“Or, I’ll draw them off, and you take Wade and make a run for that spur.”
“Screw that. No…” Bodie handed Buck all but a spare mag for his Sig, nearly dropping one when his vision blurred and he missed Buck’s hand. “Ride or die, brother.”
Buck tucked the mags into his vest. “Where’s a good alien abduction when you need one, huh?” He tracked his next target. “We’ll go on three. One. Two?—”
A crack.
Sharp. Clean.
Nothing like the dull whoosh of the enemy’s suppressed SBRs. This was loud. Direct.
A thump sounded nearby. Heavy. Final. A couple branches cracking beneath the weight.
The fog stirred as shadowed silhouettes darted for deeper cover, an eerie silence following the lingering echo.
A hiss across their radios crackled to life. “Quadrant four’s open. Move. I’ll cover your retreat. Meet you farther down the trail.”
Eric Dalton. Former-Green Beret and the man who’d just saved their asses.
They took off, clambering through the deadfall, then onto a narrow track. Two more shots rang out behind them, their first glimmer of hope since the world had exploded in fire and rage.
Buck helped shoulder some of Wade’s weight, picking up the pace until Bodie’s thigh burned white-hot. Needles tingling across his skin.
They reached a tangle of roots when motion stirred off to their right. Dalton materialized out of the forest like a wraith. Rifle in his hands. Mud, sweat, and determination lining his brow. He moved fast, boots barely making a sound before he grabbed Wade’s arm — slung the man across his shoulders fireman-style.
No words, just the quiet confidence of a warrior who’d been to hell and still bore the scars. He pointed to the ridge, getting them clear before the men had regrouped — resumed pursuit.
The light bled into gray, the thick cloud cover obscuring any hint of sunset as they quickstepped along the top of a ravine, mud and stones sloughing off the side with every stride. The group tagged behind, branching out — systematically corralling them toward a sheer cliff face. Dalton maintained lead, pace steady. Strong. Wade’s added weight barely slowing him down. They hit the edge of the ravine and turned left, skirting past a chokehold in the forest — escaping the first trap with only seconds to spare, a few errant bullets pelting the ground in their wake.
Buck metered his response, trading off with Bodie every other round. But even rationing their ammo, Bodie knew they’d run out before they’d gotten clear.
Dalton stopped short as they reached the edge of a ravine cutting through the forest like an open wound. Water raged a good eighty feet down, nothing but a slick, moss-covered log bridging the gap.
Bodie checked their six. The fog swirled on a parallel line, ghostly silhouettes moving amidst the mist. Not close enough to engage, but that would change.
Buck looked over the side, shoulders stiff, back rigid. “I’ll take those bastards on with my bare hands before I cross that death log.”
Dalton nodded. “No cover. No grip. Just a one-way trip into the river. I’d rather just jump if it comes down to it.”
Bodie crowded in close. “Wade would never survive the impact. Not from this height. If we go now, we might outflank the men on the right — sneak through before they fully box us in.”
Dalton’s lips pinched into a tight line. “Worth a shot.”
Bodie snagged Dalton’s elbow. “I can take Wade. Make a run for it while you and Buck jump — get backup.”
Dalton merely chuckled as if he thought Bodie was nuts. “Right. Take point. And use extreme prejudice.”
Bodie tucked into the woods, trying to forge ahead when his radio crackled, a blast of static singing through the air before the line connected, a hollow breath sounding on the other end.
“I can clear a path — guide you out — but you’re going to have to go against all those voices in your head and trust me.” A pause, just a soft breath whispering across the airwaves. “You in, soldier?”
Chapter Two
Fog threaded through the ravine, the blast dust still hanging like smoke as Special Agent Rowan Scott stared down her scope, the stock welded to her cheek, breath slow and even. She fixed the crosshairs on a rocky shelf above and north of the men’s position — their one Hail Mary in a lethal situation.
Her radio crackled, the following silence sending a shiver along her skin, until a low curse murmured across. “We’re in.”
“On my mark, suppressive fire at your seven o’clock, then move west along the ridge to a small waterfall off a notch in the overhanging slab. Go behind it. There’s a narrow path that resurfaces at an old logging spur. I’ll see you soon.”
