by Vanessa Kier
They were several yards from the safety of the stalagmites when someone sounded the alarm. “There they are! Stop them.”
A bullet ricocheted off the rock floor inches from Helen’s foot. Then there was another burst of gunfire behind them. She heard men cry out in pain and the thud of bodies hitting the ground.
With a final burst of speed, Helen dragged Mrs. N’Dorah in between the stalagmites. She immediately dodged left, tugging Mrs. N’Dorah with her so that they didn’t run into the rebels at the exit who were even now turning and pointing at them. “Come on, you can do it,” she urged when Mrs. N’Dorah started to slow. “Not much farther.”
On instinct, she changed course, zigging and zagging through the stalagmites to her right. But the footing here was uneven. Mrs. N’Dorah stumbled, so Helen slowed to a walk. A heartbeat later, a barrage of bullets chewed up the stalagmites where they’d just been.
One of the rebels yelped. “You fool! Careful where you aim. That ricochet almost hit me.”
Helen’s heart leapt into her throat. The rebels were too close. Seeing a darker space in between two rock formations, Helen moved toward it, hoping it would provide an exit. She didn’t dare try to hide them behind one of the larger rock formations because she feared that Mrs. N’Dorah’s labored breathing would give them away.
The space was barely wide enough for someone to fit through sideways. As Helen waited for Mrs. N’Dorah to squeeze her body through, she picked up a couple of loose rocks. Once Mrs. N’Dorah was safely on the other side, Helen threw one rock as far to her left as she could. It landed with a satisfying clatter.
“Did you hear that?” One of the rebels asked.
Helen threw another rock, this one in the same direction. As the rebels moved toward the sound, she threw her last two rocks at spots moving closer to the main cavern, hoping the momentary distraction would be enough for her and Mrs. N’Dorah to put a safe distance between them.
Once the rebels had moved out of earshot, Helen slipped through the gap. It opened into a sort of passageway running between the stalagmites and the wall of the cavern. Out in the main cavern the sounds of gunfire continued. Only now it sounded as if the rebels were firing back.
There was little light here, just the faintest illumination from some source far ahead to their left. Behind them and to the right, she heard the footsteps of a large group of men heading their way.
“Hurry,” Helen whispered. Taking the lead again, she moved as quickly as possible without making noise. But it wasn’t long before she realized that the marching rebels were catching up with them at the same time the light was growing brighter. The only place to hide was back on the other side of the stalagmites. But they were packed particularly tightly here.
Come on, come on, there had to be some place where they could slip through.
Helen finally found a low opening where two stalagmites curved away from one another like the above ground roots on a baobab tree. She helped Mrs. N’Dorah through, then wiggled through herself just as the rebels came into view.
Scooting away from the hole, Helen pressed her face to a smaller gap farther up the formation. About fifteen rebels, each carrying a rifle, marched past. Thankfully, the noise of their footsteps was loud enough to hide Mrs. N’Dorah’s heavy breathing.
No sooner had they disappeared, than a man driving a forklift barreled down the corridor heading in the opposite direction.
Helen and Mrs. N’Dorah shared a puzzled glance. Then Helen indicated for Mrs. N’Dorah to follow her through the stalagmites and rock formations. She assumed that the rebels had been heading toward the exit. So, either she and Mrs. N’Dorah needed to find another way out where they wouldn’t be faced with multiple armed rebels, or they needed a secure place to hide until all the rebels had left and the women could exit without being spotted.
Unfortunately, the cover of the stalagmites soon began to thin. Then it intersected with a pathway leading from the main cavern to a side tunnel. Helen didn’t see any rebels nearby. “All right,” she said to Mrs. N’Dorah. “You run across. If someone spots you, I’ll take care of it.” She lifted the pistol she still held in her right hand.
Mrs. N’Dorah nodded.
Helen checked again that no one was in sight, then Mrs. N’Dorah dashed across the open space and into the relative protection of the widely spaced stalagmites. Helen waited a few heartbeats. When no one raised the alarm, she followed.
