And then the sand hit. The storm swirled all around and consumed her entire world.
Jenny lay at her side. “Now that’s a bitch.”
Lauren stared. “Who’s watching Bell?”
“Karin. Why? Don’t you trust her?”
“Karin’s . . . delicate.” Lauren hated herself for the choice of words. If anyone referred to her as delicate she’d do a great job of making them eat their teeth. “We shouldn’t leave her alone.”
“Well, that dude, Bell, he’s no threat. A fried chicken could take him out.”
Lauren took a last look around, then dipped her eyes against a flurry of sand particles. Quickly, she slithered back down the slope, a matter of only six feet. The Pythian, Nicholas Bell, sat with his head in his hands, obviously wishing he were anyplace but here. Lauren, still harboring a soft spot for the wealthy builder, walked over to him.
“You did the right thing,” she said. “Trust me. It will work out.”
Bell regarded her with a strained smile. “Just stay with me,” he said. “Without you, I’m not sure I can do this.”
Lauren hid a grimace, worried now what Smyth would think. The soldier had been wonderful to her, everything a real man should be. Maybe they would even try dating when they found a little downtime. But Smyth—like any man—was a fragile piece of kit and prone to jealousy. Smyth also knew that Bell had bedded Lauren as Nightshade not so long ago.
Shit. What a mess.
She walked over to Karin. “The world’s a mess up there, a battleground. I don’t see what else we can do.”
Karin managed a weak smile. “We wait. Our friends will come back. Don’t they always?”
Lauren heard the bitter tones inherent in Karin’s words. She walked away, unsure how she could help. As she approached Jenny she saw the other woman stiffen.
“Behind you.”
Then a deep voice: “Don’t fucking move a muscle.”
Lauren turned anyway, inbuilt instinct always defiant. Two mercenaries stood facing them, wearing black and toting the usual machine pistols. Both men looked tired.
“That Bell?” one of them asked the other.
“Yeah.” The other consulted a tattered photograph. “Thank fuck. We’ve been searching for your ass for twenty hours, dude.”
Nicholas Bell looked like a rabbit caught in the spotlight. “Searching? What do you mean?”
Lauren realized that these men hadn’t been sent out recently and might not know about the huge extent of the battle above. They had been out searching for the lost Pythian, it seemed.
The second mercenary waved his weapon at Bell. “We’re here to rescue you, dumbass. They kidnapped you, right? Well, they sent the best out to save you.”
His partner tapped him on the shoulder. “Probably not wise to call one of the bosses a dumbass, dumbass.”
The first merc shrugged. “Sorry, boss.”
Bell gaped between them. “You’re the best? And how . . . how did you find me?”
“What, ya think the big boss don’t have a tracker on you? Ha! And when I say on you I do mean in you. Get it? Probably artificially extended your sleep one night and made a doc perform a small op. Ever wake up feeling extra sluggish? No reason why? Maybe feel hungover even though you only had one glass of wine? The government does it all the time, so they say. Happens regular.”
“Shit,” Bell, Karin and Jenny said together.
“Yeah.” The man shrugged. “Every time I wake with a weird feeling I hop on over to the bathroom and check every inch of my body. Just in case.” He grinned.
Jenny shared a look with Lauren. “Yuck.”
The man hardened. “Well, Bell? Get over here then, or do ya like hangin’ with the dead girlies?”
“Dead girlies?” the other asked.
Girlies? Lauren bristled and she knew Jenny felt the same.
“Shoot ‘em, bud. And, Troy, follow fucking orders like yer s’posed to.”
Isolated, unguarded, Karin, Lauren and Jenny all knew they were fending for themselves. They were not soldiers, or warriors. They weren’t even trained. But they had certainly seen action and could guess how the next few minutes would play out.
Karin acted first, perhaps thinking about her future at Fort Bragg. She darted from a sitting position, surprising Troy and making him stagger away. Lauren came next, stiff-arming Troy as she came across him, jerking his head sideways. Jenny was closest to the leader and jumped behind Bell for a split second before ducking around his other side. The leader tried to track her with his gun but the weapon was too large. Jenny was on him in a second, grappling, gritting her teeth and panting hard.
