Chapter 19
These tunnels were just as fucking dark as the one he’d used to get inside the compound.
He half-carried, half-dragged Willow through passages that grew narrower with each step, his flashlight beam cutting through darkness.
Behind them, the sounds of pursuit echoed off stone walls.
Guards shouted in Spanish, boots slapping rock, and the metallic click of weapons being readied was magnified in the confined spaces.
“How far?” Willow gasped against his shoulder. She was trying to walk, trying to take her own weight, but blood loss and exhaustion were winning.
“Two hundred meters to the junction point,” Con answered.
Z adjusted his grip, taking more of her weight. “Just ahead.”
“Z, this is the best defensible position. It’s a natural choke point.”
Z told her what Con had said before replying, “Con, we can hold it.”
She asked, “For how long?”
Fuck … He sighed and kept moving. “For as long as we need to.” There was no other option. None that he’d accept, at least.
They pushed deeper into the mountain, and Levi's tactical mind was already working. He calculated the ammunition that remained. He was too fucking low. Willow’s condition was critical. Con was in his ear, and the escape routes now were exactly zero.
He'd faced worse odds. Probably. Maybe. Damn it.
“Berserker, sitrep.” Con's voice crackled in his ear, signal degraded by rock but still functional.
“We’re alive in the fucking tunnels. Mission accomplished.” He didn't say Morales was dead. Didn't need to. Con would know from his tone. “Moving to the defensive position at the junction.”
“Phantom's almost there. Can you hold?”
Levi looked at Willow. She was pale, bleeding, barely conscious but still moving. Stubborn. Always so damn stubborn.
“As long as it takes, brother,” he said.
The tunnel opened into a junction. Three passages converged into a natural hub that was maybe twenty feet across.
Perfect. He could see all three approaches and had natural cover from rock formations that weren’t cleared when the tunnels were built.
The narrow passages would force attackers to come at them single file.
“Here,” he said, guiding Willow to a recessed area behind a massive boulder. “Sit. Don't move unless I tell you to.”
She collapsed against the stone, breathing hard. In the flashlight's glow, she looked like a ghost. Her face was white, her lips colorless, and blood soaked through her clothes. But her eyes were still sharp, still aware.
“Your handgun,” she said. “Give it to me.”
“Willow—”
“I can shoot. Even one-handed. Give me the gun.”
He wanted to argue. Wanted to keep her safe, keep her protected, keep her from having to fight anymore. But they were outnumbered and outgunned, and pride was a luxury neither of them could afford.
He handed her the Glock and then shouldered the rifle taken from one of Morales's bodyguards. “Only twelve rounds left. Make them count.”
“Always do.” She propped her good shoulder against the rock wall and tested the weight. She winced but held steady. “Which tunnel?”
“Center one is where we came from. Left tunnel leads deeper into the mountain, and Con tells me it collapsed fifty meters in. A dead end. The right tunnel connects to the generator building area. They'll come from the center and right.”
“So, we watch two directions.”
“We watch two directions.” He checked his automatic rifle. One magazine in his pocket plus one that was already seated. Maybe thirty rounds total. Not enough. Nowhere near enough.
But it would have to be.
He pulled his remaining explosives. Just two small hunks of C-4, det cord, and one remote detonator. He started shaping charges with practiced efficiency.
“What are you doing?” Willow asked.
“Insurance.” He planted one charge in the right tunnel, about thirty feet from the junction. “They come that way, I collapse the tunnel. Forces them to use the center passage only.”
“And the second charge?”
“Last resort.” He didn't elaborate. Didn't need to. If things went completely south, that charge would bring down the entire junction. Bury them all. The guards, Willow, and himself. Better than capture. Better than letting them take Willow again.
He'd die before he let that happen.
Voices echoed from the center tunnel. Getting closer. Levi killed his flashlight, plunging them into darkness broken only by a faint glow from the guards' lights approaching from deeper in the tunnel system.
“They're coming,” he whispered.
Willow shifted position, bracing herself. He could feel her movement as she lifted the handgun. “Ready.”
The first guard appeared at the tunnel mouth. He was cautious, his weapon raised, and he carefully scanned the interior with a flashlight. Levi let him advance three steps into the junction. Then he fired.
The suppressed shot was loud in the confined space but not deafening. The guard went down, and chaos erupted in the tunnel behind him. Spanish shouts, muzzle flashes, bullets ricocheting off stone.
