Chapter Fifteen
In which there are too many bullets in the wrong hands. This seems unfair.
Sloan…
“Down!”
I’m shoved behind a boulder and Ethan whips his gun out of his chest holster. The gun goes off, one, two, three times and I hear a thump and a groan. Two more shots, a crashing sound and then a scream, fading as whoever he shot went over the cliff.
I almost don’t recognize this Ethan. His expression is still and cold, his arms extended, muscles flexing and each time he pulls the trigger, he seems to be hitting whatever he’s aiming at. When he whips around, I jump.
“We’re going. Now.” He takes my arm, helping me up.
“Let me carry the bag,” I say, “you need your hands free.”
He quickly, efficiently rolls up the blankets and ties them together with another of the scavenged seat belts from the jet. “Put this over your left shoulder, aye?”
I know that kit bag of his is as heavy as hell, but he refuses to let me take it, grabbing my hand with his free one and leading me rapidly across the rocks.
“I guess that helicopter spotted us after all, huh?”
“It was almost too quick,” he says, jumping down from a boulder and reaching up to help me. “They must have spotted the jet wreckage and tracked us when they didn’t find our bodies.”
He says this like it’s an everyday thing, like being hunted by killers happens to him all the time and maybe it does, but my heart hasn’t stopped galloping in my chest and it’s taking all my concentration to hurry along behind him. My back is twitching, like there’s a bullseye trained on me and I’m waiting to feel the bullet strike.
We’re weaving through another boulder field narrowing the river and I can hear faint shouts behind us.
“Oh god oh god oh god,” I chant under my breath.
“Stay focused on where ya put your feet,” he says sharply, “I’ve got ya. We’ll get out of this.”
Aw, god damnit.
The river’s dropped beneath us to a chokepoint where the water churns furiously, trying to push through the narrow space between the rocks, and there’s an honest-to-god bridge leading from this side of the bank to the other. There’s a groomed trail there, too. But it’s got to be sixty feet down from where we’re standing. The cliff face is sheer, and only scraggly-looking bushes grow in the cracks. There’s no way to navigate around this point. The only way is down.
And it is so far down.
The bridge looks sturdy and well-built enough that surely, civilization isn’t far behind. But I’m never going to be able to climb down that cliff face.
Those shooters aren’t far behind us and I feel like a fox, racing desperately away from the hunters only to have my foot caught in a trap. Is that why those poor animals gnaw off their leg, knowing it’s preferable to what’s about to happen to them from the men with guns?
Ethan’s head tilts back for a moment before his jaw tightens. Dropping to his knee, he pulls a length of rope out of his kit bag. “The drop is around eighteen meters,” he says calmly, “my rope is not going to be long enough.” I hear a gunshot off in the distance but they’re too far away to hit us.
“Here’s what we’re going to do.” Taking my arms in a firm hold he gazes at me, his eyes furious and pitch black. “I’m looping the rope under your arms. You’re going to wrap your arms and legs around me and I’ll get us to the bottom.”
“Y- you said the rope was too short.”
Cupping my face, he smiles at me, even though his glittering black eyes look like a shark’s. “I’ll get ya down safe, not to worry. It’s gonna hurt, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I shake my head firmly. “You tell me what to do and I’ll do it. We got this.”
His thumbs run lightly over my cheekbones. “A tough lass, ya are. Here we go.”
With quick, sure movements he wraps a loop in the end of the rope and pulls it over my head, settling it under my armpits. Double knotting the other end to a stout tree trunk, he loops the handles of his kit bag tightly over his shoulders and picks me up, hands cupping my ass. I wrap my legs around his narrow waist in a death grip and hide my wince when I put my arms around his neck.
As he steps back, I look over his shoulders and want to vomit. It looks so much farther than I thought. He got that heavy bag and he’s holding me, too. All with nothing but a grip on the rope. God, I hope his hands aren’t sweaty. That rope would slide through my grip like it was coated in coconut oil. I suck in a deep shuddering breath. I can’t throw up. I can’t lose it.
