by Stacy Jones
There was no way he could outfly a helicopter, and the soldiers would have the town surrounded before he could make it out.
Still, he had to try.
Zaek ran, heading east, the opposite direction of home. He couldn’t head back to the cabin. Mira was there and he wouldn’t take the chance they’d follow him. He had to lead them away then double back, but only if, and when, it was safe.
35
Mira
“It shouldn’t be taking this long,” she muttered to herself, pacing back and forth in the living room.
She stopped to look through the front window with every pass, searching the dark sky for his form. Every time it was empty, and her worry grew a little stronger, her heartbeat a little faster.
Zaek had been gone a long time, too long. He’d said it shouldn’t take him more than two hours, three at the most, to fly there, get what they needed, and fly back. It had been just over four.
Something was wrong, she could feel it.
The phone they’d modified was held tightly in her hands, but she hadn’t turned it on, not yet. They’d been very careful to only do that once a day, and only for a few minutes. It had kept their spying from being discovered this long, and she didn’t want to risk ruining that now. Not when she didn’t know for sure if Zaek was even in trouble, and definitely not while they were separated.
What if he was just stopping for extra supplies? What if nothing was wrong, and she turned on the phone twice in one day, and that’s all it took to bring the security team down on their heads?
But, something was wrong. She knew it. The only thing that would keep him away from her any longer than absolutely necessary was if he were in danger. He wouldn’t lead them back to her, no matter what.
She held out another half an hour before she gave in.
“Be smart. If you’re going to take a risk, do what you can to mitigate it.”
Rushing to their bedroom, she grabbed her stolen backpack and filled it with only the necessities—enough food for a day, water for two, and weapons. That done, she left the backpack in the living room and went to the basement. Hauling the heavy beacon up the stairs damn near ended in a broken neck, even with the added strength the dassa provided her, but she managed it and lowered it to the couch next to the backpack with a grunt.
Next, she put on the armor Zaek cobbled together for her from pieces of his military-grade spacesuit and plates from stolen kevlar vests. It didn’t protect her legs or arms, but it would stop any bullets aimed at her chest and vital organs. She slipped a handgun into the left holster and the tranq pistol Zaek made her into the right, then strapped the throwing knives he’d taught her to use around her right thigh.
She felt like a miniature, significantly less capable, and infinitely more terrified version of Lara Croft, as she returned to the living room. Two weeks of training, even with a teacher as skilled and proficient as Zaek, did not a badass make.
Her hands were shaking when she powered the phone on, and that only got worse when voices—urgent, excited masculine voices—immediately burst from it.
“Team 3, go south. Flank it. Don’t let it fly away!”
“Contact left. Direct hit. It’s still moving! It’s got that fucking exoskeleton. Aim for the wings.”
Under the voices were the sounds of rapid gunfire and a rhythmic thwump-thwump-thwump of helicopter blades.
Mira listened in horror as they talked about cornering it, taking it down, eliminating it.
That it was Zaek, her mate, the love of her life.
How did they find him? Was he hurt? How was he going to get away if they had a helicopter? She knew he couldn’t fly faster than it could. What if it had guns on it? What if they shot him out of the air? Could he survive that?
Fear was like acid in her veins. The need to go to him, to help him was so consuming she was halfway to the door before she realized she had no way to get to him. He didn’t have a vehicle, and he was hours away on foot, even if she ran the entire way and, dassa or not, she was sure she couldn’t run that far.
“Think, think, think!”
Stop them.
An idea, a reckless one that could very possibly get her killed but might just save his life, popped into her head. She could pretend to be someone else and call them off.
Running to the foyer, she set the security system in case her plan backfired. If they realized who she was and sent people after her, she wanted a layer of protection to at least slow them down.
Even if they come after me that’s fewer trying to kill him. Dangerous, but worth it.
Having done everything she could to prepare, she took a deep, steadying breath. She practiced what she’d say over and over, dredging up the terms and radio protocol she’d overheard the security teams use. Mira thought she sounded… well, maybe not completely convincing but hopefully good enough to sound credible with the background noise of gunfire as cover.
“Command actual, request BFT. How copy?”
This was her opening. Pressing the button, she deepened her voice and responded, keeping her words clipped and authoritative.
“Good copy, ground. Request denied. Withdraw and return to F.O.B. Situation is Charlie Foxtrot. How copy?”
Her heart was beating so fast it was making her dizzy and her hand ached from gripping the phone so tightly.
There was a pause before the man on the other end barked, “Good copy. Authorization code.”
Oh shit! Shit shit shit!
“Alpha-Eight-Charlie-Zulu.”
Mira had a small panic attack as she waited for a response. She could swear she’d heard General Harrison use that code, but whether it was the right one for this situation she didn’t know.
“Good copy. Falling back.”
The breath exploded out of her in a whoosh, and she collapsed back onto the couch, the phone falling to the rug out of her numb fingers. Cradling her head in her hands she tried to calm down.
I did it. I can’t believe that worked.
