by Ross Sidor
Dark red spots erupted from his thighs, and Trujillo screamed. His legs flayed, and he plopped flat onto his ass, his back leaning against the doorjamb of the shed.
Still in too much pain to move, each breath caught painfully short in his chest, Avery lifted his rifle’s barrel an inch and let off three more shots from the ground, catching Trujillo once in the shoulder and twice in his plated vest.
The little Peruvian reeled from the hits and, still clinging to his Uzi, fell over onto his back. He fired back without aiming, holding the Uzi one-handed in his good arm across his body.
The bullets hit the ground a few feet to Avery’s right and behind him.
Avery sighted on the exposed soft spot a couple inches beneath Trujillo’s armpit, unprotected by the armored vest, visible with his arm raised, and hit the trigger.
The bullet went clean through, penetrating a lung, exploding inside, sending fragments throughout Trujillo’s chest cavity, into ribs and arteries. Trujillo’s whole body shuddered and jerked, and then went limp, his finger slipping from his own trigger before he finally let go of the Uzi.
Without taking his eyes off Trujillo, Avery carefully eased himself back up onto his feet. Each time he inhaled too deeply, he felt a blunt pain pressing on his sternum, like someone was sitting on the chest. He kept his rifle trained on the inert figure lying in the shed as he approached.
Through narrowed eyes, Trujillo stared up at Avery, who towered over him. The Peruvian coughed and wheezed. He bled through the wound in his side, and little bloody bubbles formed between his lips when he exhaled. More blood poured through the hole under his armpit, and his jeans were soaked. His body convulsed and twitched as he struggled to bring air into his collapsed, blood-filled lungs, and when he spoke, his voice was weak and barely audible.
Avery thought he heard Trujillo say, “You are Carnivore?”
Avery frowned, looked around to make sure no one else was there, and stepped in a little closer, tilting his ear toward the wounded man.
“She hoped you’d co-”
Avery fired once through the center of Trujillo’s face.
Then he swept his surroundings for additional targets before slipping a hand beneath his vest to feel his own body for blood or holes. He was okay. Nothing went through, but it hurt like hell.
Taking high, wide steps over the bodies, Avery entered the shed and aimed his rifle down the shaft into the tunnel. It appeared clear, other than the dead Mexican at the bottom of the ladder. He listened several seconds longer and heard nothing. Holding the M4 in his right hand, he gripped the ladder behind him with his left hand so that he faced forward as he descended into the shaft. Three fourths of the way down, he jumped the rest of the way.
The tunnel was long and looked like it could go on forever. Avery couldn’t even see the other end. The walls were made of plywood, about five feet apart. The floor was cement, with a built-in drainage system. Candescent light bulbs were set overhead, spaced about twenty feet apart. There was total silence; no echoes of footfalls or voices from the other end.
Avery started down the tunnel.
He made it fifteen feet in when all the lights shut off, blanketing the entire length of tunnel in deep, impenetrable darkness. He stopped and waited a couple seconds, hoping for the light to come back, and swore softly under his breath when it didn’t. He hadn’t brought his night sight. He had a mini flashlight on his vest, but if there was anyone else down here with him, the light would give him away before he spotted them.
He tried to reach Aguilar, but his radio didn’t work down here, and there was only static.
It was too dark for his eyes to even partially acclimatize, with absolutely no natural light filtering through from anywhere, but the tunnel ran in a straight line, so he kept his head low, shoulders packed, and continued forward, taking slow, light steps to limit the sound of his footfalls. He kept the rifle extended in front of him, gently probing the darkness with the barrel.
He took deep, slow breaths through his nose to keep his body oxygenated and limit anxiety. His heart pounded against his chest. The body naturally went into a panic mode when abruptly placed in an unfamiliar environment, deprived of its senses. The darkness itself didn’t bother him. His concern was if someone managed to slip through the tunnel from either end without him hearing it.
Moving forward, the only thing he heard was the sound of his own breathing, and occasionally his foot kicking a loose rock or other piece of errant debris. Time dragged by slowly, and he felt like he was walking with no end sight, but he reminded himself that the actual time span was much shorter than it felt.
Finally, a small sliver of sunlight appeared in front of him, somewhere far and deep into the darkness. It became slowly larger as he drew nearer, and he realized it was coming from the opened space at the top of the north side shaft.
