Red Zone

by Janet Elizabeth Henderson

  If she lived.

  Helpless, that was what he felt. All he could do was get her to La Paz and hope the damned antidote worked. He couldn’t even think about the alternative. Friday had become important to him. There was something strong between them. Something that needed a chance to grow. And somehow, instinctively, he knew he’d never get a chance like this with anyone else. Yeah, she had to live. For both of them.

  “Your snake still talking to you?” Mace kept his eyes on the terrain.

  If this had been a city, he could have programmed the vehicle with their destination and let it take them there. But it wasn’t the city, and there were areas they had to cross that didn’t even have roads. The only way to cover the ground was manually.

  “Yeah. Does your animal talk to you?”

  “No. Impressions. Emotions. Vague images. That’s about it. This started with her, right?”

  “You think there’s a connection?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe she woke something in the snake. Maybe her presence hurried that evolution along. Like I said, I don’t like coincidence and the way she can call to your snake, the way it’s taken with her, that worries me. I think she’s having an effect—on you and the snake.”

  “I don’t see how. All this stuff with my animal is probably just a natural development of our freaky genetics. That’s the problem. We’ve got no way to predict what’s going to happen to us next. Hell, for all I know, I’ll wake up one morning and find scales covering my body instead of skin.” He rubbed a lock of Friday’s hair between his finger and thumb. Silk. Pure silk. “That’s why we need her. None of us know what’s coming our way.”

  “I’m not sure one baby scientist can give us the answers we need.”

  “You got a better idea?”

  Silence was the answer. Another few miles passed before Mace spoke again. “I sure as hell hope we don’t turn into our animals. That would piss me off big time.”

  Knowing what his friend had for an animal partner made that statement all the more entertaining. Striker tried to laugh quietly, but he couldn’t prevent his chest from shaking. The movement disturbed Friday’s sleep. She stirred, and he soothed her with gentle caresses and murmured words.

  Once she was deeply asleep, Mace glanced over at him. “What kind of things does your snake say?”

  “Mainly it tells me I’m an idiot and that Friday belongs to him.” He let his head fall back onto the padded headrest. “When you were arguing with her, he told me he was going to bite you for upsetting her.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Oh yeah. He damn near freed himself to do it. I was itching so much I had to fight to stay still.”

  “I thought they couldn’t get free without us calling to them. Well, everyone else’s animals, anyway.” He sounded seriously pissed off about that, too.

  “Still having problems?” Striker couldn’t stop from sounding amused.

  “Go to hell,” was the terse reply.

  “Never mind breaking free without us calling to them. I thought they couldn’t talk.” In all honestly, he’d been thrilled his snake couldn’t talk. One voice in his head was more than enough. “And I thought it was only me who could call the snake. Friday proved that wrong.”

  Mace ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “This crap we’re dealing with is enough to make you lose your mind.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sometimes, I wonder why us. Why were we the ones in that cave? Did God just up and decide we needed more to deal with?”

  “Mainly, I wonder how we’re gonna get through the day. Or how we’re gonna stay safe. Or how we’re gonna cope with what the future brings. I don’t got no time for the why of things.”

  “Well, if I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

  “Appreciated.” With that, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the woman in his arms.

  …

  Friday woke to Striker’s gentle prodding. “Are we there yet?”

  “Kids,” he scoffed, confusing her. “We’re about five minutes out from the airfield. You need to have something to drink and eat.”

  She felt foggy as she sat up. Her limbs were heavy, and she could have slept for another twelve hours straight. She took the water bottle he offered and drank as she looked out the windows. They were on the edge of the city. The sun hadn’t yet risen, but there was a glow announcing its arrival around a massive, strangely shaped mountain to the east of the urban sprawl.

  “Saddle Mountain,” he said.

  Of course he would know what it was called. Next to Striker and his team, she felt incredibly ignorant. He’d traveled the world, lived in two lifetimes, and had experiences she could only imagine. All she’d done was survive.

  “The city is bigger than I thought it would be.” Lights seemed to extend as far as the eye could see.

  “About eight million now. That’s almost double what it was when the bomb hit.”

  He seemed so casual about everything. She could only imagine what it must have been like to wake up to a completely different planet. “You had to relearn the world, didn’t you?”

  “Some things never change.” He pointed at the mountain. “The sun still rises.” He gestured to the city lights. “People still live. Still work. Still play.”

  The rumbled emphasis on “play” made her shiver. Without even realizing she was doing it, she leaned into him. His eyes softened. He placed his hand on the nape of her neck and urged her closer. His unpatched eye warmed, making her melt inside.

  “Mornin’, bébé,” he said softly, before his lips settled against hers.

  His kiss was slow and delicious, each taste stealing what little awareness she’d managed to gain since waking.

  “I’m sitting right here.” A disgruntled voice cut straight through her haze. “And I think I’m going to be sick.”

  With great effort, she broke the kiss and turned to the man who was fast becoming the bane of her life. “You’re still here.” And yes, she didn’t try to hide how disappointed she was.

  He arched an eyebrow as though silently challenging her to do something about his presence. “Airport coming up.”

  A horrible thought occurred to her. “Are you coming with us to Bolivia?”

