As they took a break, sheltering against a thick trunk, turning their backs to the heavy rain, Devon pressed close against Bolan.
“We chose a hell of a day for a walk in the woods,” she said. “You should have visited in the summer instead.”
She felt Bolan stiffen, his hands gripping her and pushing her around the thick tree.
“What...?”
She heard the solid thunk as a slug buried itself in the tree, the sound of a close shot coming with it. As she stumbled to her knees from the force of Bolan’s push, she heard more shots, the sound of bullets rapidly leaving an SMG. Flying splinters of wood peppered her back.
“Go,” Bolan yelled. “Find cover.”
The SMG opened up again. Slugs chewed at wood and ripped through the undergrowth, shredding leaves.
Devon threw herself flat, crawling on her stomach, and for fleeting seconds she was back in the Afghan fire zone, surrounded by hostile fire as she struggled to reach a wounded soldier.... She slid across the sodden forest floor, hands sinking into the ground. The heavy rain pounded her.
This, she thought, was crazy.
How could it be happening?
Her hands sank into flowing water and she moved forward into the rushing cascade of a runoff. The water streaming down from the high ground came hard and fast. Before she could pull herself back onto solid ground, the torrent snatched her, dragging her down the slope. Devon felt herself turned and rolled, bounced over uneven ground as the slope became steeper. Water splashed against her face, filled her mouth, and she found herself choking. Gasping for breath, she attempted to pull herself from the runoff. The slope dropped and she went down even faster. With no way to halt her progression she did the only thing she could, using her arms and hands to protect her head.
Her downward rush ended abruptly as she hit the base of the slope, her breath driven from her, water still drenching her. She dragged herself away from the runoff, finding herself on one of the back roads that crisscrossed the forested area.
Devon checked her position, working out where she was, then started along the road, scanning the treelined slope and wondering where Cooper was.
The shots that had echoed behind her made her aware of the position he had been in.
Had Cooper survived?
He had given her the chance to get clear, staying behind to cover her.
Was he still alive?
She hated herself for even thinking that way, but she was a realist. Her experience in Afghanistan had taught her a sobering truth. That the good guys could die as easily as the bad. She shook her head.
No.
Cooper had to be alive. In the short time she had known him, she saw the way he faced adversity. He was a fighter. Quitting didn’t exist in his universe, and that would be the trait that would see him through a bad situation.
Devon moved at a steady jog, easing her battered body gently forward. She wiped rain from her face and briefly wondered if she would ever be dry again.
Ahead, the road curved to the right. Until she made the bend there was no way of knowing what lay beyond. The sweeping downpour hit the narrow strip of road, creating a soft mist as it bounced from the surface.
When she saw the SUV parked across the narrow road and the armed man positioned against the right front fender, her body tensed. She came to a dead stop, glancing around. There was nowhere to run. Both sides of the road were bound by the overgrown shoulders.
Turn around and go back before he sees you, she thought.
She was out of luck and out of time.
The armed man was already facing in her direction, his SMG swinging around to cover her.
Devon picked up the sound of a harsh laugh above the sound of the falling rain. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw two more gunmen blocking any retreat. A second SUV appeared behind the men, moving slowly as it flanked them.
“Let’s go, lady,” the man by the SUV said. “Walk to me. Hands where I can see them.”
Devon did as she was ordered.
* * *
BOLAN LOST EYE CONTACT with Laura as she dropped to the forest floor and crawled away.
He had the shooters to occupy him, and he picked out their shapes through the downpour. One wielded a handgun, the other an SMG. He became aware of the lack of time. The longer Devon was on her own the more likely she might be pursued and captured. Bolan didn’t want that to happen but accepted it as a possibility.
The SMG crackled briefly. Slugs hit the tree that provided Bolan with cover. He remained where he was, his low position helping to conceal him from view.
The guy with the handgun used the moment to move forward, semicrouched and starting to circle around Bolan’s position.
The Executioner leaned forward, the 93F held two-handed. He caught the advancing figure in his sights and fired, the slug catching the gunner in his side, knocking him off balance. Bolan fired again, his second shot taking the guy in the chest as his body turned in Bolan’s direction. He went down and lay still.
The SMG opened up again as the soldier pushed away from the tree, flinging himself flat on the rain-sodden ground. The burst went over his head. With Bolan having dropped out of sight the shooter ran forward, the SMG probing the air ahead of him.
Bolan braced his elbows as he lay on his stomach, the Beretta following the shooter as he advanced. Bolan held fire until he was sure of his target. The Beretta’s muzzle angled up as the target grew larger. The guy was peering through the mist of rain, leaning forward slightly as he sought his target.
The guy snapped his head around in that last instant, his gaze settling on Bolan’s prone figure. It was his last gesture before the soldier hit him with three closely spaced shots from the Beretta. The 9 mm slugs went in through his chest, burning through to his heart. The guy toppled backward, the SMG pointing at the trees’ high branches. He lay on his back, kicking, as Bolan pushed to his feet and moved in the direction Devon had taken.
