42. Kyra
42
KYRA
T he plan was straightforward. Hamid's group would block the narrow pass from above, forcing the convoy to slow or reroute, and then Kyra's team would strike from behind the ridge line. Ideally, they would isolate the prisoners' truck, free them, and vanish before the enemy knew what hit them.
Even if they called for reinforcements, none would arrive in time.
The rebels and the freed prisoners would be long gone.
Although communication with the scouts watching the compound was minimal and coded, the watchers still managed to relay pertinent information to the ambush team. The new prisoners had been unloaded from the van and brought into the compound, and those vacating the premises had been herded out. The watchers hadn't reported how many had been loaded into the vans, though, or whether any of them were females.
Kyra closed her hand over her pendant, which remained suspiciously cool against her skin. This was a good sign because heat often served as a warning, but it could also indicate a failed mission.
She was all too aware that the enhanced soldiers might be accompanying the convoy, but it didn't matter. She was going to face them, and she was going to achieve her objective despite them because she had no other choice.
Crouching behind a rocky outcrop, Kyra watched the pass below while dust clouds billowed from a winding road as the convoy approached. Beside her, Soran scanned the vehicles through a pair of binoculars.
She didn't need them to see the convoy clearly.
"It's them," he said. "I can see the van where they most likely keep the prisoners. There are bars on the windows."
Kyra's chest tightened. "Wait for Zara's signal." The plan was for Zara's group to spring the trap at the narrowest point of the pass, where the road was flanked by sheer rock walls, making it impossible for the convoy to outrun them. Then Kyra's group would swoop in from behind the ridge.
She glanced back at her fighters. Some of them she'd recruited years ago; others were new, and this was their first dangerous mission. But everyone had to start somewhere, and there was no time for coddling.
The crackle of gunfire that echoed through the pass signaled that Zara's group had begun the ambush, peppering the lead jeep with bullets and forcing it to skid sideways. Meanwhile, Hamid's decoy team fired from the south, drawing away half the guards' attention.
This was Kyra's cue.
She sprang up from cover, leading her fighters down the slope at an angle so they'd be behind the second truck. The dryness in her throat vanished, and she entered the zone of intense focus. Gunfire rang out in staccato bursts, the sound reverberating off the stone. Fighters on both sides shouted, and muzzles flashed from the van's escort.
A bullet zipped past her ear, stirring dust, and she dropped into a crouch behind a boulder to return fire. Roshrud crouched on her right, steadying his aim.
The soldiers were quick to react, and she wondered how many of them were enhanced. Then she glimpsed one bounding from the lead jeep, moving with speed and agility that betrayed his identity.
Could a bullet kill them? Would it even slow them down?
She'd been shot in the past, and it had hurt, but it hadn't kept her down. Then again, nothing vital had been hit. If she aimed at the heart, perhaps it would be fatal or at least slow him.
Soran's voice barked out orders from behind a battered outcrop: "Kyra, push left! They're focusing on the decoy. We can get to the van now!"
She half-ran, half-crawled across the uneven ground, bullets ricocheting off the rocks. The enhanced soldier met her halfway, but instead of shooting her, he swung a baton at her head.
What the hell?
Did he want to capture her alive? Was that his plan?
Instinct guiding her, she ducked and spun instead of firing at him, blocking a blow that would have shattered the bones of an ordinary woman. A bullet wouldn't have slowed him down unless it was between the eyes, and her aim wasn't that good while fighting. The impact jarred her from shoulder to elbow, but she gritted her teeth, ignoring the pain. Catching him by surprise, she swiped his legs, twisting with more force than he'd expected from a woman. He went down but scrambled up terrifyingly quickly.
They exchanged rapid strikes.
His baton whistled past her skull, and she dodged and hammered a fist into his ribs, ignoring the logic that told her punching an enhanced soldier might not slow him down, but she still couldn't shoot him while fighting him hand to hand.
Kyra felt a satisfying crack of bone under her knuckles.
He grunted and staggered.
With him momentarily stunned, he provided her with the perfect target for a killing shot. She pulled out her gun and shot him point blank between the eyes.
