Harsh gasps cut the still air as he got his feet under him, lifted her off hers before reeling backwards, slamming her against the wall. White dots exploded behind her eyes as pain tore through her shoulder, her ribs trapping her next breath in her chest. Pain rippled down her thigh, every muscle cramping, as he stepped forward, then launched backwards, again.
Her head cracked against the concrete, streaks of black edging her vision before she planted her bare feet on the wall, shoved. He tipped forward, smacked onto the floor with a sharp thud. Tierney got one knee in the center of the guard’s back, used it to lever her weight up and away.
The man thrashed beneath her, landing a few hits to her ribs, nearly shaking her loose as he got one hand wedged between the chain and his neck, released enough of the tension to suck in a breath. Her muscles ached, her strength waning before she changed tactics — scrambled for his sheath, freed the knife, then stabbed him in the throat.
Blood arced across her shirt, a series of wet, gurgling rasps sounding above the roll of thunder before he collapsed on the floor, blood quickly pooling beneath him. The storm raged outside, men shouting above her, as the guard’s legs twitched a few times before stilling.
Her hands shook, her thigh a fiery inferno as she braced her weight against the wall, sweat slicking her forehead and neck, the wind howling through the cracks in the cellar, chilling her skin until simply releasing the chain took conscious thought. The steel links rattled against the concrete, that flashlight still rocking back and forth, casting crazy shadows along the cement.
Tierney let her head tip back, each breath like liquid fire, until the worst of the shaking had stopped. A wash of blood warmed her thigh, some of the staples had popped free, but at least she hadn’t died.
It took a minute to lever off the wall, stand without falling on her ass or blacking out. Another had passed by the time she’d found his keys, juggling them in the air a few times when her fingers refused to cooperate, before unlocking the shackle, dragging him over to the cot and tossing him onto the ratty mattress. It was messy, with blood smeared across the floor, but from a distance, the other guards might believe she’d hunkered beneath the cover.
She waited out a wave of nausea, hands still trembling, her thigh protesting every step as she tugged on the asshole’s jacket, tucked the keys in the pocket, then removed the knife, wiping the blade clean on his shirt before strapping the sheath around her good leg. She limped over to the flashlight, cursing when her skin pulled taut against the staples as she grabbed it off the floor, holding it close as she stumbled toward the door.
It groaned as she closed it behind her, hoping the sound was lost to the storm, before heading for the stairs. Voices sounded farther off in the compound, the floorboards still creaking as men stomped around the house. The occasional flashlight beam lit up the slit beneath the door, brightening the top step before moving on.
She climbed the stairs in slow, painful increments, using her left leg to carry most of her weight until she grabbed the handle. Listening, she waited for the next crash of thunder before slivering it open, hiding the screech of the hinges in the rattle that shook through the walls.
Darkness filled a short hallway, with more stairs heading to an upper level off to her right. Lightning flashed in the windows at the far end, illuminating a row of boxes in another room.
Tierney switched off the flashlight as she crept down the corridor, constantly checking each direction before taking another step. Voices picked up off to the left, another beam cutting through the dark. She darted forward, nearly tripping when her right leg dragged again, then wedged herself into a small space beneath the stairs, knife at the ready. Boots appeared a second later as two men walked past, heading for the cellar door. The scent of earthy mud and cheap tobacco followed after them, blending with the lingering smell of day-old pizza and stale beer. The hinges sounded above the torrential rain beating the roof, the metal door clicking shut with a dull whoosh.
She cursed. If they found the dead guard…
Blood smeared the floor as she crawled out, limped down the hall and into the adjoining room. A few monitors lined the far wall, the screens reflecting the next burst of lightning. A narrow door opened onto an old, covered veranda, rain blowing past the windows on a forty-five.
She checked her six, then hobbled to the door, wincing when the damn thing squeaked as she eased it open. Another check before she slipped out, staying low as she limped to the far end, looked out across the grounds.
Through the sheeting rain, she spied a cluster of men, one large, imposing figure barking out orders as he waved a flashlight, kicking a piece of equipment out of his way. He turned, and she swore he stared right at her before pointing at two of the men, sending them racing off. The guy stared at the sky for a moment, rain streaming down his face and jacket before he headed for the veranda.
She crouched lower, ready to dive behind a bamboo chair when another man shifted out of the shadows several feet away. He didn’t talk, just stood there, watching the other men race across the grounds, looking like an immovable force amidst the monsoon gales.
The first man marched over to him, shaking his head as he stopped, said something she couldn’t make out. The other man merely nodded, lifting his right hand to his face. Snick-clink. A spark flashed in the darkness, followed by a flickering flame that illuminated the man’s hand along with the lower half of his jaw. In the brief burst of orange flame, the light glinted off the Zippo’s metal casing, displaying a polished silver scythe engraved on the matte back cover.
The first guy grabbed the lighter, used it to light a cigarette before handing it back, taking a long draw. They talked for a while before heading her way. She ducked behind the chair, praying the heavy cushion hid most of her body as the door flew open, wind and rain blowing in with the men as they sauntered inside — latched the door closed behind them.
The quiet guy shook off the rain, slicking his hair back from his face. “I told you we should have moved her before the storm set in. We'll be lucky if the road doesn’t wash out.” Obviously British, with a hollow tone that sent a shiver down her spine.
The louder guy kicked off a clump of mud, knocking the bamboo chair in the process. She held her breath as it rocked, exposing her shoulder before settling back.
He crossed his arms, water still dripping off his jacket. “Be thankful we have a buyer at all, chum. You nearly blew her leg off in that crossfire.”
Another Brit, only his accent sounded thicker. Harsher.
“She was trying to drag her dead squad leader out of the kill-zone. I had to drop her.” The quiet man pulled the Zippo from his pocket. Snick-clink. The silver scythe flashed again as he lit his own cigarette. “Her fever broke yesterday. She’s viable. By the time the broker takes delivery tomorrow, she’ll be fully transportable.”
“And if her leg gives out? We guaranteed the buyer an operative, not a cripple.”
The other man smiled, the embers of his cigarette illuminating cold, dead eyes. “With her file? The buyer doesn’t care if she walks. He’s paying for the MI6 pedigree and the fact she doesn’t break easily. He’ll enjoy breaking her himself.” He stopped, his head tilting slightly as he inhaled. “Do you smell that?”
“Antiseptic.” The large guy wrinkled his nose. “And José’s cheap-ass cologne.”
Zippo man snapped the lighter shut, plunging the veranda back into shadow. “It’s too strong for him to just be making exterior rounds. Go down to the cellar. Secure the merchandise. I want her ready to load before first light.”
The larger guy waved the other forward, their steps strong, determined. She waited until the cellar door opened and closed, their footsteps fading into the rain before scrambling to her feet, rushing outside. Not worrying if anyone saw her, not with the time quickly counting down before the entire camp knew she’d escaped. Instead, she limped across the storm-drenched ground, the rain needling her skin, the freezing mud numbing her feet until she couldn’t tell what burned more — her toes or her thigh.
She slipped, tripped onto one knee, mud splashing up her legs and across her face. She took a breath and locked down the pain, as she stumbled upright, pushing ahead. Stones bit into the soles of her feet, but she kept moving, using rusty barrels and overturned crates for cover.
