Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Scout coughed, spitting out ash and dirt as the smoke burned a line down her throat.
A high-pitched whine thrummed in her head, the room sliding left and right beneath her.
She inhaled, tasting a mix of pulverized concrete and sulfur as the air swirled overhead, a fine layer of dust floating around them.
She tried to move, but Quinn still had her pinned to the ground, his sheer size blocking out all but a patch of roofline over his shoulder. He groaned, finally pushing onto his elbows as he stared down at her, just a hint of his eyes visible in the darkness.
He panted through a couple breaths before easing back, shoving her farther behind the forklift when more gunfire sparked off the metal frame.
She pushed to her knees, stomach roiling, the scenery still shifting like a Tilt-a-Whirl.
She didn’t know how he’d gotten to her in time, but he’d obviously taken the brunt of the hit.
Her head swam as she palmed his shoulders, quickly patting him down. Pieces of metal laced his vest, one large shard only inches from his carotid, the sharp tip smeared with blood. More dotted his right arm, another piece jutted out from his hip.
She tugged him closer, relief and love battling for dominance only to curse when he yanked a couple of the shards free. “Jesus, Quinn, leave them in, or you’ll bleed more.”
He shrugged it off, checking his rifle with shaking hands before unloading a dozen rounds across the warehouse. “I can’t fight with them shifting every time I move.”
“You shouldn’t have tackled me. You could have been killed.”
He fired again, the muzzle shaking, the effects of the grenades still working through him. “I swore I’d always have your back. That’s never going to change. Besides, it was just instinct.”
She leaned in close, reminding herself now wasn’t the time to confess her undying love. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet, baby. We still need to get out of here alive.”
Coulter slid in beside them a moment later, concrete dust covering his gear, a few metal pieces poking out of his vest, too. He unleashed more rounds, glancing at them from the corner of his eye. “Christ, you gave me a damn heart attack. When that grenade landed beside Scout…”
He coughed, waving at the smoke still rolling through the room. “The only small mercy is my flash bang pushed them back some. Bought us a bit of time.” He moved over when Neve and the others dropped down behind them. “Everyone okay?”
Neve rubbed her head. “Ears are still ringing, and I’m not convinced I won’t puke, but we’re alive.”
Scout checked her weapons, scanning the dark for any hint of movement, but either the mercs were still reeling from the grenades or they were flanking them. “They’ve obviously got night vision and thermal or they wouldn’t have cut the lights.”
Coulter nodded. “Which means we either have to take them out or find a way to disappear until we can work out how to get past those doors.”
Quinn shifted, looking more than a bit stiff. “I’ve got an idea how to get us out, but they’ll pick us off like flies if we can’t mask our presence.”
“Where’s a good Mylar blanket when you need…” Scout paused, her gaze drifting toward the trailers. “Wynn? You said that medical unit had freezers, right? And tanks on the end?”
Wynn nodded, looking as if she regretted the movement a second later. “I counted three Dewar tanks in a metal cage on the hitch. Why?”
“Because I think I know how to help us disappear.”
Wynn furrowed her brow, then inhaled. “No.”
“But it should work.”
“Sure, but they’re double walled. The chances of piercing them without having a ricochet peg you in the leg…”
“The regulators are made of brass.”
Wynn scrubbed a hand down her face. “Let’s say you succeed. That vapor’s heavier than air. It’ll bleed out all the oxygen inside the warehouse in a matter of minutes.”
“We just need enough time to get out.” She nudged Quinn, flashing him a smile. “Assuming Quinn’s idea is sound.”
Quinn balked. “That’s hurtful.”
Scout staggered to her feet, still searching the room for any hint of blue from the watches as she glanced at Quinn. “Get ready to execute whatever you’ve got in mind. Pretty sure you’ll know when to move.”
Quinn hooked her arm. “You’re not going alone.”
Coulter stood. “I’ve got her back, brother. You focus on whatever harebrained scheme you’ve cooked up so you’re ready once those tanks purge.”
Quinn narrowed his gaze but didn’t comment, using the forklift to stand. “I’ll be ready. Don’t fucking drag your asses.”
Neve shifted forward, made a few hand signals, then laid down a stream of cover fire, eating up the concrete between them and the trailers.
The mercenaries returned fire, muzzles flashing in the dark, the men dispersed into two distinct pockets.
