AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Appears so. The attackers out front didn’t get close. Three bodies about a block to the east.”
“I want to see them,” Zack said. “Try to keep the local cops from messing up the scene.”
“Will do. You’re coming back here?”
“Yeah. Give me twenty.”
“Glad you made it, mate.”
“Likewise.”
They pulled through the guarded entrance to La Finca; it was clear the soldiers here were aware of the attack because they had their guns up and their flashlights cutting the night, but they let the Navigator in, and Zack’s driver screeched to a halt in the drive in front of the garden at the blast door entrance. Black Wasps and company guards were outside; everyone was armed with long guns, which Zack was pleased to see.
Zack looked to the driver. “Keep it running.”
“Sí, señor.”
He helped Hinton out of the vehicle and escorted him to the blast doors. He had a slight limp; the man still seemed to be disoriented somewhat, and he walked with his hand over his back on the right, as if the blow he took there had hurt.
Kimmie and the other man went inside, Anton followed them in, and then the guards shut and locked the door.
Once Zack had Anton inside La Finca, he ran back through the garden, jumped back in the Navigator, and they raced back to the restaurant.
•••
The low mist still hung in the air when Zack arrived at the scene. Police cars were everywhere, and dozens and dozens of locals stood around on the street, trying to get a good look at what remained of the carnage.
A white ambulance sat parked near the front door, just in front of the two military pickups. The ambulance’s back was open and its lights flashed, but Zack felt sure any wounded had already been taken from the scene in the thirty minutes since the firefight ended.
No, the ambulance was here to transport the body bags.
Zack had only advanced a few yards on the location when he was stopped by a local cop, but he saw Wren step out of the shattered front window of the restaurant.
“Gareth!”
The Englishman saw Zack, then called to the police officer, who immediately let the big American through.
Blood ran down Wren’s right arm. “You hit?” Zack asked.
“No. I’m fine. Not even sure what got me.”
Zack lifted the torn sleeve of the polo and checked it out. Blood trickled out of an inch-long gash at the top of Wren’s right biceps.
“Looks like you might have caught a piece of frag from a ricochet, or broken glass or something. You should get that cleaned up.”
Wren didn’t seem concerned. “Anton’s fine?” he asked again.
“Hit in the back plate. Found a little nick from spalling on his right leg. Nothing to worry about, although he is acting like he caught a fifty BMG center mass.”
The .50 caliber Browning machine gun round was probably thirty times the size of the fleck of metal that had struck Hinton’s leg.
Wren rolled his eyes and said, “Civilians,” with a shrug. “Let’s go take a look at the dead bastards, shall we?”
They started out in front, where three men lay in the street some twenty-five yards from the entrance of the restaurant. Two were in an alleyway on the other side of the road; apparently both had been hiding behind an old Chevy convertible, because the classic car had been riddled with what looked like one hundred rounds of Cuban military machine gun fire.
The two bodies here were a mess; both had been hit multiple times, and they lay torn and twisted.
One of the men’s entrails had spilled out from his abdomen, and the other was missing parts of his head and face. Still, Zack could identify them as Black, and probably in their twenties or thirties.
