Bombtrack (Road To Babylon, Book 2) Page 2

  Shut up and shoot!

  She did, hitting him a second time—this one in the face, just to be sure. His head snapped back while he was on one knee, and he crumpled, then lay still next to his friend.

  Gaby didn’t waste a second—she didn’t even stop to take a much-needed breath—before she snatched up Geoff’s fallen rifle and ran toward the two dead men. Her heartbeat was hammering mercilessly against her chest, and she was only aware of moving, moving, moving.

  She glanced left and right, then forward, following the sounds of the gun battle from around her. It was starting to wind down, but the crackle of small arms fire, with the occasional brap-brap-brap of a machine gun, continued to pollute the morning air. She kept looking for the technical from earlier, expecting it to reappear to finish the job. What chances did she have against one of those beasts, out in the open?

  None. Not a goddamn chance in the world, that was what.

  As she reached the two dead men, Gaby slung Geoff’s M4 and grabbed one of the invader’s rifles—a fancy AR with camo paint. She spent exactly ten seconds on the body, opening and stealing the spare magazines along his vest pouch and pocketing them. At the same time, she saw some kind of emblem—a white circle with an M in the middle on one of the vest’s pouches. It looked hand-drawn with permanent marker by a less-than-steady hand. When she glanced over at the second man, she saw the same thing—another circled M.

  Circle M? she thought as she snapped off one of the dead men’s two-way radios. Eleven seconds later, Gaby was back on her feet and running across the cobblestone floor.

  The random pop-pop-pop of small arms fire continued to her left and right, coming from the edges of the town.

  And every now and then, the bang of a single gunshot. Sometimes two, sometimes three in a row, as if someone were finishing off victims nearby.

  Gaby gritted her teeth and jumped over more bodies in the streets. There were a lot of Kohl’s Port men—about a dozen in civilian clothes that she could spot just by quickly looking left and right, though there could have been more if she’d spent some extra time, which she couldn’t afford.

  She also glimpsed a couple of men in black assault vests among the dead. They stood out because of their dress. Their battle dress. BDUs. Just like the black and blue she and her team wore.

  Her team. The others. What happened to them?

  Kylie, Martin, and Berryman. They had come to Kohl’s Port with her. Her team. Geoff had been stationed near the square with her while she was inside the city hall. Kylie had been watching their boat along the shoreline, while Berryman was mingling with the people, getting a feel for the population. Everyone had their own assignments.

  So where were they now? Were they even still alive?

  She didn’t allow herself to take a quick breath until she finally made it into an alley between two buildings on the other side of the town square. Gaby pressed her back against the sharp brick wall and willed her breathing to slow down, to tap down the runaway adrenaline coursing through every inch of her, but she might as well be trying to hold back an ocean with her bare hands.

  Breathe. Just breathe.

  In and out.

  In and out…

  Only when her heartbeat slowed and she could feel the blood racing through her digits again did she finally sling both rifles and unclip the radio she’d stolen.

  Gaby switched to her team’s channel. She keyed it, then said in a voice just loud enough to be heard through the device but not loud enough to be overheard in the streets outside the alley, “G-Squad, come in. G-Squad, if you can hear me, respond.”

  She lowered the radio and waited for a response.

  Nothing.

  Five seconds.

  And still nothing…

  She held the two-way back up to her lips. “Kylie, can you hear me? Martin? Berryman? If anyone can hear me, please respond.”

  She lowered the radio and waited again.

  Another five seconds, with the only sound her quickening heartbeat, almost in sync to the occasional gunfire somewhere else in Kohl’s Port.

  Ten seconds…

  She tried again. “G-Squad, come in. Kylie. Martin. Berryman. Come in. If anyone can hear me out there, please respond.”

  Another excruciating five seconds.

  Then ten…

  She thought about Geoff, still lying outside the city hall.

  Gaby closed her eyes.

  Then, opening them back up, lifted the radio—

  When it squawked first, and a male voice said through the tinny speakers, “I think your friends are dead.”

  It wasn’t Martin or Berryman, the two men in her team other than Geoff.

  Gaby leaned her head back against the wall and took a deep, deep breath.

  In and out.

  Control. She had to maintain control.

  In and out…

  The only thing worse than losing control was…

  In and out…

  …losing every member of your team.

  When she opened her eyes back up a second time, the silence around her was deafening.

  The shooting had stopped, though she could still hear voices. Men shouting and car engines. Not nearby—not yet—but they were close.

  And getting closer…

  Two

  “You still there?” The voice was light, almost airy, as if he were having a conversation about the weather with a friend. “Yoooo hooo. You still there? Chirp for me, little missy.”

  Her hand was shaking when she held the radio up to her lips. “Yeah, I’m still here.”

  “You got a name?” the man asked.

  “Do you?”

  “I asked first.”

  Asshole thinks this is a game. Well, fuck you, asshole.

  She didn’t discount the possibility that this was some kind of trick to draw her out or to keep her in one place now that the battle was over. And it was over. The lack of gunfire, of continued chaos, was all the evidence she needed. The invaders would be looking for stragglers now, which meant clearing the streets and buildings. She could hear them moving around out there, coming even closer to her location.

