Denver, CO
Aarons brought him down the first two flights of stairs. As he ran by the door for floor nine, he caught sight of Dorothy in her business suit. The men tried to keep him moving, but he grabbed the door handle to stop.
“I have to get her.” He pointed to the dark-haired woman.
Petteri didn’t need their approval. He opened the door and shouted, “Dorothy! Over here. Come with me.”
She jogged up to him. “What’s going on?” As she arrived, she caught sight of his security team with their weapons out. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, come inside. Hurry.” He held the door ajar so the young woman could come through. Once in, the security men shoved them both toward the steps. He allowed them to shepherd him, glad he’d done a heads-up play to rescue his helper. If anyone was watching, he’d be labeled a hero. He’d also make sure she didn’t forget it.
Dorothy was unable to stay silent. They’d gone down a few steps before she spit out questions. “Where are we going, sir? Are these guns really necessary? Where’s everyone else?”
“Shush. We must both do as we’re told.” He wasn’t sure if it was necessary to tell her it was the police coming up the steps. It wasn’t the time to explain why his people couldn’t allow a small-town mayor to put an end to his business dealings.
“Okay,” she said, growing scared.
Aarons held the door as they went into the hallway of floor eight. It was pitch black, suggesting the lights had been shut off. He pointed where they should go using his flashlight. The first two security men guided them to an interior room in the middle of the building.
“Wait a second,” Petteri pleaded, realizing they were going to shut them inside.
“No time,” Aarons replied.
“Who’s staying with us?” he asked his security chief.
Aarons was going to close the door, but he paused and pulled a pistol from his belt. After a quick pull to cycle the action, he handed it to Petteri. “Safety is off. She’s hot. Shoot anyone who comes through this door.”
“Where will you be?”
Another explosion shook the building. Pieces of the ceiling tiles rained from above, like snow on a dark night.
Aarons flipped down a mask he recognized as a pair of night-vision goggles. “Sir, I’ll be out here making them pay for every inch they try to take. Don’t worry. We got this.” The man slammed the door.
Petteri went back to feeling out of control.
It didn’t suit him.
CHAPTER 13
Somewhere in Central Wyoming
When it was near dark, Misha called them all together. Besides her, Asher, and their immediate friends, there were still a few people in the boxcar who wanted to tag along, plus Robert and a fellow railroad employee who helped pilot the engine. All told, there were twelve people in their group.
“We will be safer in darkness,” Misha said dryly. “We should go.”
“Safer?” Robert asked. The man in the greasy coveralls had been a good sport about having been shot at several times, but he was clearly growing weary of the activity.
“It will never be perfectly safe. Nerio—the woman in the helicopter,” he added for the new people, “has the tools to make our lives miserable all hours of the clock.”
“He means our best chance is now,” Grace added, amazed to find herself backing up the ex-hitman. She continued. “We’ll go back out in the truck and scout ahead.”
Robert and the others didn’t immediately jump at the chance to go, but Misha reminded them why they were heading to the rock near Yellowstone. As before, he told them how he had friends there who could protect them, but then he added a line about making them all wealthy with the ore from the dig. That seemed to entice everyone into accepting the risk.
When she and Asher got back in the truck and drove toward the orange sunset, she asked him about it. “Why did you tell those people they would get rich going toward Yellowstone? Was it a lie to get them to do what you wanted?”
Misha shifted forward, one arm on each of the front seats, so he could speak from the back. “Nyet. Not a lie. Your friend, the Crow, said he wants to secure rock on his land. We can do the same for TKM piece where we are going. When you see it, I am sure you will agree is enough wealth to share with those who help defend it.”
She saw a flaw in his plan right away. “But you don’t know if the owner will agree to it.”
He exhaled. “I am betting he will.”
They drove for several hours during the night. Misha radioed back and forth with the train at regular intervals, to ensure Robert didn’t see the helicopter, either.
Traffic on the highway helped them blend in. Nerio couldn’t shoot at each car, Grace reasoned, so the threat to them was much less than those on the bigger train. A few times they spotted aircraft in the sky, causing her to ask if they should pull over and turn off their lights, but each time Misha counseled her to drive on.
“If you stop, we will stand out,” he said the first time. “That would be bad.”
She continued on, ignoring the second and third brushes with lights in the sky.
After traveling the interstate for another thirty minutes, the truck crested a rise which allowed them to see a straightaway at least twenty miles into the distance. The white twinkles of headlights were barely visible at the vanishing point near where the ground met the starry sky. However, a black shape passed in front of her sight line, far closer.
“Stop!” Misha shouted.
She slammed on the brakes.
“Lights off!” Misha yelled, already almost in the front seat.
Grace slowed the truck, kicked off the headlights, and veered toward the side of the highway. She rolled the window partway down to listen for the expected sound of a helicopter.
An eighteen-wheeler roared by in the next lane, momentarily drowning out everything else.
“Did you hear it?” Asher asked, rolling down his own window.
“I think so,” she whispered.
“It was her,” Misha said, shifting himself around the rear seats. “I know it.”