When he was about seventy feet away, there was enough lighting for his vision to gradually restore. When he reached the end of the tunnel, the sudden intensity of the sunlight burned the photoreceptors of his dilated eyes, and he averted his glare downwards until his pupils adjusted accordingly.
Avery had no idea what he’d find on the surface, but he knew the shaft led outside, not into another structure, and he imagined the California landscape to be much the same as the Mexican side of the border. But how many men were up there? From the helicopter, he’d seen at least two, including the woman, enter the shed. And they’d hopefully have their arms full with the launchers. They’d have to have transportation arranged on this side of the border, so that could mean additional men, but hopefully they’d be in the process of loading the vehicles.
Avery tried to get Aguilar on the radio again, but there was still interference.
He fastened the M4 to his vest and drew his Glock, since the former was too large and cumbersome to ascend the ladder and exit the shaft while maintaining a defensive position and retaining the ability to move and shoot quickly.
He slowly and cautiously scaled the ladder, stopping just two feet short from the top to cock his head and listen, but he heard only the wind, and he wondered if the Viper had already slipped away again.
After climbing the rest of the way through the shaft, feeling the warm, dry air on his face, Avery saw flat open terrain in one direction, leading into nearby low hills blanketed by dry grass and weeds. Beyond the hills was an empty two lane road.
When he started to step clear of the shaft and turn right, bringing up the Glock, he felt a hand grab onto his shoulder from behind, drawing him in. He detected the scent of a female. Before he could react, something punched him low in his left side. It wasn’t hard or painful, but it was sharp and long, and it went through his body on an upward angle beneath his vest.
Avery gasped. Adrenaline coursed through his body on full flow, masking the pain, but he felt hot, flush, and lightheaded. He stumbled three more steps forward before falling over onto his right side. The Glock fell out of his hands and skittered across the dusty ground, landing well out of reach.
The handle of the Kizlyar tactical knife jutted out from beneath his side, more than half of the seven inch blade buried inside his body. He felt the piece of steel inside him—it felt hot—and knew better than to try to pull it out. His body shook a little, and blood soaked the bottom of his shirt. His mind went into overdrive, visualizing the placement of the blade in relation to vital organs and picturing the effects on his body and the treatment this would require, if he made it to that point, and the possible impurities being carried through his blood right now.
“It’s you. I remember you from Panama.” There was surprise and excitement in the Viper’s voice. “How many more are coming through that tunnel after you?”
Avery stared at the Glock on the ground, barely hearing the Viper’s words. He reached out a trembling hand for the pistol. His fingertips just barely graced it, an inch too far, and then a boot kicked the Glock an additional eight feet away.
“No, no. Don’t worry. You won’t
need that. I promise.”
The Viper crouched over Avery, straddling him. Her hair fell in his face. She removed the M4 from his vest, and tossed it aside. Then, before getting back up, she pushed the knife a little deeper into his body and gave it a swirl.
Avery screamed like a madman. He clasped both his hands around one of Moreno’s ankles as she got up, but his grip felt very weak, and she effortlessly broke her leg free and kicked him hard in the face, knocking his head back and opening a gash across his forehead.
“We have to leave now!” a new voice shouted, commanding the Viper’s attention.
The voice caught Avery’s attention, too. He’d been unaware of anyone else present until now. He craned his head around, recalling what the interrogated Zeta said about the Viper being accompanied by a white man who spoke like a North American.
A tall, fit white man stood near one of two vans. The crew door was open, and inside, Avery saw the SA-24 launchers laid out on a tarp. Nearby, a Mexican—another cartel shooter—lay on the ground with the back of his head blown away.
“Do you know who this man is?” the Viper asked Mirsad Sidran.
“I do not give a damn, woman. He is not important. Do not forget the mission.”
The Viper kicked Avery in the head again. He took the blow and felt ready to pass out. He struggled to stay awake, fought the urge to shut his eyes and drift off. He thought he heard Aguilar’s voice, telling him they were on their way to his location, and it took him a couple seconds to realize it was the receiver in his ear and not an auditory hallucination. Aguilar was asking him to acknowledge, to respond if he was okay, but Avery couldn’t speak.
“Cover the tunnel,” the Viper ordered Sidran.
The Bosnian Quds Force operative scowled. He started to protest, but then understanding and agreeing with the Viper’s concern, he cautiously approached the tunnel entrance. He pulled a grenade from his vest and, after plucking the pin with his teeth, dropped it into the shaft and threw the hatch shut. The explosion sounded a second later.
“Kill him now, and be done with it,” Sidran shouted to the Viper. “We are running out of time.”
