Matt Drake 11 - The Ghost Ships of Arizona by David Leadbeater

up around the fire . . . and one slammed into the old man, knocking him onto his back. Blood flowed from a stomach wound. As he lay there, a split-second later another projectile hammered into him.
    “No!” Drake struggled across to him.
    Life had already left his eyes. His chest was still. Drake closed his own eyes for a second, but then his sense of imminent danger sang out—a soldier’s sixth and seventh sense.
    Drake caught a knife thrust, averted it, and smashed its initiator on the bridge of the nose. Only a grunt came forth and the man wrenched his arm free, thrusting again. Drake sidestepped, caught him under the chin and tipped him backwards. His body hit the ground with a thud, slipping a little in the streaming sand. Drake was aware of another attacker at his side, registering a misstep even as he fought the first. Quickly, he diverted to the second, striking while the dark-clad man faltered, breaking his windpipe before he even knew he was a target. Drake then heard Yorgi’s warning shout, and glanced beyond the first attacker to see another man had launched himself into the air, using the slope to gain momentum. Drake hit the sand in less than a second. The man flew over, landed at Yorgi’s feet and one more gunshot rang out.
    A frantic battle ensued. Drake kept his pistol tucked away and drew his own knife, dispatching two enemy combatants almost immediately. To his left Smyth followed suit. At Karin’s urging, still only minutes into the battle, they angled to the left where a smaller, unmanned sand dune offered a way out. Lauren used her pistol to pepper the top of the dunes, giving the snipers up there plenty to think about. Drake witnessed her lightning-quick magazine change and knew Smyth had spent many hours coaching her.
    Not the most obvious way to impress a girl. But then Smyth is hardly typical.
    He sidestepped at a rapid rate, taking care to allow for the unstable surface. A bulky figure came straight at him. Drake dipped and hurled the man past his right shoulder, straight into the remains of the fire. A bullet cleaved the air in front of his face, right where he would have been if he hadn’t taken time to deal with the larger figure. Karin was already near the top of the slope, taking risks, urging Smyth and Lauren after her. Yorgi fired into their pursuers. Drake made sure they gained several feet of clear ground.
    “Run!” he cried.
    With a last look at the old man’s motionless body, Drake pounded up the short slope, seeing Karin and Smyth flying over the top. Yorgi fired his pistol as he ran, but Drake urged him to concentrate on getting his head down and putting some distance between them and their attackers. The darkness around them became absolute as they escaped the vicinity of the still smoldering fire. Drake knew from earlier reconnaissance that running dead east from this position would lead them to a dried-up river bed within minutes. Hopefully Smyth remembered the same. Their pursuers thumped after them, some tangling with fallen bodies, others clearly unsure of their orders now that their quarry had escaped the net.
    Drake saw now that there was a little illumination offered by a new sliver of moonlight, its eerie glow adding to the desert’s sinister appeal as it slipped between passing clouds, a hide-and-seek specialist. Smyth hit level ground and stopped to allow the group a chance to reform. Drake risked a look back, and saw dark bodies not far behind.
    “We’ll lose them ahead,” Drake said, voice low, showing the way.
    He pushed Karin, Lauren and Yorgi ahead, making sure at least two of them were armed, then brought up the rear with Smyth.
    “How’d the Pythian assholes find us?” Smyth breathed.
    “You think it’s the Pythians?”
    “Who the fuck else could it be? They know we’re searching for the ship.”
    Drake considered this as he ran. Nicholas Bell was leading this operation and had probably scouted the entire area for miles around, leaving spotters