Lauren kicked at knee, groin and stomach, remembering her civilian martial arts training. The soldier looked surprised, even staggered a little when she blasted his knee. Karin tried the same from the other side, giving him an awful lot to think about. His weapon wavered between them.
Lauren picked up a rock and slammed it across his temple, wincing as she did so. Troy stumbled, his gun discharging. He threw all his weight onto her but she smashed the rock down again. Karin punched his arm until the gun clattered away, then gave him multiple blows to the face. Troy spat blood and punched blindly, trying to regain the advantage. A fist connected with Lauren’s nose, making her eyes water. She gasped, trying to fend even more blows away. Karin caught one of Troy’s wrists in her hand, held it, and then slammed a rock straight down onto the knuckles. A sickening crack resounded around the clearing.
Troy screamed. Karin brought the rock down again even harder. “You were going to shoot us,” she said. “This is what you deserve.”
Lauren knelt with her knee across the man’s throat until he passed out, then they scrambled back.
Three feet away, the leader held onto his gun as Jenny tried to twist it away. She held her feet, stood her ground, but needed both hands to counter his strength. He wrenched viciously once, twice, and she staggered away, tripping as her right heel smacked against a hidden rock. Shocked at herself, she tumbled headlong to the ground, ending up on her front and then frantically twisting her body sideways.
The leader smiled. He took a moment to check his weapon and then point the short barrel at her, catching her gaze as he did so.
“Not quite up to it, hey girly. Now lie there for a minute. Perfect.”
Jenny threw the heavy rock she had tumbled over and watched it fly straight and true, striking him a glancing blow on the forehead. The leader cursed and wiped away blood. Jenny was up on her feet, head down; the knowledge that this was a fight to the death written clearly all over her face. She ran hard, legs pumping.
She was always going to be too late, but that didn’t dampen her willpower.
The leader brought his gun up once more, finger itching on the trigger. He squeezed.
Then Bell slammed into him, crying out, bearing him to the ground. The shot flew high into the air. Jenny bounded after them, slipping around Bell and elbowing the leader so hard his eyes rolled. Twice more, and he was finished.
Jenny took his rifle. Lauren stood a few feet away with the other. They both looked at Bell.
“Any ideas where this tracker is hidden?” Jenny asked. “I mean, thanks for the help and all, but we really should cut that bad boy out.”
Bell stared at Lauren. “There was one day,” he said. “No, two days. Oh, shit, it’s either in my shoulder or my upper front thigh or my back. They all hurt now and again. Your choice.”
Jenny smiled with grim determination. “Don’t you worry,” she said with a lilt to her voice. “We’ll find that sucker if it kill us.”
The knives came out.
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
Drake and Alicia finally gained the top of the slope to find themselves inside a churning world of spitting sand and debris. As one they knelt and surveyed what they could of the nightmare scene.
From here, the gaggle of mercenaries could be seen still guarding the area around the cliff edge where the galleon sat below. Together
, they huddled, rifles pointed from their dark bulk, a deadly final stand. Bodies littered the area all around them.
Drake saw many prone soldiers, some not moving, others just biding their time. The battle had hit a stalemate, it seemed, as mercenaries blindly carried out their orders to protect the galleon at all costs. Drake and Alicia crawled through the eddying sand dunes until they saw a bulk they recognized.
“Dahl.”
The big Swede turned his head. “Where the hell have you two been?”
“Shagging,” Drake said bluntly. “Why are you pinned down like this?”
“Oh, because we sent out for pizza and it’s bloody late. Why the hell do you think?”
Drake studied the land ahead. It was almost completely flat. “This as close as you can get?”
“Yup.”
Kinimaka shuffled over. “Man, I think there’s a way over to the side. You see the ridge—” he pointed east, where the edge ran away. “We could hug the underside.”
Hayden nodded. “Yorgi agrees. It’s possible.”
Drake allowed the smile to sweep across his face. The team was back. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s do it.”
