The Stefan Mendoza Trilogy Boxed Set, page 83
part #1 of Stefan Mendoza Trilogy Series
“Dammit! Stay down! All of you! ”
I racked a round, tried to get a sense of where the gunfire had come from, waited.
The gunman popped around the corner of the wrecked EEC SUV, assault rifle raised, and ran forward in a low crouch. Another burst, and Hispanic Lady and Yellowing T-shirt went silent as bullets tore through them.
I fired off a burst of shots; the gunman straightened and turned to run.
A second burst—low—tore the gunman’s legs off at the knees.
He hit the ground with an ear-piercing screech.
More gunfire drove me back from the doorway. More shooters, too much gunfire.
I checked my data device to be sure I hadn’t missed the audio interpretation of a text.
Nothing. They weren’t receiving me.
I was cut off.
Chapter 20
The crack of bullets off the building became a continuing thunder. I choked on the sharp smell of gunpowder as a chill bled through my skin and sank into my gut. The interior lights failed, some blown out by bullets, some exploding from circuit overload. That left the brilliant white halogen and LED lights of the vehicles and compound security floods to deal with, so I shifted to a visible light intake with some glare filtering.
It was a war zone outside. The EEC vehicles had armor, even if the assault team didn’t seem to have much. From what I could see when I risked a look, the EEC drivers had set up a “V” with the two trailing vehicles about thirty feet shy of the building I was protecting and had hunkered down in that little fort. The SunCorps security team had suffered losses early but the survivors had apparently gone to cover, same as the EEC attackers. I followed muzzle flashes to locate enemy positions, and from that I came up with fourteen.
Against one.
Those were hopeless odds.
There was no thinking positive about lead when it tore through you. I was pinned down. There was no escape, and it was only a matter of time before someone rushed the building or a round penetrated the insulated metal walls.
As Clemens used to say, at least I was dressed for the occasion.
Staying in the building was certain death. I needed to find another exit.
I crawled wide of the corpses, shotgun in one hand, R60 in the other, then down the hall, always watching the front entryway. The eggheads had closed and locked their doors; I mostly cared about the one farthest back. The women’s room.
The door was perforated—three holes, high, close together. Not good.
I set the shotgun down, knocked once, then punched the knob into a mangled hunk of aluminum, rattling the door in the frame. Another punch, and the door tore free of the frame.
The women shrieked.
“Hold it down!” Loud enough to be heard but not shouting. Somehow, a lot of women were okay with shrieks and screams, but a man raising his voice…
There were three of them still alive, curled into the corners farthest from me. They didn’t move any more than the fourth, who had taken a round through the throat.
The room was like a barracks—bunk beds tight against three walls, standing lockers and dressers on the wall to my right. It smelled like I imagined a girl’s college dorm would—a crazy mix of perfumes, lotions, and who knew what else.
More importantly, there were drapes hanging down on the opposite side of the bunks across from me.
A window.
“We’re getting you folks out of this place, okay?” I looked around. “Okay?”
Whimpered responses that meant nothing. They were terrified, just like me, but I had been through the insanity of combat enough to know that I had to keep moving and acting or I would just be another victim.
I crawled to the bunk beds and tugged them away from the wall, then yanked the drapes down .
A window, big enough to fit even the larger eggheads through.
And the butte wall.
I’d expected that. Units of this size would come with more than one exit normally, and more than a couple windows at the front. You might be able to cover the extra door up, but a window facing what amounted to a sheer cliff face? Why bother?
I set my guns down on the top bunk and opened the window. It was six feet up to the roof, maybe seven. Easy enough for someone even marginally fit to haul themselves up.
Engineers and systems experts?
The bigger problem was the space between the window and the butte wall—maybe the length of my forearm.
I turned around and dropped low. “Ladies. We’re going up to the roof, okay? Once we’re up there, we’re going to get into one of the SUVs and make a run for it.”
The woman in the corner to my right fainted. Not a sound. Her eyes closed, and she slumped over.
I crawled over, made sure she wasn’t wounded, then crawled back to the spot below the window. “This sounds frightening, but it’s every bit as safe as staying in here. You understand?”
The two conscious women nodded. One was a young black woman who didn’t look like I pictured an egghead looking. She had some pretty wild hair, a huge T-shirt over pajama bottoms. They seemed to have some sort of science-fiction theme about them—exploding starships or something—that I couldn’t place. And she had the most wonderful, full, shapely lips, even though they were quivering terribly. The other was a heavyset white woman—china doll pale in the strange light, with curly red hair and a sort of rodent look about her. She was big and not athletically big. She would be a problem getting out the window.
Marshall looked younger than I had expected. And fit. He wouldn’t be a problem. I’d seen one other man who would be worth taking with us. I would leave it to Marshall to identify anyone else worth saving.
I squeezed out the window, climbed up until I had wall against my back, then brought my legs up against my chest .
And pushed.