“Lass. Look at me.”
Trying to keep my panic out of my expression, I do.
“We’re going over this cliff. I will get ya down safely. Your job is to hold onto me as tight as ya can, aye? I know you’re exhausted. But we must do this.”
“I know,” I say. “But the rope’s too short, what are we going to do?” Another bullet sings past us, this time hitting a tree that’s far too close.
“We’ll figure it out when we get there,” he says with a rakish grin, and it occurs to me, and not for the first time, that he is deranged.
Another bullet hits the boulders with a thud, and another.
“Time to go, love. Dinna let go, ya hear me?”
Twisting my head, I can see three men racing down the path behind us. Too close. Too fucking close. When my world spins and I’m dangling over the cliff, I bury my head in his shoulder like a coward. I don’t want to see the bottom where our remains will no doubt be scattered into bloody confetti after we fall from here. But, his boots stay firm on the cliff, navigating the vertical surface with confidence and I try to keep as still as I can.
There’s a shout and a curse, and one of the men chasing us has slipped off the rock, landing on an outcropping about ten feet below. One of the other men is checking on him while the last asshole is still running for us, gun in hand.
Ethan wraps the rope around his wrist. “Dinna move.” He pulls his gun from his holster, bracing his legs against the rock and I know that me, him, and that heavy bag of his are all dependent on his single grip. Sighting the man leaning over the cliff, he shoots him first, the man pitching over the edge and screaming on the way down.
It’s a long way. He has time to scream, catch a breath, and scream again. Ethan’s grip on the rope is white-knuckled, and I can see some blood on the rope from where it must be cutting into his hand.
“I can shoot,” I blurt.
“What?”
“I can shoot,” I insisted, “I took classes for self-defense. I can hold on and still shoot, you need both hands free for the rope.”
He checks the ammo clip. “Ya got six shots, lass. Make ‘em count.”
It’s killing him to hand over the gun, I know it. But if he can’t climb down, we’re just an easy, dangling target. “What’s this made of, lead?” I mumble. The gun is heavy as hell and I tighten my grip. I cannot drop his gun. He’ll kill me himself.
“Sight…” I whisper, “point. Slow, pull on the trigger and-”
I catch the guy on the rock outcropping in the shoulder. The bullet hits him and he spins, falling off the rock. There’s half a second of elation and a murmured, “Good lass!” from Ethan and then I see the third man has been joined by yet three more.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I groan.
“How many,” he grits out.
“Four total.”
“Ya know what to do. Keep hanging onto me, nice and tight.” His biceps are in my face, bulging and flexing as he makes his way down the cliff. I chance a quick glance down at the bridge and it still seems so far away.
A high buzz races past my ear and I realize it’s a bullet. That asshole at the head of the pack is standing above us, legs spread and already firing again. This one strikes the rock, sending chips in all directions and one hits my cheekbone.
I need both hands to shoot up and I tighten my legs, probably cutting off Ethan’s circulation. My legs are strong, I really did run a lot but the muscles are already quivering and I’m praying I don’t flop over backward.
The man above us is so close that I can see his cruel smile as he takes aim.
Sight… point… pull the trigger.
Our bullets must pass each other because Ethan groans as the bastard’s hits his thigh, but mine hit the mark and I spitefully enjoy the gunman’s slow look of shock as the red blooms on his chest and he falls back out of sight.
“Three bullets left,” I whisper.
Ethan’s breath is harsh in my ear, sweat trickling down his forehead but he never deviates from that cold, focused expression. His bad leg slips and I stifle a scream as we dangle for a moment over the gorge, the white water frothing madly in the narrow stone channel as we spin gently at least thirty feet from solid ground until he finds his footing again.
I sight the closest man racing down the trail and grit my teeth. The shot goes wide and I groan inside. Two bullets left, you idiot.
The gunman right behind him is a bit higher up and he pauses for a moment, scanning the rock face for us. He stops just long enough and my bullet hits him in the side. Not close enough to his chest, damn it!