“He’s coming with us,” the Viper said. “I am going to enjoy this and make it last a very long time.” To Avery, she shouted, “Get up!” and drove the tip of her boot between his legs. Avery jolted, the kick temporarily waking him back up, as well as sending new waves of pain coursing from his groin to his abdomen. “I said, up!”
When he attempted to stand, Avery became immediately nauseous and unbalanced as the world spun rapidly around him in a haze, and dots speckled his vision. He made it halfway up before dropping onto his knees and vomiting. There was blood in the bile. He fell forward and reached out to catch himself, his hand pressing into the hot, sticky bloody puke.
The Viper kicked him in the side as he wretched. He fell over this time, like deadweight, landing a little closer to the Glock. It was within five feet of his face, but it may as well have been a mile away for the exertion it would require to grab it, and he possessed neither the strength nor energy.
She squatted over him again, resting on her haunches. She grabbed onto his hair with one hand and tugged, lifting his head so that she could see into his eyes, which were now vacant and glossy. He stared past her at the white man.
Mirsad Sidran, up until now a spectator, stared far past the Viper and her captive. Something far out near the horizon commanded his attention. He lifted his binoculars to his eyes and saw the ATVs rolling across the desert. Helicopters hovered in the air. Sidran lowered the binoculars and glanced back to the Viper as she taunted the wounded American, completely oblivious to the oncoming Border Patrol units.
Sidran sighed. Well, he’d always expected that it would come down to this.
Looking past the Viper, Avery’s gaze stayed on Sidran as he reached into the open van to retrieve an AK-74.
“Behind you,” Avery breathed into the Viper’s ear, almost choking. His mouth and throat were dry and tasted of vomit. “Look behind you.”
The Viper frowned, and then her mind put the pieces together within the next millisecond. She released her grip on Avery, letting him fall to the ground. She spun around while bringing up the VSS into firing position, and reflexively sidestepped to the left as Sidran’s single shot whipped past her. He didn’t get a second chance.
The Viper’s first shot caught Sidran through the center of his chest. He gasped and staggered back against the van. His arms dropped with the AK. The Viper took another step closer, and this time shot Sidran low in the gut. He released the rifle, and then slid down the side of the van until he sat on the ground. The next bullet went through his groin He grimaced, but he didn’t utter a sound, knowing that the pain would end very soon.
The Viper elevated her aim several degrees, stopping when her sights passed over Sidran’s contorted face. She paused, allowing him to wither in agony for several seconds. He stared at her in indignant shock, his mind unable to fathom how this woman, an unbeliever at that, had possibly bested him, but he supposed it didn’t matter. In his physical body’s last breaths of life, his mind was a thousand miles away as he made peace with his God and accepted his failure.
Eight feet behind the Viper’s back, Avery shivered. Despite the sun baking him, he felt so cold, and weak, but he forced his body to move, telling himself that it might be for the last time so he might as well try. He reached out with one hand and dragged his weight toward the Glock. He didn’t believe he’d make it, but he wasn’t going to lay here and do nothing.
Another gunshot exploded through the air and echoed.
Avery froze and tensed, but he never felt the bullet strike.
It was the Viper giving Mirsad Sidran one more 9mm round of armor piercing tungsten. A red hole materialized between Sidran’s eyes, with a larger one opening in the back of his head, exploding blood and brain across the van.
Avery’s fingers fluttered over the Glock. His hand was numb, and he could barely feel the contact, but he saw his hand on the gun. He dragged it toward him across the sand.
The Viper turned around, bringing her rifle to bear on Avery, who, sitting partially up on his back, had already drawn a bead on the Viper.
She screamed, “No!” and her finger took up first pressure on the VSS’s trigger, but Avery had already fired first.
The single shot cracked through the air.
The Viper’s head jerked abruptly and violently back. Blood sprayed through the air. Her hands lost the VSS when the deadweight of her body collided with the ground.
Avery’s eyes stayed on her as she thrashed and jerked fifteen feet away. She clutched the hole through the side of her throat through which dark blood rapidly drained. She gagged and choked on it. Her other hand slapped around at the sand and dirt, feeling for her rifle, which was just out of reach. Her unblinking eyes, brimming with hate and anger, stared right back at Avery.
He watched her until she bled out. It barely took a minute.
Soon he heard the steady braying of approaching helicopters. As he waited for help to arrive, he rested his head back and shut his eyes.
Table of Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
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