“I’m not the one that needs to hear that,” Curtis said. “John’s already making his move. Get those Predators to our position ASAP.”
* * *
Damien’s boots hit the ground with a crunch. He stripped off his sweat-soaked button-down shirt, tossing it to the side as he strode to the side entrance. Zane exited the jeep and followed, holding the door open for Gabriel and Micah.
The two Alphas paused as Gabriel looked over his shoulder at the jeep.
“I’m afraid we’ll be needing the keys,” he said.
Damien spun on his heel. “Where are you two going? I need you here to fight when Stone reaches this place.”
“We’re not your private security,” Micah shot back.
“I brought you here to kill John Stone,” Damien said. “That was the mission I had arranged with your employer. And seeing as how John is still alive and quite dangerous, I would say that you two have failed at your task.”
Gabriel tilted his head and smiled. “That’s an interesting interpretation of events. With the opening necessary to kill Stone gone, the mission has been scrubbed.”
“According to whom?” Damien asked, his face red.
“Our employer,” Micah said.
“I’m afraid the mission parameters have changed beyond our original agreement,” Gabriel said. “The services we offer don’t include frontline battle, nor this last stand at the Alamo you’re planning.”
Damien pulled the handgun from his holster and leveled the barrel at Gabriel’s chest. “You’re not going anywhere until I say you can.”
Micah’s pistol was out in a flash, aiming directly at Damien’s temple.
Gabriel’s smug look of amusement never left his face. He looked down at the revolver pointed at him. “I’m afraid this call comes from well above all of our stations. You might kill me with this. Maybe.” He nodded down to the revolver. “Maybe not. But either way, Micah will put you down like the rabid hyena you are. He’ll be doing Stone a favor if I’m being honest.”
Damien’s hand trembled slightly. Barely noticeable, but enough to wiggle the front sight in his eyes. He took a breath then relented, lowering the revolver. “Go then. Run home to your master with your tails tucked between your legs.”
Gabriel placed his hand flat against his stomach and gave a slight bow, the smirk only serving to infuriate Damien more. Zane tossed the keys to the jeep. Micah snatched them from the air as the Alphas climbed into the vehicle, pulling out of the compound and speeding away.
Damien never took his eyes off of the dust cloud rising up behind the jeep. “Gather anyone inside that you can. John Stone does not get into this building alive.”
* * *
John emerged from the forest, weapon braced and front sight scanning the clearing. He swept the muzzle across the combatants as the battle computer in his mind put a plan together, taking in as much information as possible. Taking a knee, he pivoted his body forty-five degrees and pressed the trigger.
Curtis shouted into the radio, “Chambers, we need a sit-rep on those drones, John just kicked off the party!” He stepped into the open, kneeling next to John and firing to the opposite side of the enemy’s ranks.
“ETA thirty seconds,” Travis said.
John fired another burst, watching his target spiral as the soldier fell. Patting Curtis on the shoulder, he stood and took several steps to the side until he reached a small hollow in the ground, dropping prone.
Curtis kept his rate of fire in check, firing several single shots before he followed suit. Falling to his stomach, Curtis propped the weapon on its magazine and continued the counter-attack.
“The birds are circling overhead now,” Travis said. “They’ve got a probable ID on the enemy. Just give me the signal.”
“They’re still too spread apart,” John said. “I need to pull that left flank toward us more.”
“John, wait. They’re about to drop a few missiles right on top of us,” Curtis said.
Inserting his last magazine, John snapped the charging handle and scrambled to his feet. The ground popped up in small blooms and fountains of dirt and grass as the enemy closed in.
Rolling to his side, Curtis struggled to reload as he watched John rushing out to meet the enemy, focusing his fire on the stragglers to draw them in. With the AK topped off, Curtis pushed himself up to a knee and pinned the trigger to the rear. His only concern was to suppress the enemy and maybe draw some of their aggression to his position.
“Chambers, light them up. Danger close!” Curtis shouted into the radio before continuing his attack.
“Copy,” Travis said. “Danger close.”
John staggered and rolled as a bullet grazed him across the ribs. He spread his body out on the ground, baring his teeth as he returned fire. The mercenaries swarmed them, threatening to overwhelm their position.
Every muscle in Curtis’ body tensed, anticipating the strike. He ran across the open ground, enemy bullets chasing him until he reached John.
“Predators are inbound. Strike is imminent,” he said, dropping to a knee to fight off the incoming wave.
John nodded and got to his feet firing a burst at a mercenary rushing ahead of the rest. The bullets tore at the man’s shirt, stopping his advance.
“Incoming!” Curtis dropped to his stomach and covered his head.
Sweeping his muzzle to the side, John dumped the rest of his mag at the wall of attackers. Three streaks of smoke whipped across the battlefield, separated by fractions of a second as the Hellfire missiles slammed into the ground.
With a deep whump, the air pulsed out. For John and Curtis, there was a brief moment of eerie silence before the explosions violently altered the landscape.
