Chapter 8 #2
She nodded. “Sure. Of course it is.” Reaching back, she took his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze.
They drove on and soon turned onto the little track that led through the wood of pines.
Once they were on the other side of that, it would be harder for the bandits to ambush them without them being spotted.
About five miles on from the wood was the creek they had to cross.
That was another good spot for an ambush, but beyond that was open land.
They could always outrun the ruffians there if they had to.
All they needed to do was get through the two chokepoints.
Perhaps there was no one waiting for them at all and El Aguila was planning a full-out attack on the town.
He had thrown his forces against Unity in the past and had lost. Sure, his men had breached the mine gate, but that was only for a couple of minutes.
The citizens of Unity never took things lying down, and they would fight to the last man, woman, and child.
So, what was the play here?
El Aguila was not stupid. That was one thing Mark was convinced of.
The man they were up against was definitely intelligent.
He had kept himself distanced from all of the violence and mayhem from the start, somehow holding gangs of bandits in line from across the country.
A man who could do that was definitely not someone to be trifled with.
So, why was he now in Texas? Was he fleeing from Mac and his investigators?
That seemed too simple. There had to be something else happening.
Or perhaps he was as tired of this standoff as the citizens of Unity were.
They were heading into the forest.
Clary and Ben sat up front, and Mark was certain they had their eyes peeled. Hopefully, if there was any trouble, they would be able to outrun it.
He held his pistol in a hand with a sweaty palm. He couldn’t help it. So much was riding on them getting through safely and telling the town what was actually happening.
“Here we go!” Ben cried out.
“What does he mean?” Heather asked, hand tightening on the butt of her rifle.
“He means we’re in trouble,” Mark said grimly.
Leaning out of the window, he looked behind them and saw a group of men on horseback closing in fast. He leveled his gun and fired. The men dodged and returned fire. The slugs thudded into the back of the coach.
Ben’s shotgun roared, and a bandit flew back over his horse’s rump, crashing to the ground.
Mark aimed and pulled the trigger. The coach rolled over a bump at that moment, and the shot went wide. From the other side of the coach, he saw Heather, perched out of the window with the rifle, take aim. She pulled the trigger, and a bandit cried out before slumping over on his horse.
She slotted another round into the chamber and aimed again.
Mark took aim and fired once more. He missed again, but his next round hit and another bandit went down. All around them, slugs thudded into the coach or whizzed by their heads.
If they could just make it out of the trees, they would stand a better chance.
Please, Lord. Let us make it home safely, he prayed fervently.
Ben’s shotgun boomed from behind them, and then Clary cried out. “Hold on!”
Mark only just managed to throw himself back into the coach before it listed to one side. Heather screamed as she was tossed from her perch. Mark saw it happening and lunged to the other side of the coach.
It was too late. She disappeared from view with another loud, piercing scream. Mark’s heart dropped to his boots. For a terrible second he paused in fright before rushing forward. The coach thudded and bounced as Mark leaned out of the window. He cracked his head on the frame but didn’t retreat.
Holding onto the handle, balanced precariously on the rim of a wheel, was Heather. She looked at him with desperation in her eyes, and Mark thrust his arms out of the window.
Something zipped by him, drawing pain and blood from his right arm. He cried out and instinctively drew back.
“Mark!” Heather cried.
“Hang on!” he yelled.
Gritting his teeth, knowing that he had to do this, had to save her, because his heart would never recover from losing her, he leaned out of the window again. She let go of the handle with one hand and grabbed his arm.
“On three,” he said. “I’ll pull you in.”
She nodded.
“One, two …”
A bullet thudded into the wood above his head. Ducking, Mark shouted, “Three!”
He yanked Heather in through the window, and they landed on the floor of the coach in a tangle of limbs.
The coach jolted and tipped wildly to one side. What was Clary doing? Were there obstacles in the road?
They didn’t have much time to think about it because a moment later, the whole coach tipped to the other side and came crashing down. Mark and Heather were tossed back, bouncing as the coach ground to a halt.
Mark hit his head on the frame again, and this time he felt something hot dripping into his eyes. He tried to wipe it away, but his arm was around Heather and she was oddly heavy and silent.
“Heather?” he asked. “Heather, are you okay?”
Silence.
A few more gunshots boomed and then there was silence.
Mark lay on his back in the coach, dazed and disorientated. The blood stung his eyes, and he was looking at the world through a red film. His left hand was nothing but agony, and his right was still pinned under Heather’s unmoving body.
Footsteps ground outside the coach brought Mark’s scattered thoughts into focus. They were coming to kill him and Heather. They had probably already killed Clary and Ben, and now it was their turn.
Mark tried to think of something defiant to say, but nothing came to mind. What could he do anyway? He was stuck, dazed, and feeling terribly lost. He couldn’t believe it would all end like this.
Lord, help us, please!
The coach groaned and then was suddenly back the right way up. Mark and Heather tumbled again, this time crashing onto the seats. Heather fell off his arm, and Mark scrabbled weakly for his gun.
Then the door opened and a man appeared. He was dressed in black from head to toe. He smiled at Mark.
“Take them,” he said to someone behind him. “They won’t be any trouble.” Then he bent and picked up the gun that Mark had been trying to reach. With a terrible, humorless laugh, he tucked the gun into the belt of his trousers.
“Pathetic,” he sneered at Mark. “If El Aguila hadn’t ordered us to keep you alive, you would already be full of lead. Vamonos!”
Something hard and heavy hit Mark in the head, and he knew nothing more.