by Scott Blade
The Lexus from earlier began honking the horn again, violently.
Widow heard the engine rev up and the tires squeal and the suspension bounce on the cobblestone as the SUV sped forward.
Widow saw the second sniper fire again at Cassidy and again.
The Lexus tore down the street and barreled right alongside the alley.
A woman kicked open the backdoor and said, “Get in!”
Widow scrambled in, looking back at Tiller once, having a second thought about abandoning him, but he was out of range and out cold. He’d probably be safe. And if not, Widow wouldn’t lose sleep about it.
Widow said, “We gotta get the woman!”
He slammed the door behind them and the woman who had let him in climbed into the front passenger seat, and he realized that she had been half in it. She had folded back half into the backseat to open the door for him.
Now, he only saw the backs of their heads.
The driver hit the gas and they sped toward Cassidy.
Widow leaned into his door, face pressed into the window’s glass. He could see that Gregor was dead. His eyes were lifeless and his face expressionless and his body did not move.
Cassidy was squeezing her body deep into the corner of the doorway. Bullets were firing. Pieces of wood from the door and concrete from the old building exploded around her, creating a heavy, wet dust cloud. Which might’ve been saving her life, blinding the second sniper like a smoke grenade.
Widow shouted, “Step on it!”
The back window behind Widow exploded, then a hole shredded through the metal on the roof. The Rainmaker was shooting at the back of the Lexus.
Widow sucked in and hugged the door.
Another bullet tore through the roof and blew through the car radio and touchscreen navigation system. A bullet hole spiderwebbed and the electronics went dark.
The driver swerved to the right and then the left. He knew how to drive under gunfire. Widow knew that.
The driver swerved the Lexus right into the wall of the building and the doorway that Cassidy was hiding in. Steel and concrete sparked in the rain.
Widow shoved back the door and kicked it open.
“GET IN!” he shouted at her.
Cassidy dove into the backseat with him. He cradled her close.
The second shooter was firing bullets faster than the Rainmaker, sloppier, more amateurish. Widow recognized it immediately.
The second shooter was firing blindly.
Bullets came at them from the side. Slow from being shot out of a bolt-action sniper rifle, but fast enough to scare anyone.
He clenched Cassidy with all his strength. He felt her pull into him like a rescued victim, pulled out of deep, choppy seas. She was cold and wet and breathing hard.
He held onto her.
The Lexus driver gunned the SUV and within seconds and several bullets and bullet holes, they were out of range.
CHAPTER 37
THE POUNDING IN WIDOW’S HEAD was becoming unbearable. He felt the skin on his face tightening. He felt his eyeballs swell. They felt like they were as hard as golf balls in their sockets. He felt his breathing getting uncontrollably deep, like he was falling into sedation from anesthesia.
He waited until they were well away from Cathery’s Pub and then he let go of Cassidy and scooped her up so she was seated upright.
He said, “Are you okay?”
She was breathing heavily, nearly hyperventilating.
“David. Oh, my God, David. We left him.”
Widow figured that David must’ve been Gregor’s first name.
“He’s dead,” Widow whispered. “Nothing we can do for him now.”
“We have to go back. The cops will be there. They’re walking into a trap.”
Widow shook his head.
He whispered to her, “I don’t think we’re headed back.”
“Where? Who are they?” she said back.
Widow squeezed his eyes shut. His left arm hurt.
He felt dizzy.
“Widow?”
“I don’t know.”
She whispered to him, “I lost my gun.”
He nodded.
“Do you think they are friendlies?”
“They saved our lives.”
“Ask them.”
He stayed quiet. The pain in his arm and the pounding in his head were getting louder and harder.
After several seconds, he stayed quiet and Cassidy scooted forward and spoke to the strangers.
“Listen, I’m Gardaí. My name is Cassidy. This is Jack Widow. We owe you guys for helping us out.”
The strangers in the Lexus said nothing.
Cassidy said, “We need to go back. My cops will be there soon. They can take us.”
Nothing.
“The Gardaí will be very grateful to you.”
They didn’t answer.
“They will pay for your car. I know it.”
Nothing.
Cassidy paused a long beat. The Lexus kept driving. Turning left. Turning right. They ran stop signs and streetlights.
If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve guessed that they were heading to the airport.
She said, “Or you guys can just drop us off on the side of the road.”
Widow’s vision started to blur again.
Cassidy raised her voice.
“Listen, I’m Special Investigator Nora-Jane Cassidy and I demand that you let us out here!”
She reached forward and grabbed the driver’s shoulder.
The woman in the passenger seat twisted and turned and faced them.
Two things struck Widow in that moment.
The first was that she was pointing a Glock 17 at them, mostly at Widow.
The second thing struck him harder than having a gun pointed at him. It struck him harder than the pounding in his head. It struck him harder than a punch to the face. It struck him harder than a bat to the face.
His vision blurred. It got worse and worse. And he thought he must’ve been hallucinating because he saw a woman staring at him, pointing a gun at him, and she had a familiar face, a face he had not seen in twelve years in real life. It was a face that he had seen in his nightmares.
