lovenovelstory Chapter 101 Run! Buhou!
Chapter 101 Run! Buhou!
Chapter 101 Run! Buhou!
The master bedroom of Oak Manor, located in the northern part of Bay City.
Congressman Gilman was awakened by violent shaking.
"My lord! Wake up!"
The voice was very low, but urgent.
There was more than one person. At least three hands were shaking his shoulders.
He opened his eyes.
The bedside lamp was switched on, its light glaring. Four people were gathered around the bed:
His chief strategist Robert, security chief Marcus, intelligence officer Lena, and butler Henry, who wore a bathrobe but had his hair perfectly styled.
All four people had the same expression on their faces.
Gilman's sleepiness vanished by half in an instant.
"What time is it?"
"3:17 a.m.
Robert replied, his voice tense, "Saginaw is in trouble."
Gilman sat up, the neckline of his silk pajamas open.
He rubbed his temples.
"explain."
Lina handed me a tablet.
The screen displayed the real-time communication log of the encrypted channel, with the top line highlighted in red: "The Jin Family Manor was attacked at 2:40 AM. All outer guards have lost contact. The main building's surveillance signal was interrupted at 2:44 AM. The last transmitted images showed unidentified armed personnel entering the building. All communications are cut off."
Sending time: 2:52.
The latest update, posted five minutes ago, reads: "Confirmed loss. No survivors reported. Attackers highly suspected to be New Canaan militants. They have evacuated."
Gilman stared at the screen. All sleepiness was gone.
"Where's the gold?"
"His whereabouts are unknown. He is most likely dead or captured."
Lina said, "Less than fifteen minutes passed between the attack and when we received the warning. The other side acted extremely quickly."
Gilman tossed the tablet back onto the bed. He threw off the covers and got out of bed, stepping barefoot onto the carpet.
"What's the situation now?"
"Saginaw is under full lockdown, but the police system is 60 percent paralyzed."
Marcus quickly reported, "A company of the local National Guard is en route to the estate, but they are expected to arrive in about forty minutes."
"Forty minutes."
Gilman repeated, his voice flat.
He walked to the window and pulled back a corner of the curtain.
Outside was a dark courtyard and the scattered lights of Beicheng in the distance.
"Those damn rednecks,"
He turned around. "They've already reached Saginaw? And wiped out the Kim family?"
"The intelligence is highly credible."
Robert nodded. "And judging from the timeline, this was very likely a premeditated decapitation strike, with Kim himself as the clear target."
Gilman paused for three seconds, then said, "Quick, get the plane ready. Go see if there are any direct flights to Canada."
The air in the room seemed to freeze for a moment.
Marcus and Lina exchanged a glance.
Robert opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Gilman had already strode towards the dressing room and grabbed a coat from the hook.
"What are you still standing there for?"
He didn't turn around. "Contact the airport using my backup identity. Book whichever flight departs earliest—Toronto, Vancouver, or Montreal. No need for luggage, just cash and my passport."
At this moment, the butler Henry stepped forward, holding a leather folder that had been prepared beforehand.
"Sir, your plane ticket is ready."
His voice remained steady as always. "Three first-class tickets, Bay City to Toronto, departing at 6:20 this morning. Passports, cash, and encrypted communication devices are all in the car. The car is already waiting at the back door."
Gilman paused.
He looked at Henry with a complicated expression.
"you----"
"Emergency Plan No. 17, sir."
Henry bowed slightly. "We've been preparing all along."
Gilman took the folder, opened it, and glanced at it.
Plane ticket, passport, and a stack of cash in different currencies. Everything was prepared thoroughly.
He closed the folder and patted Henry on the shoulder.
"Very good. You're coming with me. The rest of you—"
He didn't finish his sentence.
Henry's body suddenly stiffened.
A hand emerged from the shadows behind Henry and gripped his neck.
The movements were so fast that there was no process involved.
Click.
A very soft sound.
Like a broken tree branch.
Henry's eyes were still open, but his body went limp and he collapsed to the ground.
The folder slipped from his hand, scattered, and his plane ticket and passport fluttered onto the carpet.
Gilman was stunned.
The other three people in the room were also stunned.
Then they saw the owner of the hand.
A man stands where Henry fell.
He was wearing a dark combat uniform and holding a military knife in his hand.
The blade was short, about twenty centimeters long, and gleamed coldly under the bedside lamp.
He didn't look at Henry's body on the ground; his gaze fell directly on Gilman's face.
"Karl Jensen————"
Marcus was the first to react. He reached for his holster under his arm.
The saber moved.
It's not a thorn, it's a scratch.
An arc of light.
A thin line split open in Marcus's throat, and blood spurted out.
He clutched his neck, staggered backward, and crashed into the dressing table, knocking over cosmetic bottles and jars with a crash.
Lina turned and tried to run towards the door.
Second knife.
