Hollow Point (Black Hollow #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Operation Nightshade,

Coast Mountains, north of Bralorne, British Columbia, Training mission

The air in the Bralorne backcountry tasted of iron and ancient rain, a cold, heavy gray that clung to the back of Master Warrant Officer Neve Monroe’s throat with every deep breath.

Beneath her boots, the forest floor fanned out in a spongy, deceptive carpet of cedar needles and decaying nurse logs that swallowed the sound of the patrol’s rhythmic footfalls, leaving only the low-frequency hum of the wind through the high canopy.

Thirty meters ahead, their point man Master Corporal Daniel Fraser’s silhouette flickered like a ghost amidst the jagged voids of the towering redwoods and hemlocks, his movement as silent as the shadows.

She’d humped through three provinces and a dozen op-cycles with their newest member, and he’d quickly become as much a part of the unit’s DNA as the rifles they carried.

Fog threaded through the heavy branches, fading into a damp mist as they transitioned onto a rocky bench, the open space like a much-needed breath.

Neve shifted left, her teammates falling into a loose diamond formation behind her, their footsteps hushed across the slick shale.

She gestured to where the path picked up on the other side, when Fraser whirled in a blur of Cordura and cold intent, his carbine locking against his shoulder in a motion too fluid, too certain to be anything other than a promise.

The suppressed thut broke the silence, the dry hollow sound barely stirring the mountain air as the shot punched into Captain Kane Archer’s shoulder, snapping it back before he hit the ground with a decisive, wet thump.

He let out a ragged grunt, the scent of fresh iron and cordite overshadowing the ever-present smell of spring runoff and damp cedar.

Blood bloomed through his gear, quickly eating away the olive-colored nylon just outside his ballistic vest.

Neve froze for one heart-stopping second, her brain working through the glitch in her reality, before the ridge above them detonated — a wall of lead chewing the rocky ledge into gray grit as the high-velocity scream of suppression fire stitched a line between her and Fraser, ripping through hemlock needles and kicking up geysers of dirt.

Neve snapped back, switched out her training mag for live rounds, then fired off a spray of brass as she fisted the handle on Kane’s vest — got him moving. “Contact live. Switch out!”

Kane muttered a series of curse words as she dragged him behind a moss-covered boulder, granite splinters peppering her sleeves, the rest of her team laying down cover fire.

From behind, Sergeant Wynn Whitmore splashed through the muck, sliding in beside Archer, her med kit hitting the ground before she locked her hands around his wound. “Medium caliber. No exit wound.” She looked up at Neve. “It’s bad.”

Archer batted at her hands, face ashen, his right arm hanging limp at his side. “I’m not dead yet, Whitmore. Just, patch me up and give me my damn pistol. I’m good.”

“If you want to stay breathing, you’ll let me plug the hole first.” Wynn cut away a swath of fabric, pouring on clotting powder and stuffing in sponges before wrapping up his shoulder, her hands steady despite the bullets ticking off the rocks and trees.

She eyed Neve, motioning toward where Fraser had been standing. “Did Fraser really just shoot Archer?”

Neve peered over the edge of the stone. Fraser hadn’t escaped. He’d melted — folded into the thickening mist with a fluid, predatory speed that had defied the weight of his kit. “Bastard didn’t even blink.” She glanced at Wynn. “This isn’t close to over. We need to move. Now.”

Wynn nodded, grabbed the handle on the back of Kane’s vest and half-dragged his ass back toward the tree line, her boots slipping on the mud as Archer kicked up dirt and stones.

Neve burned through a full mag, peppering the ridge four hundred meters off — buying a few seconds until Wynn tucked Kane behind a massive cedar stump. “Zadie. I need a line out.”

Lieutenant Zadie Noor dropped low, her hands flying over the radio. “Someone’s jamming the signals. I’ve got nothing but static. I’ll keep scanning channels, but…”

Neve huffed. “But either we manufacture our own rescue, or we’re dead.”

Neve cursed as more bullets tapped across the rock before the shadows on the high ground shifted, appearing in fleeting glimpses through the foliage as they raced down the incline. “They’re on the move. Scout, find us a track and assume our exfil’s been compromised.”

Warrant Officer Scout Lennox peeled off from behind a large redwood, switching out her mag as she glanced at her GPS. “I’ve got an idea, but you’re not going to like it.”