The thundering booms washed outward, clearing the smoke from the forest fire away from the impact zones. The blast wave knocked John back as the big man rocked on his heels before falling like a downed tree.
Even with the fire bearing down on them, both men felt the heat from the explosions wash over them. His chest aching, Curtis struggled to suck in another breath as his vision swam. Darkness shrank in around him as his head lolled to the side, hitting the dirt.
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The buzzing in his head was first, filling John’s eyes and ears. The vibrating drone looked like old television static on the insides of his eyelids. He pulled in a shallow breath, his chest shaking. Letting it out in a quick puff, he tried again, this time sucking in a full breath, his diaphragm still quivering.
“—there, John? Curtis, are you still there?” Travis’ voice came in through the squealing and crackling.
John rolled to his side and took his time getting to his feet. He pressed a palm to his temple and turned his head side to side, working the tension from his neck and shoulders.
“We’re here,” Curtis said, sitting up. “But let’s limit that kind of thing to every hundred years or so.”
“What’s your status?” Travis asked. “Was the strike effective?”
John looked down at his body and then at Curtis. Both men struggled to move, covered in small wounds, unclear which were from bullets and which were possible shrapnel from the blast. He turned his head side to side, surveying the damage.
“I’d say so,” Curtis said. “Anyone who survived that blast isn’t going to be in any shape to put up much of a fight. Thanks for the support, Chambers.”
“I would say to stand down until we can reach you, but I already know John is planning on pushing ahead,” Travis said. “Godspeed, gentlemen.”
John looked back over his shoulder as Curtis followed.
Dropping his empty rifle, John scanned the battlefield for anything of use. The explosion had scattered everything about, either rendering it useless or leaving it completely unrecognizable. Curtis kicked over some debris with the toe of his boot, clutching his AK close to his chest.
“Looks like we roll with what we’ve got,” Curtis said.
“Business as usual,” John
said, scanning the horizon through the monocular.
“This is going to be a long hike,” Curtis said as he inspected a damaged magazine torn apart in the strike.
“I think I’ve got a better idea.” John jogged across the clearing, away from the smoke and fire.
Curtis looked around before following. As the haze cleared, the sharp lines of a vehicle’s silhouette appeared in the distance. John reached the old pickup truck and hopped into the driver’s seat, craning his neck to check for anything usable in the bed.
“I really hope the keys weren’t in one of the pockets back there.” Curtis swung his body into the passenger seat.
John tore a chunk of plastic away from the bottom of the steering column, exposing the wires inside. “Come on. I wouldn’t want to keep Blanchard waiting.”
* * *
The brakes squealed as the truck shuddered to a stop. John killed the engine and climbed out, taking the monocular from his pocket.
Curtis leaned out of the window, squinting. “I take it that’s Blanchard’s compound.”
“I don’t see any heavy resistance waiting for us,” John said. “But we should still approach on foot, so they don’t hear us coming.”
Shoving the stubborn door open with his boot, Curtis slid out, still holding the half-empty assault rifle. “I suppose now is a good time to mention that we don’t have enough gear to storm this place, guns blazing.”
John looked at the rifle in Curtis’ hands. “You still got that bolt-gun?”
Curtis looked down at his own torso and legs. “Man, I vaguely remember dropping it, but I don’t even know when.”
John looked through the scope again. “Like you said. We roll with what we’ve got.” He pocketed the monocular and nodded for Curtis to follow, hunching his body low as they approached the outer perimeter through the tall, swaying grass.
At the wooden fence, John stopped for a moment before signaling to Curtis. He moved along the grounds’ outer boundary until they reached a small gap in the planks to see inside.
“If we keep circling, there are enough trees to provide concealment as we climb over,” John whispered.
Curtis nodded as they rounded the perimeter toward their entry point. The wind passed through the leaves of the tall, flat-crown trees inside and outside of the fence, the branches gently swaying and whooshing.
“Guess it was too optimistic to hope there were a few trees close to the outside of the fence,” Curtis whispered, pointing to the stumps dotting the ground along the fence.
John nodded and leaned his back against the wooden post, bending his legs and lacing his fingers together. Curtis offered up a half-enthusiastic smile, trying to find the energy he would need to complete what John proposed. He pulled the rifle's sling across his body and took several steps back.
After a short run, Curtis stepped into John’s hands. John hoisted him upward, high enough to get a solid handhold along the top of the fence. Curtis pulled himself to the top, draping one leg over as he flattened his body.
John took two short steps before leaping up and thrusting himself a little higher with his boot on the fence. Curtis had his hand down, reaching for John’s. They clasped their grips, grabbing each other’s forearms.
With a grunt, Curtis hoisted John up high enough to grab the top of the fence before swinging his other leg over and dropping to the grass below. John followed, his boots landing with a dull thud on the softer ground.
They exchanged puzzled glances, looking around at the mini forest inside the compound. The grass inside the fence was much greener and lusher. John kept his body hunched as they reached the edge of the tree line to a large lawn.
“Are you serious?” Curtis mumbled.
