Storm Rising

by Ronie Kendig

  She was missing something and felt really stupid.

  The ground rumbled. More thunder meant more rain. But then the rumble turned violent.

  Crack!

  The ground shifted beneath her feet. Iskra swung out a hand to steady herself.

  “They’re forcing a landslide!”

  TWENTY-SIX

  NEAR FALAM, CHIN STATE, BURMA

  “Something isn’t right.” Mercy eyed her timepiece as she waited with Baddar, Culver, and Saito for the others to return. “They should’ve been back. And now they’re not responding to comms.”

  “We’ll keep trying,” Saito said. “They know what they’re doing. They’ll be fine.”

  “I’ve heard that before,” Mercy muttered.

  Baddar touched her arm, but she waved him off. She moved to the front of the truck and paced. She appreciated his gentleness and concern, but she just . . . couldn’t. Not right now. This was too much like when Ram went missing in Moscow. She didn’t want to lose anyone she cared about. Not again.

  “Six, Five, this is Three,” Culver radioed. “Come in.”

  “—hiss, crack—ive.”

  Culver stopped short. “Five?” He cocked his head closer, as if that would help. “Repeat.”

  “Five to Base,” came Lawe’s voice, louder, clearer. “We are . . . hissss . . . crack!”

  Seconds later, a distant crack echoed the first.

  Culver shared a look with Saito and Baddar.

  “That was not thunder,” Baddar said.

  “Devine intervention,” Saito laughed.

  Right. Like Mercy needed more to worry about. So who was Peyton shooting at?

  “I need high ground.” Culver spun, searching the village.

  “The truck,” Baddar suggested.

  “—in trouble. Repeat, unfriendlies converging on Six,” Lawe said.

  Culver threw himself on top of the truck. Legs spread for balance, he used his binocs to peer to the west. The way Leif and Viorica had gone. “Rain’s a sheet up there. Can’t see—”

  When he didn’t finish his sentence, Mercy looked up at him.

  “Gunfire. I see multiple sources.” And then he swung out his hands, his balance apparently shifted.

  That was when she realized she was swaying. No, the buildings were swaying. Wait, no, the street—

  Her phone rang. Recognizing the ringtone, she answered. “Dru.”

  “Chopper’s inbound, Mercy. Get in the truck and drive east. We’re—”

  Crack! Boom!

  She pitched forward. Caught her balance. “What on earth?” She glanced around. “Leif and the assassin aren’t back. Neither are Lawe and Devine, and—”

  At the edge of the village, a river of mud crashed past the huts, slashing the structural supports out from under them.

  She stilled, searching for the source. “What was that?”

  “I heard from Leif,” Dru barked in her ear. “He said someone set charges in the mountain to create a landslide.”

  Her gaze rose to the Chin Hills, though she couldn’t decipher where Leif would be at the moment.

  “Get in the truck and leave,” Dru ordered. “Now! We’re sending evac choppers, but they’re at least twenty mikes out.”

  Twenty minutes. Did they have that long?

  “Sir, there are hundreds of people here,” she said. “We can’t just—”

  “Get in the truck! Or we won’t have to worry about anyone. Clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll call back in ten. Make sure you’re heading east.”

  The line went dead, and she stared dumbly at it.

  “Mercy?” Baddar’s voice was calm but firm. He nodded to her right.

  Thet was trotting toward them from between the buildings, his face carved with worry. “The rain too much.” His black hair was plastered to his forehead. “All the food—wasted. So sad.”

  Inspiration struck. That was it! Mercy darted to him. “Tell the people to come to the truck. We have to leave now. There’s a landslide coming! We must leave now.”

  Crack-creeack-crack!

  They both spun and watched as the terraced hillside canted and collapsed.

  Thet held his head, crying out.

  Mercy shoved him. “Go! Get the people to the truck.” She darted back to the guys. “Get the truck turned around. We have to be ready to leave.”

  Culver’s face darkened. “I’m not leaving my team.”

  “Lawe is north of the ridge. Norther of the gunfire, right?”

  “Norther?” Culver blinked, but his twisted-up features smoothed out. He nodded. “Yeah.”

