I grunted and pushed myself up. A Zubaran militiaman stood behind me, to my left. He was standing against the wall of the admin building, rain drizzling off of the mask he wore. He was pounding on his M16 in a vain attempt to clear a jam. He looked up at me, eyes wide. It was too late for him. I rolled to my right and yanked my revolver out of its holster. Extending my arm, I snapped off a shot. The .44 roared in the narrow alley. Blood splattered on the wall behind the militiaman and he crumpled to the mud in a wet heap.
I reholstered my gun and pushed myself off the ground as Sarah came running out the door. “Mike, they’re coming!” she warned, pressing herself up against the wall. “Are you okay?”
“Good to go!” Swinging my rifle around, I leaned around the door frame and popped off four or five shots down the hallway, scattering the Zubaran troops advancing through the ops center. The door at the end of the hall was open. My middle finger moved to the trigger of my under-slung grenade launcher and squeezed. The weapon bucked under my arm, launching a 40mm high-explosive round with a loud POOT! Before I could finish ducking out of the way, the round exploded in the ops center, right in the middle of the cluster of enemy soldiers.
“Watch the door, watch the door!” She shouldered her weapon and covered the hallway as she crossed. It was clear. “Let’s go!” I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close to me. Sarah covered to the east while I risked a look round the west corner.
“Shit!” I said, pulling back just in time. Several rounds snapped past me. Maybe a dozen Zubaran regulars were creeping up the side of the admin building. “We can’t go this way.”
“Over here!” Sarah said, pointing to the chopper wreck with her carbine. I removed my last hand grenade from my vest and lobbed it around the corner, up the west side of the building. Sarah and I bolted for the chopper. The grenade detonated behind us a few seconds later.
We dashed into the open, running past dazed, wounded, and surprised Zubaran troops around the wreck of the Mi-17. We turned north and ran alongside the supply building. It wasn’t that far. I could feel my heart pounding in my ears as I sprinted with sixty pounds of gear on. Thunder crashed again. The rain was pouring harder than ever. Tracers flashed by, but we kept running. There were bullets buzzing from every direction. Rounds splattered into the muddy ground ahead, barely missing Sarah’s legs. Smack! My leg came out from under me. I stumbled and fell into the mud. It burned. Blood leaked from a gash in my calf. I grunted in pain.
“Mike!” Sarah cried, looking back. She stopped running and turned around.
“No, Sarah, don’t stop!” I screamed. “Keep going!”
But she didn’t listen. She started toward me. A hole was torn in her vest as a bullet punched right through it. A second bullet hit her a little lower, in the stomach. A third went into her side. Sarah’s face went blank. She collapsed to the muddy ground.
“Sarah!” I screamed. My voice sounded like it was coming from far away. I couldn’t feel my wounded leg anymore. I pushed myself up off the ground. Bullets zipped past me as I limped to her. My left leg buckled. Every time I put weight on it, I began to fall. The wind was knocked out of me as a bullet struck me in the back, cratering on the ceramic plate in my vest. It felt like I’d been hit with a sledgehammer. I fell again.
I crawled through the mud, bleeding, dragging my weapon on its sling. On my hands and knees, I reached Sarah and lifted her head up. She was completely limp, nothing but dead weight. Her pupils were dilated. Her beautiful face was smeared with mud. I held her body close to me as blood poured from her vest. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. The rain poured down relentlessly. Sounds began to fade out. Everything sounded muffled, like I was underwater, except for my own ragged breathing and the pounding of my heart.
I was being shot at. I ignored it. The strange key I’d given Sarah was hanging around her neck, drenched in blood. I grasped it in my hand. There was a concussion. Then everything went black.
My eyes opened. I don’t know how long I was out. I was lying on my back, staring up into the rain. Sarah’s key was still in my hand. My ears were ringing, and I could barely feel anything. I couldn’t see out of my right eye. Warm blood, my blood, was pouring down my face.
I saw Sarah out of the corner of my eye. She was just a few feet away, but out of my reach. I couldn’t sit up. I was bleeding badly. I was about to die. Holding my last breath, I stretched my hand out and reached for her.
Then she was out of reach altogether. My last conscious thought was the realization that I was being dragged away.
LORENZO
“Squad of soldiers is heading right for your building. Eight of them.”
Carl’s voice now. He had a laptop in the van and could watch the videos, too. “The dorm’s a good position for them to take. Gives them cover and elevation against Dead Six. They’ll use the windows on the west-facing rooms.” Carl knew, because that’s exactly what he would have done in this situation, and he had a lot of experience leading infantry in combat. Unfortunately, that was the building I’d picked to hide in.
I grabbed the bag of money. I’d slip out the north stairs. I’d just reached them when a sudden rhythmic beating rocked across the compound. “What’s that?” I shouted.
“Helicopter incoming!” Reaper answered. “Where’d that come from?”
The stairs were exposed to the open air. Suddenly a chopper appeared through the rain, slowing to a hover thirty feet off the ground, rotating as the door gunners blasted the living hell out of Building One with belt-fed machine guns. Ropes spilled from the open doors, and blue-camouflaged Zubaran Special Forces started fast-roping down. These guys were everywhere.
Then there was a terrible bang, like a clap of thunder. The side of the helicopter seemed to collapse into itself, belching smoke and launching one of the soldiers out the open rear door. The chopper fell from the sky. The rotors hit, hammering the mud into a circular plume before fragmenting into thousands of lethal bits. Fire, blood, oil, and flesh sprayed in every direction. I ducked as a chunk of the broken rotor screamed past and hit the stairwell just over my head.
Looks like I’m not going that way. I ran back inside the dorms. I needed a way out. The weight of the money gave me an idea.
“Soldiers are in your building,” Carl insisted. “Whatever you’re gonna do. Do it quick!”
“Roger that.” I picked a west-facing room, whose door was unlocked, and hurried inside. It was a mirror image of Valentine’s room. I dumped all the cash on the bed and spread it around, trying to make the money look as tempting as possible. That was one expensive distraction. Walker’s gun was still in hand, a .45 Sig 220. I pulled the slide back slightly. There was already a round chambered.
There was a crash as another dorm door was kicked in, followed by automatic weapons fire and a scream. I entered the small bathroom, shoved the pistol in the back of my waistband, and stood on the toilet. I placed my hands on the opposite wall and slowly levered myself into position, “walking” with my hands until I was above the door frame. Every bit of pressure against my left hand caused unbelievable agony. Palms pushing out and boots pushing back against the opposite wall, holding myself there by muscle tension alone, I was now out of view of anybody looking through the bathroom door.