No one should be able to survive that, not even an enhanced soldier, and for a moment, she felt a pang of sorrow for ending the life of someone like her, but then she reminded herself that he was nothing like her. He was a monster working for monsters who maimed and killed without remorse.
She whirled toward the van, scanning for danger, but her people had already taken care of the regular soldiers who had guarded its flank.
She sprinted, weaving between large rock fragments, until she reached the van's rear door. Bars covered the frosted window, and she glimpsed shapes inside, but there was no way for her to know whether there were more guards with rifles waiting for her inside.
Soran appeared at her shoulder and pressed a heavy wrench into her hand. "Padlock," he shouted over the din. "Do it. I'll cover you."
Kyra jammed the wrench against the lock, using her supernatural strength to snap it. She heard metal groan and give, and the door swung open.
The interior was dim, but no one was shooting at her, which meant no guards were inside.
She scanned the detainees, looking for Twelve, but none of the faces matched the one she desperately needed to see. Some were lying on the van's floor, though, so maybe Twelve was among them. A slumped figure near the front of the truck had a sack over the head, and hope surged in Kyra's chest. She leaped into the van and yanked the sack off, but it was a man underneath, with bruises along his jaw and a livid gash across his temple.
Frantic, she forced herself to slow down and scrutinize each face. She'd seen these people through the windows of their cells. She recognized them.
They were all there except for Twelve.
Kyra felt faint.
She'd failed.
But this was not the time to fall apart. These people still needed her, and the young woman from room eight was cowering in the back like she was expecting another blow.
"Don't be afraid," Kyra said. "I'm here to free you. No one is going to harm you."
Her expression must have reinforced her words because the young woman, a girl really, let out a ragged sigh.
Behind Kyra, Soran covered the van's entrance with his rifle, scanning. "We have to hurry. The fighting is still intense."
"We need to carry some of them out. They are not in any shape to climb."
Nodding, Soran hoisted the older man, who could barely walk. Another rebel came to help and grabbed another prisoner. Kyra reached for the battered girl, cutting her bonds with a swift slash of her knife. The woman collapsed into her arms, letting out a sharp cry of pain.
"I'm sorry. You need to hold on for just a little longer."
The girl's lips parted, but no words emerged. A tear slipped down her bruised cheek.
"Come on!" Soran grunted. "Let's move."
Kyra hefted the girl, amazed by how light she felt. She let out a strangled whimper as some wound on her ribs jarred, but she clung to Kyra's shoulders.
With the others covering them, they leaped from the van and ducked behind an overturned crate. Gunfire erupted anew, possibly from the front position. A bullet ricocheted off the crate's side. Kyra shielded the girl with her own body. "Don't worry. I won't let them capture you."
Zara's voice crackled through the shortwave, "Retreat to the ridge behind the big boulder at coordinate three. Go now."
Soran fired a few covering shots while Kyra carried the wounded woman across the rocky ground in a half crouch, with the two other rebels carrying wounded prisoners behind her, along with those who were able to walk on their own.
With each step, the girl's breath rasped, and Kyra glimpsed the tortured lines of her face. She was more badly hurt than Kyra had assumed. The daily torment must have accumulated. Scalding rage soared in her chest.
Somehow, they made it to Hamid, who offered them cover. Their people poured in one by one, slipping into camouflaged vehicles and lurching away from the intensifying firefight. The soldiers followed, but the rebels had planted explosives along the way.
Cars roared to life and sped off in zigzagging directions, kicking up dust. The entire scene was a storm of chaos—smoke drifting from a flaming jeep, the wails of wounded men echoing.
Inside the pickup, Kyra cradled the girl in her lap.
Despite the crushing disappointment over failing to save Twelve, she felt a wave of triumph.
The truck jolted over a rocky outcropping. Soran, from the passenger seat, glanced over his shoulder. "We need to get to the fallback position. The rest of them are scattering. Let's pray we're not followed."
Kyra exhaled and looked down at the unconscious woman, noticing how her clenched hands relaxed in slumber.
She could only imagine how much tighter the security in the compound would be after this operation. Her only option seemed to be to once again don the maid's outfit and somehow manage to trade places with Twelve.