“We’re made,” I yelled, but at that moment a man walked out from between two mounds of dirt with an AK-47 in his hands, stood wide-legged in the center of the road, and opened fire. We all ducked down, the windshield blew apart, and hot rounds tore into the car.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-FIVE
Top turned the wheel hard and skidded off of the road. The SUV bounced horribly over ancient lava rock. He stamped down on the gas, crashed through some withered brush, and crunched against a jagged ridge.
“Out!” I bellowed, but Bunny was already shoving people toward the doors. Cole jerked up the handle and fell onto the hard-packed dirt and rock, with Smith nearly crashing down on her. They slithered like snakes to the crest of the ridge as more bullets punched chips of stone out of the irregular shelter. The others got out, too, but the two big men, Tate and Bunny, risked death to drag out the equipment bags and boxes. The metal boxes were lined with plate steel sheathed in Kevlar, so the others took them and built a stronger shelter. Duffy immediately opened his rifle case and took out his weapon. Top slid out of the seat and stumbled, pawing at his face, which was smeared with blood.
“Are you hit?” cried Bunny, beginning to crawl toward him, but Top waved him off.
“Glass cuts. Shit. Get your big white ass under cover, Farm Boy, before they shoot your dick off.”
“Watch your own ass, Old Man,” grumbled Bunny.
“How many shooters?” asked Smith.
Tate was studying the video feeds from the drones. “Count three. Guy in the road, one on either side. And, shit, there’s two guys going around the truck, heading into the hill south of us. One of them has a scoped rifle.”
“They brought a sniper,” complained Smith. “That’s just—”
There was a crack and his head whipped around to see Duffy raise his head from the scope of his rifle. “ Had a sniper.”
“Nice damn shot,” said Top.
“What was that?” asked Cole. “A thousand yards.”
“Give or take,” said Duffy as he worked the bolt on his CheyTac M200. “Hold on.”
Another crack.
Tate snorted. “Other guy’s down. Tried to pick up the hunting rifle.”
“Of course he did,” said Duffy. “That’s why he was with their sniper. Two hunters.”
“Should have sent four,” said Smith.
Duffy shrugged. “I brought more than two bullets.”
“We get out of this,” said Bunny with a grin, “I’m going to get you drunk and laid in the town of your choice.”
“Sexist asshole,” murmured Cole, but she was grinning, too. Then we all stopped grinning as the other shooters opened up with a new fusillade. From the drone video feed, it was clear there were five shooters now, and they had all taken cover.
“I don’t have a good line on any of them,” said Duffy. “They’re shooting over stuff and around corners. Putting a lot of ordnance downrange to keep us pinned. Figure they got some other play.”
Top met my eye and gave me a hard look. We both knew what that play was. Bunny caught on, too.
“We need those damn helos,” he said.
I tapped my earbud to get an ETA and got the news. The National Guard had been recalled. Instead, state police were coming to arrest us, with the job to hold us until the FBI could take custody. My team all heard it. It was insane news. It was the kind of thing that could steal the fire from a dragon’s heart. We were seven people up against an army of survivalists, pinned down behind a nonarmored vehicle with sketchy ground cover. We were a handful of soldiers trying to save our entire country. We had every right to expect to see the cavalry come galloping over the hill, flags flying and guns a-blazing.
There was a special bing-bing in my ear that I knew was the private line between Church and me. I held my hand up for silence. They nodded, understanding. They turned away and screwed their game faces on and looked for opportunities to return fire.
“Captain Ledger,” said Mr. Church, “I’m sorry that it’s come to this. I spoke with the president and outlined the entire case. He believes that we are taking actions outside of our jurisdiction.”
“Is he insane? Doesn’t he understand what’s going to happen?”
“I would like to think that it is the devastation in Washington that has shaken him so badly that he can’t think clearly. That and the fact that he doesn’t have enough experienced professionals around him to keep things going if he loses a step. That isn’t what we have here. He either does not believe me or can’t afford to, because accepting the truth means having to address other issues within his administration, his career, and his life. I don’t think he can afford to spend that coin.”
There was a lot of gunfire and I didn’t know if the others could hear me. Our mics are tiny dots beside our mouths and they have incredibly sensitive pickup. A whisper, a murmur, and that’s enough.
I said, “We’re fucked.”
“Are we, Captain?” he asked calmly. “This is the war. This is the job. We are in place because we are the select few who can think outside the box enough, act quickly enough, hesitate less often, and act more determinedly than anyone. I formed the DMS to be exactly that. Without ego or distortion of our own capabilities. We are our own backup. And if the situation is so dire that we lose faith, then there is no plan B. So, tell me, Captain, where does that leave us? Tell me if we are out of options. Tell me if we have already lost.”
I looked at my team. They were already fighting. They were doing their jobs even though they’d heard the same news, that we were out here alone. It was a humbling thing to see. As if he could feel my eyes on him, Top looked over his shoulder at me. He gave me a single nod.
I gave it back.
To Church I said, “The sun’s going down. That will help us more than them. But I think that also means the clock is ticking down. It would do more harm to have the volcano erupt at night. Rush hour in some places, diminished workforce at hospitals and with first responders. I think that’s Valen’s timetable.”
“I agree. It coincides with the last shipments arriving now. What is your plan?”
I smiled. “My plan is to kill every last one of these evil sons of bitches.”
I heard a sound. A rare laugh from Church. We were both standing on the edge of the abyss and I’d just told him I was going to jump. “Then good hunting, Captain,” he said.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-SIX
We huddled together and I told them my plan.
They grinned like a bunch of ghouls. And, if there was fear in their eyes, too, and a little panic, then they kept it locked down and tightly secured.
We had to dismantle some of our wall in order to get to the right equipment, and as each box was emptied it was put back into place but angled to give us loopholes for counterfire.
Included in our gear were six pigeon drones, a hundred horseflies, grenades, night-vision goggles, more body armor, and more of Doc Holliday’s Toybox. Most of the latter, though, required application. They were booby traps to prevent pursuit rather than tools for a frontal assault. Didn’t matter. Smart soldiers improvise, and Tate was proving himself to be a devious bastard. Cole, Smith, and Bunny maintained a steady return fire. Not wasting bullets, but making sure we didn’t get rushed. Duffy still couldn’t get a good kill shot, but he punched holes in whatever the shooters were hiding behind, delivering eloquent warnings about what would happen if they got sloppy. One of them did, in fact, lean too far out, and Duffy blew his arm off in a very loud and messy way. The screams resulted in a shocked pause and then a new barrage of outraged automatic weapons fire. That was fine. Let them waste bullets.