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I tap in the number and wait for the boom. Nothing. Something’s wrong.
Holding my breath, I put in the number again. Still nothing.
Okay.Backup plan.
Heat fills my limbs. My ears fill with pressure. My heart fills with dread. In a crouch, I race along the hidden side of the barricade. My footing teeters as I try to avoid debris, barely keeping my balance, as I cloak my actions in silence.
Once across the street, sweat rolls into my eyes. My heart refuses calm like a bull refusing a rider. The cars are diagonal to my position. From here, I can see the second car has tinted windows. No idea who’s inside, but one guy stands outside the car, using night vision goggles to scan the building Sandesh hides behind.
Two other men watch the rigged building. There could be more in the tinted window vehicle. So, how many inside? The answer is not nearly fucking enough.
Snake-on-a-hot-road fast, I scurry through the five feet of open ground where the barrier ends and the building beings. My heart in my throat, my gun in my hand, I’m counting steps. One. Two. Three-four-five. Safely behind the building, I swipe the sweat from my eyes and make my way to where we threaded the fuse. I crouch so my back—and thissodoesn’t feel right—is to the men in the cars. I can’t risk them seeing me light this thing.
Fingers shaking, her heart squawking and clucking like a chicken, I take out my lighter and jam my hand into the fire hole. It’s deep enough to block any sparks, but I’m not taking a chance. My hand shakes as I put thumb to wheel and spin. An orange light bursts to life. I touch the flame to the sharp point of the fuse. It takes a breath-holding second for it to catch, hiss, and spit fire as the light races away.
Spinning, I race to the edge of the building. Shit. A guy is headed in this direction. I’ve got no time for subtlety. The fuse isn’t that damn long. Fuck it. Things are going to explode.
I break cover, shoot the man who is close enough that I clearly hear his grunt of pain, and run like hell.
My eyes track poorly in the dark, but I keep firing until I make the relative safety of the barrier. Skidding down behind it, I lope forward, uncoordinated and uncertain, like a gangly puppet. Hotfooting it over the rocks, my ankles scream with each unexpected test of balance.
Gunshots glance off the top of the barrier. Tiny explosions of sand, grit, and powdered stone rain down, pelting me. I imagine the men walking closer, firing as they go.
This visual is solidified in my mind when I hear shots being fired from where Sandesh is stationed.
Fuck. When is that building going to bl—
Boom!
A plume of smoke and dust rise into the air with the concussive wave. I hit the ground, shield my head. There’s an ominous moan, like from an ancient warrior who’s taken one too many arrows, and then acrash!. Rumbles of stone against stone and a wave of heat pounces over the barrier, bringing a hot spray of gravel.
Despite my attempt at protection, dust and grit steamroll the air, coat my lashes, rush down my throat and into my esophagus. Hacking, I shake out my hair, crawl forward blinking dirt-caked eyes. My ears ring. My head spins.
Smoke and gray dust are so thick in the air, I can barely see. A grinding crash of steel and tires against stone has me looking up as rocks landslide down. Jumping back, I gape at the top of the constructed hill where headlights teeter. How the hell?
The car rocks at the top of the barrier, vacillating like a seesaw, front wheels beating against air. Two blurry shapes fling themselves out.
I run. Gunfire follows me, spitting up rocks and heat. I look back. One of the men disappears before my eyes. Well, part of his head explodes with a spray of bullets and the man pitches backward down the other side of the barrier.
Sandesh has some skills.
The other man charges down the barrier, knees bending, feet sliding. He’s obviously trying to avoid his partner’s fate and still get me.
Mistake.
I swing around, shoot, and he goes down.
Back behind the relative safety of the building, I race for the truck. “Let’s go!” I call to Sandesh over the firefight.
Sandesh motions me to get into the truck before he launches a grenade—like a baseball—up and out of the window he’d been sitting in earlier.
He’s down the pile of debris and into the cab before the explosion hits. We take off as a concussive boom rocks the air.
Driving like a maniac, bouncing us out and around the building, Sandesh gives me his assessment: “Five, likely six, left.”
Clear of the building, we head the opposite direction from the barrier.
“Damn it. I thought I killed more than that.”