Levi returned fire, making every shot count. Beside him, Willow fired, too, her shots less steady but accurate enough. Together, they created a wall of lead that turned the tunnel mouth into a killing zone.
The guards retreated, dragging their wounded with them, and then silence fell.
“Reload,” Levi said, ejecting his magazine. Empty. He slapped in his last one. Fifteen rounds. That was all he had left.
“I've got four,” Willow reported. “Maybe five if I didn't miscount.”
Too few rounds between them. Against how many guards? Thirty? Forty?
The math wasn't encouraging.
“Con,” he said quietly. “We've got maybe five minutes before they coordinate a proper assault.”
“Copy. Phantom is aware. He's”—static crackled—“arriving.
Movement in the right tunnel. It was more cautious this time, staying back, using the darkness. Levi triggered the charge.
The explosion was massive in the confined space, and the pressure wave slammed into his chest, rattling his bones. The right tunnel collapsed in a shower of rock and dust, sealing that approach completely.
“One down,” he said. “They have to come through the center now.”
“Which means they'll concentrate force.” Willow's voice was weaker now, slurring slightly. Blood loss. Shock. She was fading. “Levi, I can't … my arm isn't …”
“Hey.” He moved to her, checked her wound in the darkness. The blood had soaked through her shirt. She was still bleeding, slowly but steadily. “Stay with me. Just a little longer.”
“Tired.”
“I know. But you can't sleep. Not yet.” He pulled emergency supplies from his pack.
Combat gauze, pressure bandages. Started wrapping her shoulder with hands that had steadied countless explosives but shook now, faced with her blood on his fingers.
“You're going to be fine. Phantom is coming.
He has a medic. He'll patch you up proper.”
“Phantom.” She laughed weakly. “Funny name.”
“He's a real riot, for sure. You’ll like him. He’ll try to tell you a bunch of lies about me, but don’t believe it.
Understand? He’ll be jealous of you getting all my attention now.
” Levi tied off the bandage, maybe too tight, but the bleeding needed to stop.
“You're going to meet him. Going to thank him for coming to get us. Okay?”
“Okay.” Her hand found his in the darkness and squeezed. “Levi?”
“Yeah?”
“Seattle. You promised.”
“I promised.” He kissed her forehead, tasting salt and blood. “House on the Sound. Normal life. Whatever that means.”
“Sounds nice.”
“It does, doesn't it?”
Voices in the center tunnel again. Closer. More organized. Levi heard them coordinating. It was in Spanish, but it was professional, rapid-fire, tactical communications. They were preparing for a rush. All at once. Overwhelming force.
He moved back to his position, checked his weapons. Fifteen rounds in the rifle, four in the handgun. Had to make them all count.
“Here they come,” he said.
“I'm ready,” Willow replied. But her voice was barely a whisper now. She hadn’t realized he’d taken the gun from her.
The assault came in waves. The first wave consisted of four guards, moving fast, using suppressive fire meant to keep Levi's head down while they advanced. He dropped two before they reached cover. The others made it to the rock formations near the junction entrance.
The second wave was six more guards, using the first wave's cover to advance. Levi took out three. Three made it through, taking positions that gave them angles on Levi's cover.
Crossfire. The tactical situation was deteriorating rapidly.
“Levi!” Willow's rasp was audible during a break in the gunfire. “Left side!”
Spinning, he saw a guard flanking through a gap he'd missed. He fired, and the guard went down, but not before getting off a shot that ricocheted near Willow's position. She cried out.
“You hit?” Levi called.
“No. I'm fine.”
She wasn't fine. He could hear it in her voice. But they were past fine, past safe, past anything except survival measured in minutes.
He ejected his magazine. Four rounds left in the Glock. This was it. His last ammunition. After this, he was down to knife work and improvisation before he’d take them all out.
Sensing weakness, the guards pressed harder. More gunfire. More muzzle flashes. The junction lit up like strobe lights, each flash painting shadows that danced and died.
Levi fired his last four rounds. Three hits, one miss. His slide locked back. Empty.
“Out!” he called to Willow, but he wasn’t sure she’d heard him.
Con would have, though, and the guards heard.
They sensed victory and advanced as a unit.
Maybe eight men, coordinated and professional.
Levi took a breath and glanced at Willow.
Her eyes were closed. All the better. The fuckers were coming for the kill.
Levi pulled his knife. Not much against eight men with rifles, but it was what he had. He'd make them pay for every step. Would give Willow every second he could buy. Willow’s head snapped up. “Levi—”