  Gaby took a dozen or so steps away from the mouth of the alley until she was hidden in a patch of shadow. She glanced behind her, but there was nothing back there except a wide-open field, with a sloping hill on the other side of knee-high grass. She’d have to do a lot of crawling to get through that unseen…

  “Jodie,” Gaby said into the radio. “My name’s Jodie.”

  She kept her voice low but still loud enough to be heard through the two-way. Her voice sounded steady to her own ears, but maybe that was because she wanted to believe it was. She was still flushed with enough adrenaline from the gun battle and could have been reading everything wrong. Everything.

  The man laughed. “Jodie, huh?” He didn’t sound as if he believed her.

  “Yeah. What’s yours?”

  “Redman.”

  Yeah right. I bet your real name’s Redman, asshole, Gaby thought, but said into the radio, “What are you doing here, Redman?”

  “I could ask you the same thing. I know you don’t belong here. Let me guess: You came on that blue and white fifteen footer? The one currently tied to a slip at the marina right now?”

  She clenched her teeth, even though she wasn’t surprised they had taken the marina on the other side of town. It was the reason she hadn’t made a run for it in the first place. That, and the fact that she wasn’t going to run away while her team was still unaccounted for.

  Kylie. Martin. And Berryman.

  How many of them were still alive? She wanted to believe that one of her team members had dropped their radio and Redman had picked it up when he heard her voice, and not the more devastating option that he had taken it off one of their dead bodies.

  Positive thoughts, right, Danny?

  She pressed tighter against the wall, feeling the jagged edges digging into her back as a technical—not the same one from before, t
his one was a black Ford—rolled slowly past her in the street. The machine gunner was moving the MG around as three men, wearing identical black assault vests over civilian clothes, walked alongside it. She spotted the circled M on the closest one’s vest.

  I’ve seen that before. But from where?

  Of the three on foot, one kept going with the vehicle, while the other two stopped to pick at the bodies. Not for weapons or spare magazines, but stealing jewelry and whatever else they could find in the pockets of the dead.

  One of them held up a gold watch, sunlight gleaming off its expensive band. “Check this out.”

  “Score,” his partner said. He rummaged through a dead man’s belongings but apparently didn’t find anything worth keeping and moved on to the next one.

  “Find anything?” the first one asked.

  “Not yet,” the second one said.

  The watch thief glanced up the street before stretching up to his full lanky frame. “Come on, we’re gonna lose them.”

  Mr. No Luck made a face. “What’s their fucking hurry, anyway? Everyone’s dead.”

  “Not everyone…”

  The two men jogged after the group, but Gaby didn’t breathe easier until the sounds of the vehicle and boots against the hard concrete street had faded, little by little, into the background.

  “You still there?” Redman was asking through the radio. She had lowered the two-way’s volume, so she had to hold it next to her ear to hear every word. He had been asking the same question for the last thirty seconds, but she hadn’t answered for fear of the two lollygaggers overhearing.

  “Yeah, I’m still here,” Gaby said now. “What do you want?”

  “Just wondering where you’re hiding right now. There’s not a whole lot of places left. You know that, right?”

  “Then why haven’t you found me yet?”

  He chuckled. “Good question. You must be really good at hiding.”

  “I’m not that good.”

  “No?”

  “Fair to medium.”

  “Ah.” Then, “Mind telling me what you’re doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  He didn’t answer right away, and the radio stayed silent for five seconds.

  After ten seconds had passed, she was about to press the transmit lever when he finally spoke up. “You killed two of my men, Jodie? That was you, right? At the town square?”

  Your “men?” So what does that make you? The head honcho?

  “I guess it’s only fair,” the man who called himself Redman (Yeah, right) continued. “We did kill four of yours.”

  Gaby lowered the radio and closed her eyes.

  Don’t lose control. Not now. Not now.

  “In combat, it’s not about the one who shoots first. It’s about the one who shoots straighter.”

  Imagining Will’s voice in her head always helped her to calm down. Except this time it took longer than usual. But slowly, very slowly…

  In and out.

  In and out…

  She refocused. It was difficult, but it was easier when she forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand.

  “Four for two,” she said into the radio. “Doesn’t seem quite fair to me.”

  “I wasn’t finished,” Redman said. “A couple of your guys got a few of my men, too. We’re still counting the casualties now, but at the moment I’m looking at seven dead. That does not make me a happy camper, Jodie.”

  “Cry me a river.”

  Seven to four. It didn’t make her feel any better about losing her team (My team. My team.), but it was something. Now all she had to do was focus on what that “something” was, and maybe she wouldn’t feel like such an unmitigated failure.

  “Those were your guys, weren’t they?” Redman was asking through the radio. “They stand out from the townspeople. What’s the symbol on your badges mean? The two X’s?”

  “Google it.”

  “Cute. But cute doesn’t make up for killing my guys.”

  “No one told you to attack Kohl’s Port. You brought this on yourselves. Those bodies are on you.”

