Caitlyn tried to listen but could hear only one side of the conversation.
“Now? I thought you said—”
A quick rush of hope swept through her. Could it be? But she quelled it; her situation was dire beyond belief. Even if someone had come to save her could they find her in time?
Dingo spat onto the floor. “Deal with them! Give me time to finish this bitch off!”
Alicia kept her head down as Crouch drove their car through the locked warehouse door. The outside was a gaudy canvas of altered signage, one new name painted atop the other, and constructed of solid blocks. But the entry doors were wooden, held together by a thick iron strap, and crumpled at the first impact. The doors crashed onto the front of the car, then slid away. The car itself slewed to the left, turning almost a full circle before coming to a complete stop.
Alicia cracked one door open and Russo did the same to the other side. With no immediate retaliation forthcoming they piled out and headed for the nearest cover — several chopped apart cars were scattered around the inside, some stacked on top of each other. Tall, brightly colored toolboxes with dozens of open drawers stood around the place like sleeping robots. A dilapidated table and dozens of plastic chairs sat in one corner, the remains of food and soda cans left around the dirty surface and the floor. An open pit lay in the center of the warehouse, a car lift at the far end.
Alicia took it all in without stopping to look. The banda were well equipped, their chop shop business was no doubt lucrative. The current crop of cars weren’t exactly high-end, but they were no rust-buckets either — an old Lotus Eclat, several Volkswagens and aging Mercedes, other marques that she didn’t recognize but looked middle of the range. Harder to pick out, at the rear of the space were the back ends and front ends of cars, side panels and stacks of wheels. At full muster, Alicia dreaded to think how many men the banda employed here.
Presumably, all on call right now.
She pressed on quickly into the warehouse, flanked on the far side by Russo and Healey, followed by Crouch and Lex. She ducked behind a deep blue Volkswagen as men began to flood the place from the far end. Don’t give them a target until you’re ready. She slipped around the edge of the Volkswagen, keeping to the shadows cast at the side of the warehouse, gaining even more precious ground.
One man saw her. He was dead before uttering a word, but the gunshot sent the chop shop into chaos. The Mexicans opened fire indiscriminately and without clear targets, spraying out of fear and ignorance. Alicia hopped up onto the next car, using the broken window frame to gain the roof, and fired down at them. The line of Mexicans suddenly parted as men darted for cover. Alicia picked them off where she could, leaping down before anyone could draw a bead on her.
Men screamed and ran straight for her, brandishing knives and axes. She lowered her machine gun. Crouch and Lex knelt to her either side. This sure as hell wasn’t going to be pretty.
Caitlyn swung as Dingo approached her. The wooden planks attached to her arms caught his shinbone, making him hop.
“Oh man,” he breathed. “This is gonna be so much fun.”
Caitlyn’s brow dripped sweat. Her fear made her hunch up into a ball as Dingo jabbed the prod forward. Luckily the prongs slipped past her left ear and struck the wall. Caitlyn immediately scolded herself. Sitting there and turning into a terrified ball of sweat wasn’t going to keep her alive. When Dingo poked again she swatted the prod aside with her arms, protected by the timber. Dingo surprised her by kicking her hard in the thigh. When she cried out he thrust the prod toward her again, catching her in the sternum.
Caitlyn cried out. She kicked frantically at his legs again and again, her movements powered by strength born of terror, anger and pure old-fashioned stubbornness. Dingo skipped away. Caitlyn knew the game was almost up.
Last chance. No more options.
With a heave that took most of her strength she used the side wall to lever herself upright and then launched herself straight at Dingo, in mid-flight, striking his upper body with her own and taking him to the ground. The two of them crashed together, the cattle prod skidding away.
Caitlyn bore down hard.
Dingo grabbed her throat. “Bad mistake.”
Alicia took out the first few men, quickly aware even in the midst of battle that there were no offices within the confines of the warehouse. Caitlyn wasn’t in here. That meant they needed a hostage. The banda were a fearsome opposition, screaming and shouting as they poured forward, weapons brandished above their heads in the way of warrior tribesmen. The bullets tore them to pieces, but that recourse soon proved tricky when armed opponents began to find superior firing positions.
Alicia moved constantly, slipping between cars and toolboxes. After sheltering behind one six-foot-high, bright-red unit for a minute she began rolling it toward her enemy, still hiding behind it. To both sides she thrust out her gun and fired alternate shots. Before she reached the far end she dived behind an old Mercedes S-Class, letting the roller box continue. By the time it crashed into the far wall it was riddled with holes and so were the men shooting at it, their focus destroyed. Alicia managed to disarm one of the Mexicans and take a good grip of his shoulders whilst aiming her gun at his midriff.
“Talk,” she said amidst the sound of shouting and gunfire. “Where’s the girl?”
“No speak! No speak!”
Alicia fired a bullet into his stomach. “Then you’re no good to me.”
She tripped another who poked his head around the side of the car, eyes opened wide when he saw the fate of his friend, groaning and slowly dying. Alicia quickly put him in the same position.
“The girl?”
“I… I… ”
“Be careful what you say, asshole.”
“Out back. Through the stacks. There is an office.”
Alicia spoke through the team’s Bluetooth connection. “I have a location. Back me up now!”
Caitlyn would not die today.
A sudden eruption of gunfire stunned the air as Alicia ducked out of hiding and ran full tilt toward a rear exit. At first the Mexicans concentrated their fire on her; bullets fizzed and ripped up the concrete and metal hulks all around her; her sprint was a dash through a barrage of death. She ran hard, not stopping nor even flinching when a hard tug signified hot lead piercing her jacket and again when a searing flash scorched her upper thigh.
Caitlyn will not die today.
Then her colleagues drew the bulk of their enemy’s attention, shooting volley after volley. Mexicans flew backward amidst sprays of blood and cracked bone, decimated flesh. But this was not a weak band of mercenaries, this was a Mexican gang, born and raised in fire with expectations to die young. Instead of retreating and regrouping they forged forward. Russo and Healey were forced down. Crouch barely kept his head. Only Lex showed a certain foolhardy mettle, copying Alicia’s example and standing strong through the fusillade.
Alicia rolled near the end. Bullets struck all around her. A broken shell, an old giant, rocked and shuddered and fell apart in front of her. She picked her way through, feet barely touching the floor. Something smashed into her back, sending her into a second roll and when she came up she found the back entrance right before her.
She slipped outside. A graveyard scene met her eyes. Piles of chopped cars, each stacked atop the other; five rows of rusted wrecks, ruined carcasses.
Alicia sprinted down the first row. A man stepped out in front of her, machete swinging at her head. Alicia ducked and slammed into his chest, sending him cartwheeling back into one of the piles, gratified when the entire mass started to topple slowly onto him. Another man charged her, head down. She stopped for a second, caught his neck and twisted him right off his feet, the spinning body broken and lifeless before it hit the ground.