  “He’ll be fine.” Probably. “Leif can’t hear us. Can’t reach us in time. He’s on his own.” With the operative, but that was a moot point. “Here there are hundreds of people—”

  “They won’t all fit in the truck,” Saito pointed out.

  “They have to fit,” Mercy barked. “Now get it moved!”

  Culver smirked. “Ma’am.” He pinched the bill of his ball cap with a finger and thumb, then jogged to the truck cab. He climbed in and started it up. The throaty rattle of the diesel engine echoed through the small street.

  Thet had made quick work of spreading the word, because people were spilling into the street. Women carrying children. Men dragging belongings. They waited as Culver repositioned the truck, and then Baddar set down a crate as a step stool, and villagers clambered inside.

  But there was a lot of room left and no more villagers coming. Mercy spied Thet rounding the corner, alone. “Where is your mom? The others?”

  “They not come.” Tears streaked down his face. “I stay too.”

  “No!” Panic squeezed her heart as she stumbled toward him. “You can’t! There are men trying to destroy the village. They have explosives. When those go off, there will be a landslide. Everything here will be buried!”

  The ground rumbled, churned. The road growled around them, and Mercy staggered back. A line formed in the muck near Thet and splintered down the road.

  “Mercyyy!” Culver hollered, his gaze on the hills.

  She dared to glance that way and could not comprehend at first what was happening. Trees tilting back. Green turning brown. Oh no. She grabbed Thet’s collar, but he shoved her away. She stumbled. Slipped in the mud and rain. Nearly fell.

  Hands caught her. Baddar.

  But her focus was on their translator. “Thet, please!” she called as he vanished around the corner. Heading home. To his mother.

  Grief clawed at her. She couldn’t let this happen. She had to intervene. “Thet!” Mercy started after him, but a strong arm hooked her waist. Hauled her off her feet.

  Baddar’s breath was warm against her ear. He twisted and angled her into the bed of the truck.

  She growled at him and slapped his chest. Then dropped, defeated, on the wood floor of the truck. Sagging, she buried her face in her hands, feeling Baddar at her side. He banged the hull of the truck, which lurched into motion in response.

  As Culver navigated the winding, switchback roads that were costing them precious time, Mercy watched the village’s defiant last stand. And it was the last. Because as a peal of thunder and the din of explosions rattled the mountain, the earth surrendered. Mud slid and thrashed as if racing for shelter.

  She prayed Leif made it out alive. It would be good to hear that Lawe and Devine were alive, but she would trust Iliescu’s intel on that.

  Baddar yanked the door closed, leaving her to imagine the worst. The village would be wiped away. What if the landslide was too big? What if it out-sprinted them? She hugged her legs to her chest.

  The truck jerked and bounced. The people—maybe seventy of the hundreds who’d occupied the village—grunted and yelped as they were tossed about. Mercy clung to a support brace and Baddar, who was sandwiched between her and the closed door.

  Minutes took on the life of hours as they rocked in the hot truck, knowing that out there raged a tempest. She dug her fingers in
to her hair and fisted her hands. Blocked the fatal thoughts, the hopelessness. So awful.

  No more. She couldn’t take this kind of stuff anymore. It was time to get out. Stop seeing people die. Normal people worried about espresso shots dying, not the person next to them. It would be good to have a First World problem instead of this. That was what she got for having a thing for superheroes.

  Superheroes who died, apparently.

  Baddar touched his comms piece and lowered his chin, brow knotting. Without a word, he stood. Tied a rope to the brace of the wall.

  Mercy rose. “What?”

  He reached for the door and thrust it upward.

  Alarm seized her at the sea of mud rushing the tailgate. “What’re you doing?” The landslide was furious. Hungry. Ravenous. “Are you crazy?”

  Baddar was searching. Intent.

  And then she saw it. A blip just barely in front of the raging, writhing earth. A blip of light—a headlamp from a motorbike.

  “Leif.”

  * * *

  The twang of the motorbike was lost in the roar of the mountain crashing down behind them. They’d had nearly a mile lead when he’d first hit the road. Now they were down to seventy-five yards at best.