From the high slope he was crossing he could see the narrow ribbon of the road below. It offered little comfort. A road was a conduit that could bring contact with the enemy. But it could also offer salvation.
He kept moving, keeping the fire road on his right at all times. If he lost contact with the road, his survival chances dropped considerably. The vast acreage of the forest could swallow him with little effort. If he disappeared within those square miles of timber and undergrowth, he might easily be lost for good. So keeping the road in sight was a necessity.
The downpour soaked him thoroughly. The ground underfoot, consisting of thick leaf mold, became waterlogged. The soaked leaves clung to his boots, slowing him. Now wind sloughed through the trees, pushing the heavy and cold rain at Bolan, buffeting him.
The driving rain pounded him, flattening his clothes against his body. Bolan found he was fighting for every step.
Below him the narrow road curved away. He paused on the final slope that overlooked it.
Pain swelled again inside his skull, threatening to tear him apart. Bolan slumped back against the slope, fighting the nausea that accompanied the jumbled mass of images spinning inside his skull. He needed to bring his thoughts back on track.
He stayed where he was, rain soaked and hammered by the wind. His gaze was fixed on the road, using it as an anchor point. He ignored everything else, pushed back the barriers blocking his memory.
Bremner.
The name clicked into place again.
He was the guy who had brought Bolan into the game.
He tried to recall the reasons why. How had Bremner made initial contact? Maybe through an association with someone Bolan knew himself.
But who?
The blank wall dropped again, preventing any more clues.
It all shut down when Bolan tried to pull other names from the dark
ness. It ended with Bremner. Anything forward from the man’s name Bolan remembered.
The diner.
And the people he had met.
Mitchell and Jarvis.
Devon.
He needed to find her again. It was his responsibility. She had been with him and he had lost her.
Then he heard a raised voice.
Someone shouting.
He roused himself, peered through the greenery to the base of the slope.
He saw movement along the road.
It was Devon.
She was motionless, facing an armed man. The guy was standing beside a parked SUV, his weapon pointing at Laura as he ordered her forward. Under the threat of the weapon, she was complying.
Behind her a second SUV slid into view. It came to a stop. A pair of armed men were already standing ahead of it. A third guy sat behind the wheel.
Bolan edged forward, his own problems forgotten as he took in the scene.
The soldier was in no doubt that the situation might escalate out of control. The opposition wanted him, and he knew they weren’t going to be held back by any consideration for Laura Devon’s sex.
He scanned the immediate area.
The SUV was parked at an angle on the narrow road.
Devon and her captor were by the vehicle’s right front fender.
The two men from the second SUV were spaced out: one near the rear of the vehicle while the third guy was standing by the front door. The driver of the SUV was hanging half-out of the vehicle. Bolan locked onto Laura’s captor. He was leaning over her, fingers of his left hand gripping her hair and twisting her head around to face him. He was speaking in a low tone, and Bolan knew he wasn’t saying anything pleasant. He knew the situation wasn’t likely to remain static. Something was going to explode at any moment, and Devon was liable to be right in the middle.
The young woman was in danger because of her association with Bolan. The fact she knew nothing that could be of help to her captors wouldn’t save her from further harm. They had seen Bolan and Devon together, and even though she had no idea where he was the men around her weren’t going to believe her. They would hurt her to extract information.
Bolan couldn’t let that happen. The woman had put herself in harm’s way because she had wanted to help. He couldn’t let that backfire on her.
He gripped the pistol, assessed what lay in front of him and made his decision. Whatever was about to go down, Mack Bolan knew he had to stop it.
He pushed upright and powered down the slope, using his left arm to slap aside the wet foliage in his path. By the time his feet hit the trail, he was moving fast. His prime target was the guy hassling Devon. She was too close for Bolan to risk a shot, so he used his momentum and solid bulk to hit the guy. The man slammed into the SUV’s fender. He let go of Devon’s hair as he collapsed to the ground, the breath driven from his body. Devon slipped to her knees, pulling herself close to the SUV.
Bolan crouched, twisting to meet the closer of his armed opponents as the guy ran forward, swinging his SMG, but hesitating because of the closeness of his buddy. There was no hesitation on the Executioner’s part. He had already brought the Beretta into target acquisition, his finger stroking the trigger, sending a single slug angling through the guy’s throat. The projectile tore a path up through the guy’s head and blew out through the top of his skull.
As the gunner dropped, Bolan saw the guy behind bringing his weapon into play. He fired too early and his slugs went wide. Bolan leaned forward and triggered a shot that clipped the guy’s shoulder. The target jerked sideways, using the rear of the SUV as cover. Bolan let the pistol drop and snatched up the FN P90 dropped by the guy he had just put down.