As soon as she could force her legs, trembling with adrenaline, to support her, she returned to the window to watch for Zaek.
Twenty minutes later, it wasn’t her mate’s form that appeared on the other side of the glass.
36
Mira
Low voices reached her before she saw them. They came from the trees surrounding the cabin and advanced on the house. They moved so fast, scarily fast, like darker shadows in the almost pitch black outside.
For a long second, Mira was frozen with fear before fight or flight kicked in. Spinning on her heel, she ran to the hallway leading to the bedroom, then skidded to a stop, her gaze darting around, looking for escape where there was none to be found. This close to the back of the house she could hear the voices there, too.
She was surrounded.
Don’t panic, don’t panic. This was a possibility. He showed me what to do.
Thinking about Zaek made her chest tighten, making it hard to breathe. Did them being here mean he was dead or captured?
Please, please, be okay.
Crouching down, she took cover behind the wall and drew the tranq gun. From here, she had a view of the front door and the opening to the kitchen, so she’d be able to see if they came through the back door as well.
She tried to steady her shaking and took aim, then waited.
Zaek’s voice whispered commands in her head, the words he’d repeated over and over during their training.
“Steady. Deep breath in, take aim, gently squeeze the trigger, exhale, aim again. Fear enhances your senses, but panic will get you killed. Avoid lethal measures if possible, but know you may be forced to kill.”
“I don’t think I can do that, Zaek,” she’d answered.
“You can and you will. Survive first, cope second. Do not hesitate. Hesitation will kill you as surely as panic.”
The boom as they used some kind of explosion to break in made her scream, but it was drowned out under the screech of splitting wood and the rever
berating thud as the door crashed to the floor.
They didn’t pour in like she expected. Their entry was fast but methodical, their automatic rifles up and sweeping the entryway, searching for a target. Searching for her.
Mira held herself still, resisting the urge to empty her gun at them.
“Wait. Do not give away your position until necessary. The security system will take down the first wave.”
Remembering Zaek’s voice helped steady her.
Four of them made it inside before the last one stepped on the pressure plate in the floor, triggering the dart guns hidden in the walls to emerge and fire upon them. They went down almost immediately, collapsing on top of each other like marionette dolls with their strings cut.
Yelled orders came from outside, someone warning the other soldiers that there were booby-traps.
The next group of men were more cautious. They sidestepped the pressure plate, but the one in the lead triggered the trip laser a little farther inside and went down with a dart in his neck.
Now.
Mira drew in a slow, silent breath and took aim.
Center mass. Squeeze the trigger. Aim again.
She took down another three before they returned fire.
Their bullets tore into the wall above her, sending splinters of wood flying everywhere like confetti, but they didn’t penetrate. It was shockingly loud and made the panic she fought to suppress come back in full force.
“Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Panic will get you killed,” she whimpered, fighting against it, struggling against the instincts telling her to get up and run.
Wait for the lull. Get low. Return fire.
The shots didn’t stop like she expected, and she realized they must be staggering their fire. Trying to calm her breaths so she didn’t hyperventilate, Mira waited, praying they didn’t advance while she wasn’t looking.
There.
The shots didn’t stop, but they slowed, and the chips of wood raining down on her ceased, meaning they weren’t aiming at her hiding spot anymore.
Forcing herself to uncurl from the ball she was huddled into was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. She dropped to her stomach and quickly peeked around the corner, getting the soldiers’ locations, then pulled back.
Remembering where they were standing, she peeked again, took aim, then fired. She missed her first two shots, her shaking hands throwing off her aim, but her third hit, and another soldier dropped.
Count your shots. You have eighteen darts in the tranq gun. Thirteen bullets in the handgun.
How the hell was she supposed to count while under fire? Had she fired six times? Seven? More?
She didn’t get the chance to fire again.
A booted foot came around the corner of the wall and kicked her hand so hard she felt a bone crack, and the tranq gun went flying. A short scream of pain tore from her throat, and she cradled her hand against her chest.
She didn’t have time to brace before the soldier attacked her. He kicked at her again, aiming for her head that time, but she managed to block most of the blow with an arm. She didn’t manage to block or even lessen the kick he gave her ribs though. Her breath exploded out of her in a grunt. The kick was so hard it lifted her off the floor and slammed her back into the wall. Pain was like fireworks, spreading through her body and paralyzing her for a second.
Zaek’s grappling lessons kicked in sluggishly, agony and fear making it hard to think, but she caught his leg on the fourth kick and held on, trying to block out the stabbing pain radiating from her ribs and hand. As soon as she felt him tip backward, her weight and grip throwing him off balance, she surged toward him with a low cry and pushed him into the unforgiving wood wall with all her strength.
She forgot she was stronger now.
The thud as his helmeted head struck the wall and the feeling of his body going limp under her made her stomach roll, but she pushed to her feet and lunged back to press against the wall, taking cover. She waited for the next attack, straining to listen over her thundering heart so she’d have some warning.
A crash sounded from the direction of the bedroom farther down the hall, followed by a thud.
They’re coming in through the window!
