by James Hilton
“No!” An icy hand gripped Clay’s heart as Ghost’s sedan was shredded without mercy. Part of him wanted desperately to leap from his own vehicle and attack, yet he knew that he was outgunned. Swearing under his breath, he kept his foot on the gas. The only option was to run. The tail lights of Danny’s pickup were still visible, twin red dots against the darkness. Behind him the armoured truck manoeuvred away from the sedan. Clay could see fingers of flame reaching from beneath the car’s hood. Ghost…
Marco moaned again. His head lolled on his chest. Gillian cradled his blood-soaked body against hers. Clay forced his focus back to the road. The armoured truck had picked up speed. The chatter of the SAW again cut through the night. The women in the flatbed were staying low, at least. The road was straight with nowhere to hide. The only advantage the two smaller pickups had was greater speed and mobility. Could they outrun the heavier battlewagon? Another rattle of automatic fire spurred him into trying.
“What’s that?” asked Celine.
Clay stared into the darkness. Beyond Danny’s pickup, a new set of tail lights was visible. Clay willed the pickup to move faster. Tac-tac-tac-tac. A staccato rattle of bullets punched holes through the roof of the pickup. Celine tilted to one side, her head almost in Clay’s lap.
“Celine!”
“I’m okay. I’m not hit. That was too close for comfort.”
Danny’s pickup overtook the slower-moving truck in a confident slalom. The truck was huge in comparison to the two fleeing vehicles. Tac-tac-tac-tac. The cartel shooter strafed the air with another volley of lead. Clay kept his foot rammed hard on the gas.
The truck was an old-style Kenworth, piled high with scrapped cars. Clay looked across at Danny as he cleared it. Danny stabbed a bladed hand at the front corner of the scrapper truck, then rotated his hand in tight circles. The last signal was a finger pistol tapped twice in succession.
The pickup slowed as he guided it into position. A quick glance in the mirror told him he had one chance. Clay buzzed down the window and drew the Coonan. Danny’s pickup took up the same position close to the front wheels on the opposite side of the big truck. Clay aimed the Coonan at the front tyre. Squeezing the trigger in a rapid three-round burst, Clay placed his shots as close to the wheel rim as possible. It took all three shots, but the tyre burst with a ferocious bang that was as loud as the Coonan. Clay stamped down once more on the gas, swinging the pickup back in front of the huge truck. Danny gave him the thumbs-up as he too moved back into position. Clay felt a moment of sympathy for the driver as the truck dropped onto its front axle. A double shower of sparks lit up the night sky. The huge scrapper truck shook and tilted, gently at first, then at more and more of an angle. The cab snapped to the left. The huge trailer jackknifed across the full width of the two lanes.
“Let’s see them get around that in a hurry,” said Clay.
73
Danny raised his eyebrows in response to Laura Troutman’s continued scrutiny. “What?”
“You just crashed a semi without blinking.”
“Uh-huh,” said Danny. The Coonan felt warm against his thigh. “The driver should be okay, but there’s no better roadblock than an eighteen-wheeler. Needs must, and all that. Sorry I had to reach past you both to shoot.”
Rebecca gave an exaggerated shrug. “Needs must.”
“Aye, damn right.”
“Danny, do you ever get scared?” asked Laura.
“Huh?”
“I mean, you’re like the Terminator or something. The way you took those guys out earlier, I’ve never seen anything like it. You’re so… efficient.”
Danny exhaled through his nose. “I take no joy in it, but some people need killing and if it’s down to him or me, I would never hesitate. I can guarantee every one of those cartel men would have happily put a bullet through my face without blinking, same with those dickheads back at the compound.”
“We all owe you our lives,” said Rebecca. “Thank you.”
“De nada. It burns me inside that not everyone is getting to go home.”
“None of us would be, without you and Clay,” said Laura.
Rebecca cupped her face in her hands, elbows on knees. “I thought I would die in there, so I think you should get a medal for every one of us you managed to get out.”
Danny pondered Ghost’s fate as he drove. She was tough and resourceful, no doubt, but it would take the luck of the Devil to survive such a vicious assault. May the next world be better to you than this one was.
