Lost in Shadows

by CJ Lyons

  Lucky’s heart misfired as memories of that pain crashed down on him. His chest tightened with pressure, each heartbeat ricocheting through his entire body.

  The wall of ice that had protected him since last month shattered, leaving every nerve in his body exposed.

  Water plopping into the puddles reverberated through his teeth. The light glinting off Vinnie’s handcuffs sparked into his eyes, made him blink in pain. The rustle of air as The Preacher drew in a breath wrenched at his heart, offended him to his very soul.

  “I told you not to come.” Vinnie’s words crossed the chasm between them, clear as a bird call ringing through silent woods.

  Lucky remembered her standing in the snow, watching the young fox babies. Never should have stolen her from that place, the paradise she’d built for herself. He met her eyes, desperate to do anything to take the pain away from her.

  A third man emerged from the shadows, his fingers poised over a small remote control. “Want me to make her dance?”

  Lucky jerked his gaze away from Vinnie. It took everything he had not to start firing, to kill them all. To hell with the consequences.

  He relaxed his grip on the forty-five, remembered that Vinnie’s life depended on what he did next.

  “Drop that, now,” he commanded.

  The man looked to The Preacher who nodded magnanimously. The remote spun to the concrete.

  Lucky swallowed hard. Seeing Vinnie, knowing that she was here because of him, was more painful than getting shot, worse than any torture The Preacher could devise.

  “The two of you,” he nodded to his guides, “drop your guns and kick them into the corner.” He gestured to the dark recesses behind the men. “Then you let Vinnie go.”

  The Preacher laughed, ignoring the revolver Lucky jammed into his gut. “Go ahead, drop the guns,” he told his men. “But Mrs. Ryan stays where she is.”

  Lucky raised his gun to The Preacher’s head. “We do it my way, or he dies.”

  “I don’t think so, Agent Cavanaugh. But nice try.” The Preacher turned a gleaming smile on Lucky.

  It was hard for Lucky to resist the urge to knock those pearly whites down the other man’s throat.

  “Those tankers are wired to explode in about thirty minutes, right in the heart of rush hour traffic. And I’m the only person with the code to deactivate the bomb. If you kill me, not only will you and Mrs. Ryan die, but so will millions of others.”

  Half an hour, barely enough time for Vinnie to travel the length of the tunnels and reach the car, much less get out of the dispersal radius.

  The Preacher followed his calculations effortlessly. “That’s right—time to save herself, but no time to stop and warn anyone else.”

  “What do you want?” Lucky asked. He was afraid he knew the answer. “Because half an hour doesn’t give you or your men much time either.”

  The Preacher nodded as if praising an especially bright pupil. “No, it doesn’t. Of course, we’re more prepared than the general population. Still, it wouldn’t be pleasant. Those gas masks and chemical protection suits are so uncomfortable.” He paused for effect. “Therefore, if you stay, I’ll disarm the bomb.”

  “Fine, do it,” Lucky said before he had time to imagine what would happen to him once in The Preacher’s hands. Whatever it was, it would make Christmas Eve pale in comparison.

  “No,” Vinnie protested, struggling in her restraints. “Lucky, don’t. He’s lying. Go now. While you still can.”

  Her voice emerged choked with tears. Tears? His Vinnie didn’t cry. What had they done to her?

  Lucky tugged The Preacher’s arm. “Let her go. We’ll do it your way.”

  “Very well,” The Preacher said. He nodded to his men.

  Bert and Ernie scrambled down the ten-foot ledge and onto the tracks. One climbed up to free Vinnie from the handcuffs while the other stood guard, covering her with a handgun.

  “Take that damned collar off her too,” Lucky shouted as Vinnie slumped against the side of the tanker, rubbing her wrists. The man obeyed, then stood aside.

  Vinnie looked around, opened her mouth to protest. Lucky knew what she was going to say and prayed that she wouldn’t. He just couldn’t bear to hear it. A man could only take so much.

  “Run, Vinnie!” he yelled, drowning out her words. “Now!”

  She jumped like a startled animal, shied away from her captors. Then she stopped, looked up at him, her eyes meeting his.

  More than distance or men with guns separated them. They both knew they would never see each other again.

