Barb spun and saw the man on the ground clutching at his face, cursing and yelling. The first man she'd engaged had his rifle in his hands now but was night-blind, his optic gone. He spun wildly, reacting to every sound, every changing shadow. Barb drew her handgun and put two 9MM rounds in his face.
As he fell, his finger jerked the trigger on his rifle and sent a round into the pavement. It ricocheted and buried itself in the thigh of the man with the broken ankle. Suddenly, he had bigger problems than his broken ankle and his shattered face. He too was unable to see what was going on around him.
Barb could hear his heaving breath, the whine of panic in his throat. She understood his terror. He was blind without his nightvision, injured, and was the only one of his party still alive. He had to know his death was close.
Barb dropped onto his chest, pinning his arms beneath her knees. She rested the blade of her knife against his throat. Recalling the men's conversation a few short minutes ago, she grinned in the darkness. "You're a fat one. My family will eat good for a long time."
"Don't kill me!" he sobbed.
"I'm doing you a favor," Barb whispered. She shifted her knife and drove it into the gap between his left bicep and his chest plate, knowing the blade was long enough to reach his heart. He was dead in seconds and she was back on her feet.
Without a second thought as to what she'd just done, Barb scrambled for the hillside and retrieved her horse. With the adrenaline ebbing, the pain in her ribs returned with a vengeance. She winced as she mounted up, then spoke into her radio before she rode. "Barb for Conor. Barb for Conor. All my guests are dead and I'm coming your way on horseback."
She didn't wait for an answer. She nudged her horse into a gallop and charged up the mountain. She could hear gunfire ahead of her but had no idea who was on the receiving end of it.
55
Jewell Ridge, Virginia
Shannon and Ragus were torn between their desire to see what was going on at the compound and their understanding that caution was merited. They ran for a while, then slowed when they were consumed by fear of what they might be running into. They didn't begin hurrying again until two things hit them. The glow of a fire raging at the compound and the screams of what sounded like a terrified young woman.
The two exchanged a panicked look, then took off running as if by some unspoken agreement. They didn't slow until they topped the ridge and came within a hundred feet of the compound gate. Both flipped their nightvision out of the way, not needing it since the raging inferno lit the top of the mountain like a lantern. A section of the compound was ablaze with what they assumed must have been the chopper's fuel. The scorched airframe sat twisted and melting in the incinerating heat of the blaze.
The force of the blast had splintered nearby trees, breaking them off near the top and setting them afire like gigantic candles. Pockets of leaves burned in the surrounding forest, ignited by fiery shrapnel. Ragus and Shannon stared in horror at the sight of the cabin they'd stayed in together. It had been blasted off its foundation and was now fully engulfed by flame. Their garden was nothing but a patch of scorched earth. The tall radio antenna had been knocked over and had flattened one of the shop buildings. Numerous shelters and buildings were a total loss.
"Can we put this out?" Ragus asked, eyes wide with panic.
Shannon shook her head. "I don't know."
Another scream drew their attention and they located the source this time. A young woman was flattened against the chain-link gate, her fingers clutching the mesh.
"It's that girl!" Ragus said. "The one we saw here before." He took off running in her direction.
Shannon would have urged more caution, but Ragus didn't always think things out. She raised her rifle, hoping she could get off a shot if the woman tried to fight them. The closer she got, the less likely that seemed. The woman on the ground was terrified, paralyzed by her fear.
Ragus reached the fence and fumbled desperately for his keys. Even at this distance, he could feel the uncomfortable heat of the blaze on his bare skin. "Who are you?"
When she didn't answer, he glanced at her, able to see now that she was close to his age.
The girl twisted her head up to look at him, forcing out two words just as Shannon reached them. "Save him!"
Shannon dropped to her knees beside the girl, only the fence separating them. "Save who?"
Ragus found his key and fumbled with the padlock, tossing it and the chain to the side as he finally opened the gate.
"Ricardo!" she moaned.
Ragus and Shannon stared at her in shock.
