Agent Hill: Powerless Read Online Free

the ground to massive mausoleums of marble etched with intricate designs of faith and family. The multicolored shades of grey contrasted against the bright tufts of green grass cutting between the graves.
    Sarah stepped lightly through the tall grass, most of the graveyard lying unkempt and wild, until she made it to two polished-marble headstones so close together that they were practically touching. The small sliver of space between the two stones acted as a parallel line stretching for infinity.
    Sarah ran her hand over the smooth marble, tracing the letters of the names etched in the stone. “Hey, guys.” Her words were soft, and she let her hand fall limply to her side. “I know it’s been a while since I’ve visited. Work’s been busy.”
    The concussive blasts of gunshots echoed somewhere in the distance, and her hand instinctively went to the pistol concealed under her jacket. Her body went rigid, and she scanned the area, searching for any threats that could be near. The shots were at least a mile away, and there wasn’t a body in sight, at least not a living one. She removed her hand from the pistol’s grip and formed a fist. “I’ll find them.” The words were resilient, harsh. “I’ll bring them home. I promise you that.”
    Sarah brought both hands to her lips and kissed her fingertips. She rested one hand on each headstone and closed her eyes. She searched for her father’s words, seeking comfort or wisdom or anything that she could remember about him.
    But the words never came. Their memories were fading from her. Their crisp figures began to blur. Remember . Her eyelids spasmed from the building pressure of forcing her eyes shut. For a moment, her father’s face came into view, and he smiled then turned to her mother, taking her hand, and they danced. But the vision flashed for only a moment before it was blurred again.
    Sarah opened her eyes, and she felt a wave of tension release from her body. She had not realized the rigidness of her own muscles. The longer her parents were in the ground, the less she remembered them, and with it the feeling of shame grew. Out of all the things she could do, all her physical gifts and her skills, she couldn’t remember what her father used to say to her before she went to bed at night. She turned her back on the stones and trudged through the long grass toward the rusted iron entrance gate of the cemetery.

Chapter 3
    Whatever North Clifton Avenue used to look like, Heath couldn’t tell. Trash cans were tipped over, with their contents spilled out onto the street. Doors were broken, windows smashed, cars wrecked into the lifeless power line poles, void of any electrical current.
    Any semblance of order and law had evacuated, and Heath felt the disgust swell up inside until it manifested in the twisted anger of his face. It was a sight one would see in the streets of the Middle East or some war-torn nation riddled with civil unrest. He nodded over to the unit of men on the left side of the street, and they marched down the sidewalk, armed with assault rifles and protected with Kevlar jackets.
    Out of his right peripheral vision, he could see a few scared faces look at them through the broken windows of what was left of their homes. These people were used to crime, but it wasn’t likely that any of them had seen something like this.
    One man came out on his front steps, wielding a knife. “Hey! Get out of here! Now!” His clothes were dirty and his hair as wild as the expression on his face. He took a few steps down the stoop from the apartment building, despite Heath and his men advancing into the area. “You hear me? We don’t need your help!”
    The man’s words had sparked the courage of a few others who had started to make their way out onto the stoops of their buildings. Heath kept his eye on the building numbers, searching for 3324, and he finally spotted it where the man with the knife on his stoop was shouting at them.
    Heath took the lead,