Chapter 6 #2
Coulter’s voice sounded beside Neve, but she’d already made the decision. She locked her sight on the bastard’s head, exhaled as she compressed the trigger.
The guy’s head snapped back, red mist fanning out behind him, the suppressed thut swallowed by the fog as he hit the rocks.
Stilled. The puck tumbled free — landed on the case — more of the thermite leaking out one side.
Smoke twirled up from the surface, a hint of red lighting up the fog in a crimson glow.
Silence, then the hillside erupted into a flash of muzzle fire, rounds ticking off the boulders, eating up the gravel, blowing grit across their faces. Ramsey shouted something in the distance, the words lost to the pop of gunfire, the steady thump of boots on rock.
Coulter didn’t wait for an opening. He simply sprinted off, vaulting over logs and debris, weaving in and out of the boulders as bullets punched through the fog. He took a round to the vest but kept moving, dodging the others as if he knew where they’d be a second before they hit.
He vanished as the mist thickened, reappearing a moment later, jumping over a boulder, palming it as if he hadn’t bruised his ribs a week ago. Hadn’t spent the better part of his time at the bunker clawing his way back to life.
Neve focused on the men, picking them off as they bolted toward Coulter, moving with that eerie speed that felt as if she was chasing a remnant — sighting a version of them before they fully materialized.
A couple dropped, the others shook off the torso hits like flies.
But it slowed them down. Bought Coulter a few precious seconds.
Scout grabbed a frag off her vest, lobbed it into the fray. It clicked across the rocks, exploding in a fury of light and sound, the smoke cutting a line between the men and Coulter.
He reached the woman, took a knee, fingers pressed against her neck, before he heaved her onto his shoulders, one arm and leg wrapped around him like a scarf.
He took an uneasy step, adjusting for the added weight before he scrambled over to the downed man, kicking the puck off the case, then grabbing the handle.
More rounds pinged off the rocks, sparks lighting up the fog, the relentless strum of brass echoing through the night. Neve’s team returned fire, stitching bullets across the cliff, kicking up debris as they shredded metal and dirt.
Coulter started back, mouth set, dancing through the hail of ricochets. He took another to his vest, tripped against a boulder, his hand stopping him from falling. He repositioned the woman, sucked in a breath, then hauled ass.
The concussive rounds kept coming, spraying dirt across Neve’s skin as the scent of cordite and wet earth saturated the air.
She focused on the men, keeping Coulter’s mud-streaked face in her peripheral vision, as she scanned Ramsey’s ranks, her rifle still spitting out rounds.
She panned across the ridge line, stopped when Ramsey appeared inside her scope halfway down the field.
He climbed on top of a large boulder, completely oblivious to the incoming brass as he shouldered his rifle, sighted down the field.
Coulter.
A flash of their kiss flickered in her head. The heat, the press of his body against hers. How he’d promised he wouldn’t let her go the next chance they got.
She couldn’t lose him now.
Not like this.
Neve jumped out from behind the cover, rifle barking, her shots whizzing past Ramsey close enough the bastard would feel the wake.
She avoided a direct kill shot, still hoping they’d get a chance to bring the man in — use him to destroy Finch — but hitting him square in the chest eased the fire burning beneath her skin. Provided a touch of satisfaction.
Ramsey’s ballistic vest took the hit as he tripped back, shifted, barrel swinging her way.
She took one more shot, grazed a line down his arm, then dove for cover, catching his round in her vest before she hit the gravel.
Pain sparked through her ribs, her breath catching in her chest as dark spots faded in from the side.
She shook it off, ribs burning, her lungs not quite working as she resumed her scan, eyed Coulter covering the last several meters. “Scout, more smoke! Everyone get ready to move.”
Scout grabbed another canister, launched it, white smoke pouring out of the ends a moment later.
It wove through the mist, turning the ridge into a massive wall of thick gray vapor.
Coulter broke through the fog, the woman hanging limp over his shoulders, the half-melted Pelican case swinging next to his hip as he quickstepped across the last few meters, slipping in behind Scout as she led them back along the trail.
Neve held the rear, keeping the men back with strategic fire, hitting vests or flesh with each shot. They wove along the scree, half-running, half-slipping, whole sections of the rock face sloughing off beneath them, tumbling down the side with a muffled roar.
They reached a short plateau, picked up speed, when a dull thunk sounded behind them.
Neve lunged forward, took Wynn and Zadie to the ground. “Incoming.”
The word hung around them as the grenade hit an old burn pile stacked off the side of the ledge twenty meters ahead, exploded it in a shower of rock and dirt.
The ground shook, the pile of dead logs rattling free, avalanching down the face, taking half the hillside with it.
Cracks echoed across the ridge, the rocks and wood churning over, sounding like a thousand dishes hitting a porcelain floor, as they cartwheeled to a stop, the lingering screech vibrating through to her teeth.
Dust mixed with the smoke and fog, a few flames licking at the wood strewn across the slope beneath them.
Scout pushed to her feet, staring at the gaping hole between them and the path down.
She adjusted her gear, bits of rock and bark matted in her hair before she turned, pointed to the other side of the ridge.
“There’s an old service tunnel to a logging bridge on the other side of this slope. It’s our best chance.”
Neve waved her on. “Go, I’ll cover our six.”
Coulter glanced at her, lips pinched tight, sweat beading his brow. His chest heaved as he shuffled the woman’s weight, holding Neve’s stare long enough she got the message.
She nodded. “No hero moments. I remember.”
He grunted, then took off, scrambling up the short rise before disappearing over the side.
Zadie and Wynn followed behind, as Neve changed her mag, blew through another one covering their escape.
She crested the rock, took up sentry as her team tripped their way down the slope and onto an overgrown dirt road, heading for a black scar carved into the cliff.
She scanned the debris field one last time.
Flames lit up the night as Ramsey doused the charred remains, his team fanning out, their hulking silhouettes backlit by the fire.
Ramsey met her gaze, his mouth lifting at one corner.
He motioned with his hand, and his men started toward her, every step eating up what remained of their escape window.
One last spray, the casings clicking off the rocks, each tick marking time she didn’t have, before she turned, sprinted down the field knowing that, while they had the girl and whatever Ramsey had wanted to burn, the nightmare had just begun.