"Ricardo is dead," Shannon snapped.
The girl shook her head violently. "No, I don't think so. He might still be alive. He was in that shed when the tower fell on it."
Shannon shot Ragus a glance as that information settled into her brain. "Ricardo was here? He was alive?"
"Yes, until the explosion. He was beside the shed. I was going to go after him but..."
"But what?" Ragus demanded.
Valeria winced and twisted her body in Ragus's direction. In the glow of the firelight, he spotted a jagged piece of metal protruding from her back, the fabric around it saturated with blood. "Something hit me in the back," she whispered.
Shannon pointed toward the distant shed. "You go, Ragus! See if you can find Ricardo. I'll deal with her. Be careful."
Ragus studied the scene before him for a moment. The radio tower was a triangle of latticed steel that had once stood high above the compound, supported by an array of steel cables. Ragus had no idea if the shed had collapsed from the weight of the antenna crashing onto it or if the explosion itself had leveled the structure. The open front of the shed wouldn't be accessible, as it was flattened completely to the ground. He'd need another way in.
Arriving at a plan, Ragus ran behind the living quarters, into a deep maze of more rusting machines, scrap metal, and broken down vehicles. With less of the firelight reaching this side of the building, he had to click on his headlamp to negotiate the tangle of junk. The memory of that chunk of rusting metal sticking out of the girl's back was fresh in his mind and the last thing he wanted was to end up impaled on a sharp piece of scrap metal.
After minutes of furious climbing, Ragus reached the back of the shed and pounded on the steel siding. The building was covered in the same thin panels that made up the roof, fastened to the wooden framing with screws. Ragus pounded harder. "Ricardo!"
There was no answer.
Ricardo could be dead inside there. Ragus could imagine Conor's boss crushed beneath the weight of the roof. Maybe a rack of steel pipes had overturned on him. Maybe the explosion itself had killed him instantly. He had to find out. If there was any chance that Ricardo was alive, he had to explore it.
Ragus placed a hand beneath the bottom of the edge of the steel panel and tried to pull it away from the framing. The metal remained fastened securely but did manage to cut into his fingers. Ragus winced as he pulled his bleeding hand from beneath the sheet of steel siding.
"Dammit!" He wiped his fingers on his pants, but couldn't even feel the wound through the surge of adrenaline.
He dumped his pack and rifle, then hurriedly climbed back through the maze he'd negotiated moments earlier. He ran to the front of the living quarters, to the pile of firewood that was constantly being split and stacked in preparation for winter, grabbed the double-bitted ax from a log, and sprinted back around the buildings.
He climbed more carefully this time, not only facing the threat of falling in the jumble of scrap, but of being cut by the razor-sharp ax in his hands. When he reached the back of the shed, he paused for a moment to get his bearings, recalling what the interior of the space had looked like. There were workbenches and shelves, racks of material, and plastic drums filled with gardening tools.
Ragus picked a spot he thought might be clear of any obstructions, drew back the ax, and sank it into the metal sheet. It easily pierced the skin of steel, leaving a sharp slit behind wh
en he withdrew the ax. He cut another slit a few inches away, then joined the two with another cut at ninety degrees. That left him with a sharp flap of steel only attached on one side. Ragus punched that flap inward with the ax, then lowered his head to stare inside the window he'd created.
A surge of heat him in the face, like cracking an oven door to check a pizza. The fire was close enough that it was heating the metal of the building, raising the temperature inside to uncomfortable levels. It was too dark to see anything so Ragus removed his headlamp, shined it through the hole, and peered around.
"Ricardo!"
Over the roar of the fire and the crackle of burning wood, Ragus almost thought he heard a response.
"Ricardo!"
He didn't hear anything this time. He had to get a better view inside the shed. He reared back and began chopping a larger hole through the siding. It was like opening a can with a can opener, trying to make a hatch he could slip through. It was exhausting work, taking way longer than he expected. Blisters stung his flesh. His shoulders ached from repeatedly wielding the ax. His chest heaved from the exertion, but the idea of taking a break to catch his breath was inconceivable.