One bullet. Two men left.
And one of them has a semi-automatic rifle and the rat-tat-tat of the gun firing echoes in the narrow gorge as it sets off a line of holes in the cliff.
“Almost there,” Ethan says, “almost there.”
I don’t dare look. I’m waiting for the rifle-toting son of a bitch to come around the curve in the trail. He’s got too much ammunition. He doesn’t even have to be a decent aim, he can just spray the cliff face until he gets us.
There. There you are… He’s already got the rifle up to his shoulder and I fire. I’m aiming for the wider target of his chest but the bullet hits his neck. I can see the spray of bright red as he drops the rifle, trying to grip his throat to stop the bleeding but he’s already crumpling.
The rope suddenly tightens under my arms and I realize we’re out of line, still ten feet or more from the bottom. Ethan pulls off his bag and drops it. “Listen now.” He grips my sloppy braid tight. “I’m going to jump. There is a crevice to your right, do ya see it?”
My teeth are chattering, I’m so scared and I feel like I’m wading through molasses. “I s-see it.”
“Good girl. Put the gun back in my holster.” It takes me three tries but I get it. “Put your right foot out. You’ll feel the ledge.”
He’s right, it’s there. Struggling to wedge my foot in there, I grab a bush growing out of the crack.
“You’re gonna tuck yourself into the crevice. Untie the rope, they’ll try to yank ya out of there. I will get you when I’ve killed them. Do ya understand?”
“You’ve got a bullet in your leg,” I hiss. “You can’t jump! You could-”
He yanks my hair, hard. “Do ya understand!”
“Yes!” I nod furiously. “Got this. Got it.”
To my shock, he kisses me hard, with lots of tongue and presses my lip against my teeth. Pushing me closer to the crevice, he grins that unhinged smile of his again and drops.
A blizzard of ammunition sprays right where he was, and I jam my fist into my mouth, stifling my scream as I tug on the knot, trying to loosen the rope around my arms. There’s a violent yank from above that nearly rips me out of my little shelter.
A bullet hits the rope from below, about midway up the cliff and I realize Ethan used his last bullet to shoot the rope loose so they couldn’t use it to get down to us. Two men left. At least one with a rifle.
A rope comes tumbling down the cliff and I groan silently. Prepared sons of bitches. Pressing deeper into my little shelter, I try to remember a prayer from my childhood. I haven’t spoken to God since he took my mother and let my piece of shit stepfather nearly poison my brother to death, but I’m willing to bargain with Him now.
Ethan is digging into his kit bag and pulls out another ammo clip, slapping it into the place and aiming for the rope. He has to leap behind the base of the bridge when that bastard with the rifle shoots off another twenty-six thousand rounds. I realize he’s covering for the man rappelling down. The guy is much faster than we were because he isn’t burdened by a woman clinging to him like a koala to a eucalyptus tree.
“Give us the girl, MacTavish,” the man atop the cliff shouts. “You just walk away. You’ve already got a bullet in your leg, you can’t take us.”
This is because of me?
Ethan looks at me and shakes his head slowly, putting a finger to his lips.
“Come on!” The man on the rope is almost to the bottom, his gun’s already out. “We’ll give you a taste before we take her. Masters doesn’t care what condition she’s in when we deliver her as long as she’s still breathing.”
Ethan’s aiming for him, but he still has to dodge that bullet-spraying son of a bitch up top, and the man drops from the rope, easily firing in Ethan’s direction. When he gets to the base of the bridge, he stumbles to a stop, turning in a circle and I see the brutal gash across his neck, Ethan cut his throat. The gunman drops to his knees and then onto his face.
There’s a muttered curse and the last gunman fires mindlessly, roaring with frustration. One bullet hits inches from my head, and Ethan rolls behind another rock outcropping. I see his arms go up, straight, holding the gun like it’s an extension of his body and he fires. Seconds later, I see the last man hit the rocks below me with a thudding sound I will never forget, just a sack of meat slamming against the unforgiving granite.