  Yet, somehow, Lucky felt closer to her in that instant than he’d ever felt to anyone else in his life. The moment lasted less than a heartbeat, but it gave him the strength he needed to face what was to come.

  “Please, Vinnie. Go now.”

  To his surprise, she gave him a small, wistful smile and nodded as if sealing a pact. Then she took off, sprinting down the dark tunnel, turned the corner and was out of sight.

  “Your turn, Agent Cavanaugh,” The Preacher said, extending his hand.

  Lucky waited until the echo of Vinnie’s footsteps had faded. Then he lowered the forty-five and placed it into The Preacher’s hand. He felt lightheaded, as if a weight had been lifted. The strain of waiting to see the consequences of what he’d done last month, the guilt of killing another man with his bare hands, the fear—all vanished.

  He knew exactly what was going to happen next. There was no need for fear. Vinnie was safe, that was the only thing that mattered.

  “On your knees,” The Preacher commanded.

  Lucky assumed the universal position of surrender, hands at his side since he couldn’t raise his bad one over his head. The third man stepped forward, rummaged through Lucky’s pockets for the handcuff key. He freed The Preacher, then turned to Lucky.

  Lucky ignored the pain screaming through his shoulder as his arms were wrenched behind him and cuffed.

  “Time’s short,” he reminded The Preacher, nodding to the tankers with their cargo of death. “Disarm the bomb.”

  The Preacher’s smile grew wider. “No worries, Agent Cavanaugh. I know a back way out of here that’s much faster. We have plenty of time. And once we return to my compound, I promise that you and Mrs. Ryan won’t forget a single second of it.”

  Lucky’s breath caught at The Preacher’s last words. He hoped Vinnie moved as fast through dark tunnels as she could through woods at night. Otherwise everything had been for nothing.

  “Go retrieve Mrs. Ryan,” The Preacher ordered. Bert and Ernie gathered their automatic weapons and jogged past Lucky into the tunnel.

  “Got my toy?” The Preacher asked the last man. The man handed him a familiar looking black rectangle.

  “You said you’d let her go,” Lucky protested, trying to ignore the taste of bile that etched the back of his throat at the sight of the stun gun.

  “I did. But I’ve decided that she’s much too entertaining. You go as well,” The Preacher told his third man, gesturing with the revolver. “Don’t worry. Agent Cavanaugh won’t be a problem. One false move and he knows his lady friend as well as millions of innocent victims will die.”

  The Preacher pushed a button and blue sparks crackled between the stun gun’s electrodes. He lowered it toward Lucky.

  CHAPTER 44

  Vinnie ran as if her life depended on it. Then pushed herself faster because Lucky’s life depended on her.

  She scooped up discarded cans of spray paint until she found two that weren’t completely empty. Matches, she always had matches and a fire starter with her. She patted her pockets and realized that The Preacher’s men had taken them while she was unconscious.

  She paused near a small alcove cut into the cement wall, the only hiding place she’d spotted so far. What good was an ambush without a weapon? Not that her idea for a homemade flame thrower would out-shoot automatic weapons, but it was better than nothing.

  “Need a light?” a voice whispered from the alcove.
>
  Vinnie spun, holding her paint cans in front of her as if they contained napalm instead of Krylon. Then she realized the voice was a woman’s.

  There was a small click and a faint glow lit the alcove as the woman held a small flashlight aimed away from the tunnel.

  “You must be Vinnie Ryan,” she said, her teeth gleaming in a smile as she pulled Vinnie into the alcove with her. “I’m Rose, I work with Lucky. Is he all right?”

  Vinnie strained to catch her breath. “No. They’ll be coming soon.”

  “How many?”

  “Three men. And The Preacher.” The militia leader didn’t count as human, not in Vinnie’s mind. “I have to get back, help Lucky.”

  “Why don’t you leave that up to me?” Rose was slight of build, a few inches shorter than Vinnie with an exotic dusky complexion and long, black hair pulled back in a Ravens’ ball cap. “You go on, get some help down here.”

  “They have guns.”

  “Don’t worry, so do I.”