The tranq gun was five feet away, but to get it she’d have to get closer to the bedroom. Pulling the handgun from the holster with a cringe, she held it in her uninjured, left hand and flicked off the safety. She couldn’t shoot worth a damn left-handed, despite Zaek trying to train her to use both, but her right was broken.
Peeking around the corner revealed a foyer piled with bodies, but there was no movement, no one waiting to blow her apart. Taking the opening, she ran around the corner and into the kitchen, the gun raised just in case she was running into an ambush.
The door burst open before she could reach it. Instead of firing as she should have, Mira skidded to a stop, her arms flailing to keep her from falling and her gaze glued to the barrel of the gun aimed at her head.
He didn’t fire immediately.
She stood stock still, her only movement the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She didn’t dare raise the gun again. She wouldn’t be able to get off a shot before he killed her.
Trembling hard, she followed the barrel up to the face of the man holding it. Recognition was slow in coming, but when it did, she sucked in a shuddering breath. It was Luke, one of the men that guarded the underground lab. He was the one that asked if she was okay when the beacon beeped that first time. The thought that she’d be killed by someone she knew, even if just as a passing acquaintance, was horrifying.
All the soldiers had just been faceless, nameless enemies until that second.
“You-your name is Luke, right?” she stuttered breathlessly, desperate to delay the inevitable.
Her heart was pounding so hard it actually hurt as she slowly backed away from him, sliding her feet back one inch at a time. If she could get to the living room before he fired, she could maybe dive behind the couch for cover.
Darting a quick look past his shoulder, she expected to see more men behind him waiting to kill her, but no one was there, just dark night and an empty stretch of ground between the cabin and the treeline. He was the last one. He must have thrown something through the window to herd her this way, directly to him.
Surprise flickered behind his cold, brown eyes before he grimaced and reluctantly nodded.
“Ya know, they say it’s harder to kill someone when you know their name, but they’re wrong. It’s harder when they know your name,” he said almost conversationally as he slowly advanced on her.
“I can see h-how that familiarity might make it hard to murder someone in cold blood,” she croaked, horrified at his confession. “So, you’re definitely here to kill us.”
Please Zaek, please get here.
“Yup. Shame, too. I always liked you. Smart, cute as fuck. I was actually workin’ up the courage to ask you out,” he admitted with a smile she was sure most women found charming.
It might’ve been if he hadn’t just told her he was there to kill her.
“Well. That’s unfortunate.”
“Ha! Yeah. Yeah, it is. You’re awfully calm,” he commented, his smile disappearing as quickly as it had appeared, his expression cold and empty once more.
“No, I meant that’s unfortunate for you. I don’t think Zaek is super pleased with the idea of you killing me,” she clarified with a pointed look over his shoulder at where her mate was now standing behind him with a murderous scowl on his face.
Luke whipped around at Zaek’s low, terrifying growl, but he was too slow. Zaek’s fist struck Luke in the side of the face. He was out before he hit the floor.
She was scooped off her feet and into Zaek’s arms before she could gasp his name.
“I thought you were dead!” she cried against him.
He snorted and held her tighter. Mira didn’t care that it made her ribs ache. The feeling of his arms around her, holding her safely against him, was
worth it.
“Not even death could keep me from you, my mate,” he swore.
Pulling back, he set her on her feet and examined her from head to toe.
“I’m okay,” she assured, stilling his hands and smiling shakily up at him.
He exhaled deeply then bent and pressed his lips to her forehead.
“We must hurry, my heart. More are coming.”
37
Mira
As they flew away, Mira felt Zaek tense right before she heard the thwump-thwump of a helicopter. Scanning the sky around them, she saw it. It was still in the distance, but it would be on top of them in minutes. They had to get out of sight, now.
Craning her head around, she searched the ground below them, looking for somewhere to hide, and spotted two black SUVs parked on the side of an unused dirt road just outside the forest surrounding Zaek’s cabin. Shaking his shoulder, she got his attention and pointed down at them.
“Go down! I can drive us out of here faster than you can fly.”
He nodded and dropped quickly, landing with a thud then running a few feet to burn off momentum. At the sound of a car door opening, Zaek stopped and spun around in almost one movement, then turned to stone before she could process what that sound meant. She heard the gunshot and saw Zaek sweep his wing out to knock the soldier off his feet, but it took a second to feel the impact of the bullet tearing through the flesh of her left thigh.
When it filtered through, she gritted her teeth and screamed, bowing in half. It felt like her leg was on fire. Zaek stomped on the soldier’s head with an enraged bellow, and then he was there, his arms around her, cradling her to him.
She could tell he was about to take off again, but she stopped him.
“I can drive! I’m okay!”
“You are not okay! I must get you out of here!”
“I think… I think it just grazed me. Put me down, I can drive,” she insisted.
The pain had already dropped to bearable levels though she could still feel the warmth of blood trickling down her leg, wetting her pants. Her ribs hurt less, too, and her hand, but that pain wasn’t fading as quickly as her leg. Bone took longer to heal, so that made sense.