Without taking his eyes off Trujillo, Avery carefully eased himself back up onto his feet. Each time he inhaled too deeply, he felt a blunt pain pressing on his sternum, like someone was sitting on the chest. He kept his rifle trained on the inert figure lying in the shed as he approached.
Through narrowed eyes, Trujillo stared up at Avery, who towered over him. The Peruvian coughed and wheezed. He bled through the wound in his side, and little bloody bubbles formed between his lips when he exhaled. More blood poured through the hole under his armpit, and his jeans were soaked. His body convulsed and twitched as he struggled to bring air into his collapsed, blood-filled lungs, and when he spoke, his voice was weak and barely audible.
Avery thought he heard Trujillo say, “You are Carnivore?”
Avery frowned, looked around to make sure no one else was there, and stepped in a little closer, tilting his ear toward the wounded man.
“She hoped you’d co-”
Avery fired once through the center of Trujillo’s face.
Then he swept his surroundings for additional targets before slipping a hand beneath his vest to feel his own body for blood or holes. He was okay. Nothing went through, but it hurt like hell.
Taking high, wide steps over the bodies, Avery entered the shed and aimed his rifle down the shaft into the tunnel. It appeared clear, other than the dead Mexican at the bottom of the ladder. He listened several seconds longer and heard nothing. Holding the M4 in his right hand, he gripped the ladder behind him with his left hand so that he faced forward as he descended into the shaft. Three fourths of the way down, he jumped the rest of the way.
The tunnel was long and looked like it could go on forever. Avery couldn’t even see the other end. The walls were made of plywood, about five feet apart. The floor was cement, with a built-in drainage system. Candescent light bulbs were set overhead, spaced about twenty feet apart. There was total silence; no echoes of footfalls or voices from the other end.
Avery started down the tunnel.
He made it fifteen feet in when all the lights shut off, blanketing the entire length of tunnel in deep, impenetrable darkness. He stopped and waited a couple seconds, hoping for the light to come back, and swore softly under his breath when it didn’t. He hadn’t brought his night sight. He had a mini flashlight on his vest, but if there was anyone else down here with him, the light would give him away before he spotted them.
He tried to reach Aguilar, but his radio didn’t work down here, and there was only static.
It was too dark for his eyes to even partially acclimatize, with absolutely no natural light filtering through from anywhere, but the tunnel ran in a straight line, so he kept his head low, shoulders packed, and continued forward, taking slow, light steps to limit the sound of his footfalls. He kept the rifle extended in front of him, gently probing the darkness with the barrel.
He took deep, slow breaths through his nose to keep his body oxygenated and limit anxiety. His heart pounded against his chest. The body naturally went into a panic mode when abruptly placed in an unfamiliar environment, deprived of its senses. The darkness itself didn’t bother him. His concern was if someone managed to slip through the tunnel from either end without him hearing it.
Moving forward, the only thing he heard was the sound of his own breathing, and occasionally his foot kicking a loose rock or other piece of errant debris. Time dragged by slowly, and he felt like he was walking with no end sight, but he reminded himself that the actual time span was much shorter than it felt.
Finally, a small sliver of sunlight appeared in front of him, somewhere far and deep into the darkness. It became slowly larger as he drew nearer, and he realized it was coming from the opened space at the top of the north side shaft.
When he was about seventy feet away, there was enough lighting for his vision to gradually restore. When he reached the end of the tunnel, the sudden intensity of the sunlight burned the photoreceptors of his dilated eyes, and he averted his glare downwards until his pupils adjusted accordingly.
Avery had no idea what he’d find on the surface, but he knew the shaft led outside, not into another structure, and he imagined the California landscape to be much the same as the Mexican side of the border. But how many men were up there? From the helicopter, he’d seen at least two, including the woman, enter the shed. And they’d hopefully have their arms full with the launchers. They’d have to have transportation arranged on this side of the border, so that could mean additional men, but hopefully they’d be in the process of loading the vehicles.
Avery tried to get Aguilar on the radio again, but there was still interference.
He fastened the M4 to his vest and drew his Glock, since the former was too large and cumbersome to ascend the ladder and exit the shaft while maintaining a defensive position and retaining the ability to move and shoot quickly.
He slowly and cautiously scaled the ladder, stopping just two feet short from the top to cock his head and listen, but he heard only the wind, and he wondered if the Viper had already slipped away again.
After climbing the rest of the way through the shaft, feeling the warm, dry air on his face, Avery saw flat open terrain in one direction, leading into nearby low hills blanketed by dry grass and weeds. Beyond the hills was an empty two lane road.
When he started to step clear of the shaft and turn right, bringing up the Glock, he felt a hand grab onto his shoulder from behind, drawing him in. He detected the scent of a female. Before he could react, something punched him low in his left side. It wasn’t hard or painful, but it was sharp and long, and it went through his body on an upward angle beneath his vest.
Avery gasped. Adrenaline coursed through his body on full flow, masking the pain, but he felt hot, flush, and lightheaded. He stumbled three more steps forward before falling over onto his right side. The Glock fell out of his hands and skittered across the dusty ground, landing well out of reach.
The handle of the Kizlyar tactical knife jutted out from beneath his side, more than half of the seven inch blade buried inside his body. He felt the piece of steel inside him — it felt hot — and knew better than to try to pull it out. His body shook a little, and blood soaked the bottom of his shirt. His mind went into overdrive, visualizing the placement of the blade in relation to vital organs and picturing the effects on his body and the treatment this would require, if he made it to that point, and the possible impurities being carried through his blood right now.
“It’s you. I remember you from Panama.” There was surprise and excitement in the Viper’s voice. “How many more are coming through that tunnel after you?”
Avery stared at the Glock on the ground, barely hearing the Viper’s words. He reached out a trembling hand for the pistol. His fingertips just barely graced it, an inch too far, and then a boot kicked the Glock an additional eight feet away.
“No, no. Don’t worry. You won’t need that. I promise.”
The Viper crouched over Avery, straddling him. Her hair fell in his face. She removed the M4 from his vest, and tossed it aside. Then, before getting back up, she pushed the knife a little deeper into his body and gave it a swirl.
Avery screamed like a madman. He clasped both his hands around one of Moreno’s ankles as she got up, but his grip felt very weak, and she effortlessly broke her leg free and kicked him hard in the face, knocking his head back and opening a gash across his forehead.
“We have to leave now!” a new voice shouted, commanding the Viper’s attention.
The voice caught Avery’s attention, too. He’d been unaware of anyone else present until now. He craned his head around, recalling what the interrogated Zeta said about the Viper being accompanied by a white man who spoke like a North American.