Neve merely nodded. Scout was hands down the best tracker she’d ever worked with — including her time as part of Captain Coulter Barrett’s JTF2 unit — could find their line using nothing more than a paperclip and a magnetized stone.

Neve waved her on. “You’re our compass. If you think it’s the best option, we’ve got your back.”

Scout pursed her lips, firing off another round of cover fire. “They’re already halfway down the slope. How’s that possible?”

“No idea, but it means we need to go. Double time.”

Scout took off, taking point as she wove them along the fern-choked path, the large redwoods like sentries amidst the cloaking fog. Rain needled through the thick branches, a distant roll of thunder echoing above them.

Wynn trailed behind Kane, grabbing that handle whenever the captain faltered, keeping him upright and moving. Zadie had her head cocked to one side, looking as if the rain carried a signal only she heard as they veered right, Scout leaping over deadfall and skirting thick pockets of bramble.

Neve brought up the rear, half her attention focused behind them, her carbine still notched against her shoulder.

Shadows moved at the edge of her peripheral vision, fading in and out of the fog — wisps of a target, then nothing.

She stopped at the next fallen hemlock, shifting behind it as she brought the scope to her eye.

She panned left, cursed when a man in black tactical gear burst out of the mist, each stride eating up the distance faster than she’d thought possible, a few bullets punching through the bark beside her head.

She blinked, and he’d already cut the distance in half, barreling through the underbrush, shaking off thorns and branches as if he didn’t feel pain.

He unloaded several more rounds as she shifted her aim, gauged his advanced speed, then fired, hitting the guy center mass, lower ribcage. He jerked, tripped against a massive spruce, the suppressed round a concussive thud through the air.

The mercenary shook his head, recovered, advancing toward her a heartbeat later as if he’d simply stumbled, switching to his sidearm as he leaped over an enormous stump. She adjusted, fired as he closed within fifty feet of her — hit him in the upper shoulder.

The man tipped forward, falling into a thicket of bramble only to pop back up, the report still echoing through the trees. He sprinted ahead, zeroing in on her. No hesitation. No reaction, just pure aggression tearing through the brush.

Neve followed suit, switched to her pistol, caught the bastard in the head with only ten feet to spare.

A red mist splattered the redwood behind him as he crumpled, a solid thud shaking the ground.

She waited, breath held, gaze still raking the foliage, but he stayed down, an eerie quiet settling over the trail.

She turned, raced after her team, twigs cracking behind her, muffled footfalls quickly closing in. A few speculative rounds whizzed through the salal and salmonberry bushes, disappearing into the undergrowth with a hollow thump.

Neve caught up with her crew at the top of a steep gorge, the roar of the rapids below mixing with another crash of thunder. Scout had a length of webbing wrapped around a tree, a poor excuse of a line trailing over the edge.

Scout pointed to a dead cedar hung up in one of the hemlocks along the trail a hundred feet behind them. “We could use a barrier. Might buy us enough time to reach the river before they’re on us.”

Neve slipped off her pack. Fraser had been their ordinance guy, but she had a couple breaching charges stashed in a pocket.

She grabbed one, then slung her pack back over her shoulders. “Go. As soon as you’re clear, I’ll blow it.”

Scout readied the rope, Archer in front, his good arm wrapped around the line as she followed him over the edge. Rocks and shale sloughed off the side, rolling down the steep face with an angry screech.

Neve backtracked to the widow maker, strapped the charge around the trunk, when more rounds shredded the brittle branches next to her shoulder — grazed a groove down one arm. She returned fire, hit the timer, then dove for cover.

Boots pounded up the trail, more brass ripping through the fern and brush when the charge detonated, exploding in a spray of wood and mud. A massive crack echoed the blast as the tree ripped through the snagging branches, smashing into the forest floor amidst a cloud of dirt and bark.

Roots clawed at the air like gnarled fingers, a tangle of rotting branches spanning across the path, weaving through the other trees like a web. Needles and dead leaves floated down from the canopy, dirt and dust clogging the air.

Scrambling to her feet, Neve raced back to the edge of the ravine, a handful of mercenaries already picking through the debris, breaking off snags thicker than her wrist. Scout neared the bottom, Archer half-sliding, half-bouldering down the scree in front of her.

Wynn followed behind, working the line as if she’d spent years hanging from a rope as Zadie brought up the rear.