  “You can rest easy, little spy, I’m staying right here.”

  She pursed her lips and thought of all the nasty things she could do to him under the pretext of testing his DNA.

  “She’s plotting your demise, brother.” Striker sounded proud.

  Ape-man snorted. “Bring it on. I’ll squa—”

  There was a bang, and the car shunted to the side. Friday was thrown across Mace as he fought with the controls. The vehicle swung wide as he struggled to keep it on the road.

  “You okay?” Striker snapped.

  He had his weapon out and ready. His eyes weren’t on her but on the window. The car swerved right, and she felt something hit the back of it. They were under attack.

  “Are you hurt?” Striker demanded.

  “No.” Shaken, not hurt. “Is it Enforcement?”

  “No. Enforcement sticks to the Territories. These guys are private.”

  “Damn it!” Mace shouted as the car turned sharply, throwing her into Striker. “We’re cut off.”

  There were vehicles behind them and what looked like a long-distance truck in front of them. It was the huge, driverless kind that tended to stick to the longer routes. This one had been used to block off the road. It was angled across their path, and there was no way around it.

  “There.” Striker pointed at the windscreen.

  An alley. Mace aimed for it, hitting the building and scraping against the walls as he took them into the narrow space. They barely fit. Sparks flew from the car’s body as they skimmed the brick. More shots hit the back of the car, and suddenly they thudded to the ground.

  “I’ve lost hover.” Mace’s fingers flew over the console. There was a grinding noise as the wheels engaged.

  The car s
quealed as they shot out of the alley and careened into a highway. Cars blasted horns at them. Signs flashed above the motorway: Slow Down! Friday held on tight to the console in front of her.

  Striker’s focus was on their rear. “Four behind us.”

  She snapped her head around to see he meant four vehicles were chasing them down, all still hover-enabled and fitted with weapons. As she watched, three more cars appeared from the road on the left. Seven. Too many. And then the new cars blasted the ones who were already following them.

  “What the hell?” Striker said. “Mace did you call in backup? Arrange cover?”

  “No. I don’t know who the new guys are.”

  The car screeched as he ran it up onto the sidewalk and through a pedestrian-only area, which was empty because of the early hour. Another vehicle blocked their path. A gun fired at them, hitting their rear as their car swerved left. There was a blast. Their car was propelled into the air. They hit a screen advertising nutrition bars and crashed to the ground beneath it.

  “Car’s done.” Mace snatched up his gun and threw open the driver’s door.

  “Everybody out.” Striker grabbed her arm and dragged her through his door.

  Even though it was predawn, there were still some people about. They ran, screaming, desperate to get out of the way as two sets of vehicles descended on the square—firing at each other.

  He thrust her into the doorway of an old stone building. “What’s going on?” he snapped.

  “Damned if I know,” Mace answered. “Feels like we’re stuck in the middle of a turf war—and we’re the turf.” He aimed and fired at a vehicle that got too close. It exploded, smoke billowing from it.

  Friday’s stomach spasmed. They weren’t fighting over turf. They were fighting over her. She’d caused this. She was trapped in the doorway behind the two men, their bodies a wall protecting her from the attackers. She curled her fingers into the back of Striker’s T-shirt and tried to make herself as small a target as possible.

  “Oh crap,” Mace said. “That isn’t good.”

  “What?” She tried to see past them. It was impossible. Their shoulders alone blocked out sunlight.

  “Run!” Striker reached back, grabbed her hand, and yanked her out of the doorway—just before the massive driverless truck hit the spot where they’d been standing.

  The crash made the air vibrate and the ground shudder. Gunfire skimmed past them as the world seemed to explode. Striker dragged her behind an old, ornate fountain.

  “Stay down,” he ordered as he knelt up and fired over the stone edge of the fountain.

  The world was in chaos. People were running and screaming. Floating communication screens flashed messages telling them to cease and desist. Police sirens wailed in the distance. There was shouting. Pounding feet. The ever-present blasts of gunfire. Smoke stung her eyes. Screams of bystanders made her nauseous.

  “Don’t touch the woman! We need her alive!”

  She felt faint at the words.

  “That explains the two groups,” Striker said. “Team one wants you alive, team two wants you dead. You sure are popular, bébé.”

  “Don’t fire!” Mace shouted before landing in a heap beside them. He had his back to the fountain, his gun aimed toward the building behind them. “They’re coming around behind us.”

  “Who?” Striker shot a few more blasts.

  Someone screamed in pain, telling her that his shot had hit its target. He ducked down to avoid the return fire.

  “The guys who’re out to snatch her. That’s who.”

  “Looks like they’ve taken out most of the team who’re here to kill her.” Striker fired again.

  “Yeah, I saw that. We need to get out of here. We’re about two miles from the airfield. We can cover it on foot if we have to.”

  “Contact the pilot, tell him to get ready for a fast takeoff. We’ll be coming in hot.”

  “Copy that.”

  Striker shifted to study the corner of the building the truck had crashed into. “We make for the other side of the truck. I saw apartments. Private garage.”

  “We can hotwire a car.” Mace finished typing out a message to the jet pilot on his wrist unit. “I’ll lay down cover. You take Friday.”

