“I am…”
“No, I mean, really listen.”
Michael looked confused again.
Doesn’t take much, does it, kid?
“You’re losing,” Will said. “You know that, right? The other guys are winning. You can hear that, can’t you?”
Will had said it all with absolute certainty. It was in his voice and on his face. He knew what he was talking about, and Michael would be smart to listen.
Of course, it was all bullshit. It was impossible to tell who was winning the battle outside. He had no idea how many were taking part or even who they were — two very important details needed to predict the outcome of a gun battle. Who were the good guys and who were the bad guys? If there were any good guys at all. For all he knew, Mason and his men could be putting down the attackers right this moment, which would lead him right back to where he started.
But he didn’t tell Michael that. No. The kid was frightened and out of his element. Running in here to hide was proof of that. The shaking hands trying desperately to keep their grip on the assault rifle sealed it.
“Your unit’s losing,” Will pressed. “Mason’s losing. If he’s not already dead.”
Michael didn’t answer. Instead, he looked back at the door so Will couldn’t see his face to gauge if he was getting through.
“You need to get out of here, kid,” Will said. “Before it’s too late.”
“There’s too many of them out there,” Michael said. His voice shook noticeably. “I think they’re using our trucks. The ones with the machine guns. How’d they get those?”
“I know, I can hear them using it,” Will said. More bullshit. He couldn’t tell one way or another who was firing the machine guns, but Michael didn’t need to know that at the moment, either. “Trust me, kid, I’ve been through enough of these situations to know a losing side when I hear it. And your side’s losing. Bad.”
Michael shook his head. “You can’t be sure of that.”
“I am. And you are, too.” Then, with a harder edge to his voice, “You wanna live or not?”
Michael glanced over. He opened his mouth to answer, but then snapped it shut just as quickly.
A second, then five…
“Yes,” Michael said finally. “I want to live.”
Will held out his bound wrists. “Cut me loose, and I’ll get us out of here.”
“How?”
“You’ll have to trust me on this.”
“What? No fucking—”
An explosion ripped through the building and something smashed into the door on the other side. The clatter of shelves falling, glass pelting tiled floors, and someone (or someones) screaming in pain. Chunks of the ceiling rained down on them, and Michael threw his arms over his head as if that would save him. Thankfully, the bulk of the store remained in one piece, leaving them to cough in the aftermath of falling debris.
Oh, hell. That was definitely a grenade.
“Kid,” Will said, watching Michael pick himself up from the floor and coughing. “It’s either get out of here with me, or stay here and die with the rest of your guys. What’s it going to be?”
Michael was on his knees and looking for his rifle. He had accidentally tossed it while falling and grabbing for his head. Now he crawled over and picked it up, even as the gunfire continued to rage outside, the brap-brap-brap of a machine gun continuing to fill the air as if the damn thing had an endless supply of belt-fed ammo.
“Michael,” Will said. “You gotta decide and you gotta decide now: You wanna live or not?”
The teenager got up and hurried over, drawing his knife. The blade was trembling as he cut the zip tie from around Will’s wrists, then did the same to the one around his ankles.
“What now?” Michael said. “How are we going to get out of here?”
“I need a gun,” Will said.
The soldier stared at him.
“A sign of good faith,” Will continued.
Michael sighed and drew his sidearm — a Sig Sauer 9mm — and handed it over reluctantly. “Can I trust you?”
Will stood up. “Kind of a little late to be asking that, don’t you think?”
The kid made to smile back, but it came out badly forced. “I guess.”
“A deal’s a deal,” Will said. “Come on, let’s get the hell out of here before whoever’s wiping out your friends finishes the job and comes looking for us next.”
He grinned at the kid.
For a moment there, Will actually thought he was in trouble.
Option found. Opportunity seized.
I’ll be home soon, Lara.
“How many of you are out there?” Will asked.
“Ten,” Michael said.
“I saw more than that this morning. A lot more.”
“Most of them left after we captured you.”
“Where did they go?”
“I don’t know. They really don’t tell me very much.”
Of course not. You’re the kid so wet behind the ears he runs into the closest room to hide the first time someone’s shooting at him.
“What about Mason?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I think he left before the attack. Like I said, they don’t really tell me very much.”
Will crouched among the ruins of the gas station (the Palermo, as it turned out) and watched through the broken windows as a bullet-riddled blue Ford F-250, its front windshield dotted with the same bullet holes that had punctured its side and front hood, moved slowly down the street. There were two men in the back, one swiveling a heavy M60 perched on the roof of the vehicle.
Christ, no wonder Mason’s people hadn’t stood a chance. The all-purpose American machine gun was capable of firing 500 rounds per minute with an effective range of over 500 meters and beyond. That single weapon probably accounted for all the broken windows in the stores up and down the street that he could see, not to mention the destroyed cars that hadn’t been there this morning, along with the crumpled uniformed bodies visible in the parking lot on his side of Route 13.
The Ford looked like one of the technicals Josh’s soldiers had been using, though he’d never seen this one before. While one man was behind the machine gun, a second was slightly crouched behind him with an AK-47. Other well-armed men were walking alongside them, easily keeping up with the truck’s slow pace.
This wasn’t a charge, it was a victory march through occupied territory.
The gunfight had stopped almost at the same time Will and Michael slipped out of the back room and into what remained of the convenience store. They hid behind a couple of fallen shelves now, within sight of two bodies lying next to the gas pumps outside. The frag grenade had landed inside where it had left behind a crater in the middle and torn apart everything that wasn’t nailed down, including the poor soul whose shredded uniform they were looking at.
There were no rifles for Will to find, though he did see the remnants of an M4 stock among the debris. Which meant he had to make do with the Sig Sauer. At least Michael was smart enough to carry spare magazines, which Will had pocketed. The young man continued clutching his AR-15 (as if he knew how to use it, which Will doubted), eyes snapping from the remains of the uniform and out the shattered windows at the technical and its companions.
The sight of the attackers was intriguing. They were wearing civilian garb, including jeans, cargo pants, and long-sleeve shirts. The fact that they had come extremely well-armed and had acquired one of Josh’s technicals offered up more questions than answers.
Who are these guys?
“What now?” Michael whispered behind him.