She was the thirteen-year-old Korean girl with the volcanic eyes.
CHAPTER 38
THE GIRL WITH THE VOLCANIC EYES, deep and dark and swirling, looked up at him from twelve years in the past.
She pointed at him, giggled, and said, “Chicken.”
Widow shook his head and smiled down at her.
He moved his MP5SD and let it hang over his shoulder by the strap. He reached out a gloved hand and presented her with an American high five.
Volcanic eyes spoke in Korean and high-fived him.
Widow glanced at Lyn, who was on his radio, about to call for the evac.
He paused and said, “She said she like you, chicken.”
Widow nodded.
“How far are we from the LZ?”
Lyn said, “Two klicks that way” He pointed south.
“Now, we got wheels,” Widow said and he pointed at the Chinese Police SUV.
Lyn said, “I’ll tell ‘em to be on the lookout for us.”
Widow started to go over to the SUV. Lyn stopped him, grabbed his arm.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“We should clean it first.”
Widow looked at the SUV. There was blood misted all over the front bench and the windshield was cracked and too far gone to be repaired on the fly.
He said, “Looks fine to me.”
Lyn smiled, “The kids, dude.”
Widow nodded, said, “I’ll do it.”
“How?”
“I’ve cleaned latrines in less the two minutes flat. I can handle a little blood.”
“A little?”
Widow shrugged.
“A lot of blood. We’re not going that far. I’ll manage. Just get the chopper flying. I want to get the hell outta here.”<
br />
“You’re the boss.”
Lyn stepped away, toward the north and made his call.
Widow looked in the front bench, a quick survey of the damage. He saw the keys still in the ignition, which he knew because the engine was still running and idling.
The front area was pretty bad. He glanced back at the backseat. It was really nothing. Then he climbed out and went back to the cargo area. He opened it and found what he needed, two gallons of water and some blankets, not towels, but clean garments that would work well enough.
He took it all and set it down on the road. He unfolded a blanket and tossed it over the mess, then he hopped in the cabin and lowered the seat all the way back and got in. He raised his legs as high as he could and used both feet and kicked violently at the glass. After three hard double kicks, he had kicked out the entire structure and paneling.
Widow got back out and pulled the rest down and all off the hood. He returned to the water and pulled out the blankets. He grabbed one gallon after the next and dumped the water all over the front seats, the upholstery, the console, the steering wheel, and the dashboard. Then he wiped all of it, everything. As fast as he could. He used the clean side of one blanket to cover up the wet spots and whatever was left.
He stepped back and took a look and nodded. Not as fine a job as a Navy latrine, but good enough.
Widow walked back to the Kweon family and led them away from Lyn and away from the bank with the dead bodies. He helped the son pull the mother over to the SUV and place her in the backseat. The son hopped in next to her, Widow signaled for Mr. Kweon to follow suit and have the mom wedged between them.
Volcanic eyes smiled and hopped in the front, to ride in the middle on the console. Not the most comfortable ride, but that’s the spot she picked.
Widow leaned in and hauled himself up and sat down behind the steering wheel.
The girl with the volcanic eyes sat close to him. She trembled a little like she was scared and sitting next to him helped. He stayed quiet about it.
Lyn got off the radio and approached them. He stood five feet from the driver’s door and said, “They’re coming. We gotta head south.”
Widow nodded and looked at Lyn as he pointed south into the fog. He expected Lyn to get into the SUV so they could be on their way, but that didn’t happen.
It didn’t happen because right there, they all heard a loud thunderclap in the distance, toward the North Korean border, just past the frozen river.
The wind shifted, the mist exhaled, and the sky echoed the sound.
It wasn’t a thunderclap. It was a distant rifle shot.
Widow saw Lyn staring at him. Then he saw Lyn’s head explode like a bad special effect from a movie. It was violent and unforgettable and haunting.
One second he had been standing there with a head, the next was only a body with no head. He looked like a mannequin in a shop somewhere, missing its head.
The Kweon family screamed and wailed and shouted. All in Korean. Widow had no idea what they were screaming or which of them was doing the screaming. He had no rearview mirror to take a quick glance. Nor did he intend to look. He just ripped the gear into reverse because the vehicle nose was still facing the river. And hit the gas. The SUV reversed and he was flying backward into the dimly lit highway, in partial mist. He was going north and needed to stop and pop the gear into drive, and head south.
He slowed and attempted to do that, thinking the mist gave them cover, thinking that no way could a sniper shoot another shot that accurately from the border. He started to realize that it must’ve been well over a mile away. Maybe closer to two.
The SUV slowed to a crawl and he heard another thundering gunshot.
Instinctively, he hit the brakes. And heard glass explode behind him.
He turned and saw that the son was no longer there. Not in a sitting position. His head was bloodied and busted open. He lay, hunched over, across his mother.
Widow’s eyes widened to their extreme limits.
The girl with the volcanic eyes grabbed at him. She was screaming and crying.
Widow froze, for the first time in the service, in his life, he froze solid.
He froze because there was a third booming thunderclap. And then the mother’s chest blow open right in front of him.