But just a few steps away from safety, a rebel walked into view from the main cavern. She thought he shouted as he raised his rifle toward her, but couldn’t be certain over the sound of gunfire. She lunged forward. Mrs. N’Dorah grabbed her arm and tugged. As Helen stumbled between the stalagmites, a burning pain tore along the top of her left shoulder.
“Keep going,” Helen whispered. “We have to get away.”
They zigged and zagged between the formations while the rebel behind them continued to shoot at them. None of the bullets hit them, but ricocheting pieces of rock did. Helen changed course, darting between two stalagmites into the main corridor. When she spotted a small passageway branching off to their right, Helen led Mrs. N’Dorah down it. They quickly moved out of the reflected light from the lanterns, so had to slow to a walk. Helen used her hand on the wall to guide her through the darkness, while Mrs. N’Dorah hooked her fingers through one of the belt loops on Helen’s pants and followed close behind.
Helen’s hand fell into space and she stumbled. She caught her balance, then grabbed Mrs. N’Dorah and pulled her into what she discovered was a slight alcove.
Her hopes that the rebel would continue along the main corridor were dashed when lantern light illuminated their passageway.
Helen put herself in front of Mrs. N’Dorah. She reversed the pistol and raised it over her head. When the rebel appeared in front of her, Helen smashed her gun down on his head.
He stumbled and dropped his rifle, but didn’t go all the way down. Instead, he grabbed Helen’s arm and flung her across the corridor. She hit the wall with her back, losing her grip on the pistol as her wrist slammed into a rocky projection. Dazed, she slid down to the floor in a sort of seated position. Then, partly because she was so dizzy and partly because her pistol wasn’t that far away, she let herself topple to her right, sprawling with her hand outstretched toward the gun.
The rebel attempted to pull Mrs. N’Dorah out of hiding, but she fought him, hitting him and clawing at his face. Helen’s fingers closed over her gun. The rebel’s back was to her. Helen raised the pistol.
Her hands shook. Hitting a man with the butt of her gun was one thing. Shooting him, maybe killing him, was another. She knew what damage a bullet did to a body. Knew that if she pulled the trigger, she was stepping over the do-no-harm line she’d set in order to distinguish herself from her mother.
The rebel dodged Mrs. N’Dorah’s swinging fist and tried to pull her out of the alcove, but she darted around him. Before Mrs. N’Dorah could fully get away, the rebel stuck out his leg. Mrs. N’Dorah tripped over it and went sprawling. The rebel raised his gun and pivoted toward Mrs. N’Dorah.
Helen fired multiple times at his back. He toppled forward.
Oh, God. Helen stared at the rebel’s unmoving body. Had she killed him?
“Here now, doctor,” Mrs. N’Dorah crooned. “Let’s put this away, all right?” She gently put her hands over Helen’s. Only then did Helen realize that her hands had been shaking so violently, she’d been in danger of accidentally firing the gun.
She let Mrs. N’Dorah take the pistol from her hands. But when the other woman went to slide it into the largest of Helen’s cargo pockets, she shook her head. “I don’t want it. I don’t think I could use it again.”
“Hush. That man would have killed me. Your shot saved my life.” Mrs. N’Dorah held the gun out to Helen. “You are a strong woman. A survivor. You will do whatever necessary to protect us.”
Helen stared at Mrs. N’Dorah, the woman’s words echoing in her head. Whatever
necessary…to protect…to protect… Swallowing heavily, she nodded and accepted the pistol.
On a moment of clarity, Helen knelt beside the body. She took the man’s flashlight, but noted numbly that one of her bullets must have ricocheted off the wall, because the walkie-talkie was shattered. The man had extra magazines of ammunition in his pocket. Helen grabbed those as well, then picked up his rifle and slung it over her shoulder.
Then she froze, staring at the man she’d killed.
She’d taken a life. She hadn’t intended to kill the man when she fired, just to stop him from hurting Mrs. N’Dorah. But the result had been the same.
“Doctor? Are you ready?”
Helen forced back a shiver and nodded.
“Good. Now come.” Mrs. N’Dorah pulled Helen to her feet. Helen winced, because that was her bad arm.
