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Don’t need more encouragement than that. Unhooking my NVGs from my belt, I put them on and crab-crawl backward until I can run at a crouch.
53
JUSTICE
Hidden among trees and darkness, I adjust my night-vision goggles and watch my pursuers.
The Land Rover stops at the edge of the woods. A group of men get out.
The stock of my rifle pinned to my side, barrel aimed safely away, I run through the trees. My mind sifts through a mental catalogue of satellite images. At the bottom of this hill, the ground becomes even and flat, a straight and open shot to the barn.
Movement behind. Shit. Men dispersing into the woods.
I run faster, but I don’t know where to go. If I run toward the barn, breaking from the cover of trees, someone will spot me. If I keep going, I’ll overshoot my entry point. Twisting left and right to look for an option, I nearly crash into a giant log blocking my way. As it is, I toe into a leap and catch the tip of my boot on a broken limb at the top. I pitch forward and slam into dirt with a muffledumpf. Way too much noise.
Someone shouts in the woods.
Rolling to my feet, I focus my hearing, seeking out identifying sounds, determining location, distance, and intent. They’re close. My head buzzes. My heart rate doubles. My ears thrum.
Digging my way quickly under the fallen log, I make barely enough space to hide. If they have NVGs, I’m dead.
Controlling my breathing, I wait. Almost immediately, I hear footsteps. They’re so close I can’t believe they didn’t see me hide here. Maybe they did. I don’t move an inch.
I hold my breath as someone climbs over the log. His dirty boots land centimeters from my elbow and my whole body grows cold and focused, ready for the fight. He moves away.
Relief puddles my insides. I wait as long as I can before my need to help Gracie and get to Sandesh overwhelms my fear of being shot.
As silently as possible, I roll out and backtrack. Their voices get far enough way that I feel comfortable running.
I’m heading around the other side of the woods when I see it—the Land Rover with all four doors open, lights on, car idling and no one home.
Is this a setup? It could be.
Stalking out cautiously, I make my way to the vehicle.
No one stops me, no one jumps out and threatens me, because no one is here.
I crouch run to the front of the car, slip into the Land Rover. Seat warmer. Nice.
Switching off the lights, I head down the hill and straight for the stables. Now that I have a sec, I click my mic. “Gracie?”
There’s a long pause. A pause long enough that I imagine my sister climbing out of a leather seat and being shot by a huge idiot wearing a USA baseball hat. My throat dries and my heart freezes, then my mic clicks.
“In mineshaft. Fence down. You close?”
Gracie. Alive, even though her voice is garbled. And she’s gotten inside and turned off the electric fence. Whoa. Take that, USA Ballcap. You’re no match for a half-naked redhead with mad cyber skills.
“On my way.”
Static. “ETA?”
“Ten. Copy.”
The crackle of a mic. “Can’t wait.”
Fuck.“I’ll catch up.”
“Roger.”