Careful not to bring attention to his aches and pains and the blood that coated his face, he crabbed away from the area and into the sand wall. Dahl was already regarding him weirdly, but that wasn’t exactly unusual. Alicia stayed close. Once the team had moved far enough east they headed back toward the ridge, out of sight of the mercenaries. Yorgi stepped ahead and paused at the brink of the valley.
They came up to stand all around him, gazing down. “That’s a bitch of a long way down,” Smyth growled softly. “One misstep and you’re rolling forever.”
“Not forever,” Alicia said. “Believe me.”
Drake sent his questing gaze to the right where the galleon still jutted from the cliff face. The deck was dusted now with several deposits of sand and the mercenaries defending it all looked bored. Most of them weren’t even staring up anymore, for their own good, they simply sat on the deck. The fury of the storm could not reach them but flurries of sand still rained down.
Yorgi indicated the bit of ridge that curled underneath the top part, a narrow horizontal mound, incomplete in three areas. It had been formed by piles of sand drifting over the top and collecting underneath, dangerous but for the most part offering some nice concealment.
Kinimaka grunted. “Not as big as it looks.”
Hayden nudged him. “You can always stay behind.”
“Mahalo, but that ain’t happening and you know it.”
Drake watched Yorgi fall to his knees and curl into the narrow channel before following suit. Alicia and then the others dropped inside. Slowly, the team crawled under the ridge toward the band of mercenaries, sheltered from the storm and prying eyes, clinging to the malleable side wall and hoping the sand didn’t collapse beneath them.
“Well, if we go,” Hayden said. “We all go together.”
“I can live with that,” Dahl said.
“Depends on who lands on top of you,” Alicia shot back. “I’m baggsying Yorgi—the boy/girl/man.”
“It is disrespectful.” Yorgi stopped, turned and faced her. “To call me such.”
“And baggsying?” Dahl asked. “What is that?”
“Keep going,” Drake said. “Alicia’s sorry, Yorgi. She can’t help herself and thinks you can easily pass for all three. Dahl, baggsying means to unofficially reserve something for yourself.”
In short order the crowd of mercenaries became visible and all talk ceased. Pot shots were being taken by the military but the stalemate was still in force. Walls of sand still howled from horizon to horizon. Yorgi slowed to less than a crawl.
Close enough, Drake signaled. Ready?
They were and action was called for. Drake and Alicia rose as one, hulking ghosts in the center of the storm, surrounded by roiling sand spouts, and threw grenades into the mercenary mass. Men reared away from the apparition, shocked into self-preservation. Dahl towered behind them and Kinimaka behind him, and more grenades were tossed.
Then the ghosts threw themselves flat on the floor.
Explosions louder than the blasting storm rocked the area, making the ground shake beneath their bodies. Screams started up a split second later. Drake was up and running from a standing start like a sprinter, hitting two surviving mercs before they knew what was happening. One fell with a broken neck, the other struggled and then went down with a shot to the face. Dahl passed him and then the others, all engaging the mercenary mass in close combat battle. Alicia grappled with one man on the very edge of the cliff, the pair locking fingers and swaying from side to side. Both tried to use the other’s weight against them, both tried judo throws, but to no avail. Drake saw Alicia wilt a little—the battles today had taken so much out of her—and ran over to help, but by the time he arrived Alicia had broken her opponent’s grip and booted him down the slope. They watched as he bounced twice and then struck the deck of the ship, splintering wooden planks.
“Shiver me timbers,” Drake said.
“Don’t be a knob.” Alicia shook her head, spun and engaged the next opponent.
Another grenade went off toward the back of the group. Bodies spun and flew away, some disappearing down the slope, others falling to the piled sand. Even rocks flew through the air, and the remains of stunted trees, the debris striking indiscriminately. Kinimaka lurched as he was hit by the remains of a bush, the prickly stalk latching onto the side of his head.
“Shit!”
Hayden pulled it away, wincing. Blood leaked from half a dozen small wounds. The Hawaiian forgot about it and returned to battle. Hayden emptied her Glock and then reloaded, happy to see their own soldiers joining the fray. Flurries of sand sprayed her face. Indeterminate piles made a hazard of her footing, and even they remained in motion, always drifting. Sunshine pierced the murk intermittently and often—a startling kaleidoscope of color that confused the brain. Hayden saw a soldier go down, and moved on the merc who’d clashed with him. He batted her away with a metal plated arm which she felt all the way to her toes. Both the fallen soldier and Hayden fired on the guy at the same time, sending him spinning off the cliff, then helped each other up.