“Doctor?”
“Here, hold the rifle please.”
With a moue of distaste, Mrs. N’Dorah reached for the weapon and slipped her arm through the carry strap. She also accepted the extra magazines. Then she frowned. “What is wrong?”
“I got nicked by a bullet,” Helen said. “Let me put a quick bandage in place. She fished her handkerchief out of her pocket, folded it, then reached beneath the neckline of her shirt and stuck the makeshift pad over the wound. Without a way to secure it in place, the pad would shift if she didn’t hold it. Luckily, she thought she could navigate this section of the cavern even with her hand across her chest to hold the pad. And once the blood soaked into the pad, it would act as a mild adhesive and help prevent the pad from slipping.
“Okay. Now I’m really ready.”
“You are a very strong woman, Dr. Kirk.” With a nod of approval, Mrs. N’Dorah led Helen back down the corridor to the place the rebel had left the lantern. Helen followed meekly. She didn’t feel strong. She felt shaky with fear and shock.
At the end of the hallway, Mrs. N’Dorah extinguished the lantern flame, then peered out into the corridor. “All clear.”
The sounds of gunfire in the main cavern had stopped. Did that mean that the sniper was gone?
Were they alone now?
Helen took a deep breath. Mrs. N’Dorah was right. She’d had no choice. That didn’t make it any easier to deal with, but she had to focus on the immediate danger. Right now she couldn’t afford to be a compassionate doctor. She had to be a survivor.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
BENDING LOW TO the ground, Natchaba skirted the body of his bodyguard and dashed into the main tunnel, his remaining bodyguard by his side. He slapped his hand over the button set into the wall and a metal door slid down, protecting them from the sniper’s bullets. Then he dusted himself off and straightened his sleeves. He had no doubt that Lachlan MacKay was the shooter. Since he’d been told earlier that MacKay was a prisoner, he’d have to kill the man who’d let MacKay escape.
“Tell the men to capture MacKay. Wound him, if necessary, but I want him alive.” MacKay would be the perfect bait to bring Dr. Kirk and Mrs. N’Dorah back under his control. Not only that, but he would be a perfect actor in the next attack.
He had no idea how MacKay had found this base, but the rest of his WAR team would be close behind. He had to stop them from entering. They could not be allowed to destroy what had taken him months to assemble.
“Order the men to begin removing the weapons to evacuation point one,” he told his bodyguard. He turned and hurried down the corridor. He would have to remove the few sensitive papers he kept here, although he kept most of the critical documents at his main office. Plus, there were the latest boxes of miniature explosives packaged as mobile phones that he must see properly relocated. Natchaba fingered one of two such devices that he’d slipped into his suit jacket pocket earlier, in case a need arose for them.
His bodyguard finished relaying the evacuation order over the walkie-talkie and looked to him for more instructions. Good man.
“Tell the command center to detonate the explosives under the bridge and lock down the front door.” If WAR’s forces had found the back door, he would activate the booby-traps back there as well. However, since that was also the route his lorries needed to take, blowing up that area was a last resort.
“Sir, there’s no answer at command.”
“Ah.” He’d have to assume that somehow MacKay had eliminated his man. Holding his silence, he waited for the communications center to come into view at the end of the corridor. The window was dark. A sure sign that the center had fallen under attack. He motioned for his bodyguard to go first.
When the man gave the all-clear, Natchaba stepped inside. All the monitors had been shot to worthlessness, along with the expensive console. His man lay on the floor, dead. Natchaba straddled the body so he could lean forward and examine one section of the console. Had the detonation button for the bridge been pushed before being destroyed? He thought so, but could not be certain. Just as he could not tell if the front or back doors had been opened.
He straightened up and moved to the center of the room. “Send teams to check both entrances and report back as quickly as possible.” A quick survey of the room showed there was nothing worth saving here. “We should hurry. There may not be much time left.” For now, he would act as if WAR would arrive any moment. Mindful of the slick leather soles of his loafers, he broke into a careful jog. It was for possibilities like today that he had been working out regularly. He would not allow himself to grow soft in the middle like his father had. The image of his portly father gasping and panting as he attempted to run along this corridor was so ridiculous that he smiled.