The semi’s red lights continued down the highway, allowing the air to settle outside the truck. As she listened, the sound of a chopping rotor became evident. “Yes, I hear it now.”
“Where is she?” Misha said evenly.
“Can we get out the big gun?” Grace asked, feeling as if the truck were about to be split open by the machine gun.
“There is no time for it. It is not effective when the helicopter is directly above.” He continued to move around from one side of the rear compartment to the other.
“There’s always fine print,” she said to Asher, seeking a laugh from her friend.
He smiled in the low light of the dashboard before responding. “We have to trust him.”
“I know,” she lamented, anxiously slapping the steering wheel.
“Be ready to go when I say.” Misha’s voice had become clinical.
The dark shape returned, a few hundred yards in front of them. The silhouette blotted out the stars. “I see it!” she exclaimed.
“Drive!” Misha shouted.
The clatter of Nerio’s machine gun tore through the nighttime air as Grace pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floorboard. The concrete of the roadway behind them lit up with fireworks as a laser-like line of orange zipped out of the sky.
Misha finally sounded nervous. “She uses tracers. Avoid those.”
“No kidding!” she railed. Another volley came down from the flying platform of death. Grace realized, too late, there was no hiding from the glowing fingers of the tracer rounds. Both lanes of the highway were easily visible to her in the orange hue burning off the incoming rounds, and thus they were an easy target for the killer above.
She didn’t wait for guidance. As the woman searched for her target, Grace let off the gas and slammed her boot into the brake pedal. The truck skidded, sloughing off all the speed she’d built up in her short escap
e.
Misha tumbled forward.
Nerio’s aim was disrupted. It went in front of the truck, as if she’d been anticipating its movement. Then the blazing light turned off again.
“Hang on!” she advised before kicking her beloved Suburban in the guts one more time. “And get in the very back!”
“I try,” Misha squawked, bouncing around the cabin.
There was only one place she could go.
On the Missouri River
They gained a good number of miles before the sun was totally gone. Based on what he saw on his map, he guessed they were on the outskirts of Kansas City. As much as Ezra wanted to keep going into the night, prior experience with the debris in the water made him pick a spot to beach the pontoon boat until morning. Since they had tents and sleeping bags, all they needed was a patch of forest to hide in.
“I’ll put the girls’ tent over here,” Haley said in a mocking tone.
Butch was already setting up what Ezra assumed was the boys’ tent.
After securing the lines and checking his epoxy patches on the bullet punctures in the pontoons, he came over to where Butch had piled a few branches for a fire. “Need me to collect some wood?”
Butch nodded. “I’ll have this tent up and the tinder started by the time you get back.”
Haley made less progress on her tent. If she was still at it when he returned, he’d offer a little help. They were going to be on the water for a long time, so she might as well learn how to set it up at her own pace. It’s what he would have done with Grace.
He walked into the trees, eager to find dry wood for the fire. His eyes were adjusted to the moonlit darkness, making it easy to see the numerous logs and sticks on the ground. After filling his arms and turning to go back, however, he heard the distinct footfall of someone crunching a branch.
Without waiting for it to happen again, he dropped his bundle and unslung his rifle. There was no way he’d ask if anyone was there. He was sure someone was close. It wouldn’t be Butch; he wouldn’t play around when weapons were involved. Haley might be out there, but he didn’t think she was that reckless, either. Plus, Butch wouldn’t let her go off alone. All signs pointed to it being a stranger.
The crackle of a human’s steps happened again. Closer.
He gently set the safety to the hot position.
“Hello?” a man asked from the darkness. “I give up.”
Ezra hesitated for half a minute. Was it a trick? A trap? Should he respond?
The voice came closer. “I’m done for. You got me.”
He saw the outline of the man in the moonlight. He was much closer than he would have thought. Ten feet, at best.
Ezra needed to reply. “I’m not here to hurt you. I came from downriver.”
“Really?” The talker stumbled forward, out of the brush. It was a dangerous act if the man really thought someone was out to get him. Didn’t he know how easy it was to be shot these days?
“Hold up! I don’t know who you are.”
The man stopped a little beyond arm’s length. “I ain’t nobody. I’m unarmed. Got nuthin’.”
“Why are you out here sneaking around?”
The man seemed surprised. “Because it’s the only safe time to move. Don’t you know about the gangs up and down the river?”
“No,” he admitted.
The guy whispered. “The gangs make sure no one can walk down the street no more without being hassled for food and water. Even sitting inside your house ain’t no guarantee. They come in and help themselves to what’s yours.”
“So you came out here?” he asked with doubt.
“We try to escape. Most of KC was blown up by the falling star. I had to go out to find some, uh, food for my family, but the gangs chased me all the way to here.”
“How far are we talking?” The answer might give him a clue how many people were on shore in the miles ahead.
Even in the darkness, the shrug was evident. “Not sure how far. Ran all day in the woods along the levees next to the water. It’s the only place they don’t have eyes. I got turned around a couple times. Now I’m too far to get back through all them tough guys. That’s why I was giving myself up. I’ll take my medicine from them and get back inside the city.”