They nodded, comrades in arms.
Drake faced a huge brute with a loaded RPG resting across one shoulder. In the blink of an eye he tackled the man around the waist, but the grenade went off as they fell, shooting straight up into the sky. Drake panicked. Straight up, straight down! He rolled off, ready to shout a warning, but the rocket fell and detonated off to the south, a conflagration that sent flames, sand and chunks of bark and rock flashing around the battleground. More than one man went down. Drake’s own world was then blotted out by the panoramic vision that rose before it.
That’s gonna hurt. Again.
The massive merc dropped down onto his chest, knees first, clearly enjoying himself by the split-lipped grin that marred his otherwise ugly face. Drake bore it, experiencing hurt upon hurt and bruise upon bruise and wondering just how many weeks or months it might take him to recover. The merc enjoyed himself too much, grinding with his knees and leaving the rest of his body wide open. Drake sat straight up, chopped to the throat, nose and eye sockets, leaving him choking and blinded. A hammer-like fist swung at Drake’s head, which he caught between his thighs as he rose, twisted and broke. The merc groaned into the sand.
All around the enemy was devastated, giving up. Dahl stood at the edge of the valley as, quite suddenly, the storm began to abate. Sunlight shone through the sand and the wind levels took a slight drop. The Swede stared down at the waiting galleon with hungry eyes—an alpha predator eyeing up its next happy meal.
Drake joined him. “The count?”
“On deck? No more than eight. Below deck—no idea.”
“So what the hell are we waiting for?”
Drake played to the Swede’s mad side even as Hayden shouted at them to wait, to be prudent.
&nb
sp; “Oh, I see.” Dahl’s grin was infectious as he understood. “It’s that time again.”
“Be careful!” Hayden cried. “No!”
Dahl threw himself over the edge feet first, Drake a split second after. Alicia shouted, “For Kevin Bacon!” and launched herself after them. Kinimaka stepped up eagerly but Hayden whacked him back. Smyth would have none of it, ignoring her frown and leaping into mid-air, his face breaking out into a rare grin.
Drake and Dahl raced down the sandy slope, picking up speed as they went. Sand furrowed from either side of their boots as they slid. The slope was sharp enough so that they caught air-time, bouncing back to earth with groans. The landscape flashed past at inconceivable speed. Drake concentrated as much on edging out Dahl as where he was going. The galleon’s deck grew large beneath them, a wide, unstable landing pad. An overhang sent them several feet into the air, eliciting cheers and allowing Dahl an extra moment to calmly extract his handgun from its holster. They crashed back down and were then hitting the ship’s deck and its pliant timbers, rolling to lose momentum. Drake slammed right into the ship’s far railing, heart stuck firmly in mouth. Dahl snagged a mercenary and used him as a piton. Alicia bowled them both over.
Smyth landed perfectly, feet first, and shot two mercs on impact. Another drew a bead on him. There was no time, not even to duck. Then the merc shot backward, hit by a bullet fired from above and Smyth thanked his lucky stars for the unknown backup.
Alicia hammered at the merc Dahl had used to stay his fall, but in the end Dahl simply rose, picked him up and threw him over the rail. Drake fired at the four remaining mercs, forcing them into hiding. One of them came sprinting around a bulkhead and launched his body straight at Alicia. She held the force of his momentum though, fighting back. Together, atop the ship’s deck and close to the rails they traded blows, two warriors battling over a drop that could send them two hundred feet straight down. On the edge they punched and blocked and stepped. Alicia caught a kick on her thigh, deflected a heavy blow, and stepped inside. Her opponent stumbled, swung again. She evaded it and then hit as hard as she could, his solar plexus taking the brunt. Her blows were so hard, so packed with force and power that he flew straight against the rails and then crashed right through, screaming as he tumbled to his death.
Matt Drake 11 - The Ghost Ships of Arizona Page 20