  Vinnie shook her head in frustration. “No. The noise will tell The Preacher something’s wrong, he’ll kill Lucky. And Lucky is the only one who can defuse the bomb. Thousands of people could die—there’s poison, chlorine in the tankers.”

  Rose nodded her understanding. “Give me your vest.”

  Vinnie looked down at the white down vest she wore over her CoolMax top. In the dim light it shone like a beacon, she might as well been wearing a target on her back.

  The sound of running footsteps echoed from the other end of the tunnel. Rose slipped into Vinnie’s vest, handed Vinnie the flashlight and her ball cap.

  “Wait until I draw them past, then go get help.”

  “There’s no time, the bomb is set to go off in a few minutes.”

  Rose hesitated. Vinnie knew what she was thinking—the same as Lucky, how to protect a civilian and still get the job done.

  “You lead them away,” Vinnie continued before the other woman could speak. “I’ll go back, take care of The Preacher and help Lucky stop the bomb.”

  It sounded impossible when Vinnie said the words aloud, but Rose merely nodded as if it was a fait accompli. She handed Vinnie a gun, then moved down the tracks. The men’s footsteps grew louder. The bobbing lights of their headlamps danced back and forth over the tracks. Vinnie crouched in the dark recesses of the alcove, watching.

  Rose fell to the ground with a clatter, scattering Vinnie’s paint cans against the tracks. The lights converged on her figure.

  “C’mon back, Mrs. Ryan,” one of the men shouted. The one who liked that damned dog collar so much. He held a pistol while the other two flanked him, scouring the air with their machine guns as if they were up against a battalion of Marines instead of one unarmed woman.

  Rose climbed to her feet, favoring her left leg and continued down the tracks. She limped unsteadily but at a fast pace, her dark hair and white vest effectively disguising her as Vinnie. The men trotted past Vinnie’s hiding place, laughing as they closed in on their prey.

  Vinnie slid from the darkness and moved quietly back down the tunnel. She had no idea how Rose was going to stop three armed men, but something about the woman told her The Preacher’s men didn’t stand a chance.

  Her grip on the gun grew sweaty, the darkness was almost complete.

  All she had to do was stop The Preacher and help Lucky disarm the bomb, she told herself, repeating the words like a mantra. But part of her kept imagining turning the corner to the cavern where the railroad cars sat and finding Lucky’s body.

  What if she was too late?

  CHAPTER 45

  The Preacher straightened, smiling down at Lucky, the revolver in one hand, the stun gun in the other. His grin widened as the stun gun’s current danced, a scant inch away from Lucky’s face.

  The sound of the other men’s footsteps disappeared, as did the sight of the tankers and their cargo of death. Lucky’s entire being focused on The Preacher’s form looming over him, standing at the edge of the platform.

  “Hold still, Agent Cavanaugh,” The Preacher crooned, his eyes locked onto Lucky’s. “Wouldn’t want me to accidentally blow up those tankers, now would you? Ever see anyone killed by chlorine gas? A frightening sight. The gas burns their skin, eats their eyes and mucus membranes, melts their lungs from the inside out.”

  His hands moved as if they were scales, offering Lucky a choice, weighing lives in the balance. And Lucky saw his chance.

  He pushed off with his legs and launched them both back. Over the edge.

  The Preacher’s shot went wild into the air above them as they plummeted onto the tracks below. A sickening thud reverberated through Lucky’s body when they hit. The Preacher’s head slammed against the steel tracks. Both the stun gun and the forty-five went flying, skittering in the water around them.

  Lucky pulled his head back and smashed it into The Preacher’s face. His vision blurred with the force of the impact. The Preacher’s head bounced off the track, and he went limp.

  They had landed on the tracks, in the middle of an ankle-high puddle. A weak groan emerged from The Preacher. Lucky head-butted him again, this time was rewarded with a crunch and stream of blood from The Preacher’s nose, then scrambled for a weapon.

  He scuttled backward, searching the cold water. His fingers found the stun gun first. The Preacher began to stir, his hand reaching to grab Lucky’s ankle. Lucky kicked back, climbed to his feet and ran for dry land.