He heard laughter in the distance, causing him to seize up like a rabbit spotting a hawk. “Are they still following you?”
Ezra thought the man nodded yes, but he didn’t wait. He spun around and ran for his friends.
“Wait up!” the guy said in too loud a voice.
“Come on,” he replied, anxious to get the man to shut up.
He ran around the trunk of a huge tree and found Butch stoking a tiny fire. “Put it out!”
“Why?” his buddy replied, instantly tipping the kindling and throwing dirt on it.
“Company. We have to get out of here.” He almost forgot about the man behind him. “The first guy is with me.” As he said it, he wondered if it was true. How easy would it be for a group of bad guys to send one loner in front of them to lure victims into a false sense of security? While they focused on the men laughing in the background, the faker could get the jump on everyone.
“Haley, grab what you can. Get on the boat. Butch, watch this guy with your rifle.”
The man came out from around the trunk, winded from trying to keep up with Ezra. There were fewer trees near the water’s edge, making it easier to see the guy was in his fifties or sixties. Balding head. Thick glasses. He didn’t appear overly dangerous, nor did he seem to carry any weapons.
He and Haley yanked the tents down and rolled them into crude balls, with the poles sticking out and the sleeping bags inside. He threw his in the middle section of the deck, then caught Haley’s as she tossed it onboard.
“Let’s go,” he hissed.
Butch retreated to the boat.
The man came with him. “Take me upriver. P-please,” he stuttered. “It will get me around them!”
Ezra had a split-second decision to make. The sounds of men talking and laughing was closing in on them, as if the gang members wanted to be heard. It meant they carried no fear of who they might encounter. By contrast, the lone man shook in his tennis shoes.
Ezra reached out a hand. “Welcome aboard.”
CHAPTER 14
Somewhere in Central Wyoming
“Get your gun ready!” Grace shouted over the revving engine. She’d punched the gas pedal, squeezing every ounce of horsepower possible out of her park service truck.
“It is,” Misha said, holding the rifle she’d taken from the TKM guard.
“Not that one,” she blurted. “The big-ass gun!”
The helicopter shooter had stopped firing as she reoriented on the moving truck. Grace wasn’t driving according to any plan or template for dealing with flying aircraft. Instead, she was motivated by the base instinct of survival. The only spot on the entire frontier she could get safe from the bullets was directly below the helicopter.
Misha had to kick the wooden partition behind the rear seat, but he struggled against the g-force of her acceleration as he tried to get in the far back.
The helicopter began moving, though it was hard to tell where. She imagined the woman yelling to the pilot, telling him to swing her around to get a shot on the truck as it sped away.
She smashed the brakes once more when she estimated she’d reached the underside of the copter.
“What!” Misha cried out, falling back into the rear seat again.
“Just hang on. I’m doing something. Be ready with the gun out the back window.” She’d never experienced such focus. Her insides rode a tidal current of panic swirling around fear, but Grace didn’t let it show. Not in front of the hitman. Not in front of Asher.
She cut the wheel before the truck stopped, which whipped the back end sideways. Misha went tumbling again, this time into the rear cargo space. In the middle of the action, she let herself smile at the minor bumps and bruises she was giving to the guy. Howe
ver, the important fact was he was with his Lahti. It was the only reason she was trying such dangerous maneuvers.
The U-turn wasn’t as clean as a professional stunt driver’s, but she was proud of her performance. As she hammered the gas once more, her truck was aimed against traffic. Lights far down the highway were only a vague concern. They’d either be dead by the time the lights reached them, or…
“Be ready!” she screamed.
“I am trying,” Misha replied.
“It’s still there,” Asher said, looking behind them.
“I know,” she exhaled.
“It’s turning…”
“I know,” she repeated. Her plan was dead simple. Get the helicopter pilot to think she was going to speed down the highway, force them to start a turn to match, but then reverse course at the last second. The park service truck might have been clunky and unwieldy, but it was still more agile than the helicopter when turning on command.
“I can see them now.” Misha spoke dryly. The workman-like tone of an assassin dialing in on his target. “I need second.”
Grace heard the Russian jam metal on metal, like he was cocking the heavy rifle. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed it was balanced on the broken rear window. The lights of the helicopter were coming into view. She also saw the woman behind her own big gun. “Oh, jeez,” she croaked.
Looking ahead, the world turned orange. The tracers fell from the helicopter as the whir of the machine gun dialed back up. However, an ear-splitting hammer drop came from the rear end of the Suburban as Misha fired his anti-tank rifle out the back.
“Holy shit!” she screamed reflexively, only half-aware of what it was. The concussive blast slapped her on the back of the head with real force.
“Hit!” Misha exclaimed, sounding a little excited.
Fingers of light danced outside her window, flying into the fields on both sides of the roadway, suggesting the hit hadn’t stopped the shooter up there.
Another concussive pop rattled the inside of her brain.
Distantly, Misha claimed a second hit.
Impact (Book 5): Black Page 11