CHAPTER 39
THAT RED MIST PLUMED and clouded outward. It filled the inside of the SUV and sprayed across their faces. Widow saw it all over the face of the girl with the volcanic eyes. There used to be a teenage face there. Now it was covered in blood.
Her father’s face was covered in blood.
The father was shouting at Widow in Korean.
Widow’s body unfroze and he hit the gas and accelerated to the vehicle’s top RPMs.
The SUV exploded to action and he was racing south.
Two klicks, Lyn had said.
What kind of sniper can shoot like that? He had no idea. He had no time to contemplate the question.
He hoped that the speed and the gray mist would help to keep them safe from the sniper.
The two remaining Kweons were shouting at each other. The girl with the volcanic eyes was trying to crawl into the backseat. She was trying to grab onto her father. She was trying to hold onto him. But he kept pushing her back, like he was protecting her.
They were both crying and shouting and twisting in their seats like they wanted to escape, desperately, but where the hell were they going to go?
Widow took one hand off the wheel and nearly punched the switch for the headlights, thinking they were making it easy for the sniper to track them, but then he realized he couldn’t. He would never be able to maneuver the curving highway without them. Not in the dead of night. Not in the thick of the fog.
He drove on.
One klick.
The speedometer was in kilometers. He watched the dial rise higher and higher. His foot pressed all the way down on the accelerator.
He saw a warning sign for a fast curve.
He hit the brake and released it. He heard another thunderclap boom in the distance. He swerved the SUV to the right and back to the left.
The daughter bucked up into the air like a bull rider and the bullet skimmed the hood of the SUV.
He breathed out and drove on.
Coming up on two klicks.
He saw an open field coming up off the shoulder. He saw abandoned playground equipment and abandoned buildings, all brick, two of them missing roofs. The whole complex was an abandoned school.
He swung the SUV off the road toward it.
He pulled it up as close to the of the buildings as he could. They could use the brick as cover.
He heard the father use an English word. He kept speaking the same phrase in Korean over and over, but there was that one English word.
It sounded like Rainmakers.
Widow slammed the brakes, kicking up snow.
He grabbed the girl and shoved her head down. And looked back at Dr. Kweon and said, “We go to there.”
Kweon was shaking. He said, “No. No. Rainmakers.”
“Follow us! Now!”
Widow busted open the driver’s side door and leapt out. He dragged the girl with him. He pulled her into his body, pushing her head down into his chest. She didn’t fight him. She cried and clenched his vest.
He leapt out onto snowy ground. He crouched and shoved his back into the front tire of the SUV.
Dr. Kweon was out on the rear tire, same side.
He was still trembling and repeating the same Korean with the word Rainmakers.
Widow said, “On three. We run.”
They heard another thunderclap, another gunshot. The sound was a little more distant than before, but it echoed just as loudly. Then a bullet burst into the other side of SUV.
How the hell is he shooting that far? Widow asked himself.
Never in his life had he ever heard of a sniper who could do that.
He looked at Dr. Kweon. He started counting out loud.
Dr. Kweon looked back at him, shaking. He said, “No. No.”
“Two!”
Dr. Kweon quieted, readied himself to run.
Widow pointed at the closest structure with one hand.
“Three!” he shouted and jumped up in a violent explosion of moving mass. He ran with the girl tucked into his chest, to the abandoned school.
Another gunshot exploded on the horizon. Widow turned back to see Dr. Kweon behind him about five yards. Then he saw the man’s chest explode from the side. He went flying off his feet like a barn door in a twister. He was jerked off his feet and slammed into the dirt.
By the time he landed, he was dead. Widow saw a huge, gaping hole in his right-side chest cavity. His face registered nothing.
The girl started screaming again. She let go of Widow and pushed off him. He tried to stop her. She ran back to her dead father.
Widow looked in the direction of the sniper shots.
He saw nothing but faint mist, low to the ground, over the river’s surface, and the ice. He saw the same faint lights that he had seen earlier, from the border wall of North Korea. That’s where the sniper was, he figured.
Then he turned and ran back to the girl. He snatched her up in a powerful effort that would’ve dislocated her arm if she hadn’t let go of her dead father.
Widow took her, dragged her with him toward safety. She did not fight back. She came up off her feet and was plunged into his chest again.
They ran through the mist and past the SUV’s headlights. Which had been his last mistake. They crossed straight through them. They had to. It was on their path to the nearest building.
Widow heard a final thunderclap boom from the North Korean border, beyond the frozen river.
The primal animal in his brain screamed at him over his mistake. He had lit them up, only for a brief moment, but it had been enough. It had been a death sentence.
The gunshot rang out. The echo came on, like before. And he turned, with her clamped onto his torso, he heard the bullet whiz through the air, through the mist.
It cut straight into the girl’s back, below the left shoulder blade, and into where her heart should have been.
The force plowed them off the ground, off Widow’s feet. He flung backward onto his back. He heard another gunshot. This one did all the same things. The boom. The echo. But this one missed. They were too close to the ground. Too much in the mist.
