the garage. The faded school bus headed toward him. Its rusted wheels rolled to a stop only six yards away. Heat warmed his face and the flash of fire lit the world all around as the first bomb detonated. Ryan squeezed the trigger. The Hispanic man, with a tattoo of Santa Muerte staining his bulged shoulder, slumped over the extra large steering wheel.
Screams lit the night. All in reaction to the blast still rattling windows. Barrel up, Ryan raced to the northwest corner of the building. Two men in the front seat stared, mouths open at the fireworks. The back hatch opened. Two sets of boots hit the ground. He ended the lives of the men in the SUV—driver and shot-gun rider—in a smooth level of his rifle. One bald head leaned into the front seat, hands searching his drooping compadres. He never found what happened to them. The impact of the bullet sent him sprawling into the dark recesses of the vehicle.
Side doors fanned open on either side, but the occupants had learned their lesson. All remained behind the cover of the black Cadillac. Shouts were exchanged, but he didn’t hear them. They blurred into the mush of his brain as his gaze locked on the tail car parked at the back porch. Not as planned. They’d taken a gamble and lost. Too many possibilities and not enough remote detonators.
The matching SUV bloomed like a flower. Men leaped from the interior, weapons up, looking for the fight. Ryan ignored his constricting chest and snipped three of the men. But that left four more for Piper to deal with. A bullet smacked the ground ten feet from his boot. A quick reminder he had his own shit to handle. And fast.
The first bullet opened a floodgate and they rained down on his head as frequently as moisture from the cloud above. He flattened against the building and waited. And wished. Wished Piper was okay. Wished Piper would blow the front just to create a diversion. When the later didn’t happen he prayed to God the former did.
Twenty long seconds later the frequency ebbed. He dropped onto his back two feet into the wide open. Two sets of legs shown in the space beneath the car. One shot to a calf. Another to a foot. Ryan ended their flailing with two more bullets. The last two goons proved to be quick studies, jumping into the belly of the metal beast.
Two more hulking bodies littered the ground near the house, next to the ones he’d take out. So, she’d gotten two. She only had two left. Piper could do it.
Ryan rolled to cover. Spitting the mud that sloshed onto his mouth, he got to his feet in a flash and waited. The rain left as quickly as it had come. The sudden silence was more than he could bear. He wanted to call to Piper. He wanted to run into the open and draw their fire. But he wouldn’t make those rookie mistakes. If he died, so would Piper. He’d told her about the rendezvous, but, not wanting to worry her, had left out the part about negotiating a minefield.
With silent steps he backed down the building to his original position and on to the southeast corner. Taking both ends of the building into his periphery, he held. By now they knew it was a lone shooter on their left. With two of them, no doubt they’d take the split and attack from both directions. At least, that’s what he’d do.
From this vantage point he could see the end of car two, but more importantly, he could see the tail car and the trail of bodies leading to the house. None of which boasted bronze hair and a shapely ass.
He’d nearly given up hope on his quarry when a tiny scrape of rock on metal gave away the man on his right, a split second before his barrel peeked around the corner and sprayed. Ryan fell back behind the jailhouse, rolled toward the other end of the building, and took one shot. The man didn’t even stumble, just fell, his shoulder-length brown hair pooling with blood.
Ryan maintained his point, let the M4 rest at his side, and removed his sidearm. He went high this time. He kept everything close and
Screams lit the night. All in reaction to the blast still rattling windows. Barrel up, Ryan raced to the northwest corner of the building. Two men in the front seat stared, mouths open at the fireworks. The back hatch opened. Two sets of boots hit the ground. He ended the lives of the men in the SUV—driver and shot-gun rider—in a smooth level of his rifle. One bald head leaned into the front seat, hands searching his drooping compadres. He never found what happened to them. The impact of the bullet sent him sprawling into the dark recesses of the vehicle.
Side doors fanned open on either side, but the occupants had learned their lesson. All remained behind the cover of the black Cadillac. Shouts were exchanged, but he didn’t hear them. They blurred into the mush of his brain as his gaze locked on the tail car parked at the back porch. Not as planned. They’d taken a gamble and lost. Too many possibilities and not enough remote detonators.
The matching SUV bloomed like a flower. Men leaped from the interior, weapons up, looking for the fight. Ryan ignored his constricting chest and snipped three of the men. But that left four more for Piper to deal with. A bullet smacked the ground ten feet from his boot. A quick reminder he had his own shit to handle. And fast.
The first bullet opened a floodgate and they rained down on his head as frequently as moisture from the cloud above. He flattened against the building and waited. And wished. Wished Piper was okay. Wished Piper would blow the front just to create a diversion. When the later didn’t happen he prayed to God the former did.
Twenty long seconds later the frequency ebbed. He dropped onto his back two feet into the wide open. Two sets of legs shown in the space beneath the car. One shot to a calf. Another to a foot. Ryan ended their flailing with two more bullets. The last two goons proved to be quick studies, jumping into the belly of the metal beast.
Two more hulking bodies littered the ground near the house, next to the ones he’d take out. So, she’d gotten two. She only had two left. Piper could do it.
Ryan rolled to cover. Spitting the mud that sloshed onto his mouth, he got to his feet in a flash and waited. The rain left as quickly as it had come. The sudden silence was more than he could bear. He wanted to call to Piper. He wanted to run into the open and draw their fire. But he wouldn’t make those rookie mistakes. If he died, so would Piper. He’d told her about the rendezvous, but, not wanting to worry her, had left out the part about negotiating a minefield.
With silent steps he backed down the building to his original position and on to the southeast corner. Taking both ends of the building into his periphery, he held. By now they knew it was a lone shooter on their left. With two of them, no doubt they’d take the split and attack from both directions. At least, that’s what he’d do.
From this vantage point he could see the end of car two, but more importantly, he could see the tail car and the trail of bodies leading to the house. None of which boasted bronze hair and a shapely ass.
He’d nearly given up hope on his quarry when a tiny scrape of rock on metal gave away the man on his right, a split second before his barrel peeked around the corner and sprayed. Ryan fell back behind the jailhouse, rolled toward the other end of the building, and took one shot. The man didn’t even stumble, just fell, his shoulder-length brown hair pooling with blood.
Ryan maintained his point, let the M4 rest at his side, and removed his sidearm. He went high this time. He kept everything close and
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