan weren't the only ones following him, though. Since he had left Metropolis, he had identified four vehicles conspicuously making every turn he made.
He had been sure to take public highways out of the city so they wouldn't try anything, but now he was in some nameless town fifty miles from real civilization. All he knew of the town was that it was in North Carolina. This was the sort of town a man went to so he could see to his business alone; he had driven all night to deal with his business.
That being said, his business right now was was getting rid of his tails. But these guys ran a network by themselves that would allow seamless substitution between vehicles to allow some of their drivers to get some rest while the others followed their quarry.
In order to get rid of them, they needed to be taken out.
Sighing as his car rolled to a stop at a red light, he scratched at an itch under his eye. Exhaustion was going to hurt his aim, not to mention that it would also hamper his reactions and movements. He didn't know how good these guys were, but he could safely assume that Lex had hired them because they were professionals.
Shawn didn't have the check anymore; the billion dollar ticket was in the hands of the man who had caught the envelope after Shawn had thrown it out of his window back in Metropolis. Shawn's partner had been posing as a hot dog vendor in the dirty streets of the city, and he knew how to blend in. The plan hadn't been to make the exchange, but he wasn't supposed to have been followed. His partner had only been there in case Shawn had been thrown out of the building by security on the chance Lex wanted to keep the video without paying for it so he could help Shawn fight the security guards, take them into an alley, take their uniforms and sneak right back in to go back and force Lex to pay the price.
He reached over to the passenger's side visor and swatted it down hard. It came open, dropping a thin, fifteen bullet magazine fit for a beretta onto the passenger's seat. He had only two of these magazines, a combat knife, and a chainsaw.
Shawn opened up his glove compartment while keeping his eyes on the traffic light. He made sure to grab a bottle of water from inside to for the benefit of his minders while discreetly dropping the handgun on the seat next to the magazine.
Their advantage was that they had the numbers and the weapons on their side. He had no idea how many of them there were nor any clue as to what firearms they were carrying. His advantage was that they wanted him alive, if possible. They weren't tailing him to see if he'd go back to his boss; they had already given up all pretense of trying to remain unnoticed. If they wanted him dead, they would have shot at him already.
He unscrewed the cap on the bottle and tipped his head back to swallow down the water. When finished, he put the cap back on and wiped his eyes with his forearm.
The light turned green just as he put his bottle down. He stepped on the gas pedal slowly, giving them an easy distance from which they could follow him. Shawn was far from in control, but at least he was able to give the illusion that he could keep this game up as long as they could.
The two men in the car behind him remained passive as they continued the slow chase.
They would shoot back if he fired at them. He wasn't sure if they had bulletproof vests or not, but he couldn't know until he started anything. Shawn had his own vest, but it was in the trunk. There was no way he'd be able to get it before they noticed something.
He put his foot on the brake pedal when the light ahead of him turned yellow. The car stopped before the light even turned red. He was driving slow enough that neither the gun nor the magazine rolled off of the seat. Shawn took the opportunity to take both and load the pistol. The safety hammer was still on, so there wasn't going to be an accidental shot in his car.
Shawn then reached into his door pocket and pulled out his second magazine. The combat knife was under his chair, he knew, but he doubted that he'd need it for the gunfight in a minute.
The edge of the town was right before him. The freeway out of the area was light with most cars heading away from the town, however few in number they were.
He couldn't risk getting caught in a vehicle chase on the freeway. Not that he cared about the other people there, but if he was going to try and get away, he needed an open area in which to shoot back at them if they were going to try and swarm him with their numbers. Maneuverability was key when it came to this kind of fight.
He put the second magazine on the other seat next to the gun.
The freeway didn't have a surrounding tree line to the right. It looked like a wooden, two log rail fence. It looked like the entrance to a field for horses or cows or some other animal.
It would have to do. The best sort of landscape would be a cleared, dirt area, not a grassy field with hidden rocks to get under his wheels, but he didn't have time to hope for another chance like this; he was already exhausted as it was.