My shoulders took on most of the building’s weight, but cybernetics still connected to bone and used organic ligaments and tendons. The strain of pushing tons of metal and people, even a few inches…
Stabbing pain flared along my spine, lingering on my left side even after I quit pushing. It felt like the flesh of my shoulder blades had merged with the corrugated insulated covering. When I twisted away, there was a sound like tearing, and my back felt like fire.
It was much tougher getting back in through the window than it had been getting out, even though I’d bought us a few more inches to work with.
The young black woman was standing in the corner. She whispered, “Y-you okay?”
“It’s all relative, right?” I waved her to me. “Let’s start with you…?”
“Cecily.” She came to me quickly, ducking behind me so that I was a shield against any other stray rounds. She was taller than she’d looked.
“All right, Cecily. First step, getting up through the window, getting a foot on the sill, then grabbing the roof and pulling yourself up. When you’re up there, lay flat and wait for me. That’s the process. Can you do that?”
“I think…” She glanced out the window, looked down at her chest, apparently better camouflaged by the T-shirt than I would have expected, then nodded. “Boost me?”
I cupped my hands, got her up to the sill, then stuck my head out. “Got it?”
“I…” She grunted. “There’s not much to grab up here. I can’t—”
“Scoot over a little.” I twisted around and went out again, groaning when my back protested. She hadn’t given me much room to work with, and I didn’t feel like trying to find the perfect position. I put my hands on her hips and said, “On three.”
She nodded. No protest or slap. This was life or death, and she got that.
When I lifted her, my upper back protested the most. Getting that first person to the roof made it worth it .
I pulled her down flat, said, “Stay down.”
She smiled. Nervous but hopeful.
I slipped back into the room. Just in time to see two forms moving in through the main entry out front. They were hunched low, focused on the dead.
EEC goons.
I pulled the shotgun off the bed and lowered myself into a crouch. There were still a few shells in the magazine. Good enough for government work.
I laid flat, sighted down the hallway.
They spotted me as they reached the first doors.
I emptied the magazine, aiming low, taking away their legs.
They went down with groans. The one farther back flailed. A burst from my R60 silenced them both.
Big Red was frozen now, eyes as big as quarters.
I holstered the R60 and held my hand out. “Cecily’s on the roof. You want to make it out of here?”
Seconds passed. The gunfire outside stopped for a second. Some wounded person screamed—long, agonized wails.
Shouting.
A single shot, and the screaming stopped.
Big Red nodded and crawled toward me. I repeated the process, cupping my hands, getting her onto the sill, then crawling out to help her up. It was like lifting a bag with pizza dough in it, but she was a good sport about the whole thing, lying down the second she was on the roof. Cecily sort of cooed and encouraged until I was back in the room.
I knocked on the door I thought Marshall had come out of, then repeated the punching process.
The door rattled open.
“William Marshall?” I spotted him in the far corner, knees up to his chin, glaring. “What was it you said? If you want to live?”
He didn’t smile. His lips flattened. “And if I shouldn’t? Have you considered that possibility?”
“Actually, I’m not here to give you a vote. You’re coming with me. ”
“What if I should resist?”
“Well, it would be easier to have you moving on your own two feet, but if I have to punch you out, I could. Problem is, I might enjoy it.”
He sucked in a breath. “How, exactly, do you propose to effect our escape?”
“Out the back window, assuming you don’t talk us to death. Today. Please.”
He crawled toward me. “There are cold-blooded men outside with deadly weapons.”
“Lucky you, there’s one inside, too.” I smirked. “Who else would you consider essential personnel?”
He looked at the woman who had been killed in the hallway. “Brianna. Cecily…”
“On the roof with Big Red.”
“Big…” The lights came on in his eyes. “Sofia.” Not essential.
The gun battle outside resumed.
I ducked reflexively. “Any guys?”
“Alberto.”
“What’s he look like?”
“Tall, curly hair, mustache and beard. Greek-looking.”
I remembered the guy. “Which room?”
Marshall pointed to the one the EEC guys had been just outside of.
“Anyone else?”
“Miles.” Marshall indicated the door opposite his. “Miles!”
The door opened, and an older, balding man with a gut poked his head out. He looked like a heart attack waiting to happen. “William? What is going on?”
Marshall waved at me. “Our fair rescuer proposes we escape through the window.”
Miles glanced into the women’s room. “I—I guess.”
I crawled toward Alberto’s door and said over my shoulder, “You two get to the window.” Then I punched the door in. “Alberto?”
Five guys cowered. Alberto the Greek looked around, as if he thought there might be another Alberto he’d never bumped into among them, then raised his hand.
“C’mon.” I waved him out. “Fast, but low.”
I got them to the roof, but my back was a wreck, and I was having second thoughts about the plan, at least until I remembered there were no good options. A quick check from the rooftop confirmed that. The EEC team was down to a few, and they were crawling back into the least banged-up SUV.
There were still several SunCorps people all around the compound.
But there was only one between me and the SUV area.
I got Marshall and Cecily’s attention. “Here’s the plan, okay? I’m going for the SUVs.” I pointed. “I’m going to lower you down now. Back here, out of sight. When I drive up, you get in. You’ll have the SUV between you and the guards. You get in, get down, and we go.”