Danny allowed the pickup to slow as Clay drew level. Danny nodded at the hand signal from his brother. Both trucks rolled to a stop side by side. “You guys stay inside. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Danny met Clay at the front grille, pistol in hand. “Well, that was hairy.”
“You think?” said Clay. “Nice work with the truck. That should slow the assholes down a spell. I vote we hightail it back to Cancún. These kids need food, water and a medic.”
“I can’t believe there are so many of them. Where the hell are the families of all these kids?”
“Not many people are as stubborn as we are. Most people just trust the authorities to get things done.” Danny turned a slow circle as they talked. No new vehicles sped to intercept them. He tapped the Coonan against his thigh. “Ghost?”
Clay slowly shook his head.
“Shit.”
“She went down swinging. That’s the best we can hope for.”
74
A smile crept over Weiss’s face like a melting glacier. The sedan, one of the three vehicles he had been chasing, looked like a blacksmith’s forge. Wide fingers of orange flame flickered from the open windows. A blackened object dangled below the thick black smoke, jutting from the window. The charred object looked like an oversized spider leg. Weiss knew that this was no arachnid; the burned appendage ended in fingers.
“Do you think Los Espadas got them all?” asked Taylor, cradling the rifle.
“Hard to say. Maybe we still have a chance at redemption.” Weiss powered the Toyota along the road. “I want to be able to hold my head up at the end of this debacle.”
“What if they get away?” asked Taylor.
“We can’t let that happen. If they make it back to the world they’ll bring a truckload of trouble down on our heads.” Weiss squinted into the stygian darkness, praying for a sign of his quarry. The halogen lights of his truck burned into the night, yet the darkness seemed determined to push back. It was one of the things he liked about Mexico. Ten miles away from the bars and clubs and it felt primal, savage. A man could find himself down here, learn his true self-worth.
“What will we tell Master Ezeret if we fail?” asked Taylor.
“Ezeret is smart enough to know this would come one day. He has a plan.”
Taylor adjusted the rifle against his chest. “Master Ezeret.”
Weiss’s jaw tightened. His hand crept closer to the butt of his P7.
Wide-eyed, Taylor held up his hand in supplication. “Take it easy, Weiss. It’s just that you’re the only one that doesn’t address him in the manner he deserves. Master Ezeret lifted me up, showed me the way when I was at my lowest. Without him I would be a shadow, a sadness, a forgotten memory.”
“We go back a long way, me and him.”
There were lights in the distance. As they drew closer he began to make sense of the scene. A large transporter truck filled with scrapped cars was jackknifed across the width of the two-lane blacktop. To one side of the cab, the cartel’s armoured truck was stationary, engine rumbling. The rear doors of the narco tank were open and the cartel men were shouting at the truck driver. The cab of the truck tilted low at the front, the fender almost touching the asphalt, the front tyres flat against the rims. Weiss had no doubt who had shredded the wheels of the semi.
The disabled truck shuddered as the driver fought to reverse the heavy load. Slowly but surely, a gap opened between the front of the truck and the thick trees that formed a natural ba
rrier at the side of the road. As the cartel man moved back to the narco tank, Weiss saw his chance. Pushing the engine hard, he sped past them and through the widening gap. A second later he was on the open road.
The night was not yet finished.
75
Danny spotted the chain-link gate set off the road in a single glance. A padlock and chain dangled like a medallion, holding it closed.
Keeping a wary eye on the vehicle behind, he pushed the stolen pickup to its limits. The engine temperature was beginning to rise, the needle inching ever closer to the red. As new bullets tore through the windscreen he barely had time to duck his head. Another brief flash of muzzle fire told him the shooters were dead ahead, their vehicles cloaked in darkness. Danny braked and slewed the truck in a tight circle. Even as he was mid-turn, he could see Clay doing the same.
“Aye, well this is a shite sandwich!” said Danny as he completed the quick half-donut turn. He had feared this would happen. Los Espadas had undoubtedly called in more shooters. They had cut off the only path available. He couldn’t see what kind of vehicles lay ahead. The fact they were there and would be armed and ready to kill was enough.
