Will fired off five more rounds, not expecting to hit anything, before turning and running.
Bullets zip-zip-zip! past his head and played havoc against the concrete around him. One came dangerously close to taking off his right ear.
Mike had stopped in the middle of the street and was firing up at the roof with his Sig Sauer 9mm. Will almost laughed, but of course he knew why Mike was using his handgun. It was either the Sig Sauer or the shotgun, and at this range, he might as well be throwing salt at the snipers. Not that the Sig Sauer came even remotely close. But of course, the idea wasn’t to hit anything on the rooftop, it was just to draw their fire away from Will.
“Go!” Will said just as he reached Mike.
Mike turned and ran, while Will stopped, spun around, and fired up at the rooftop again. He took a couple of chunks off the side of the north tower and sent another sniper scurrying for cover. The last man refused to budge, though, and continued firing down at him.
Ping-ping-ping! as bullets scraped the street dangerously close to his feet.
Will turned and ran, making a beeline for Mike, who was already hidden behind the side of a Starbucks across the street.
A bullet screamed as it tore through the gym bag slung over Will’s back. He waited to feel the pain, but there was none.
So he kept running, jogging across the street with his head kept low.
He slid behind the Starbucks, adrenaline pouring through him. He unslung the gym bag and saw a hole in one side and out the other. He opened it and took out one of the shoes he had picked up for Lara. The bullet had gone clean through it.
Mike was reloading his Sig Sauer next to him. “You think we got any of them?”
“No.”
“Figures.”
Gunfire and a half dozen rounds pelted the Starbucks, obliterating the front windows. A couple of bullets fell short and dug divots in the concrete sidewalk.
“Sorry about Paul and Johnson,” Will said.
Mike looked at the two bodies lying up the street. “Yeah. They were good men.”
Will looked past the parking lot and up at the hospital rooftop. The hazmat-clad figures were standing and one of them was peering through a riflescope down in his direction, but the man didn’t fire for some reason.
“Who the hell are those guys?” Mike asked. “What the hell were they wearing? Those looked like hazmat suits.”
“Level B hazmat suits, yeah.”
“Why the hell are they wearing those?”
“Remember those ghoul collaborators I told you about? That’s them.”
“Shit. How the fuck did they get up to the roof without my guys seeing them?”
“It’s your hospital, you tell me.” Will glanced at his watch. “And there’s no other way into the building?”
Mike shook his head. Will could see he was fighting back emotions, trying desperately to process the loss of Johnson and Paul, and the very real possibility of losing Mercy Hospital.
“If I knew of one, do you really think we’d be rappelling up and down the rooftop?” Mike said.
A rifle shot took a big slab out of the Starbucks wall in front of them.
Will peeked out from behind the building and saw figures emerging out of the hospital lobby. “We gotta go.”
Mike looked out and saw the same thing. “Where?”
“This is your city, you tell me.”
Mike thought about it. “Come on,” he said, and hurried toward the back of the Starbucks.
Will glanced out from behind the wall one last time and saw white-suited men, gas masks tapping against their waists, moving across the parking lot toward them.
He pulled his head back and followed Mike.
Hold on, Gaby. Hold on…
There were four of them, moving from building to building, employing something that could, from a distance, be mistaken for tactics. They advanced up the street with two up front and two bringing up the rear.
The gunfire from Mercy Hospital had stopped a while ago. That was the bad news. Silence meant the battle was over and that the hospital had fallen. However the attack had gone down, it was obvious now that the collaborators had taken the place by surprise and with overwhelming force. If they could afford to leave that many on the rooftop, there were probably more inside the tenth floor itself.
Will lifted the M4A1 a couple of inches as he heard the sounds of boots scraping against hot asphalt. They were surprisingly quiet for a bunch of a civilians. Of course, in the stillness of the city, even breathing was too loud.
The closest man was twenty meters away when Mike finally made his move. As planned, he popped up from behind a dumpster next to a McDonald’s and opened fire with the Sig Sauer. Will heard those same boots scrambling for cover, M4s firing back, and the clink-clink-clink of empty casings raining down on the street.
Will slipped out from behind the parked minivan and scanned the road. A figure in a hazmat suit made the mistake of running toward him for cover. Will came out from behind the vehicle, saw the man’s eyes go wide as he started to lift his rifle.
Will shot him in the right eye.
Even as the man was dropping, Will was already turning slightly to his right, aiming down the street.
The remaining three were too busy firing back at Mike to notice him. Which was the idea. One of the men was hiding in an alleyway between a Barnes & Noble bookstore and a Mexican restaurant, his white hazmat suit like a beacon against the darkened mouth of the alley. The other two were using a parked police car as cover, popping up one at a time to return fire. The dumpster up the street was pockmarked with bullets, but Mike had ducked behind the squat object to reload.
Will shot the man in the alleyway in the abdomen. The man seemed to grope for the bullet hole, stumbling out onto the sidewalk before falling on his stomach.
Will was already moving as the two remaining collaborators turned in his direction and returned fire. He darted back behind the minivan, heard windows breaking around him, the ping-ping-ping of bullets tearing into the parked vehicle on the other side. There was a loud popping noise next to him as the right rear tire was punctured.
Then Mike was shooting again, and immediately the gunfire directed at the minivan stopped as the men turned their attention back up the street.
Will laid down against the hot sidewalk and peered underneath the vehicle at the two men, thirty meters away, crouched behind the back bumper of the police car. One was reloading while the other was firing off one three-round burst after another.
Will took two quick steps backward and slid the M4A1 underneath the minivan. It was a tight fit, so he had to aim with the rifle lying on its side. Tricky.
His first shot hit the side of the squad car two meters from the head of the closest man. The man flinched, then scrambled to reload faster when he figured out where the bullet had come from.
Will moved the rifle a bit to the right and shot again, this time hitting the man in the chest. The man in the hazmat suit seemed surprised for the brief half-second he was still alive. Then he crumpled forward and lay still.
The last man got up and scrambled down the street. Will hurried back up to his feet and stepped forward, took aim at the running figure, and shot the man once in the thigh and watched him twist slightly, as if he had tripped on something, and fall to the street in a ball of tangled legs and arms.
Mike was already running toward them, never breaking stride even as he snatched up one of the fallen rifles from a dead body. The man in hazmat suit had managed to pull himself up to his feet and was dragging himself desperately down the street. Mike easily caught up to him and smashed the stock of the rifle into his back.