  “If we get separated, you know what to do.”

  “Yep.” Mace crouched low, looking over the fountain. “You ready?”

  “Yeah.” Striker took Friday’s hand. “Stay low. Run fast. Keep to my side no matter what happens. Got it?”

  “Got it.” Her voice was shaky. She’d never felt more useless in her life.

  He looked over her shoulder at his teammate, his friend. “Now!”

  Mace pointed his gun over the fountain and started firing. Striker was on his feet in a second, running fast, dragging her along behind him. They jumped over debris and dodged fallen masonry. The air was thick with smoke, making it hard to see. Striker fired into the smoke with one hand while propelling her forward with the other. He was fast, nimble. She was slowing him down.

  They ran behind the truck. Two dead men lay among the rubble. One had lost part of his face from a laser blast.

  “Don’t look,” he ordered.

  But she couldn’t help looking. He’d been somebody’s brother, father, son, and now he was gone. Brutally gone.

  “They deserved it. It was them or us.” He blasted the lock on the secure parking area under the apartments.

  With one mighty kick from him, the door swung open. He rushed her inside. It wasn’t the biggest of buildings, and there weren’t a lot of vehicles to choose from. Plus, most of the cars were controlled by biolocks to ensure no one could steal them. Without having the same DNA as the owner, it would be impossible to take one.

  “There.” He pointed to the far corner, where a family vehicle was stationed. The car was big, bulky, and obviously designed to seat a lot of people. It also had a biolock.

  “It’s got a biolock. They all have.” This was hopeless.

  “This model has a bypass mechanism.” He thrust the gun at her. “Aim for the door. Shoot anything that comes in.”

  “What if it’s Mace?”

  “He’ll forgive you.”

  He lay on his back and shimmied under the vehicle. Friday kept her eyes on the door as fighting from the street echoed around the cavernous area.

  “Don’t fire!” The shout came before the door slammed open. “It’s me.”

  She fired. It was a reaction she couldn’t stop. The laser blast hit the wall about three feet to the left of Mace’s head. He paused mid-run to look back at the black hole in the concrete.

  “It’s a good job your aim is garbage,” he said as he jogged over to them. “I shouted don’t fire.”

  “Yes, but if I were the enemy, I’d shout ‘don’t fire’ before I came in, too.”

  He glared at her. “I shouted that it was me.”

  “Maybe you should have shouted your actual name, and I wouldn’t have fired.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You sure you didn’t know it was me and decide to fire, anyway?”

  “Yes, you oversize idiot, I wanted to shoot one of the two men protecting me from a team of assassins.”

  “Done.” Striker came out from under the vehicle. “Get in. Argue later.”

  She climbed into the back seat, while Mace took the front passenger seat. Striker started the car and aimed for the garage entrance, knowing the door would open automatically.

  They shot through the open doorway. And as soon as they were outside, another car slammed into their side. The door beside Friday was yanked open. Large arms grabbed her and pulled her from the car.

  “Striker!” she screamed.

  “No!” came the answering roar.

  The driver’s door on their car was wedged shut by the vehicle that hit them. Laser blasts shot through the air around them, pinning both Striker and Mace in place. There was cursing. She was thrown into the back of a vehicle.

  “I’m coming for you!” Striker�
�s voice, filled with fury, rang out.

  The door slammed with Friday trapped inside. The car sped off, leaving her with three huge men, one of whom had a gun aimed at her head.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  They had Friday.

  They’d taken her from him. Taken her when he’d promised to keep her safe. He was going to paint Mexico red with the blood of the men who stole her from him. Rage was a cold blade inside him. Honed and ready to strike. Even as the door of the vehicle slammed shut, leaving him with the memory of her terror-stricken face, Striker knew nothing short of death would keep him from getting her back.

  From his position, crouched in the driver’s seat, he heard the gunfire ease. They had what they wanted. Killing Striker and Mace wasn’t part of the plan. All they cared about was capturing the woman.

  That didn’t mean they wouldn’t die.

  “On three.” He barked the order, knowing his teammate would already know what he intended. They’d been in this situation too many times to count and knew how to cover each other’s backs.

  “One. Two. Three.” They sat up at the same time, firing over each other’s shoulders, taking out as many of the enemy as they could.

  When they were finished, there was silence.

  “This side is clear.” Mace threw open his door and they scrambled out. Keeping their backs to the car, using it for cover. “You go after Friday, I’ll deal with this.”

  “This first—nobody walks out of here. Am I clear?” He couldn’t take the chance that a survivor would come after his woman. And she was his. In a way he couldn’t explain but felt deep in his soul. They were linked together, as though made for each other, and he wouldn’t let anyone threaten her, or the thing building between them.

  He ripped off his eyepatch and stared at the car parked at an angle behind theirs. Three men were hunkered down behind it, using it as cover, their heat signatures clearly visible to him through the vehicle. He took aim. Three shots later, they were no longer a threat.

  “I should have put a tracker on her,” Mace said. “I never even thought about it. Now we don’t know which way they went. Shit, we need to get the team to hack into the camera grid. See if they can spot her.”