my back ten yards from the shed's door. I was so weak, I dragged Zack the rest of the way across the grass, into the shack.
Once we were inside I closed the door, then leaned down and checked him closer. He was still gushing blood from seven or eight holes. I knew if I didn't stem the flow immediately, he'd be dead in minutes. I sat next to him with his head in my lap and started ripping my already torn shirt, stuffing the fabric deep into the bullet wounds, pushing it down as far as I could using both hands, ignoring the pain from my clipped off fingertip.
'No-' Zack said. 'Stop.' His eyes were open again, but he was dangerously pale.
'Lemme go, Shane.'
'No.'
'Leave me. Save yourself.'
'Zack, I can't leave you. I'm getting you outta here.' 'I got nothing left to live for,' he whispered.
'Don't do this.'
Then a thin smile split his lips. 'I saved your ass here, Bubba. When you get back, put me in for that medal. Do that and we're square. When they have the ceremony, I'll be watching. I'll know.'
He was talking about the dumb-ass Medal of Valor. 'You want that fucking medal, I'll get it for you,' I said. 'But you gotta stay alive to receive it.'
Then he started coughing and blood flowed out of his mouth. After a minute, he got the spasm under control. 'Shane. . listen.' His voice was so weak I could barely hear it. 'The department-with what happened at the hospital- they'll try to freeze my line-of-duty death benefits. I need that cash for Zack Junior's college. Promise me you'll make sure Fran and the boys-make sure they-'
And then, in mid-sentence, his eyes lost their shine. I watched him shrink back inside his own body as his spirit left.
I sat there, overwhelmed with an intense feeling of loss. How had this happened? How had it all managed to go so wrong?
Suddenly, one of the light machine guns opened up outside.
Then two more.
Bullets started punching holes in the thin, cedar walls of the shed. I threw myself down on top of Zack, protecting his dead body.
Good instinct, I thought, bitterly. But I should have protected him when he needed it.
I heard Sammy's high-pitched, breathy shriek yelling in Russian, 'Ti-mertvyetz, svoloch!'
More bullets rained into the shack.
How did they know I was in here? Then my eyes fell on the trail of blood that Zack had left as I dragged him inside. A gory path pointed right at us.
Another barrage of bullets hit the shed. I dove for cover behind a pile of cut firewood and cowered while Zack's body was rocked with occasional hits.
Splinters of flying pine flew as more lead rained in on me.
I was pinned down and out of options.
Every time I raised my head to fire the.223 through the walls, more death rained in on me from all sides. I ended up just hunkered down with my head tucked between my knees, making myself as small a target as possible.
Then I heard the faint sound of an incoming helicopter. As the sound grew louder, the machine guns stopped firing at the shed and began cranking off rounds into the sky.
The shed hadn't taken any hits for a minute or more, so I crawled out from behind the woodpile and wormed my way across the dirt floor. Using the barrel of the gun, I pushed the door ajar.
Hovering out by the lake, was an LAPD red and gray Bell Jet Ranger. A skinny man with a bad haircut was crouched in the open side door. Even from this distance, it was easy to recognize Emdee Perry. He was holding a large weapon in both hands, and while I watched, he opened fire.
Tracer rounds streaked out the door of the helicopter, across the lawn, toward Sammy and his men. The stream of lead was followed by a loud, ripping noise. I knew that sound well. Perry had commandeered one of the M-60s from the LAPD SWAT house in the Valley. The big machine gun scattered the Petrovitches and their brigadier. They ran across the grass toward the chalet, firing at the helicopter as they went.
I could now see that there were two other passengers in the hovering bird. Their faces became clearer as it neared. Alexa was seated next to the pilot. In the back-seat, peeking out from behind Perry, was Roger Broadway.
The chopper landed on the lawn close to the lake and the three dove out finding cover behind one of the brick walls that framed the driveway. I got to my feet and stepped out of the shed onto the lawn, waving my hands so they would see me.
'Stay down!' Alexa screamed over the roar of the chopper, just as the Kalashnikovs opened up from the second floor of the house, chasing me back.
Then I heard the first, deadly Ka-wunk.
The sound of an RPG grenade launcher. The ground in front of the Bell Jet Ranger suddenly exploded. Pieces of dirt and turf flew into the air, and landed on the shiny red and gray nose of the chopper. The pilot immediately powered up, pulled back the collective and took off, banking quickly away.
The grenade launcher fired two more pineapples at the brick wall where my rescue party hid. Pieces of grass and brick flew high in the air. Roger, Alexa, and Emdee all rose out of their positions behind the low garden wall. Roger had a SWAT team Benelli M 1014 combat shotgun in his hands. He let loose with two blasts while Emdee ran to the right, firing the M-60. Alexa and Roger went left.
Suddenly, Alexa spun away from Roger and made a suicidal run across the open lawn toward the shed where I stood. The Kalashnikov opened up. Bullets tore at her heels as she ran. I stepped away from the shed, faced the chalet, and fired three bursts from the.223 at the upstairs windows, driving the shooter away from the opening. Alexa was almost to me so I ran toward her, grabbed her hand and slung her toward the riddled cedar woodshed. She fell through the door and I dove in after her.
Ka-wunk! Ka-wunk! Ka-wunk!
Three explosions followed and the walls of the structure were ripped apart, shredded by exploding hand grenades. I stood to get out of there, but Alexa was transfixed, looking down at Zack's dead body.
'What's he doing here?' she asked, shocked.
'Looking after his partner.'
I grabbed Alexa, pulled her up and led her through the smoke and debris. We ran through a large gap in the back wall out into the bright sunlight. The loud, sharp burp of Emdee's M-60 tore a hole in the wall of noise.
Alexa and I made it to the cover of the woods and knelt down. She carried a 9 mm pistol in her right hand. From this position we could cover the back of the chalet through the dense foliage.
'Nice save,' I said. 'How'd you find me?'
'The kids saw it happen from the top of the Ferris wheel. They called me, hysterical. I figured it had to be the Petrovitches. We had the address on their lake house, so I got Rowdy and Snitch, commandeered Air One, and here we are.'
Then she saw my bloody left hand, crudely wrapped and taped.
'What happened to your finger?' she asked, concerned.
'What finger?' I said, ruefully.
Just then we heard the grenade launcher fire, followed a few seconds later by three more explosions. I moved a few yards back to my right, and saw that Emdee was pinned down behind another garden wall. Sod and brick fragments were raining down on him. I couldn't see Roger, but Emdee suddenly stood up from behind the ruined wall, exposing himself to the deadly Kalashnikovs while letting loose with the M-60. His slugs tore through open windows on the second floor and ripped holes in the front wall of the chalet. Then he ducked down again, as two more grenades exploded ten feet from his position.
'That RPG is murder,' Alexa shouted over the racket. 'Once they get the range dialed in, we're done.'
I had an idea. 'I'm gonna sneak up to the house from the back and see if I can set fire to the place. Smoke 'em out.'
I started to go, but Alexa grabbed me. She unbuttoned her jacket and pulled a long, fat pistol out of her belt.
