Chapter 3 #2
He checked his mag, reloading as he wove through the bowels of the facility, ducking under pipes and pushing past bulkheads. Boots clanged against the grated metal flooring, sparks jumping off an air exchanger as someone peppered rounds his way.
Coulter kept moving, steam hissing from a few vents, fans whining overhead. Flashlight beams bounced off the duct work next to him, a couple bullets punching through the wall.
An exit sign glowed off to his right, the red light like a beacon in the heavy air. He caught a glimpse of movement through a tangle of wires, fired, knocking some hulking guy in tactical gear back a few steps. The guy grunted, but kept coming, covering two steps for every one of Coulter’s.
Coulter snagged one of the canisters off his vest, tossed it.
It banked off a compressor, then hit the floor, exploding in a hiss of fire and smoke, metal shards spraying across the room.
The blast threw him into the wall, peppered shrapnel down one side, several pieces punching through the gap in his vest.
A loud shriek roared inside his head, hot ash burning a line down his throat as he staggered to his feet, pushed through the exit.
The door opened onto a long narrow hallway, a wall of glass showcasing the motor pool one level below. A figure stopped walking at the far end, glancing over his shoulder at Coulter.
Ramsey.
Even with the guy’s face half-hidden in shadows, Coulter’s vision fraying at the edges, he recognized the curve of the man’s face, the shape of his massive silhouette.
One shot.
That’s all he needed.
He turned, raised his Sig — hand shaking a bit from the blood loss — when the door behind Ramsey opened, a wall of suppressive fire filling the hallway.
Casings ticked off the floor, brass scything off the metal frame, as muzzle flashes lit up the shadows.
A bullet grazed down his thigh, more punching into his vest, as shots echoed behind him, the assholes closing in with terrifying speed.
Ramsey folded into the shadows as Coulter returned fire, capping two men who moved in front of the bastard before Coulter pegged the glass panel twice, then raced ahead, hurtling through the window — crashing onto the floor below.
His right shoulder took the brunt of the fall, a carpet of tiny glass squares fanning out around him.
Two breaths, then he scrambled to his feet, limping behind a heavy equipment transport, his chest wheezing, his lungs barely sucking in any air. Shouts rose above the lingering whine, more glass shattering across the floor as the men cleared the frame, landed without buckling.
Pain clouded his vision, every breath a jagged prayer, as he palmed his last frag, tossed it into the mix.
The canister landed next to a couple of fuel barrels, spinning a few times before erupting in a fury of light and sound. The barrels blew a second later, fire shooting into the air, the sprinklers cracking on, dousing the equipment in a numbing spray.
Coulter emptied the last of his mag as he limped off, the chaos covering his escape.
He raced out the open garage — sprinted for the tree line, blood dotting the asphalt behind him.
Rain cooled his exposed skin, quickly soaking through his gear as he hit the edge of the pavement, launched into a bordering ditch.
The cold water stole his next breath, locking up his muscles as he waded across the culvert, dragged his ass out the other side.
A spotlight brightened the foggy night, the eerie gray bouncing the light back on itself as the beam swept through the parking lot, lingering on the drainage canal for a few moments before panning away.
Coulter crouched next to a large spruce, chest heaving, rain running down his face. He waited for the spotlight to sweep across the edge of the forest before traveling a bit deeper, following a hint of a path into the woods.
Fatigue weighed heavy on his shoulders, every wound bleeding through the numbing cold, dropping him to one knee. He crawled into a tangle of roots, wedging himself between the gnarled wood, blood staining his hoodie, his ribs protesting every ragged breath.
A strangled laugh bubbled free, his strength fading with the creeping fog.
Just his luck, he’d had Ramsey in his sights and hadn’t been able to finish the job. A crowning fuck up on a list of recent failures.
He checked his ammo, holstered his Sig out of habit, then grabbed his spare knife. The blade reflected the storm-bruised sky, the weight easing any lingering reservations.
In the distance, dogs bayed in the rain, boots pounding the parking lot on the other side of the ditch. Three minutes, five tops, before they followed the blood — zeroed in on his location.
He turned the knife over, the familiar feel grounding him. With any luck, Ramsey would lead the charge — give Coulter one last chance to take the fucker out before he faded.
Only this time, he wouldn’t stop.
It didn’t matter how many men, how many bullets. He’d take the bastard with him — ease just a fraction of his guilt before he died.
A smile twitched his lips, the blood loss blurring his vision, reducing the foggy landscape into various shades of gray. He eased a photo from his pocket, stared at the image of him and Neve a buddy had snapped just before she’d left his unit.
Her sacrifice in the hopes of giving them a chance.
Pain seeped into his chest, the cruel irony slapping him in the face. He’d always thought they’d have more time. Had used his work as an excuse — a buffer to hide the fact his feelings for her scared the shit out of him.
Had missed the opportunity to tell her he loved her.
The words repeated in his head, all that adrenaline sputtering like a dying battery.
He slowed his breathing, focused on giving the men one last fight, when a figure slipped out of the mist. No heavy clomping like the men who’d chased him, just an easy shift — light, precise — each step perfectly balanced.
They stopped, dark tactical gear beating back the fog, a long-range rifle slung over one shoulder. Dew beaded on a mass of brown hair, a familiar set of blue eyes staring back at him.
The figure inched closer, lowering a neck gaiter before crouching beside him, a small smile lifting one corner of their mouth.
Coulter blinked, half-expecting the vision to fade, but she was still there when he opened his eyes. The face he’d seen every night in his dreams for the past month. The one he knew would torment him until the moment he died.
She swept her gaze the length of him, a frown marring her gorgeous face. “You never did do anything half-assed, Coulter.”
That voice.
So real.
So haunting.
He reached out, took her hand, noting how it fit perfectly in his. “You’re dead.”
Her smile fell, something raw, unfettered, taking its place. “It’s a long story. But for now, we need to get you out of here.” She leaned in, brushed her thumb along his jaw. “God, I’ve missed you. Never thought I’d see you again.”
He shifted, nearly blacked out. “You’re not real. This…”
“Shhh. Rest. We’ll get you fixed up. And once you’re healed, we’ll talk. Because you just walked into a viper’s nest, baby, and there’s no way this kind of transgression will go unanswered.”
Coulter blinked, her voice washing in and out of pitch as he squeezed her hand, staring at her face as the world faded, those blue eyes following him into the darkness.