Full Throttle(92)

He dipped his chin once, a muscle tightening in his jaw.

“Good.” She raked in a deep breath. “So what’s next?”

She thought she saw his eyes clear, just a little. And if she wasn’t mistaken his shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit. But instead of answering her, he turned and yelled in the direction of the logging road, “In case you were wondering, you’re down one man! And if my math is right, now it’s your three guns to my two!”

A muffled bark of rage came from across the road some distance behind them. Further along, Shadow Man hissed something in Malay, obviously a command for whoever was moving in their direction to keep quiet. Abby watched as Carlos glanced quickly around the tree, calculating range and scope and probably a whole slew of other variables she couldn’t possibly comprehend.

After a couple of seconds, Shadow Man called back, “I still like my odds!”

“Which just proves what a fucking idiot you really are!” It was obvious Carlos was taunting the guy, and Abby could only assume he was trying to force Shadow Man into acting irrationally. Or else he was simply trying to keep track of everyone’s location. She didn’t have time to ask him which one it was because he turned to Yonus, whispering, “They’re trying to get ahead of us, likely to keep us from making a break for the truck. Which is why we need to move. Now!”

With one hand gripping his pistol, and the other wrapped around her arm, he pulled her away from the tree and deeper into the undergrowth. She glanced over her shoulder to see Yonus hesitate. And just as she was about to tell Carlos they had to wait, they couldn’t leave the young man behind, Yonus gulped and dashed toward them. He caught up just before they slid out of sight.

Darting from tree to tree, the three of them quietly jumped over roots and slapped aside creeping plants that tried to snag their arms and legs as they paralleled the logging road. And all the while, Carlos led the way just as the tattoo scrawled across his back said he would. Ever-ready, ever-steady, and ever-deadly.

Which he proved when a terrorist jumped out at them from behind a large bush. Abby couldn’t hold back the scream that tore from her throat when a machine gun pointed straight at Carlos’s chest. But she didn’t have time to do more than that. Thank goodness Carlos’s reflexes were quicker than hers. Before the man could squeeze off a round, Carlos booted the weapon from the militant’s hand with a roundhouse kick that would’ve made Jackie Chan proud.

For a couple of seconds, the two men stood there, facing each other, both blowing like they’d run a race.

“Don’t do it,” Carlos hissed when the guy reached for the knife on his belt.

Yonus yelled something in Malay. Probably stop or no! But the JI goon didn’t heed his warning. With a snarl and a demon yell, the skinny terrorist launched himself at Carlos, his silver blade glinting in the dappled light, his free hand curved into a claw.

No, no, no!

Abby bent to pick up the dropped machine gun, surprised by its weight and the warmth of the trigger’s metal against her finger. But she didn’t have time to straighten or aim when a loud boom echoed into the treetops. She lifted her gaze to see Carlos’s pistol faintly smoking and the terrorist crumpled on the ground in a heap of dirty clothes and mahogany skin.

Again, Carlos’s tattoos had proved correct. The JI militant had messed with the best and he’d died like the rest. She shook her head, swallowing. It was so senseless. All this killing. All this…dying.

“Don’t look,” Carlos warned, turning to offer her a hand up. With a brief glance—and you can bet your bottom dollar it was only the briefest of glances—she noted the deep-red blood that had snaked and dripped from around his fingers was dried to a crusty brown.

Good. That’s good. Because it meant her slapdash field dressing had stopped his bleeding.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she gulped, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

“Did you hear that, you motherfucker?” Carlos tilted his head back, yelling into the canopy. “Now I have three weapons to your two! You want to keep playing this game?”

Silence met his call. And that was somehow worse than the sound of Shadow Man’s wretched voice.

“He’s moving in,” Carlos whispered, taking the machine gun from her hands and slinging it over his shoulder to join the one already hanging there. A chill of foreboding snaked up her spine as he continued, “Let’s go! QQS!”

Abby didn’t bother to enlighten Yonus as to what the letters stood for. She figured he got the general gist. And a few more seconds of dodging and jumping and running brought them to the edge of the tree line, directly beside Yonus’s Chevy pickup truck circa 1960-something. Rust had eaten away at the edges of its wheel wells. There was a massive crack snaking across its rear window. And the paint was an odd mix of faded yellow and primer. But the big, knobby wheels looked new. And it’d made the trip out here from the highway, so Abby was crossing her fingers it would make the trip back.