Pressure swelled behind her eyes. Jinx caught her lip between her teeth, glancing away from Vanbuuren’s intense stare.
“I don’t know how to thank you, Major.”
“You call me Sol when it’s just us.”
“Sol.” She nodded, lifting the paper a fraction. “Thank you. You’ll let me go to the city during personal time tonight?”
“When is anything ever that easy, Jinx?”
Her heart thudded as Sol stepped closer. His palm pressed against the wall behind her as he leaned closer.
She glanced at his hand. “What…” Her shoulders dug into the bricks.
“You won’t find him in the city,” Sol whispered, throwing a glance over his shoulder.
“He’s… dead?” she ventured.
“No, but he may as well be.”
“You’re not making any—”
“He’s at the Wildebeest colony.”
She stared at Sol, rendered speechless for a few moments. “No… but… then how—”
Sol lifted two fingers, silencing her. He glanced over his shoulder again.
“Pearce is going to be busy for a while,” she said, twisting her head to try and catch Sol’s eye. “Do you have a plan? Is there some way I can get into Wildebeest?”
He trapped her fingers in his hand, squeezing as if trying to crumple the paper in her palm.
“I wish I had better news, Jinx. But the trail ends here. Maybe one day, things will be different—”
Her voice sounded stronger than she’d expected. “I’ll go tonight.”
“Not a chance.” Sol frowned, his grip tightening.
“But—”
“You won’t get within sight of Wildebeest before they shoot you down like a dog.”
“I’ll hide—”
“That’s an order, Sergeant!” he snapped.
Her chin dipped as she blinked at him. “But, Sol—”
“No. This is not the way. Your chance will come. Just be patient.” Sol tore his hands away from her and stared out over the savanna. “What’s taking him so long?”
He stepped back, peering out past the wall, eyes narrowed against the glare thrown off by the pale sand.
“I thought you only shot a few rounds?”
“I did,” Jinx said. “He shot a lot more.”
The Major huffed a short, rueful laugh and shook his head. Sunlight gleamed in his slate-streaked hair, casting long shadows under his strong nose and chin.
“What’s the real reason you two’re out here?”
“He didn’t want the other men to see me kicking his ass. Again.”
Sol glanced away. “So you weren’t…”
“What?” A blush crept up Jinx’s neck. “No. Never. He’s… we’re—”
Sol’s voice was gruff. “I don’t want to hear it.”
Jinx folded up the paper and slipped it into the breast pocket of her fatigues. Her gaze dipped down, and she slapped at her empty holster.
“Shit. My Glock.”
“You left it behind?” Sol twisted his head, his eyes narrowing as they focused on her. “Go get it,” he said. “On the double, Sergeant!”
She leapt forward before he could complete the command, her muscles trained to follow his commands without the involvement of her brain.
Reaching the small thicket where the Major had found them, Jinx fell to her knees, hands splayed as she searched for her weapon. She heard quick footsteps behind her and the click of a safety releasing.
She sighed, her head sagging down. “Really, Pearce? The Major’s already pissed—”
“Get up nice and slow, meisie,” the man behind her said.
Jinx’s breath caught in her throat as her muscles tensed.
That wasn’t Pearce’s voice. She tried to get a peripheral view of the man standing behind her, but instead spotted her Glock nestled under a nearby bush. Jinx straightened. She interlaced her fingers behind her head and rested on her heels.
“Who are you?” She glanced at her Glock.
“Names aren’t important,” the man replied happily.
“Ja nee. You from Wildebeest then?”
He had to be. Otherwise he would’ve recognised her. But her throat was tight, her heart thundering away in her chest. He’d gotten it wrong. Names did mean something out here. Because it was nice to know the name of your captor when you screamed for mercy. Dry earth crackled underfoot as the man stepped closer. Damn Sol and damn Pearce and damn herself, most of all. This was not how she died.
“What are you going to do to me?” Jinx whimpered, injecting as much desperation into her voice as she could muster.
“Getting some lekker ideas.” The man took another step closer.
“Né? Me too.” Jinx dove onto her stomach and rolled away.
The man fired.
Six shots chased her into the bush, the last grazing the top of her arm. She fumbled with the Glock as she rolled over it and dropped it into the sand again, out of arm’s reach. She shifted, reaching for it, but the man gripped her ankle. He tugged and grunted when she didn’t move.
Jinx aimed a kick at his head. He blocked it with his arm but staggered back. Lips twisting into a sneer, he slammed a new magazine into his weapon with trained precision. He lowered the yawning barrel.
“Some other time then.” His lecherous smile assured her this would be immediately after death — while she was still nice and warm.
Jinx closed her eyes as she waited for death.
A shot rang out. Her eyes opened as she slapped her chest. A wave of icy relief flooded through her when she didn’t encounter any bullet holes.
The man’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. His face grew slack, the hand holding his weapon twisting to touch against his chest. Jinx rolled onto her side, clutched the Glock, and rolled back. She fired six rubber bullets into the man’s face. His left eye popped, spattering her with warm fluid. She grimaced and pushed herself up on her elbows.
Pearce materialised behind the man, cheeks flushed with exertion. He shook his head at her, switching the empty magazine in his weapon with another, no doubt this one loaded with rubber bullets. He lifted a finger to his lips, panting, before pressing his hands to his knees.
“Thanks, Pearce,” she said.
She waited for her hammering heart to calm before rising to her feet. She caught sight of the Major marching toward them, his face set in a scowl. “Uh… you win, okay?” she added, glancing at Pearce.
Jinx shrugged her head into her shoulder, smearing the dead man’s gunk from her face. Still labouring for breath, Pearce shook his head, hand swiping the air in front of him.
“Doesn’t… work… like… that,” he heaved, straightening as the Major drew to a halt.
Sol glanced between them and then down at the man with the wrecked face. The Major stabbed toward the Wildebeest man with a victorious finger.
“And that, Sergeants, is why you keep a distance of four meters.”
“Sir, yes sir,” they chorused.
. . .
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The Seventh Glitch Page 35