Eventually, he had three jagged lines that intersected at the corners. With not enough room to open this larger panel to the inside, he slid the blade of the ax into the opening and pried the hatch outward. Once he had it started, he used the ax to bash it all the way to the ground. The edges of the opening were sharp and menacing, like the lid of a tin can.
Ragus crouched in the opening and pointed his light inside. "Ricardo!"
This time he heard a wheeze in response. Shining his light to the side, searching for the source of the sound he'd heard, Ragus spotted him. Ricardo's eyes were wide, terrified as he lay there in fear of slowly being crushed to death. Sweat beaded all over his face, likely both from the heat and the pain he was experiencing. A steel drum filled with lengths of metal pipe lay across his body, pressing on his chest. Above that, the sagging structure of the entire shed pressed down on the drum.
Ragus felt a surge of panic. No wonder Ricardo couldn't cry out. He couldn't even suck in enough air for a full breath. He was slowly being crushed to death. Worst yet, if the fire spread to this structure, he'd have to lay there and be consumed by it. Burned alive with no way to extricate himself from this predicament.
If Ragus had been scared before, he was in a sheer panic now. His mind raced through possibilities. His eyes flickered between the ceiling of the shed and Ricardo's beet-red face. Ragus knew he couldn't raise the ceiling by himself. He tried to think back through the things he'd learned from Conor since moving in with him.
The ceiling of the structure had dropped to the ground near the entrance, but the rearmost section of the roof was still held aloft by the variety of work tables, benches, and storage cabinets. Ragus looked around, trying to spot anything he might be able to use. When he didn't notice anything immediately, he crawled through the tunnel created by the roof resting on the contents of the shed. The heat made it unpleasant to breathe. Sweat ran into his eyes and down his back. He wasn't sure how hot it was, but it reminded him of getting into a car after it had been sitting closed up on a hot summer day. He recalled that you could die from that and he could see why now. He felt like he'd die if he stayed in there too long. He needed to work fast.
He spotted the item he'd been trying to find, the hi-lift jack. It was a fairly dangerous lifting device that Conor used for lifting odd-shaped objects. A favorite of off-roaders, the jack was handy when it worked. When it failed, it could drop the load unexpectedly or launch the handle into your face hard enough to break a jaw. Ragus was terrified of it, but couldn't think of any other way to raise the roof.
He latched onto the heavy jack and began dragging it back through the collapsed building. Along the way, he found a section of 4x4 post around three feet long. Conor used it for holding up the hood on a ratty old front end loader when he was doing maintenance. Ragus tossed the post ahead of him while he pulled the jack along behind him, eventually reaching Ricardo's side.
"Hold on, Ricardo. I have an idea."
Ricardo bobbed his head slightly but still avoided speaking.
Ragus made a futile attempt to wipe the sweat from his face, then stood the jack up, making sure it was straight. He slid it beneath one of the thick beams that supported the roof, then stood the 4x4 post on the hooked lifting point of the jack. When he first started working the handle, the jack lowered instead of raising. Ragus cursed and gave Ricardo an apologetic look, before fumbling to switch the lever to the correct position.
This time when he started cranking the handle, the wooden post inched toward the beam. In less than a minute, Ragus had lifted the wooden post enough that it was securely pressing against the roof beam. He was terrified that something would go wrong and he'd make the situation worse, but he had no choice. He kept cranking on the handle until the metal siding groaned around him and the roof beam protested at this single point of intense pressure.
Ragus knew the jack could give way, kicking out and hitting him in the face. If that happened, the full weight of the structure would drop on Ricardo, probably crushing his chest and killing him.
He tried to push those thoughts from his mind, cranking with a blind positivity, shoving every negative possibility from his mind. Suddenly, the barrel on Ricardo's chest slipped to the side, and Ragus heard a pained intake of breath. He looked down and saw that Ricardo was now free of the crushing weight of the roof.