Shooters in both directions and only one safe option open: the gate. He had no way of knowing where it would lead, but it was preferable to being strafed by a bullet storm any way he cut it. The pickup smashed through the flimsy lock and chain with little problem. The twin gates catapulted open with enough force to rip one clean from its hinges. Clay was only a few feet behind him, crushing the second gate beneath his wheels. A wide flat area to the right of the gates was marked with deep ruts, the result of heavy vehicle use. Several piles of what might have been gravel sat like oversized anthills at the far side of empty space. He could not see any escape route via the clearing. A road to the far left with more potholes than surface traced a path up a steep incline. At the top sat a squat building of cinder blocks. Danny powered the truck up the slope. Both Laura and Rebecca gripped the dashboard as the pickup fishtailed into the tight curve.
At the top of the ramp, a graffiti-covered door of corrugated tin sheets faced them. Several tractor units were parked haphazardly to the left of the building. A wide turning area, the gravel compacted into a smooth surface, filled the area to the right. Clay followed Danny up into the works yard.
A collection of oil barrels stacked close to the roadside caught his attention. “Keep your heads down!” Danny leapt from the pickup even as he stamped down on the brakes. The first drum he handled was empty, but he threw it down the slope anyway. The second was empty too. He picked it up and cast it after the first. The third drum was what he was hoping for: the red diamond symbol decorated with a flame. The barrel felt full. Danny heaved the barrel onto its rim then stepped back and let it fall onto its side. Before he could begin to roll it, Clay was beside him.
No words were necessary.
Clay grabbed the ends of the steel drum and with a grunt heaved it onto the slope. The bowie knife flashed twice, and the cap snapped free from the drum. Another series of stabs punched holes in the body of the drum. Clay gave the barrel a kick. The steel drum rolled down the slope, a constant stream of fuel sloshing free as it went.
Danny was on his second canister when Clay began stabbing holes into the next four barrels. Danny tipped his fuel drum and set it rolling.
“Here they come!” warned Danny. The vehicle that raced onto the access road was moving fast. Too fast to avoid the fuel drums that were now halfway down the slope. The boxy SUV sent the first of the empty barrels flying into the air. The second smashed against the fender, then it too was sent bouncing into the darkness.
As the SUV hit the third barrel, this one full, the sound was very different, the pealing of a dull bell.
Time seemed to dilate.
Danny could feel his heart hammering in his chest.
Ba-dum.
Danny raced to the top of the slope.
Ba-dum.
With a roar, Clay cast another fuel drum down the road.
Ba-dum.
Danny snatched the lighter from his pocket, sparking it to life.
Ba-dum.
Cartel gunmen spilled from the SUV.
Ba-dum.
Danny tossed the lighter into the acrid stream.
Whoosh!
The blue flame snaked down the hill faster even than Danny expected. In a second, each of the punctured barrels was blazing, thick black smoke billowing. A second vehicle raced through the gates. Bullets cut through the night as the last two barrels were sent rolling down the slope. As these two rolled through the stream of fire, they burst into flames at the top of the incline. The blazing containers bounced down the slope like missiles from a medieval siege weapon. One of the drums rolled off the road but the outer skin still trailed flames. Danny pumped his fist in the air, then ducked as the men below fired on them. Clay joined him, dropping to one knee behind an old engine block.
“Persistent little shits, aren’t they?” said Danny.
“Ain’t they just.”
Both now gripped the Coonan pistols, ready. Danny risked a glance around the engine block that was providing cover. A second vehicle had veered away from the SUV, its driver springing from the cab. The shock of white hair betrayed his identity. Weiss.
The front of the first SUV was now engulfed in sheets of fire. Los Espadas were too busy putting distance between themselves and the expanding inferno to focus their shots. The men closest to the burning vehicle were knocked flat as the ball of orange flame exploded in all directions. One of the ruptured fuel drums spun end over end, trailing a loop of iridescent fire. It landed with an audible whoomp close to Weiss, sending him tumbling in the opposite direction.