  He held his hands as far away from his wet body as possible as his numb fingers cranked the stun gun up to the maximum setting and turned it on. The Preacher pushed himself up onto all fours, shaking his head like a dazed prizefighter intent on finishing the round.

  Lucky hurled the crackling stun gun into the puddle.

  Sparks flew. A piercing, inhuman scream escaped The Preacher’s lips as the puddle lit up like lightning. Lucky backed away, unable to see anything for a few precious moments.

  Then his vision cleared. The Preacher was bowed backward in an unnatural pose. Hungry blue sparks of electricity arced over his body. His body jerked, then collapsed into the water and was motionless. Steam began to rise from his clothes. His eyes were open, staring at Lucky, and had turned a milky white color.

  The smell of burnt flesh brought Lucky to his senses.

  He had to help Vinnie. Had to stop the bomb.

  Pain louder than the yowling of a banshee tore through his shoulder as he put his weight on his hands and maneuvered his legs past the handcuffs, bringing his hands around to the front. He climbed to his feet, his gaze darting from the tankers to the tunnel Vinnie had disappeared into.

  How the hell was he going to disarm a bomb with only one good hand?

  How the hell was he going to stop three armed men before they killed Vinnie?

  He wavered, off balance. Footsteps rang out from the tunnel. He whirled. Vinnie stopped at the entrance, staring at him, her eyes widening as she spotted The Preacher’s body behind him.

  Then she rushed into his arms and his world was back in balance again.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She stepped back, took in his handcuffed hands, glanced at The Preacher’s corpse and blinked slowly. A deep breath tore through her.

  “Yeah.” Her hand gripped his good arm. “I’m fine.”

  Lucky looked from the tankers to her. “You need to leave, now.”

  As usual, Vinnie had plans of her own. She didn’t waste time debating their lack of options, instead she jogged past The Preacher’s body toward the tankers.

  “Don’t think so,” she said. “You’ll need my help with your arm out of commission. There’s the bomb.” Vinnie knelt in the gravel alongside the tracks to point it out to Lucky.

  Lucky craned his head into the darkness below the first tanker. “Son of a—” he gave a low whistle, then pulled out. “He’s added a default circuit. We’ll have to bypass that.”

  Vinnie’s stomach tightened at Lucky’s look of dismay. This was bad, v
ery bad. Maybe The Preacher had spoken the truth, maybe he was the only one who could disarm the bomb. Her fears were confirmed when Lucky turned to her, his eyes searching her face but never quite meeting hers.

  “Don’t say it,” she told him. “We’re in this together.”

  He planted a kiss on her forehead. Then he sighed. “All right, you and me, Smokey, just like from the beginning.”

  Vinnie gave a small shake of her head. He could do this, she knew he could. He retrieved the Leatherman from his belt, fumbled it. Vinnie took it from his fingers and followed him under the railcar.

  Silly man, to think she’d leave him alone at a time like this. He cursed as he banged his shoulder, then rolled over onto his back.

  Vinnie sidled near, slid face up between his legs so that she could act as his hands. She gave him Rose’s small flashlight to hold. His belly muscles tensed beneath her, his breath fluttered her hair as he examined the bomb in detail and exhaled another curse.

  “Eleven minutes.” Vinnie’s voice came in a whisper as she watched the digital timer count down.

  “Yeah, copy that.” The light bobbed back and forth as Lucky’s fingers traced the wires leading from the bomb. He muttered words that had no meaning to her, as if he were intoning some archaic incantation about resistance, amperage and circuits.

  “Okay.” His voice startled her as it echoed from the undercarriage of the tanker. “Go ahead and remove the face plate.”

  Vinnie saw the four screws he pointed to and quickly unfolded the multi-tool. Her hand shook when she raised the screwdriver to the first screw. Lucky’s hand closed over hers, steadying it.

  “Easy now,” he breathed into her ear. “You’ll do fine.”

  She hoped so. How could he be so calm at a time like this? His hands weren’t shaking at all, she could feel his pulse vibrate through her hand, it was slow and steady. Like this was an everyday occurrence.

  She almost laughed. For Lucky it was. Bombs were his life, after all. Just as moving quietly through the woods, past wild animals was hers. How could they ever dream of a life together, coming from worlds so far apart?