The pedestrian signal on his right flashed a red hand and began counting down from twenty-three. One hand remained on the wheel and tightened its grip on the wheel. One hand reached for the water bottle.
Twenty-two.
The cap came off with a twist between his thumb and forefinger. The plastic came out of the cup holder.
Twenty-one.
The spout reached his teeth and he tipped his head back. Liquids came pouring down his throat.
Twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen.
Shawn felt a small drip down his chin, dribbling over his clean shaven face and to his collar.
Sixteen, fifteen, fourteen.
He removed the now empty bottle from his mouth and threw it down to the backseat.
Thirteen.
He reached his hand over to his gun and placed it in his lap. Squeezing the barrel between his legs, he pulled back on the slide, hearing the familiar sound that came with cocking a pistol.
Twelve, eleven, ten.
Shawn flicked the safety off of his beretta and rolled down the front windows.
Nine.
His finger tensed as he grabbed his gun by the grip. He kept it in front of his chest as he felt what it was like to aim with only one hand.
Eight.
Shawn put the gun in his left hand and switched off on the wheel. It was a loose stick, which made for easier shifting when he needed to turn.
Seven.
A single car slowly moved across the road that intersected his. He recognized it as one of the cars tailing him. Them driving this slow in front of him was a message. They owned the roads.
Six.
He slipped off his seatbelt.
Five.
Thirty bullets.
Four, three.
Shawn quickly leveled his pistol outside his window and pulled his head out behind it, pointing at the car in front of him as it rolled along. The driver, to the man's ill luck, wasn't watching him. The stronger effect was this way, as looking at him in passing would have dispelled the illusion of total indifference to his actions.
Two.
The car behind him suddenly roared with its horns, attempting to warn the vehicle in front of Shawn. The driver glanced over his shoulder at the noise. His sunglasses prevented Shawn from seeing the look of utter shock on his face.
One.
Shawn fired, the gunshot cracking the air and pressing the gun back into his palm.
The bullet shattered the window of the car in front of him, hitting the head of the driver. Dark red blood spattered the inside of the windshield of that car, the other occupant cursing aloud as the car then swerved to the side and crashing into the pile of the traffic light.
Shawn pulled back fully into his seat and slammed his foot onto the gas pedal. The light above him flashed green before it turned off and the pole fell behind him. The car behind him tried to chase him, but the pole landed right on top of the hood of the car, smashing it in and stopping it dead. The people inside weren't dead, but their car had stalled.
Shawn sped forward and cut right off of the road. He broke through the log fence and kept going. There weren't any animals in the area that he could see, but the tall grass still hindered his vision somewhat. The grass wasn't as tall as a cornstalk, though.
Even so, he didn't see the van that smacked into the side of his car.
Shawn's body lurched as he crashed into his own door. He grunted, his car turning to the side. He looked over at the other car on his side. He smacked back, throwing his wheel to the right and throwing his own car's weight into it. This created some separation, which he used to switch hands and shoot at the driver.
The van continued drifting off, but none of his three shots hit the man. The van came back in and smacked into his car.
Shawn growled as he used the impulse to swerve around himself and drive the other way.
Three cars were already there, coming for him. He counted nine people; six in the cars and three on foot, likely from the two cars he had disabled earlier. These people were quick.
Shawn switched hands again, but he didn't bother aiming in particular as he stuck his gun out of the car and fired at the people out there.
Those outside of the cars scattered, seeking cover in the tall grass. The cars, however, continued forward toward him. The passengers of each car pulled out their own pistols and aimed carefully at him as he shot wildly.
Dammit, Shawn thought as he ducked down. His windshield cracked with the gunshots and the glass broke above him. None of the shards cut him as they fell into the car.
Shawn swerved again, turning his car to the right as he pressed his foot on the brakes and took aim with his beretta with both hands. He fired several times in quick succession, shooting at all people in the cars.
