Chapter 24 - Blood Ties and Broken Glass
The drone passed, its whine fading toward the eastern valley.
"We have five minutes before it completes its sweep grid and circles back," Claire whispered, pushing herself up with a low grunt of pain. Her left sleeve was soaked in dark, fresh blood where the wound had reopened. "There’s an abandoned railway pump station half a mile north. It has an underground service conduit that leads past their perimeter. We move now."
We pushed through the brush, my legs burning with exhaustion as I carried Emily through the snowdrifts. The terrain grew steeper, the forest giving way to rusted iron rail tracks half-buried under weeds and ice. Looming out of the gray mist stood a weathered concrete structure, its rusted corrugated roof sagging under years of mountain snow.
Suddenly, Claire shoved me violently backward into the ditch beside the tracks.
A muffled *phut-phut* whispered through the air, and two rounds struck the concrete wall behind us, showering our heads with pulverized stone.
"Contact! Two shooters, eleven o'clock behind the pump house!" Claire barked, rolling onto her back and firing three rapid shots into the fog. A grunt of pain followed, accompanied by the heavy thud of a body collapsing into the brush.
The second shooter didn't retreat. A hail of automatic fire ripped through the bushes above our ditch, chewing through branches and kicking up frozen dirt.
"Stay with Emily!" Claire yelled. She didn't cower. With a savage, terrifying ferocity, she flanked left, staying low to the ground, moving from tree trunk to tree trunk with impossible speed. The shooter adjusted his fire toward her, his muzzle flash illuminating the fog.
I saw the mercenary—clad in urban winter camouflage, wearing a ballistic helmet and tactical visor. He was advancing on Claire's position, his rifle raised.
Something snapped inside me. The fear that had paralyzed me for days burned away into blind, protective rage.
Setting Emily behind the thick concrete footing of the rail signal, I picked up a heavy, rusted iron railway spike from the gravel. I surged out of the ditch from his blind spot. The operative heard my boots crunching the snow and began to swing his rifle toward me, but he was too slow.
I collided with him at full speed, tackling him into the frozen gravel. We rolled violently, his rifle clattering into the rocks. His armored gloved hand reached for the combat knife at his chest, his fingers wrapping around the hilt.
May you like
"Die, civilian," he snarled through his mask.
Before he could clear the blade, I drove the rusted railway spike down with every ounce of strength in my body, striking his collarbone. He screamed, his grip faltering. A split second later, Claire appeared out of the mist behind him. She grabbed his helmet, twisted violently with a sickening, audible snap, and the mercenary went limp in the snow.