As he jogged toward his office, Natchaba mapped out his strategy. First he would see to the proper packing and removal of the necessary items. Then he would go after MacKay, Dr. Kirk, and Mrs. N’Dorah. But MacKay would be first, as it was likely his men had already recaptured the women. After their ordeal, they would not be thinking clearly and would be easy prey. He would allow any rebels who caught them to dispose of them as they pleased. They no longer interested him. As long as they died by the end of the day, he didn’t care what else was done to them.
MacKay, however, presented an interesting challenge.
So. Should he lead MacKay to the back door, knock him out, then throw him onto a truck and hold him prisoner until it was time for his next attack?
No. Perhaps he should assemble a small team, head back to the main cavern, and capture MacKay. Then he would tie the man to the scorched surgical table, and leave him as an explosive present for WAR.
Yes, he much preferred that option.
LACHLAN EYED THE metal door over the entrance to the main corridor and cursed. While he’d been shooting into the crowd to give Helen and Mrs. N’Dorah a chance to escape, Natchaba and his surviving bodyguard had disappeared into the corridor. With the door blocking Lachlan from entering, the only way he could follow Natchaba was to take the side tunnel he’d explored earlier.
But…
No. First, he had to find Helen and Mrs. N’Dorah and make certain they made it safely outside. Then he could come back and hunt Natchaba.
Lachlan fired one last burst into the nearly deserted main cavern. The few remaining rebels fired back at him from behind the stage, but without much enthusiasm. Good. They were tired of this already.
A sound caught Lachlan’s attention. He paused to listen. From somewhere behind the row of stalagmites across the cavern came the distinctive whine of a forklift’s engine. So, Natchaba was attempting to move the weapons out, was he?
With any luck, shooting up the console would have destroyed the controls for the back door. The rebels likely had an override lever, but the more time he bought, the more likely his team would arrive in time to capture the rebels.
He attempted to fire one last burst, but discovered that he’d used the last of his ammo. Right, then. He slid quietly from his current perch, slung the rifle over his shoulder, and pulled out the pistol. Deciding that it would be faster to cut across the poorly-lit cav
ern to get to where he’d seen Helen and Mrs. N’Dorah disappear, Lachlan blended into the shadows between the stalagmites. He’d gone about a quarter of the way, treading carefully across the uneven cavern floor, when he heard a muffled “Ouch!” back in the direction of his abandoned perch.
He froze. He’d recognize Helen’s voice anywhere. Cursing silently, he picked his way back to where he estimated the sound had come from. But two darker shadows carrying the unmistakeable outline of AK-47s reached the spot first. One of the men motioned to his right. Lachlan bladed his body along a stalagmite. When the rebel was within reach, Lachlan grabbed him and killed him with his knife.
Lachlan lowered the dead man to the ground, then repeated the process with the second rebel.
Lachlan heard a soft gasp to his right. He grimaced. Brilliant. Of course Helen would have to witness him killing two men.
The scuff of a shoe against the rock to his left warned him just as a third rebel rushed him. A fourth shone his torch in their direction, probably thinking to help his mate. But it only destroyed everyone’s night vision. Trained to fight blind, Lachlan didn’t hesitate. The third rebel gave a cry of dismay when he realized that his headlong charge had ended up impaling his chest on Lachlan’s knife.
A shot fired and the fourth rebel fell, his torch clattering to the ground and rolling. As the light arced across the darkness, it illuminated Helen holding a pistol in firing position. Their eyes met. Her face revealed a determined resolve Lachlan had never expected to see.
His doctor had taken a life.
Lachlan gave her a nod of respect, and of thanks. Then the torch rolled away, throwing Helen into darkness.
The changing arc of the light thankfully revealed no approaching rebels.
Lachlan yanked his knife out of the dead man’s chest and quickly cleaned it on the back of the man’s shirt. A search of the three bodies failed to uncover any extra AK-47 magazines. Just his luck. Snatching up the fallen torch, he shut it off and stepped toward the women.