Flashes popped the area in front of him as shell casings flew out of the pistol's slide and onto the floor in front of him. He fired until he burned through all of his bullets. With those twelve bullets, three men went down, two of them drivers.
He ducked down again and ejected the magazine. If he hadn't driven for twelve straight hours, he would have made all of those shots and killed all of them. As bullets flew overhead, he reached over to the spare magazine in the passenger seat.
Before he could reach it, he saw the van again out the passenger window. It drove directly into his car's side, hitting in a powerful collision.
The car once again lurched with him inside, this strike greater than any of the others before. The magazine went flying from the seat and onto the floor.
Cursing, Shawn put his foot on the pedal again and reached across the car to get to the magazine. His hand probed the floor until his fingers locked around the metal and he sat back up.
Through the front of the car, Shawn saw that he was driving toward the edge of a hill.
By instinct, he swerved to the left and tried to drive alongside the sudden dip. His car, however, had already taken a beating from bullets and other cars, so it didn't handle the swerve too well. The right hand wheels came off of the ground, and all of the car's weight went down on the two left hand wheels.
Straining, Shawn slammed his foot on the brake pedal once more and struggled to keep his balance in the upright position. The car spun around itself in some sort of twisted wheelie move.
Blades of grass flew into the air from under his tires and went through his open window. He shielded his eyes with his free arm and coughed out the grass he had breathed in. When his eyes were free, the ground was level with his eyes.
He picked up the beretta (he'd dropped it when he'd put both hands on the wheel to keep his car's wheels on the ground) and loaded the magazine into the grip. Cocking the pistol again, he checked out ahead of him.
Each of the three cars that had been shooting at him before were down. One of the dead drivers must have crashed into the single remaining one and caused him to lose control. There were five men standing outside the cars.
The van was still moving. At full speed.
Knowing that shooting the driver here wouldn't stop the van, Shawn immediately grabbed the gearshift and put the car in reverse. The car rolled backwards toward the edge of the hill.
The van was just about to ram him off of the hill as his two back wheels found only air as a surface. Shawn's car dipped backwards and the van continued forward. It flew off of the hill, driving up the rim of his vehicle. It then rounded about in the air, its spins uncontrolled by the driver as it went beyond his position and farther away. It hit the ground rear first, then tipped over onto the roof, leaving the car upside down.
Shawn hit the brakes and drifted in a full turn to face the overturned van. The side door opened slowly, one of the hinges smashed in. The driver dropped out from his seat and onto the grass. Blood covered his head.
Shawn slammed the gas pedal into the floor, steering so that his car angled directly into the man. Disoriented, the driver got his feet under him and raised his gun to the sky while trying to get his vision cleared.
The car crashed into him violently, throwing back as the car continued forward into the van.
The airbags exploded out from the inside of the car, flooding his vision with white.
"Dammit!" Shawn yelled. He twisted the gun around the side of the airbag and fired into it. The bag deflated with a loud hiss, leaving him free to see the smoke arising from underneath his car's hood.
"Dammit!" he yelled again, throwing his door open and jumping out, gun in hand. He rushed away from the car and jumped to the ground, bracing for impact.
The car did not explode.
Gunshots.
Shawn rolled to the side, taking aim with his beretta as he searched for the source of the shots. He spotted the five men on top of the hill, but, strangely, none of them saw him. All five were shooting at his car, thinking him still inside but unable to actually see him because of the smoke.
Smiling, Shawn crouched and circled around their lines of sight. A few of them reloaded and fired again at the car. Apparently, they no longer cared if he came in alive or not. When he had flanked them, he moved back up the hill and charged.
He fired, hitting the closest two men with two bullets. Both dropped with sprays of red coming from the backs of their heads. The next man went down with a shot to the back, but no blood came out. Body armor.
Shawn turned his attention to the last two, who turned and looked at their fallen friends, perhaps noticing them for the first time amidst all of the shots. The man who had been shot in the back groaned loudly.
Shawn moved in close, squeezing the trigger when a one of the two remaining men's heads turned. The bullet hit him somewhere below the chin, for he started gurgling blood.