A herd of zebras wandered about, grazing and scanning the area around them, on the lookout for danger. A smaller group of gazelles trotted around closer to the large house in the center of the grounds.
“What is this, a petting zoo?” Curtis pulled the AK around to the front, clutching it close to his chest.
“We’re going to have to circle around toward the side of the house,” John said. “We can’t risk spooking the animals and letting anyone know we’re here.”
“Something’s off,” Curtis said. “I don’t see anyone out here. No armed guards walking around.”
“They’ve got to be inside waiting for us.” John patted him on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“Shouldn’t we be a little more concerned about a small army inside waiting for us?”
“I didn’t do the math, but I’m sure Blanchard’s small army took the brunt of a drone strike back in the hunting grounds,” John said.
CHAPTER
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A zebra huffed and shook its head, trotting away. John stopped and held a hand out for Curtis to do the same. With a short grunt and another huff, the zebra turned its back and strolled toward the larger group.
“We’re clear,” John said.
“I think these animals are used to a lot of armed men walking around,” Curtis said.
Slowing their pace, and approaching at almost a crouch, they reached a side entrance of the house. John peered in through the lower corner of the small window in the door. A second later he dropped back and flattened himself to the wall.
“Someone’s coming,” he said.
Curtis pressed his body against the house and held his rifle at low ready. John tensed, his legs were coiled springs, ready to strike. The door opened, and he leaped into action, pinning the man against the wall, pressing his hand across the sentry’s mouth.
He was young. Barely a man. His eyes bulged with fear as he stared John in the face. Curtis noticed that the sentry awkwardly held the AK, clutching the grip with all four fingers, none in the trigger guard. He had his other hand wrapped around the barrel and gas block.
“John, wait.” Curtis put a hand on his shoulder.
“I know. He’s not one of Blanchard’s soldiers,” John said, still staring deep into the young man’s eyes.
A tear rolled down his cheek, onto John’s hand. Curtis took the rifle from his grip, checking to see if the weapon was loaded.
“If I release my grip, are you going to yell?” John asked.
He shook his head side to side, as much as he could.
“Because I would hate to have to break your neck,” John said.
Again his head shook, then nodded. His fear had him confused, communicating anything this dangerous man wanted to hear.
“The mag’s empty,” Curtis said, tossing the steel box to the side.
John released his grip but kept a hand on his chest, pinning him against the wall. “Where is Blanchard? The Hyena, where is he?”
“Inside,” the young man said, his accent thick. “Downstairs.”
“Why did you come out here? To kill us?” John kept his words slow and deliberate, letting the man know how serious he was.
He shook his head. “No. No. I do not want to fight.” His body shuddered. “Mr. Blanchard told me to protect this house.”
“This rifle is junk,” Curtis said. “They sent him out here with a piece of garbage and no ammo. He’s the canary in the coal mine.”
“He wanted us to shoot you so they would know we were here,” John said. “Where are you from? Do you live near here?”
“Yes. My home is not far. Just that way.” He pointed southwest. “Fifteen kilometers.”
John looked at Curtis. According to the map’s details still in his head, it was one of the villages they had visited before Blanchard’s men ambushed Travis and the others.
“Today’s your lucky day, kid,” Curtis said. “You get to go home in one piece. Tell your friends and family to stay inside until we’ve taken care of the Hyena and his men.”
“There are more,” the man said. “Downstairs. Inside.”
“Here?” John asked. “From your town?”
“Yes. And from others. You must help them.”
“We will.” John’s features softened.
The young man could see the truth in the big man’s eyes.
“But we’re going to need you to tell us everything you know about this house,” John said.
* * *
Damien paced the floor chewing on a thumbnail, looking at the monitors again but seeing nothing of note in the house. Locked in the lower levels of the house, he should have felt safe. Zane and five of his mercenaries hunkered down waiting to take on John Stone when he got into the house.
Readjusting the straps on his shoulder rig, Damien did one more lap around the room before turning to Zane. “What if he already killed that guy we sent out? Are your men ready?”
“I’m sure he’s not here yet,” Zane said, looking at his watch, then the clock on the wall next to the security monitors.
The room had camera feeds from all over the house cycling through the monitors mounted on the wall. But mainly this was the control room for directing the broadcasts for the underground fights Damien often liked to host when inviting high powered guests to his grounds.
With his hands on his hips, he watched over the footage on the screens. Damien turned to speak to the others, but something caught his eye. Movement in one of the displays.
“What was that?” he asked, pointing at the center monitor. “Go back.”
“It’s on a cycle,” Zane said. “We’ll see that camera’s feed again in a few seconds.”
The scowl on Damien’s face switched to a snarl as his lips pulled back. The display in the center snapped to the camera near one of the side entrances. The tension in the room was almost tangible, but Damien felt only anger.
He watched the footage showing John Stone and another man inside his house. Stone had no weapons, but his accomplice held an assault rifle. The second man pointed up to the camera, and a moment later, John’s eyes moved up to the lens. Damien’s body tensed. He could feel the fire in the man’s stare through the digital output.
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