“Keep going!” Smith yelled over the sound of Howell and his new protégé trading fire with the towers. The man to Smith’s left was hit in the shoulder blade and went down, causing the truck to lurch back toward the sand. “Harder!”
They managed to get it on the edge of its tires, and he walked his hands up the windshield pillar as the load lightened. When gravity finally took over, he dove through the open window, shoving Hakim’s body out of the way and jamming the clutch down with his elbow.
He twisted the ignition key and was surprised to hear the engine fire almost immediately. Maybe their luck was finally changing.
Still stuffed up under the dash, he used his knee to move the shift lever and eased off the clutch, propelling the truck toward the facility’s entrance as bullets rang off the armored door.
After what seemed like an hour but was probably less than a minute, the truck slammed into something and came to a stop. The motor stalled and Smith kicked the door open, sliding out to see that Howell and his companion had already repositioned themselves and were once again lining up on the towers.
In the distance, he could see a cloud of dust coming toward them and knew it was the convoy of men they’d held back so that they wouldn’t arrive on the bridge looking like the invading army they were. It would be another fifteen minutes before they arrived, though, so no help there.
Keeping tight to the truck, Smith approached the blackened steel doors. He could feel cold air blowing through the gap and see the shimmer of fluorescent light inside. But that was all. There was no sound and nothing that would indicate movement.
He stood motionless for a moment, hearing a round shatter the windshield of the truck behind him. Howell was doing everything humanly possible, but it was just a matter of time before the snipers picked them off.
“What now?” Farrokh said, slipping up next to him. Smith shouldered his rifle and pulled out the.45 he’d been given. It felt heavy and clumsy compared to the one Janani had made, but it would have to do.
He eased forward, but when the gun came even with the gap in the doors, a shot sounded and the pistol was ripped from his hand.
“Damn it!” he said, jerking back and making a quick count of his fingers. All still there.
A few more shots followed, scattering Farrokh’s confused men as Smith tried to decipher what he was hearing. Three, maybe four, separate guns, all trained on the narrow gap that they needed to pass through.
“Do we have any explosives left?”
Farrokh shook his head. “The men coming have a few grenades, but we put everything else we had in the truck.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. You didn’t hold any back?”
“If we didn’t get through the door, what would we have done with them?”
It was a valid point, but not what he wanted to hear. They still had the truck. How could they use it? Ramming the doors was unlikely to get them anywhere — they still looked solid. Maybe attach chains and pull?
Great idea, if they had chains. And a few hours. And no one trying to kill them.
More shots sounded from inside, and Smith backed away from the opening before he realized that the bullets weren’t coming through. Panicked shouts became audible a moment later, followed by an eerie, echoing screech that sounded strangely like monkeys.
He picked up the charred remains of a fender and waved it in front of the breach. The shooting and shouts continued inside, but none of it seemed to be directed at the fender.
As much as he hated leaping in blind, an opportunity had presented itself and it was impossible to know if there would ever be another.
“Peter!” he shouted. “We’re going!”
Howell slapped the young man next to him on the back and then ran toward Smith, who was barking orders while Farrokh translated.
“You. Take Peter’s place and cover those towers as best you can. You three, use the truck and whatever else you can find to block this entrance after we go in. Nothing comes out. You understand what we’re dealing with, right?”
They all nodded. “All right. Hold tight. Reinforcements are on their way. The rest of you are with us.”
Smith pulled his assault rifle in front of him and took a deep breath before leaping through the gap. He immediately fell to the floor, staying as close to the wall as he could and yelling for anyone following to do the same.
He had been right about there being three men covering the entrance, but now they had so little interest in it, they hadn’t even noticed him come in. They were firing wildly at two small, blood-soaked monkeys darting from wall to ceiling to floor so quickly it was hard to believe they didn’t have wings. Ricochets filled the air as the rounds bounced off stone and steel in search of something more forgiving.
Farrokh came through next and Smith grabbed him, making sure he stayed low as his men followed.
“Hold your—,” he started, but it was too late. The second man through let loose a series of uncontrolled bursts at the red blurs streaking around them, filling the air with even more lead.
“Peter! The monkeys!” he yelled as the Brit came through.
The benefit of Omidi’s guards’ being completely preoccupied with the animals on the ceiling was that it made them easy targets. They crumpled unceremoniously to the floor when Smith put a single round into each of their chests.
“Stop shooting!” Smith yelled as Howell crammed himself into a corner and began tracking a monkey darting across an oblong light fixture hanging on cables. No one seemed to hear, so he threw himself over Farrokh, grabbing the closest man’s rifle and giving it a hard jerk. “Stop!”
A series of bulbs exploded as Smith went for the next man firing out of turn. In the dark, their chances against these little demons went to precisely zero. He managed to yank the gun from him and was trying to get to the last man shooting when one of the monkeys dropped down and did his job for him.
The young man screamed and dropped his rifle, clawing at the animal sinking its fangs into the back of his neck.
It was just the opportunity Howell needed. His bullet shattered the right half of the monkey’s skull and passed through, severing the desperate man’s spinal cord. A quick and humane end for both.
The last monkey was smaller and faster but obviously confused by the shadows created by the swinging of the last light fixture. Farrokh and his men tracked it with their guns but to their credit managed to control their fear and not fire.
The animal leapt for the wall and missed the hole in the concrete it was going for, causing it to somersault to the floor. The impact dazed it, slowing its chaotic movements enough to make it a viable target. Howell’s first shot spun it around and his second tore away most of its chest.
Suddenly, all that was audible in the room was their ragged breathing and the creaking of the light. Smith was the first to stand, feeling a little disoriented in the stillness. He pulled Farrokh to his feet and then held a hand out to the other three men. They just stared blankly at him as Howell started toward a steep ramp leading into the earth.
“Look on the bright side,” the Brit said as he disappeared around the corner. “How much worse could it possibly get?”
By the time they reached the main level, Smith’s heart had slowed to what still felt like twice its normal rate. He was on point as he came around a blind corner, rifle thrust out in front of him.
Nothing.
“Clear!” he said, aware of the cameras looking down at them but unable to do much about it.
Halfway down the passage they came upon three corpses wearing lab coats, each with a neat bullet hole in the back of the head.
“Nobody touch anything.”
When he got no response, he turned back to Farrokh. “Are you going to translate?”