Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nick coughed, eyes burning, hints of copper and sulfur threading the air. Sparks sprayed across the ceiling and walls wherever the metal reacted to the thermite, more dripping onto the floor.
Tierney shoved him and Sloane aside before grabbing the large mat covering half the room and dragging it off to one side. A hatch gleamed in the overhead light, a thick bolt holding it shut.
She fisted the lever, muscled it sideways, then popped open the hatch. A shiny steel chute plunged into the fog creeping across the rock below, the bottom lost in the sea of mist. A single rope had been anchored to the edge, the line trailing down the length.
She shook out the rope, tugging on it a few times as if testing whether it would hold before sitting on the lip, legs dangling into the abyss. “It’s an old supply slide. Probably hasn’t been used in forty years.”
Nick grabbed the weapons Buck handed him. “Beats fighting our way through a melee of mercs. Please tell me you have a truck or a boat stashed nearby?”
Tierney huffed, swung her rifle across her back. “Do you think I swam here? My truck’s a couple miles down the cliff trail.”
“We have your six.”
Tierney took a breath, a slight twitch of her mouth the only indication she had any reservations as she braced her boots against the side.
The soles squeaked as she repositioned her feet, leaving a black smear on the surface before she grabbed the ratty old rope, pushed off into the metal cylinder.
She shot down, disappearing into the thick fog, a dull thud finally echoing up through the chute.
Buck followed, all but jumping into the chute before grabbing the rope one-handed, sailing off. He zipped down the line, making it look like a damn carnival ride, then vanished into the gray haze.
Nick knelt beside the opening, grabbed the rope and handed it to Sloane. “You’re next, sweetheart.”
Sloane narrowed her gaze, muttering something under her breath before lowering her ass on the edge. “What about my bag? My laptop?”
“I’ll grab it.”
She looked at him, coughing as more smoke ate up the useable oxygen, turning the air a muddy yellow. “Don’t freaking get shot in the ass, or I swear…”
“Right behind you.”
She pushed off, barely using the line to slow her down as she entered the fog, a low clunk marking her arrival. What he prayed were her boots hitting stone and not her tumbling down into the surf.
Nick darted into the other room, shoved her tablet and laptop into her bag, then returned to the hatch.
He slung one strap across his shoulder, slid his weapon across his back when a loud thump hit the lighthouse, the entire structure shaking in response.
He slipped, nearly falling down the chute as the iron front door flew across the hallway, hinges scattering like shrapnel, part of the wall caving in from the force.
Boots clanged along the walkway, a massive silhouette dressed in black tactical gear just visible in the growing haze.
A round hit the metal beside his hand, a spark glinting off the lip.
Nick drew his Sig, planted three shots into the smoke to scatter anyone who’d gotten too close, then palmed the edge, flew down the chute, boots whining against the sleek surface.
He hit the rocky ledge hard, the jolt reigniting the ache in this thigh as he toppled onto his ass, rope fluttering in the wind, more rain already drizzling from the desolate sky.
Sloane grabbed his arm, heaved him upright as a spray of bullets ate up the rock. Buck returned fire, had the men diving for cover before he slapped a charge on the side.
He waved them all back. “Fire in the hole.”
Nick wrapped his arms around Sloane, dropped them both behind a boulder as the fuse sparked, then blew, taking out half the chute.
Shrapnel ricocheted off the stone, the slide reduced to a fraction of its length, the jagged ends twisted into large teeth.
What would likely shred anyone who tried to follow them down.
Buck stood, helped Tierney to her feet. “That bought us minutes, not safety. We need to move.”
He took off, falling in behind Tierney as she scrambled across the rain-slick basalt face to an adjoining catwalk, the metal structure bolted into the cliff.
Nick stopped before stepping onto the corrugated surface, eyeing the sheer drop to his left, how the struts shook, rattling the bolts as they pulled against the anchors, bits of rock dusting into the ocean below.
Sloane fisted his hoodie, yanked him onto the platform, the width barely enough to fit each of them single-file. “I know how much you hate catwalks, but just keep your ass moving, or I will put a round in it.”
