LORENZO
The world was engulfed in flames. Fire moved like a living creature, consuming everything around me. I reached for the scarab, but the fire drove me back. There was no time to retrieve it, and I stumbled away. The heat was unbearable, my exposed skin was burning. My mind swam through incoherent thoughts as my lungs pumped poison gases into my brain.
Not like this. I can’t go down like this.
The fingernails of one hand tore off trying to pull myself up the wall to reach the doorway. It was only about a dozen feet, but it seemed a million miles away.
Calm down. Hold your breath and fucking climb.
I unsheathed my Greco knife and stabbed it into the planks high above my head. Driven with the strength of desperation, the blade stuck deep. I only had one chance. With my clothing burning, driven by adrenaline, I pulled on the knife while I jumped, boots scrambling for purchase, bloody fingers tearing at the boards above. The remaining cartridges in my AR began to cook off, sounding like firecrackers inside the conflagration.
Somehow I found purchase, dangling by my fingertips. I was halfway there. Shit, it hurts. I jerked the knife out, raised it overhead as I began to slip, and slammed it home again. The next few seconds were a blur of pain, tearing muscles, and fire, always the fire. Finding fingerholds when there were none, I reached the jagged broken top step, got one hand onto it, and pulled myself upward. By a miracle, it held.
I crawled onto the kitchen floor. Black smoke billowed through the doorway over me, filling the room. Face on the ground, I opened my mouth and inhaled. I immediately began to cough, violent spasms that were like vomiting pain.
“Lorenzo!” someone shouted. Hands grabbed me by the straps on my armor and pulled me across the kitchen. Black combat boots stomped ahead of me. Reaper. “Holy shit! You’re on fire!” He whipped off his giant coat and covered me with it, beating at my back and legs.
Finally I rolled over and gasped, precious air filling my lungs. He was pulling me outside the burning mess hall. It took a moment for my head to quit spinning. Jill was staring down at me, her hands on the side of my face. She was saying something.
“I’m okay,” I rasped, trying to sit up. Pain like electric current moved through my limbs.
“You know fuck-all about okay.” She pushed me back down. “Hold still. You’re hurt.”
Pain was replaced with anger. Anger was replaced with rage. I grabbed her arm. “Where’s Eddie?” I snapped.
“I don’t know,” she cried. “You’re hurting me.”
I immediately let go. “Sorry.” I left a soot-black, bloodstained handprint on her arm. “Help me up,” I ordered. Jill and Reaper both took an elbow and helped me stand. Reaper pushed me a small bottle of water, and I sucked at it greedily. It burned going down my parched throat. After a few seconds, I had to stop and puke the water and a bunch of soot up, then I went back to drinking. They both wore looks of shock as they studied me. I had to look pretty bad.
“Screw it. I’ll live,” I wheezed as I tossed the bottle, sounding like a ten-pack-a-day smoker. “Status?”
“Bob’s pinned down. Somebody got back on that machine gun. Valentine saw Gordon. He and Hawk went that way.” Reaper pointed toward the garage. “We haven’t seen Eddie.”
The scarab was still down there, lost in the flames, probably melted. Whoever wanted that thing so badly was probably going to be pissed. I patted my side. At least I had stuck with my training and reholstered my pistol even while standing inside a fireball. I pulled the gun now and let it dangle at my side.
“Quit staring. Let’s go help my brother.”
VALENTINE
Gordon was not going to get away. The Calm was failing, replaced with rage. I was hunting him like an animal, and I’d never felt more alive. I think I actually had a smile on my face.
“Val! Wait!” Hawk shouted, struggling to keep up.
It was dark. The air was filled with smoke. My eyes welled with tears, and my lungs ached. My focus was on the back doorway and the pitch-black space that Gordon had escaped into.
Bob was saying something over the radio, sounding scared, but I couldn’t understand him over the beating pulse in my head. Gordon had to die first; then I could care about everyone else’s business. I reached the doorway. I pulled up against the frame and flashed my weapon light before stepping through. Clear.
I stepped forward and was immediately cracked across the chest with a 2x4. I lurched back, disoriented, and fell to the ground. The man was on top of me in an instant. I raised my hands to protect my head as began to bludgeon me with the board.
My attacker swung again. The board struck my arm, and shocking pain flooded all the way to my shoulder. My arm went numb. I struggled for my pistol, but he slammed the board down on me again. The man raised the 2x4 over his head, meaning to swing it down on me like a sledgehammer. He left an opening. I planted a size-twelve boot right in his nutsack.
He stumbled back, giving me a moment of respite. Before he could recover, someone jumped over me and dove into my attacker. I was dazed. My head was swimming, and it felt like my skull had been split open. I was too dizzy to rise.
I could barely see what was going on. Two men fought viciously in front of me, moving so fast in the dark I couldn’t tell who was who. I then heard Hawk grunt in pain as the two shapes moved apart. There was sudden flash of steel as a knife darted between them. I raised my gun as one of the shapes tottered forward, went to his knees, and fell face-first to the floor.
“Hawk?” I asked. “You okay?”
It took him a second to respond. “Fine,” he grunted as he emerged from the shadows, holding his old Randall knife in one hand. His other hand was clamped against his side. “He stabbed me. Not too bad, though.” Despite his injury, Hawk helped me to my feet. I wobbled but was able to stand.
Is it Gordon? My deceased attacker was wearing a suit and was about the right size. I swung my rifle around and thumbed on my flashlight. I don’t know who the man was, but it wasn’t Gordon Willis. Probably one of his flunkies. The side of his neck had been split open from his collarbone to his ear. Damn. Hawk spat.
Gunfire echoed from the direction of the garage. Beyond that I could hear the noise of an engine turning over.
Gordon was getting away.
LORENZO
Reaper was in front now as we hurried back toward the garage, trying to stay in the shadows as much as possible. We could see a stream of tracers flying from the side of the garage up into the hillside where we had left Bob. I stumbled along, one arm over Jill’s shoulder as she kept me upright. The mess hall was burning bright, and the flames had spread to the surrounding buildings. The camp was coming down.
I avoided taking a mental inventory of my injuries. Nothing seemed to be bleeding very fast.
We all instinctively ducked as we were suddenly illuminated by car headlights. Somebody had made it back to the vehicles. There was a sudden roar from a powerful engine, and one of the Suburbans sprayed gravel as it turned around and tore away from us.
That’s when I saw Valentine emerge from one of the buildings on the other side of the horseshoe. “Gordon!” he screamed, running right into the middle of the road, oblivious to danger. He snapped his FAL to his shoulder and fired at the Suburban. Several holes were punched in the back of the SUV before Valentine’s bolt locked back. He rapidly reloaded, once again flinging the empty magazine away and rocking in a new one, but it was too late. By the time he dropped the bolt on a live round, the Suburban had dipped into a gully and disappeared from view.