Ragus shot out his hands and latched onto Ricardo's arms. He tugged with all his might, slowly dragging Ricardo out from under the heavy barrel of steel pipes. Ragus ignored Ricardo's grunts of pain, understanding he had to get him clear in case the roof fell again. When he turned loose of him, he was nearly blind from the stinging sweat pouring into his eyes.
He gestured toward the door he'd cut into the siding. "We have to get out of here now!"
Ragus scurried desperately for the opening and the cooler air of the night, shoving himself through with no regard for the razor-sharp metal around him. He bumped against it, his skin tugging as it tore, but he paid it no mind. He spun around and reached through the opening, grabbing Ricardo by both hands. Shoving with his legs, he dragged Ricardo backward, pulling him completely through the ragged hatchway before his sweat-soaked hands slid from Ricardo's.
Ragus fell backward, hitting hard against a scrap forklift. He cried out and grabbed his head, then fell to his knees by Ricardo. He forgot his pain when he saw Ricardo desperately sucking in hearty gasps of the much cooler night air.
"Are you okay?" Ragus gasped.
Ricardo bobbed his head. "I will be. Thanks to you, Ragus."
"Is anything broken?"
Ricardo sucked in a deep breath, concentrating on the sensation of his chest expanding as his lungs filled. "I don't think so."
Ragus got to his feet. "We need to get out of here. There's a lot going on." When Ricardo didn't immediately get up, Ragus lent over and helped him up.
"There was a girl with me," Ricardo said. "I have to find her."
"She's with Shannon. She's hurt."
In the glare of his headlamp, Ragus caught a complex range of emotions running over Ricardo's face. Pain. Fear. Anger.
Guilt.
"Let's go," Ricardo whispered.
Ragus grabbed his rifle and pack, then led Ricardo out of the maze of equipment. He couldn't believe Ricardo was alive. Conor was going to be very surprised.
If they lived long enough to tell him about it.
56
Jewell Ridge, Virginia
Conor considered ditching his horse after the explosions higher on the mountain. He didn't know if the chopper had blown up or his compound had been flattened, but he was fairly certain it wasn't the promised missile strike. He'd seen his fair share of missile strikes before and they sounded different than what he'd heard.
Even though it made more sense to move on foot, to approach whoever might
be waiting on him with stealth, it was the sporadic gunfire that pushed him to gallop onward. Someone up there was getting shot at and returning fire.
Somewhere ahead of him, he imagined that someone he cared about was in a fight for their life against someone he hated with a passion. He needed with all of his being to be a part of that fight. He'd never forgive himself if one of his friends died at Browning's hands. This was his fight. He had sown the seeds of this feud. He had poked the bear.
He pressed his horse even harder. The gunfire was more sporadic now, the tempo of whatever battle was taking place had eased off. To his back, there were a few more scattered gunshots but he hadn't managed to count them. It had to be Barb engaging with the men left to push them forward. So much for that plan.
Conor's radio crackled shortly afterward and Barb let him know she was done back there and heading up the mountain. Conor was preparing a reply to her when he spotted a lone figure standing in the road directly ahead of him, rifle raised and sighted on him. Conor lurched to the left just as the rifle fired.
The round tore by him, missing him by scant inches. He had no time to celebrate his survival because that round was immediately followed by more. Conor yanked his leg over the horse, holding onto the saddle horn while balanced on one stirrup, trying to keep the horse between him and his attacker. He heard the thump of rounds hitting flesh, then his horse screamed and twisted. There was the scrape of hooves on pavement as the large animal lost its footing and stumbled.
Conor yanked his foot from the stirrup and shoved with his free hand, trying to put distance between him and the falling animal. He landed on his feet but his momentum took him over backward and he hit the ground hard, stopping near the ditch to the inside of the road. More rounds pounded the bank above his head. Others slammed into the horse, its body the only thing between Conor and the attacker.
Ultraviolent: Book Six in The Mad Mick Series Page 37