  “That’s one way to look at it. The wrong way, but one way.” Then, “I guess I can’t really complain. When all’s said and done, I did take the objective.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “The town, of course.”

  “There are a hundred towns out there. Why this one?”

  “Why not?”

  “Sounds like you don’t really know the answer.”

  He laughed. “Is that you trying to goad me into telling?”

  “Just making an observation.”

  “Ah.”

  “Maybe you’re just a grunt.”

  He laughed again. “That’s not going to work, Jodie. Good try, though.”

  Not good enough, apparently, she thought, and tried another tack. “What’s the M stand for?”

  “Come out from wherever you’re hiding, and we’ll trade answers,” Redman said. “You tell me what’s on your patch, and I’ll tell you what the M stands for. Let’s start with your real name.”

  “What makes you think Jodie isn’t my real name?”

  “Just a hunch.”

  “And Redman’s your real name?”

  “It is.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Honest to God.”

  “You believe in God?” After what you just did to Kohl’s Port? she wanted to add but didn’t.

  Don’t antagonize him. Keep him talking. Gather as much intel as you can. That’s what Will would do…

  “Only when it suits me,” Redman said. For the first time he didn’t sound so young or carefree, but almost cruel.

  Redman might have said something else—or begun to—but she turned the radio off before he could get the first word out and clipped it back to her hip. She unslung Geoff’s M4, turned around, and jogged to the end of the alley.

  She listened for signs that the technical had come back, but it had faded completely into the background, and in its stead was the same overwhelming silence. She had no idea Kohl’s Port could be so quiet. There were no voices coming from the street, and the only sounds she could hear were her own slightly labored breathing.

  Gaby reached the back of the alley and leaned out, then looked left and right. Clear. Or, at least, she hoped it was clear.

  She moved into the open clearing and made a beeline toward the hill across the field of grass. She had seen a map of the area and knew there were woods back there on the other side. Even if she wanted to seek escape in the south, the boat was out of the question. Redman, or whatever his real name was, had already taken that end, and she wouldn’t be surprised if there were guards waiting, either out in the open or hiding.

  “Don’t get in trouble,” Danny had said before she left. “Get in, and get out. And if you do get into trouble, try not to make it worse.”

  “Like what?” she had asked.

  “You know, running away with their virgin daughters and such.”

  “And such?”

  “And such.”

  Danny. How she wished he were here with her right now. She could so use his trigger finger—

  Crack! as a gunshot split the air.

  She ducked on instinct, despite knowing full well it would have done no good if the shot had been true, because as soon as she heard the crack, it would have already been too late. Fortunately the shot wasn’t true and was off by a few inches, even though she felt the zip! of the round passing her right ear a split second before it kicked a chunk of dirt into the air in front of her.

  Sniper!

  Gaby didn’t bother looking back to try to find the shooter—she could already tell from the way the bullet had struck the ground that he was at a higher position, probably firing out of a second-floor window—and instead kept running, picking up speed as the beginning of the hill loomed in front of her.

  Damn, it hadn’t looked that far from the alley!

  Two more shot
s—crack! crack!—drilled into the ground in front and slightly to the right of her as she made a sudden left and began running parallel along the hill’s base instead of going up it, which would have only exposed her even more to the shooter. Not only that, but the act of climbing would have slowed her down tremendously and made her an even more tempting target.

  She imagined Danny’s voice, shouting, “Don’t tempt the shooter! Don’t tempt the shooter!”

  Voices from behind her, but again she didn’t glance back and waste the precious second or two it would have taken. Right now, her biggest worry was the sniper, but thank God he wasn’t good enough to hit a moving figure from a distance—

  Crack! and another chunk of the hill flicked dirt at her face.

  Finally—finally!—she reached the end of the mound and was able to turn right in order to maneuver around its base. The sniper must have realized what was about to happen just before it did and started pulling the trigger faster, but that only decreased his accuracy. The man (or woman) was committing the biggest sin of sniping, something Will and Danny had drilled into her head not to do: One true shot was always better than ten bad ones that missed.

  Although more bullets were striking the ground and hill, they were getting farther and farther away from her position, and Gaby thought, Thank God for shitty shooters!

  As soon as she made it around the hill’s mound, Gaby saw what she had been hoping to see: a wall of trees about thirty meters across another open field. Just in time, too, because she was now certain she could hear a vehicle coming fast behind her.

  She ran for five meters before realizing carrying two rifles was only slowing her down and tossed the AR she had picked up. She kept Geoff’s, gripping it in front of her as she made a mad dash for the trees. She listened for the truck—and she knew it was a truck; it had to be, or else it wouldn’t be flying across the uneven ground back there—as it got louder and louder. The thought of being in the crosshairs of another machine gun sent a jolt of fear through her, but it also gave her the incentive she needed to run, run, run even faster.

  She slid past two hulking elm trees as she slipped into the woods and didn’t stop running until she could feel shade all around her. She paused briefly to catch her breath, grabbing at a tree trunk to keep from falling over. She wasn’t out of shape, but she’d never had to run that fast in her life, and it winded her.