  Iskra gripped his sides like a vise, and he was glad, because this would be close. If they made it. He wasn’t sure they could, but he wouldn’t give up. Not when he’d made it down a mountain he’d expected to die on.

  The rear door of the white supply truck rolled up, and a figure stood braced in the opening. Leif wanted to accelerate, but the throttle was already wide open. And losing. Frustration tightened around his gut. He hadn’t felt this helpless since the desert.

  But then they were gaining on the truck.

  His heart tripped. No—the truck was slowing. Probably to help Leif and Iskra catch them, but that was a mistake.

  Yet he was relieved. If he snagged the chance, maybe they could get away from the landslide before it was too late.

  Mud splashed his face. Cold dampness slapped his leg. Forced by the road’s switchbacks, the truck swung away.

  Leif whipped the bike left, tearing into the brush and aiming east, where the road would arc back. But the terrain was unforgiving, not caring if they survived. Ahead, a wall of shrubs formed a barrier. A drop-off on the right. The vicious displaced earth raced at them from the left.

  Iskra’s arms tightened. So did her thighs around his hips, mirroring his own tension. They had about a twenty-percent chance of survival.

  But it was twenty percent. He’d take it.

  Gaze bouncing between the truck and the terrain, Leif lined them up. Sighted an overhang.

  He sailed off a small ridge, the bike airborne. And for one second, Leif could swear he heard the thunder of his own heart. The fear of being mortal in a supernatural battle against Mother Nature. Who’d had an assist.

  The bike hit hard. Jounced. The rear tire swung out. He straightened, grinning like a fool when the truck made a hard turn, just as he’d expected.

  Leif throttled hard. Gained on the truck. There was a line about a klick ahead where mud had failed to overtake the land. But how long would that last?

  Baddar stood in the back, a half dozen guys holding him by a rope as he balanced on the bumper. Leif revved and caught up, monitoring the terrain, the truck. He glanced over his shoulder at Iskra. Nodded to the truck, indicating for her to go first. She pulled up her legs. Her hands slid along his back to his shoulders, where she gripped tight for balance and brought her feet to the seat.

  Leif met Culver’s eyes in the side mirror, then focused on aligning with the truck so Iskra could jump. Her launch shoved the bike sideways. The front tire veered dangerously close to the truck’s left rear wheel. Bounced off the hull. He nearly lost control, dirt and rocks merging.

  Mud slapped his face and slicked his tires. He growled at it, warning it to back off. Focused on reaching the truck.

  Shouts blended with the throaty growl of the engine. He needed better alignment, but the bike fought him hard. His grip slipped.

  Mud punched him, shoving the bike into the truck. It crushed his leg between the bike and the bumper. Agony demanded attention, but survival needed it more.

  Hands latched onto him. Hauled him to safety, scraping his spine along the metal floor. Mud ripped away the bike and thrashed it down the hillside until it was smothered beneath the fury of the landslide.

  Relieved, exhausted, Leif slumped to the floor. Closed his eyes, adrenaline dumping and leaving his limbs trembling as darkness descended, the rear door sliding shut. He felt weak. Very weak.

  “Chief, you okay?”

  “Yeah,” he said through a dry throat.

  “Because you’re shot.”

  “What?” Leif looked at the large hands that palmed his shoulder. “Huh.” He dropped back against the floor and laughed. He wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t funny. “That explains a lot.”

  “I . . . I didn’t know.” Iskra’s voice was soft. Worried.

  “It’s just a graze,” he lied. He had no idea. He couldn’t feel it because of the adrenaline.

  The truck jounced, silencing any arguments as a chorus of yelps shot out.

  Leif slid—thumping against Iskra and Mercy, their expressions startled. “Guess we aren’t out of danger yet,” he said. The truck groaned and creaked, then . . . near silence. Pulling himself upright, he ignored the protests to keep still. It was too quiet. “Why aren’t we moving?”

  Scraping and groaning along the hull continued but eventually quieted.

  Baddar touched his comms. He nodded, his gaze hitting Leif. “Mudslide drove us down. We’re stuck. The mud is splitting around us. We should be okay.”

