Page 17 of Crossfire Creek Siege

Rena counted what she’d seen—five men down, maybe six—but there’d been more at the start. A dozen, at least, maybe more waiting outside. Every step she took pressed that number harder into her head.

She had no idea how many were left.

But she knew one thing for sure.

They hadn’t come this far to leave anyone behind.

She saw him out of the corner of her eye, a silhouette slipping toward the stack of training mats, low and careful, like a hunter closing on prey. Her throat went cold. The kid behind the mats had nowhere to go.

Rena cursed under her breath, the single word a hard shove into motion. She rose, fired. The first round slammed into the thug’s chest with a dull, armored thunk, the bullet biting into plate, sparks blooming at the impact.

Not enough. Not even close.

He turned, surprise flashing across the visor, and for a heartbeat she hesitated. Then opened up. Two more shots cracked out, rapid, the report stinging her ears. The second round thudded against armor. The third found a gap by the collar and slammed home, and the man staggered, a hand flying to his throat.

Gage was already moving, voice low and steady. “Finish him.”

They closed in together, fast and efficient. Just the necessary motion of two trained people ending a threat. The man went down under their weight and blunt force. The kid behind the mats whimpered once, then was still.

The smoke thinned to a gritty haze, clearing enough for Rena to see the scorched metal walls and the flicker of dying lights. Her ears were ringing, her nerves stretched to the breaking point. Then, beneath the distant crackle of fire, she heard a new sound.

A heavy, mechanical whine.

The hangar’s front doors.

Her pulse spiked. “You hear that?”

Gage nodded, cursed. The sound deepened, a slow grind of hydraulics and steel. The doors were opening.

“Shit,” she snarled. “They’re getting out.”

Or worse. Taking the kids with them.

The thought clawed through her chest, raw and cold. They couldn’t let that happen. They broke into a jog, keeping low, moving faster along the wall, weaving between wreckage and the shadows that still clung to the edges of the hangar.

Movement flickered ahead, a dark shape near the loading ramp. One of the bastards. He turned toward them, rifle already rising.

Gage didn’t hesitate. He came up fast, leveled his weapon, and fired. The shot hit clean in the neck. The man dropped without a sound, blood pooling black beneath him.

They kept going, fast now, the adrenaline dragging them forward. The doors were halfway open, light spilling in from outside, a harsh, artificial white that cut through the smoke. Somewhere beyond that light, rotors were spinning.

Owen’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and furious. “They’re getting away!”

Rena jerked her head toward the sound. Through the thinning smoke, she caught a glimpse of Noah and Lily breaking cover, sprinting toward the corridor that led back into headquarters. She didn’t know what they were planning, but Noah moved like a man with intent, his limp uneven but fast, protective hand pressed against Lily’s back, pushing her forward.

“Go,” Gage barked, and they were already moving again, cutting across the debris-strewn floor.

Her lungs burned, her legs ached, but adrenaline drowned out everything except the single driving need to reach those doors before the bastards escaped.

Rena spotted movement through the haze. Owen and Ruby, both in motion, flanking the far side of the hangar. Ruby was reloading on the run, smooth and unflinching, while Owen closed in on one of the retreating thugs. The man turned, gun half-raised, body armor gleaming.

Owen didn’t slow. He fired once, clean, center mass. The round hit hard enough to stagger the thug backward, his balance faltering for a split second. That was all Owen needed.

He closed the distance in two strides, caught the man by the helmet, and twisted. The snap cracked through the air, brutal and final. The body hit the floor like dead weight.

Rena’s heart pounded harder. The smell of blood, oil, and burned metal hit her at once. She wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, eyes scanning for any more movement.

They were close to the front doors now. The light spilling in was blinding, artificial, maybe from a chopper’s floodlights. Whoever was trying to escape wasn’t gone yet.