The knife is inserted into the back of the neck, and the tip exits in front of the Adam's apple.
She leaned forward and collapsed next to the sofa in the bedroom. Her limbs twitched twice, and then she stopped moving.
Robert stood still, without moving.
He looked at the man, his lips trembling.
The third cut.
The blade sliced horizontally, carving a cross across Robert's face.
The wound was deep, the skin and flesh were torn open, exposing the cheekbone underneath.
Robert screamed and covered his face with his hands.
The knife didn't stop; it thrust downwards, piercing his neck, then slashed upwards, cutting open his chest and abdomen.
A huge cross-shaped wound.
Robert fell, and blood quickly seeped onto the carpet.
The whole process took less than five seconds.
Gilman stood still, without moving.
Or rather, it can't move.
His legs were going weak.
My vision is blurry.
He saw the blood spurting from Marcus's neck splatter onto the ceiling, saw Lena knock over the crystal ashtray on the coffee table when she fell, and saw the white bone protruding from the cross-shaped wound on Robert's face.
Then he smelled the aroma.
Bloody smell.
There was also the uncontrollable smell of his own excrement emanating from his body.
It was the old "state-based" strategy and the inability to hold back that led to this situation.
He opened his mouth.
"Ugh~"
There was only a soft gurgling sound in my throat.
He leaned back and landed heavily on his buttocks.
Jason sheathed his military knife and put it back in the scabbard on his side.
The movements were slow, like completing a routine task.
Then he walked up to Gilman, bent down, stretched out his right hand, placed his palm on Gilman's head, and clasped his fingers around the skull.
Tighten.
Gilman felt his skull being squeezed, the pain sharp, like being clamped by pliers.
He tried to struggle, but his arms were powerless.
Jason lifted Gilman up with one hand.
Like carrying a dead dog.
He turned and walked towards the bedroom door.
Two Gundams were lying in the corridor outside the door.
Jason didn't care and dragged him out of the house.
The night wind was cold.
Gilman was being carried face down, and could see the cobblestone path rushing past him.
His own excrement left intermittent trails on the ground.
The iron gate of the manor was open.
Several cars were parked on the street.
It's not a Gilman's car.
They were modified pickup trucks and off-road vehicles, with people standing inside, all dressed in similar work clothes or camouflage uniforms, and holding guns.
They looked at Gilman, who was being dragged out, with calm expressions, as if they were looking at a piece of merchandise.
The rednecks didn't get on the bus.
He dragged Gilman along and began walking down the street.
The direction is towards the city center of Bay.
At first, they were the only team.
But after walking two blocks, another group of people appeared from the side intersection.
They were also dragging someone along.
Through his teary eyes, Gilman recognized her as the actual controller of the Hoffman Pharmaceuticals Group, an elderly woman in her sixties, who was being dragged along the ground by her hair like a rag doll.
The third.
the fourth.
More and more people are being dragged out of mansions, apartments, and private clubs.
There were both men and women, ranging in age from forty to seventy.
What they had in common was that they were all wearing pajamas or casual clothes, their faces showing either bewilderment or extreme fear, and their bodies rubbing against the rough ground, leaving drag marks.
All the implementers are rednecks.
They walked in silence, occasionally exchanging information in hushed tones over their walkie-talkies.
The person being dragged will initially struggle, beg for mercy, and curse.
But as the journey went on and their strength was exhausted, most of them could only whimper and groan intermittently.
Gilman felt that his back, buttocks, and the back of his legs were chafed raw.
The cold air stung his wound. But his mind was blank, with only one thought remaining: Why wasn't he dead yet?
The group eventually arrived at Winona Park.
The park is deserted in winter, with withered grass and bare tree branches.
There are already people here.
The rednecks gathered the people they had dragged there in the open space in front of the fountain.
A total of twenty-three people.
They are all key figures in large families or large enterprises in Beicheng and the surrounding areas.
Gilman was thrown to the ground.
He huddled up, trying to cover his face with his hands, but through his fingers he saw that the others were just as disheveled as he was, covered in filth and trembling.
The rednecks got to work.
There was no ceremony, no announcement.
They work in pairs, holding down a target and precisely cutting it with a saber or bayonet.
Carotid artery.
Both wrists.
The chest was cut open in a cross shape.
The action was swift; blood gushed out, spreading across the cold grass and seeping into the soil.
Twenty-three Gundams were arranged in the shape of a giant cross.
The hands and feet face in all directions, while the torso overlaps in the center.
Then someone brought a gasoline can and poured it on it.
The strong smell of gasoline dissipated the stench of blood.
Light a match and throw it in.
The flames roared up, orange-red, and stood out starkly against the gray-blue dawn light.
A wave of heat hit us.
The rednecks turned and left.
There was no stopping, no turning back.
The flames continued to burn.
On a park bench, several homeless people moved closer to the fire and stretched out their frozen hands.
Thank God, another day has passed.