The SUV was now engulfed in a blanket of fire. Danny couldn’t tell where the fuel drums ended and where the vehicle began. Sporadic shots buzzed through the air from the cartel shooters as they reformed into a skirmish line. A man was framed in silhouette as he raised his weapon to his shoulder, backlit by the flames. Danny sighted on him with the Coonan. Before he could squeeze the trigger, another explosion lit up the night. A ball of fire expanded along the ground, catching the gunman in its folds. One second he was there, then he was gone.
“Bye-bye, Mr Crispy,” said Danny.
“Yeah, just another Kentucky fried asshole,” added Clay.
Danny peeked around the engine block and gave a short, barking laugh. “You remember that Butch and Sundance movie?”
“Butch and Sundance died,” said Clay as he checked the magazine on his Coonan.
“Aye, let’s not do that.”
“Wasn’t planning on it anytime soon.”
“Good to know. At least we have the higher ground. Those butt monkeys will have to climb this hill or risk coming up the road through the flames. Either way, they’re not getting up easy.” The burning road lay to their right. Danny looked to the opposite side of the lower clearing. “They could try to flank us, but the hill looks almost sheer over there. Tough climb.”
“Uh-huh. Looks like there’s six, maybe seven of them down there. We’ve been through worse.”
Raised voices echoed up the slope. Danny could see Weiss stabbing the air with his hand. Men moved around him. His white hair was a pale smudge in the glow of the flames. It would be a long shot. Danny rested the Coonan against the engine block. He breathed slow and easy. Letting his vision drift slightly out of focus, Danny aimed at the German, well below that white hair, centre mass. The darkness between them became inconsequential. There was only the target. Danny softened his vision. Weiss.
Boom.
The Coonan bucked in Danny’s hand.
Weiss folded at the waist and fell headlong into the ground.
“Whoops. It’s a dirt nap for the sour Kraut.”
76
“That won’t keep them down for long, and we don’t have enough ammo for much of a shoot-out.” Danny watched cartel men and the few others that had arrived with Weiss scoot for cover. Bullets cut
through the night air, several finding the engine block. Probably random shots, as there were as many that whined high overhead and strafed the ground to either side of their cover. Danny pressed his hand against the engine. He glanced at the cinder-block building. “Keep an eye on those shite-hawks. I’m going to see if there’s something else we can use.”
“Whatever you’re gonna do, better make it quick. The shooting is slowing down.”
Danny gripped Clay’s shoulder. The muscle felt like plate steel. “Aye, they’ll soon figure out a wide skirmish line up the hill.”
“Smaller groups, twos or threes. They’ll cover each other as they move.”
Danny handed Clay his Coonan. “If they come, make them earn every step.”
Danny kept his head low as he sprinted back past the two pickups. Two ancient tractors sat to the left of the building. One was little more than a bare engine block upon a set of wheels: no cab, no seat, just a misshapen steering wheel. The second looked a better bet. Danny hauled open the door and sprang into the cab, the seat squeaking in protest. The smell of diesel filled his nose. No key in the ignition. No problem. A tray sat to the left of the seat. Danny scooped up the contents. Pliers, a rusted screwdriver and a dirt-encrusted notepad with a pen pushed into the spiral binder. Taking the screwdriver, Danny jammed it deep into the key slot. A hard blow with the heel of his hand wedged it securely into the ignition. Danny pumped the gas pedal, moved the gearstick into position and twisted the handle of the screwdriver. The engine roared to life on the first turn. Danny allowed himself a brief smile. “Well, you’re nothing to look at but you sing real nice.”
The tractor shuddered into motion. Danny drove towards the cinder-block building, straight into the double doors. The door on the right tumbled to the ground. Danny hauled the tractor into reverse. As soon as he had cleared the front of the pickup trucks, he pointed the tractor on a path to the left of Clay’s position. It wasn’t the first time he had used a vehicle as a weapon. Adjusting the gearstick and stamping down on the gas, Danny leapt from the tractor, staying low as he landed near the edge of the drop-off. The cab seemed to hang momentarily in space, then disappeared over the precipice.
