He smirked and pulled his own pistol. “Like Butch and Sundance.” He leaned around her and emptied the magazine into the tunnel then leaned back in, his slide locked back.
“You’re an odd bird, Matt.” She tripped the slide release, ramming another round into the chamber. She was about to turn back into the tunnel when the corner of the wall erupted, AK47 rounds chiseling the soft sand stone away in huge chunks.
“Screw me!” Laughlin yelled. “I think they’re getting closer.”
“No shit!” She bent low and sprayed 9MM rounds down the tunnel. The rifle rounds didn’t stop. She peered up at Matt. “Either they’re taking turns reloading, or that son of a bitch has a drum magazine.”
He tugged her to her feet. “This way!” He pulled her down the corridor and towards the next interchange. “Any idea how many?”
“No clue.”
The walls beside them erupted and Matt felt something punch him in the back of the leg.
Hard.
He went down, nearly taking her with him. He rolled to his back and fired blindly back behind them while screaming at Lisa, “Go! Go! I’ll cover you!”
“Never leave a man behind!” She gripped his tactical vest at the top and tried to drag him with her. “Come on, dammit! Work with me!”
She screamed when the middle of his vest erupted and he slipped from her grip. Her head shot up and she locked eyes with Mario, a gold plated AK 47 in his hands.
“Hello, Sparrow.” He brought the rifle level with her face and she felt her blood run cold. “It’s been a long time.”
She noticed the men filing in behind him and she began to shake her head. “No. It can’t be you.” She stood to her full height and glared at him. “I fucking MOURNED you!”
“Crocodile tears, no doubt. Drop your gun.” He waved the barrel at her and she stepped away from Laughlin’s still form, her pistol falling to the earth. “Slowly,” he cautioned. “I know just how deadly you truly are.”
“I can’t believe that you’d turn on us, Mario. How could you…and for what? Money?”
He scoffed. “Is that what you think?” He motioned her back. “Keep going, but very slowly.”
“Why don’t you just shoot me now?” The venom dripped from her voice.
He laughed and it made her skin crawl. “You are my bait. I will use you to bring the rest of Bravo to me.”
“They’ll shoot through me to get to you. You do know that, don’t you?”
He laughed again and she felt the bile rise in her throat. “I doubt that very seriously.” He stepped over Laughlin’s body and closed the gap. “Never leave a man behind. Remember?” His face turned to stone. “But you left me.”
He pushed her, forcing her to turn around. “So what? They patched you up, and with your undying gratitude, you went to work for them?”
He laughed again and pushed her harder. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
She spun on her heel, ready to scratch his eyes out when the wall exploded, knocking them both back, deeper into the manmade cavern.
42
Near Quitman, TX
Bridger snapped his eyes open and sat up, his entire body aching. He rolled to his side and had to force his body to suck in air. He could feel his ribs protesting and knew that more than one was broken.
He slowly pulled himself across the littered ground and leaned against the cold stone wall. He had to force himself not to allow panic to set in. He closed his eyes, forcing his mind to calm.
“Priorities.”
Injuries?
He opened his eyes and made a cursory assessment. Two arms, two hands, two legs, two feet, all still attached.
He wiggled his fingers, then wiggled his toes and knew that if there were any spinal injuries, they were minor; he still had feeling. He rolled to the side and felt something tickling his jaw line. He ran a hand across his face and saw the blood, some of it already coagulated.
“Great.”
His voice sounded muffled in his own head and he suspected he probably burst an eardrum, if not both. “This was a stupid fucking idea, Bobby.”
He pulled himself up the wall and glanced at what was left of his tunnels. He saw a body lying close to where the cartel soldiers had thrown the dynamite and assumed that they either misjudged the blast radius of the dynamite and killed themselves or found his body and assumed he was dead before moving on.
He keyed his coms. “Slippy?”
He waited a moment before keying them again then froze. “Dammit.” He’d forgotten he’d had him activate the jammer.
Bobby groaned as he pushed off from the wall and tested his legs. Apparently none of the bones were broken, but his damned feet felt like somebody had beaten the bottoms with a baseball bat.
He stumbled along the wall and made his way towards the staging area. If Slippy were still alive, he’d be there. Probably trying to hold off the cartel.
IF he was alive. And that was a big if.
Near Quitman, TX
Slippy paced the staging area, his mind playing tricks on him. Every wayward sound that made its way to him had him snapping the barrel of the P90 in that direction, ready to cut somebody in half.
He was getting sick of trying to cover four access ways and spiking his adrenaline at every errant noise. He was ready to kill something when he heard the distinct sound of somebody approaching.
He cocked his head, listening to which tunnel it came from then staged himself behind the large, heavy workbench, the P90 resting along the top and stabilized. He heard the noise grow louder and knew that they were about to try to overrun him when he applied pressure to the trigger, ready to squeeze it past the breakover point in a split second.
He nearly shot Mauk as he stumbled into the staging area with DJ under his arm. “He needs help.”
“What the hell happened to him?” Slippy asked as he lowered the carbine
