“No. What are you doing—” Drake screamed, and then the clearing was shattered by the eruption of gunfire as Spencer pulled the trigger.
The jungle behind Drake exploded as rounds shredded the vegetation. Spencer threw himself sideways onto the ground as he continued firing. Drake reacted instantly, rolling away from Allie and grabbing his rifle before shooting at the gunmen firing at them from the jungle. The closest of the three natives near the tree line dropped his rifle with a groan as Drake’s rounds punched into his torso, and the man next to him fell backwards as the top of his head tore off from one of Spencer’s volleys.
Spencer continued to squeeze off measured bursts at the attackers as he crawled to a nearby ruin for cover. The ground in front of him churned as bullets sprayed into the damp earth, and he fired blind at a third assailant just as he made it behind an outcropping of rock — the remnants of an ancient wall.
Drake saw a muzzle flash from deeper in the brush. He loosed three bursts at it and was rewarded with a scream of pain. He was shaking as he pulled himself behind a slight rise, scanning the jungle for more gunmen. Spencer’s rifle burped from Drake’s left at targets in the dense foliage. A divot of wet dirt ripped out of the ground near Drake’s head. He squeezed off a shot at the shooter, praying as he did so that none of the rounds would hit Allie, who was lying exposed, out in the open.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Spencer sprint for the far tree line. Drake did what he could to lay down covering fire, emptying the gun. He grabbed at his backpack for another magazine, and swallowed hard when his hands felt the pocket the spares had been in — empty, dumped out by Palenko when he’d been rummaging through it.
Drake ejected the magazine in frustration and looked around for anything else he could use as a weapon. His trusty knife might have been large enough to row a boat with, but it wouldn’t be much good against automatic rifles. He peered over the rise and saw Allie’s AK lying where she’d dropped it when she’d been hit by Palenko’s rounds. It was only ten feet away, and he could make it if he was fast — but it would be the longest ten feet of his life.
His head pounded, each throb of his pulse delivering a starburst of pain. He tried to ignore it as he listened to the sporadic distant gunfire from where Spencer had disappeared. After a deep breath, he launched himself to his feet and bolted for the rifle.
His lower leg shrieked in white-hot torment as a round caught his calf, and he landed hard, wincing as his ribs radiated agony — too far to reach the gun. Another round sprayed dirt and leaves on his face, and then a voice called out from the trees.
“It is over, Mr. Ramsey. One more move and I will shoot you.” The Russian accent was as thick as maple syrup.
Drake froze, the few feet between his hand and the rifle a cruel joke. The two Russians emerged from the brush, Sasha limping badly from where one of Drake’s slugs had hit him in the thigh. Vadim held his machine pistol almost casually as they neared to within fifteen feet of Drake, who was still trying to gauge whether he could make it to the rifle before they cut him in two.
“Do not even think about it. I will blow your head off and enjoy it,” Vadim snarled. “Move away from the gun. Now.”
Drake glared daggers at him but did as instructed, retracting his arm and pulling himself a few more feet from Allie’s rifle. Vadim chuckled, his barrel never leaving Drake, and moved to the weapon before toeing it out of reach. He gave Allie’s comatose, pale form a once-over and issued a terse command to Sasha before he returned to Drake. Sasha focused on the jungle where Spencer had disappeared, in case he’d survived and tried a surprise attack.
Vadim sneered at Drake. “So. Thank you for leading us straight to Paititi. Something your father was not willing to do.”
“You killed him, didn’t you?” Drake growled.
“Your father? Of course. In the end he cried like a baby. As he begged for his life, he whimpered like a little girl.”
Drake closed his eyes, his leg on fire. “You’re lying. I can tell. You killed him because he wouldn’t give you what you wanted.”
Vadim laughed, a dry, ugly sound. Sasha took the opportunity to unfasten his belt and fashion a tourniquet around his wounded leg, which was streaming blood, his attention still on the tree line.
“I owe you thanks for exterminating our little group. You saved us the inconvenience. Now, tell me — where is the treasure?”
“I don’t know. We just got here.”
Vadim eyed him suspiciously. “Never mind. We will find it. We have all the time in the world. But not you, perhaps, or the whore.” Vadim grinned, his features contorting into those of a gargoyle.
Drake spit at Vadim and gritted his teeth. “You’re a miserable bastard, aren’t you? This is a big area. I hope you never find it. And with most of your men dead, you’ll be easy pickings for the other tribes.”
“This is such big talk for a boy with only seconds left to live. You are about to meet your idiot father in hell. Say hello from me when you get there.” Vadim raised his gun and pointed it at Drake’s head.
Drake didn’t blink, didn’t flinch.
A shot rang out. Vadim’s shirt blossomed with a crimson stain from an exit wound. He stood, frozen, staring at Drake unbelievingly, his eyes uncomprehending.
Drake wrenched his knife free and hurled it at Sasha, who was whipping his gun around to fire. The handle struck him in the face, buying Drake the time to dive for Allie’s rifle and fire six rounds. Sasha jerked like a marionette from the bullets pummeling him before he collapsed in a heap.
Vadim seemed to move in slow motion as he brought his weapon to bear. Drake squeezed off a burst that knocked Vadim off his feet and slammed him backward. The Russian groaned as he hit the ground, his gun tumbling harmlessly beside him, and then he shuddered and lay still.
Allie still clutched her SIG Sauer in a bloody hand, the barrel shaking as it pointed at Vadim’s inert form. Drake dragged himself over to Allie and took the pistol from her.
“You did it. You saved my ass again. That’s twice in an hour,” he said softly.
Her eyes searched his face. “Drake…I…”
“We’ll get a helicopter to haul you out of here,” Drake said.
“Have…Spencer…look at the…wound. He’ll know what…to…do.” Allie’s eyes drifted shut, the morphine hitting full force, carrying her with it to a warm, welcome numbness.
Drake pulled closer and took Allie’s hand, the jungle around them now quiet. He looked at his calf. The bullet had seared through the muscle and exited cleanly. But he knew that infection would be only a matter of time. For them both.
They had to get out of there.
Allie shifted next to him, her breathing slow and steady, her top soaked with her blood. Drake considered trying to do something, but realized he might cause more harm than good. He felt so helpless and impotent as he moved closer to her and pulled a shirt out of his backpack, which he held against the wound, trying to keep pressure on it. He stayed like that for several long minutes, mind working over their alternatives, and then jolted back to reality when he heard a rustle from the brush — a heavy body moving through the undergrowth.
“I see you didn’t need much help here. How’s she doing?” Spencer’s voice called from the jungle behind him.
“You kill everyone?” Drake asked, his tone flat.
“Pretty much. I see you did the same.”
“Allie got one of them. Saved my life.”
Spencer walked over to the Russians and turned them over, confirming that they were dead. He picked up Drake’s knife and handed it to him, his eyes on Drake’s wounded leg. “Looks like you got nicked there.”
“Yeah. Hurts like a bitch.”
“They’ll do that. How is she?” Spencer repeated.