What looked like them flanking the team’s position, just like Scout had been worried about.
Scout stayed low, leapfrogging from one barrel to the next, Coulter guarding her six. She angled right, watching for enemy fire as she darted to the last pillar between her and the trailers.
The medical unit sat on a forty-five, the tanks angled slightly away from her. While she considered herself an exceptional shot, she couldn’t hit what she couldn’t see.
Coulter stopped behind her, rifle at the ready. “Well, that’s a bugger. Whoever takes the shot will need to be standing in the middle of the damn kill box in order to see the regulators.”
“Murphy’s Law, I suppose.” She looked back at him. “I’ll go. You keep our friends busy.”
Coulter hooked her arm. “I should go.”
“I’m smaller. I’ll be harder to hit.”
“Not when you’re serving yourself up like that.”
“I’m also lighter. We both know you can carry me without breaking a sweat. You’ve got at least a hundred pounds of muscle on me. I’d likely have to drag you if you got hit.”
“Or you leave me behind — ensure everyone else gets out.”
“Screw that. I might not have been special forces, but I still uphold the creed. I’m not leaving you behind.” She handed him one of her spare mags. “So, you don’t run out. And feel free to use extreme prejudice if they get ballsy.”
Scout readied her rifle, met Coulter’s uneasy gaze, then dove across the floor, popping up dead center of the room, nothing but open space surrounding her.
Coulter’s rifle barked out rounds behind her, the steady thut echoing through the cavernous warehouse.
She peered through the scope, exhaled, then released three trigger pulls, clipping the brass fittings in perfect succession.
The metal shattered, pieces ricochetting off the wall, as the resulting catastrophic failure caused a high-pressure blowout.
The escaping gas ripped through the room, roaring like a jet engine.
Coulter stepped forward, attempted to draw some of the men’s focus as she turned, took a step.
The first round caught her center mass, jerking her back, purging the air from her lungs when the second clipped her ribs, knocked her off her feet.
The impact threw her onto her back, the resulting momentum carrying her several feet across the cement floor, her gear squeaking from the friction. Pain pulsed through her chest then into her ribcage, the increased pressure darkening her vision at the edges.
Coulter was at her side a heartbeat later, grabbing the handle on her vest and dragging her clear, still firing with his other hand. The liquid nitrogen hissed out of the tanks, condensing the moisture in the air and dropping the temperature twenty degrees.
A heavy fog formed at the base of the hitch, rolling across the floor like a tsunami — spreading out into every corner, the intense cold stinging her skin as the cloud washed over them. Frost coated her eyelashes, more collecting on her weapons, a heaviness already forming in her head.
She staggered to her feet, moving with Coulter as they pushed toward the front, dodging the spray of brass from across the room. Neve and the others answered in kind, sparks lightning up the dark before the wall of vapor blew through, smothered everything in that blinding, numbing cold.
Quinn glanced up from the seat of the forklift as they stumbled back, his gaze immediately dropping to her vest. His left eye twitched before he touched two wires together, got the engine growling.
Scout leaned against Coulter, the gas already clouding her thoughts, making everything blur at the sides, Neve, Wynn, and Zadie still laying down cover fire.
Quinn popped the forklift into gear, then tore off, picking up speed as he headed for the door. Bullets scythed off the back as Quinn lifted the forks to head level, the machine centered on the exit.
Scout shouted for Quinn to jump, stepping out into the fray when he kicked up the speed, bearing down on the blast door like a freight train. She opened fire, pelting the men with a spray of rounds, as the forklift vanished into the fog, just the whine of the engine proof he hadn’t stopped.
Metal shrieked from inside the cloud, what sounded like an explosion of belts and gears. Tires squealed in the distance, a hint of burnt rubber weaving through the air.
Coulter and Neve darted out, grabbed her by the vest, their carbines chewing through the posts and floor as they shoved her forward, Scout’s entire team stumbling their way toward the door. Her vision tunneled, every step harder than the last, when the forklift appeared out of the gray.
Backend raised at a forty-five, the machine looked as if it had hit a cement wall at high speed, part of the front caved in on itself.
The middle section of the blast door had crumpled into a distorted V, creating a gap at the bottom and dislodging half of the wheels from the track.
A swirl of cold, damp air breezed through the three-foot space, crashing waves sounding in the distance.