He huffed, smoothing out his sweatshirt as he followed after her. “I don’t hate them, it’s just… This thing likely hasn’t seen any maintenance in the last forty years, either. And I’m not a fan of falling into a seething ocean.”
Sloane glanced over her shoulder. “It only has to hold long enough for us to reach the end.”
“Which is the problem.”
She raced ahead, jumped onto the next section when it shook, tilting off to one side, the bracket bending from the strain.
He dove for her, snagging her arm before she slipped between the rails, ended up in the surf.
Sloane grasped his other arm, kicking at the algae-slick rock as he pulled from above, finally dragging her back onto the twisted platform.
He waited until it settled, releasing his grip as he shook his head. “Contrary to what you’re probably thinking, I don’t enjoy being right.”
“Of course, you do, just… Thanks.”
She pushed to her feet, trailing behind the others, when shots stitched across the rock face, pinging off the rails.
They crouched against the cliff, popping out to lay down suppressive fire before hoofing it along the walkway.
The catwalk shifted, a couple bolts pulling free before they reached the end, climbed down onto a four-foot-wide ledge.
A section of the metal collapsed behind them, the pieces disappearing into the next surging breaker as it crashed into the rocks, curled halfway up the cliff before falling back down.
The wind funneled up the sheer face, swirling the fog and the rain as they traversed the path.
Tierney slipped, hit the rock and slid off the side just as Buck lunged forward, caught the back of her vest with Matrix-like reflexes.
He crouched low, swinging his rifle to his back before wrapping his other hand around one wrist — pulling her up.
He held her close for a moment, back rigid, muscles tensed, then eased away — motioned to the path.
She hugged the rock as she stared up at him, biting her lower lip before turning, heading off.
Nick kept half his attention focused behind them, scanning the ledge where they’d popped out of the chute, when a couple flares flashed above them, fluttering in the wind before sinking into the surf beneath them.
They lit up the trail and the fog a moment before rounds barked down from above, chewing up the sandstone, chasing the group along the cliff. They returned a few trigger pulls, stopping short when the path ended, a ten-foot gap separating it from a massive sea stack.
Below, the surf raged against the shoreline, smashing into the cliff before shooting thirty feet in the air, gushing through the opening with every wave.
Tierney held firm, timed her entry, then leaped, catching the last of the spray before landing on the other side.
She gained her balance, clearing the area behind and above before taking point, rifle notched in her shoulder.
Buck went next, once again making it look easy. He turned, waved Sloane over. She eyed the gap, chest heaving, hands fisting at her side.
Nick moved in behind her, one palm landing on the small of her back. “You jump like a gazelle on steroids. You’ve got this.”
She snorted, took a few running steps, then leaped, Buck catching her wrist as she landed on the lip. Her back leg kicked out, but she managed to clamber onto the ledge — get clear.
More shots ate at the surf, a few hitting the ledge next to Nick’s foot. While the Reaper’s men didn’t have a great angle, Nick knew sooner or later, they’d get a lucky bounce.
He timed the breakers, then pushed off, sprinted the five feet to the edge and jumped just as a rogue wave struck the cliff, funneling up the gap.
It hit him mid-leap, tossing him against the side before crashing back into the surf.
He smacked against the rock, pain sparking through his shoulder before he slipped, fell.
He clawed at the jagged stone, managed to grasp onto a small protrusion — stall his descent — before Buck crawled onto the face and into the gap, grabbed Nick’s waistband — yanked him back. They landed on the stack, the next spray washing over them, Tierney still firing off rounds.
Sloane loomed overhead, offered them both a hand, holding onto Nick’s long enough to stare him down.
He sighed, gesturing her forward amidst a curtain of salty spray.
The stack butted against a coastal forest, and they slid down the short rise, headed for a narrow trail carved into the dense thicket of shore pine and salal.
Tierney took the first right branch, angled them farther into the forest before circling back, keeping them parallel to the shoreline.
Wings fluttered overhead, fog clinging to the low-lying branches as the rain tapped out a soft beat against the thick canopy.
Slick roots and clogging mud hampered their progress, the visibility nothing more than glimpses amidst the rain-soaked foliage.