The third gunner had moved around the rear of the vehicle. Bolan lowered himself to the wet road and peered beneath the SUV. He picked up movement as the guy cleared the rear wheel. The soldier thrust the P90 under the chassis and ripped off a long burst of 5.7 mm slugs that chewed the target’s ankles to bloody shreds. The man’s scream rose above the chatter of the SMG. Unable to stay upright, he slammed to the ground. Bolan laid down a hard burst that took the guy’s head apart, his body jerking violently as he was turned over by the force of the blast.
Aware of the second SUV’s driver, Bolan rolled beneath the SUV, sliding out the far side, and pushed to his knees. He heard the crunch of the driver’s boots on the road and ranged in on the sound. He caught a blurred image of the guy as the man moved across the rear of the SUV. Bolan powered forward in a headlong rush that took him beyond the rear of the SUV, leaving the other man having to alter his position to catch up with Bolan.
The Executioner turned, the SMG locking onto the driver. His finger stroked the trigger and the P90 fired a long burst of slugs that hammered into the guy and kicked him against the rear of the SUV. He hung there for long seconds until gravity took over and he dropped to the ground.
Bolan pushed to his feet and moved around the SUV to check Devon. She was staring at him, her eyes wide.
The guy who had been covering her was struggling to regain his breath, clutching one hand over his body where his side had been crushed against the fender. From the pain showing on his face, Bolan guessed he had broken ribs. Despite his injury, the guy was fumbling to remove a pistol from under his jacket.
The weapon slid free, and the guy began to arc it in Bolan’s direction.
The soldier moved in close and used the P90 like a club, swinging it brutally across the guy’s head in a left-right arc that put the gunner down on the road. Leaning over, Bolan retrieved the man’s pistol and tucked it into his own waistband.
“Promise me one thing,” Devon said. “If I ever start to make you mad, just warn me so I can stay out of your reach.”
“They weren’t about to ask you to join their sewing circle,” Bolan said.
“Hey, I wasn’t having a dig at you. You just saved my life.” Devon managed a smile. “Matt, you just have a way of making a first date unique.”
Bolan gathered up all the weapons he could find and dropped them inside the SUV. He opened the front passenger door.
“You want to get out of the rain?”
“I guess. It doesn’t seem that I can get any wetter, though.”
“Put the heater on,” Bolan said as he closed the door.
He could feel the woman watching as he moved from body to body, removing cell phones and wallets. When he had gathered everything he could, he climbed inside and dumped his findings on the floor, dropped the SUV into Drive and headed along the road.
“Where does this take us?” he asked.
Devon didn’t reply.
Bolan glanced at her and saw the pale sheen on her skin, the vacant expression in her eyes. He knew she was in shock. Sudden and violent death had come into her life without warning, ugly as only it could be. The woman had been in combat, so sudden, ugly death was something she had seen before. But her experiences had been some time in the past and she had adjusted to civilian life again. The majority of people went through life never having such things thrust in front of their eyes. It wasn’t something to be taken lightly. For it to happen again had brought back the dark times she had been through, and it was pulling her into the horror of unexpected violence. Bolan left her alone, giving her space to clear her mind of the images.
He cruised the narrow road. The windshield wipers swept back and forth against the ceaseless rain. Warm air rose from the vents at Bolan’s feet. His wet clothes clung to his battered body.
“Just keep driving along this road,” Devon said without preamble.
Bolan nodded.
After a couple of minutes she said, “Nice SUV. Top-of-the-line.” Then she paused and took a long breath. “Who the hell are these people, Matt? This is still America. Not some Third World country. They can’t do this so
rt of thing, dammit.”
Bolan kept driving, letting her work out her frustration.
“But these guys are doing it. Right?”
He waited it out, certain what she would say next.
“And it’s down to you. There’s no easy way to say it, Matt. These guys want you and don’t give a damn who gets in their way.... Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“But you can’t figure out why they want you?”
“No.”
“So what happened before you showed up at the diner?”
“It’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
“You don’t know where you came from before you showed up in town?” Devon asked.
Bolan shook his head. “No.”
She made a slight disapproving sound that attracted his attention. “Did I say something wrong?”
“It’s not what you’re saying. It’s how little. Are you always so reticent?”
“All I keep coming back to is that damned name. Bremner. He has something to do with it all.”
“Go on,” Laura said gently. “Bremner.”
Shadowed images taunted him. He didn’t force them.
“There were men. Armed. There was a firefight. I traded shots. They wanted Bremner. I tried to protect him, but there were more of them. I couldn’t get to him in time. They put him in a car and drove off. I went after them and almost caught up with them. Someone fired on me from the vehicle I was chasing....”
The memory drifted away and his mind went blank again.
“That must have been where you were hurt,” Devon said. “The crack on your head. The bruises and the bullet graze.”
“Next thing I remember was after the crash.”
He banged a fist on the steering wheel. Not being in full control left him frustrated. And not a little angry, because whatever else might have driven him, Mack Bolan was a man who needed to be in control of his own actions.
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