The last man raised his weapon on Shawn, but he was too slow. A bullet had already hit him in the shoulder, throwing off his aim as he fired. The man opposite to Shawn fired twice accidentally as Shawn moved in close and dropped him with a bash from the butt of his gun. He fell down screaming, but those screams soon ceased when another bullet went through his mouth.
Shaking his head to himself, Shawn turned and looked down at the man he had brought down with a shot to the back. He had dropped his gun before, or else he would have already shot at him.
Shawn ejected his magazine and checked the number of bullets he had left. Eight, plus the one in the chamber. Six bullets to take down five men wasn't bad at all, but he would have done better if he had been at full strength.
The remaining man panted. "Lex won't let this go you son of-"
Shawn didn't let him finish, cutting him off with a casual shot to the head.
Then, he cursed.
He hadn't been paying attention. All of these men were dead with shots close to the head except for one. When the police found this, they wouldn't rule it a gang battle. They'd know it was a professional who had killed these men.
Dammit, he thought. He would've shot a bit more sporadically in different areas if he had been paying attention. It seemed like everything he did on this op was create more problems each time he found a solution. The only person in this field who hadn't been killed by a shot to the head was the driver of that van, and he...
The driver had fallen out from his upside down car. But he hadn't been the only person in the van.
Spinning around, he took sight down the hill. A gunman was pointing his pistol at him.
Both of them fired. A flash enveloped the world right after a flood of red.
Shawn cried out, cupping his abdomen as he felt the searing pain. The other man had been hit in the head; Shawn hadn't seen the impact, but he had seen blood, which wouldn't have been possible if he had been shot somewhere else because of his body armor.
Keeping his hand wound tightly around his own wound, Shawn glanced down at his right side. The spaces between his fingers were leaking red.
He grit his teeth and forced himself to hold his breath. Hyperventilating over his own wound cause more damage. He had to be smart about this. No-
A siren blared once, then cut off as flashing red and white lights entered his peripheral vision.
"Goddammit," Shawn drawled. The police had arrived extremely quick to the scene. Two beige-uniformed officers got out of the car and instantly raised their weapons. Two barrels shook slightly. These men were not high quality shooters like he was.
Shawn knew that he could kill them both. He could put two bullets through their foreheads and be off before anyone else arrived. He also knew he'd die if he did that.
He was seriously injured, and he didn't have a car. Even if he stole theirs, he had no idea where the nearest hospital was, and he didn't have time to wander around looking for one. He'd bleed out long before he'd find one.
Letting out the breath he'd held in, Shawn dropped the beretta and raised the one hand that wasn't covering his abdomen.
"You!" one officer yelled. "Down on the ground, now!"
"I need help," Shawn replied.
"Get down!" the other man restated.
"I need to go to the hospital." Shawn slowly got down onto his knees so as to not shake his body too much. "I'm bleeding." So much for a clean getaway. He'd be arrested before, but never for murder.
"Cuff him!" the first officer ordered.
Nodding, the second cop holstered his sidearm and extracted a pair of handcuffs from his belt. He strode forward and moved around Shawn. Then, he paused, apparently noticing Shawn's bloodied hand.
"He's been shot," the police officer called out to his partner.
"Ah, it doesn't matter," he said back. "We're not going far."
"Alright." Shawn's upraised arm got jerked back behind himself. The officer wasn't even attempting to be gentle. "You have the right to remain silent." He felt a click around his wrist before his other arm was forcefully removed from behind his back and put into the handcuffs. "Now hold still."
"What?" Shawn asked.
Suddenly, he felt a clubbing blow on the back of his head. Everything blurred as he fell forward to the ground. He felt as if he should have felt the pain from his side, but all he could feel was a ringing in his ears that vibrated his whole body.
"Ms. Graves'll pay more for him alive." The voice was distant. "Let's get him there before he dies, then."
Shawn's consciousness fled, leaving him in darkness.