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The sound of a single gunshot came from inside the cabin. It sounded like a mid-caliber handgun, not Izzy’s shotgun. Caleb broke out into a run. “I thought you cleared the place!” he shouted at Tex who was right behind him.
“I did!”
If Tex was certain, then it was true—he had cleared the cabin. Caleb struggled to put the pieces together as he pounded up the stairs of the front porch. Every muscle in his body was tingling. He was on full alert. He grabbed the doorknob and barreled through the entrance.
“Told you motherfuckers!” Jeter screamed after them. “She’s dead! She’s fucking dead!” Then he laughed.
Caleb had never had much concern for even the idea of a god, not with all he’d seen in his life. His mother had constantly prayed to a god who had never intervened for them. Caleb had eventually written it off as the last act of the desperate and powerless. But as he tore through the living room and turned into the kitchen headed toward the back bedroom, he realized he was both desperate and powerless.
“Don’t take her,” he whispered. “Don’t take her from me.” His thumb pulled back the hammer of his .45, in case he was just talking to himself.
He burst through the half-open door and lifted his weapon. Izzy was slumped with her back against the wall. In her hand was a nine millimeter. On the floor next to her, sobbing and blubbering through a face full of blood, the girl was pressing her hands to her face. It didn’t take much detective work to suss out that the girl had fired on Izzy and Izzy had pistol-whipped her with her own gun. Caleb wasn’t relieved, though. Izzy had her arm pressed across her midsection. She was struggling to breathe.
Tex moved past Caleb and yanked the girl up off the floor by one arm. As she was being secured, Caleb holstered his gun and rushed across the room just as Izzy was sliding down toward the floor. He put one arm around her waist to steady her. “Baby?” he whispered. “Oh, God, baby. No.”
“I didn’t see her face,” Izzy replied with her eyes closed.
“What?” he asked, but he didn’t really care. With his free hand he yanked the Velcro over each of her shoulders and peeled off the bulletproof vest.
Bulletproof is a common but inaccurate term for body armor. Though vests are manufactured at different tensile strengths, even the highest rated armor is merely bullet resistant, not bulletproof. And they have a failure rate upwards of 20% even if they haven’t been weakened by the temperature changes of various seasons.
This…was not one of those times.
Caleb gently lifted her T-shirt over her belly. There was a large impact injury, already purple and spreading. It was low, though, just above the waistband of her jeans. Her ribs might have been spared. “Baby, can you breathe?”
Izzy squeezed her eyes shut through the pain and nodded. “Yeah,” she told him. “Yes. Did it fail?”
Caleb shook his head, even though she wasn’t actually looking at him. “No,” he said in relief and drew her close. He wrapped his other arm around her and held her to him tightly. “No. You’re alright. You made it.”
He helped her outside where she leaned against the railing of the cabin’s front porch. “Fucking bitch got the drop on me,” she growled with one hand pressed to her belly. “That never happens. Motherfucker.”
Easy frowned at her. “You’re lucky she didn’t clip you in the head,” he told Izzy.
Izzy flipped him the bird.
Hawk laughed and Easy broke into a grin.
Caleb watched as Tex’s Hummer pulled up to the driveway. He parked it, hopped out, and opened the rear cargo door.
“Okay, boys” Shooter said loudly. “Load it or lose it,” he ordered.
The men of Burnout stripped off their gear, stowing their vests, weapons, and earpieces into the back of the vehicle. Caleb set Izzy’s shotgun aside as well as the handgun she’d been shot with. He was having a hard time staying focused. His hands were shaking so he kept them busy unloading both weapons and laying them on the porch. The task kept him well occupied, but he kept looking over his shoulder to reassure himself that Izzy was okay.
With everything stowed, Tex gave the group a playful salute and opened the driver’s side door. He took off down the unpaved road, kicking up dust behind him. Shortly after he left, the faint sound of sirens could be heard in the distance.
Chapter 32
The men of Burnout stood in a line in front of their captures as four RCPD squad cars sped up the dirt road.
“Overkill,” Easy snorted. “Are they giving each one of them a private ride?”
Shooter smirked. “There’s some possibility that we’re going to be given a ride.”
“Screw that,” Easy replied. “We’re heroes,” he said sarcastically.