  Leif shifted against the wall, and pain throbbed in his shoulder. But pain didn’t hit him like it did most people. This was the worst he’d feel.

  “How’d you two escape?” Mercy asked. “You were much farther out.”

  “We had a head start,” Leif said. “I saw the charges, realized what they were doing. We fought our way down the mountain, then rode as hard as we could. I lost my comms piece, so we stopped every five klicks to look for a cell signal to call Iliescu.”

  The back of the truck rolled up, and Culver stood in thigh-high muck. “Choppers are inbound. We have to hike out to reach them.” He scowled. “Chief, you hit?”

  “Just a graze.”

  “Graze my hairy backside,” Culver growled.

  Saito climbed in and inspected the injury. “Entrance and exit wound. That’s good, but—”

  “It’ll heal.”

  “—you’re out of commission.”

  Leif glowered. “Try that again.”

  “Debate later,” Culver said as the thwump-thwump of helos approached.

  Leif allowed Saito to sling up his arm to prevent further injury, and then they focused on getting the survivors to the four choppers. Three ferried the locals to a UN camp, but the fourth held a surprise—Lawe and Devine.

  Lawe shook his head in disbelief at Leif. “You’re one lucky—”

  “No luck about it,” Leif shouted, then nodded to Devine. “Nice shooting.”

  She smiled. “Thanks. Not my best, but sniping through a curtain of rain is a challenge.”

  They boarded the chopper, which delivered them to an airstrip and a waiting jet. Used to a C-130 transport, Saito muttered his appreciation for the bit of luxury. Showers and fresh gear waited in the plane. While the team cleaned up, Leif had his wounds stitched, then did the same before joining them in a small conference room.

  Applause broke out.

  “There’s Evel Knievel himself,” Lawe said, clapping.

  Leif snorted.

  “Where’s that sling?” Saito demanded. “You need to keep that shoulder immobile for at least a week.”

  “Yes, Mom.” Leif eyed the Styrofoam boxes of food on the table. “Any news about who was on the mountain shooting at us?” Grabbing a box, he eyed the only empty chair, right next to Iskra. Hai
r wet and face clean, she wore tactical gear like the team. It was nice. Weird, but nice. He sat and dug in.

  “Negative,” Lawe said.

  Chewing his food, Leif dug a wire from his pocket. “This is what they used for the charges.”

  “Unless it’s custom,” Devine said, “I doubt it’ll tell us much. Looks standard.”

  “Let’s hope you’re wrong,” Leif said.

  “There’s a first time for everything, I guess,” Lawe said.

  “Wait.” Devine shifted toward the big guy. “Are you saying I’m right? That I’m usually right?”

  “Careful,” Culver warned with a chuckle. “Sounds like you just stepped in something.”

  Devine had homed in on Lawe and wasn’t letting go. “Because recall the whole thing you said about—”

  “Can we not do this now?” Lawe looked like a kid caught raiding his brother’s candy stash.

  “You mean, not ever? Because that’s when you do talk about things, Adam.”

  Culver snorted. “I think you’re dead meat, Adam.”

  The team broke into laughter.

  “Anyone else find strange stuff in your zones?” Leif asked, hoping to shift away from the trouble Lawe had found. On his own, but still. Never leave a man down.

  “Actually,” Mercy said quietly from the other end. She lifted something from her lap and set it on the table.

  “What’s that?” Leif asked.

  She angled it toward him, and it gutted him. He ran a hand over his head, suddenly losing his appetite. A pottery shard. Blue swirls against a brown exterior. Like the bowl he’d eaten from at Thet’s house. The house that, thanks to the landslide, no longer existed. The unstable conditions made it impossible for recovery efforts to start yet.

  “I found it when we were sludging out to the choppers.” Mercy’s chin puckered with restrained tears. She shrugged. “I tried to get him to come with us.”

  “It was a matter of honor.” Baddar touched her hand. “He would not leave his family or his home.”

  “And now,” Mercy said, her lips flat, “neither exist. Makes so much sense.”

  Grief hung heavy, diverting their attention.