They nodded, but Miles and Big Red—Sofia—groaned.
Sofia said, “They’ll kill us.”
“Sure. Asset denial. I’m the only person here who doesn’t want any of you dead. Okay? Stick with me, and you’ve got a shot.”
That got a quick nod from her.
I dropped down and held my hands up. Cecily came down first, the only pleasant experience I was going to have with the bunch.
She didn’t pull away from me when I set her down but brushed her lilac-scented hair back, as if embarrassed, and muttered, “Thanks.”
Marshall and Alberto were manageable. Miles and Sofia…my back was really aching by the time I left them.
The EEC SUV engine roared to life, and the gunfire grew more fierce. SunCorps apparently wanted no survivors. I used the noise to cover my awkward leap to the next building over, where the closest SunCorps gunman had been firing from the corner.
I held my breath. The shooting continued. No one had noticed me.
I dropped on the gunman, snapped his neck, and pulled the body back. As I patted it down for keys or security tags or whatever might be used to activate the vehicles, I realized it was a woman. Young.
Her dead eyes stared into the night .
I closed them and turned her head away, then dug out what looked like a vehicle fob.
I darted to the SUV compound. There wasn’t much left of the burning vehicle—the metal frame, the collapsed windshield, the seat frames. I punched holes in the tires of the other vehicles, then headed for the one I’d chosen, the one with the cleanest route to the opening between the buildings.
The gunfire stopped.
The EEC vehicle sputtered and crashed into the building closest to the mouth of the opening. One of the back doors opened, and someone stumbled out, hopped toward the opening.
A gun fired again.
The EEC agent staggered.
More gunfire.
No survivors.
I swallowed, voiced a text, “If you can hear me, guys, I’m stealing a SunCorps SUV and making a run for it. I could use support. Maybe that helicopter you talked about? Some sniper fire?”
The engine roared to life. I floored the accelerator, saw someone running around the corner of the building to my left, gun at the ready.
I swerved into him, crushing him against the building, then swung back around to the building where my precious cargo was hiding. I braked hard and flipped the door locks.
Cecily ran toward the vehicle, crouched low, arms over her head.
The others held position.
I leaned over, popped the door, and hauled her in, pushing her down into the space beneath the dash. “Stay down!”
She nodded.
The others didn’t move.
Gunfire began again. Glass cracked. Metal pinged and popped.
I waved the others toward me. “Let’s go! We can make it!”
Alberto took a step, hesitated, took another, then froze. He shook his head .
Bullets ripped through his chest, and he staggered backwards, then collapsed.
Sofia ran toward him, and a round caught her in the gut. She doubled over, gasping.
The others cowered.
“William Marshall!” I ducked down as glass chunks fell from my window. “We can do this!”
Defiance in squinted eyes. Anger. Hatred.
I thought about crawling over the passenger seat and grabbing him, but the SunCorps team was apparently a step ahead of me. People were advancing, firing. I would never make it back.
I shielded the side of my head with my arm and floored the accelerator. One of the tires was flat. I fought the pull, swerved around the EEC wreck, swerved again to avoid the other, couldn’t swerve to avoid the downed agent.
Glass rained down from the windows. The front windshield was almost impossible to see through.
Some of the SunCorps people were pursuing me on foot; some were running for the vehicle pool. My SUV was managing barely more than a jog. A fast walk. A walk.
It came to a stop halfway down the narrow gap of the entry.
I pulled my machine pistols.
Cecily was crying. Glass twinkled in her hair like snow.
“You’re going to be okay.” I pulled the door handle, barely realizing it had already come away.
Something roared overhead and twisted around in the sky, kicking up sand, flashing a blinding spotlight down.
The helicopter! Chan!
The SunCorps agents stopped, opened fire, taking out the spotlight, popping holes in the airframe.
I holstered my guns, slid over to the passenger door, and tested it: working.
I got out, pulled Cecily to me, and ran for the end of the pass .
The gunfire stopped, and the helicopter sputtered low overhead, streaming smoke, weaving left and right, flashing red lights.
The gunfire began again. Bullets cracked all around us. I took one to my leg. Another hit my arm.
And then there were lights ahead, the roar of engines.
The Camaro skidded to a stop, window down, Katy’s pretty face glaring past us wickedly. “Move,” she shouted as she propped a double-barrel shotgun up.
I darted aside just as the room sweeper spat death.
The gunfire behind us subsided.
She reversed the Camaro out of the entry, past the approaching SUV rental. Ichi leaned forward, face contorted in concentration.
Shit! She’s going to try it!
Brakes groaned, and the SUV spun around, spraying sand and rock. Metal scraped, the bumper tore away, and glass shards slapped against the stone walls.
I got Cecily into the back seat next to Chan, laid on top of the scientist, and grunted, “Go.”
It was all I could manage.
The engine roared back to life, and I pulled Chan down with us, clinging tight to the two of them until we were miles away.
