Page 94 of What I Should Have Done

My heart raced, my mouth ran dry as I shifted, and we roared past a rusty, overturned tank left from whatever forgotten fight had occurred a while ago. It was dark. The sky was pitch black and there was no moon overhead to add a hint of silver light to this desolate desert. Clouds covered the stars, not an ounce of sparkling illumination anywhere to be seen.

And then the first flash of something moving fast darted in front of Dom’s buggy, disappearing as quickly as it arrived.

“Viper, they’re here,” Ford’s voice crackled through the radio, joined by intensified hums of engines roaring closer and closer to us.

“Crow, I’ll get close to the edge after this next bend,” I stated.

“Copy that,” Scottie replied. I hated having her move out on her own, but we were being flanked, and the only advantage we would have was her. Dom sped up, putting some space between us.

Sand sprayed up from the wheels of his buggy, peppering the air swirling with the tension of our impending doom. He locked up his wheels and drifted around the corner, clouding everything around us to provide brief cover for Scottie’s exit. Squinting through the night vision goggles and trusting my gut, I slowed and steered us close to the edge of the ravine.

The door clicked beside me and then Scottie ducked out, rolling away from the back end of the buggy and disappearing up the side of the canyon.

Slamming the gas pedal to the floor, I snapped us around the end of the bend and sped forward. I kissed the back bumper of Dom’s buggy. “Let’s see how far we can take them,” I radioed.

And slammed both feet on the brakes. Rubber squealed. The back end swung around. Sand slapped against the metal frame. Dom’s buggy spun out of control, twisting to the left, spiraling in a whirlwind of sand. It stopped an inch away from the line of armored trucks blocking our route.

Less than a centimeter gaped between the three armored trucks yards in front of us. The outside mirrors scraped against the canyon wall. Sheer rock rising straight up to the sky inhibited our ability to climb the walls to go around them.

The rumbling from earlier neared, and I glanced away from the blockade to see two sand rails pulling up behind us. While they were fitted with gatling guns, the armored trucks were just that—armored. No weapons were mounted on the vehicles; they were simply built to ram through shit.

Nobody dared to breathe. Even the night crawlers didn’t inch out of their earthly tombs. Not a grain of sand danced in the air that was so still, you could light a match and the flame wouldn’t flicker.

Adrenaline pumped heavily through my veins, replacing the blood that should’ve flowed.

Metal clicking drew my attention to the center truck, and then hazy movement appeared behind the vehicle. Footsteps. Soft, steady footsteps plunked closer and closer.

Slithering out from beneath the vehicles came six men. Wrapped in tan fabric, their faces hidden behind makeshift balaclavas similar to ours, each insurgent shouldered a gun and then waited.

Swallowing stiffly, I slid a hand toward the rifle resting across my chest. My finger hovered over the trigger, ready to raise and fire at a moment’s notice. Assessing my surroundings, I gathered six more men waiting behind us, with someone stationed at the gatling guns, ready to obliterate us.

The footsteps continued closer and closer, and then the center truck rattled, tilting sideways as something clambered on top.

Not something, but someone.

Headlights flashed on, temporarily blinding me.

Quickly flipping up the night vision goggles, I blinked through the stars, focusing my eyes on two people who appeared through the thick mist of the night.

One man I knew. Karim al-Jabari’s right-hand man, Rashid al-Farouk. His long, dull brown hair was pulled back in the usual ponytail, no face covering to hide the eerie sight of his square jaw with too wide of a nose. He looked like a toad, with eyes too big for the sockets, and honestly, I itched to jab them out with my fingers. Not an overly tall man, but he had width on even Ford.

The other man, however, stood tall. His presence was commanding, silencing even the beetle who dared to dig a little more. Eyes sliced through the air like one of the sharpened blades attached to my belt, his olive skin marred with years of hardship and battle. Dressed in traditional garb that held not a single stitch out of place, he exuded strength and confidence.

And I knew who it was.

“Tell me where it is and I won’t kill you,” he demanded, his voice booming like thunder, thick with an Arabic accent.

I waited, along with my teammates, for a signal from Dom. But he remained seated and still.

“I assume you know who I am?” Karim asked, clasping his hands behind his back. There was no real, clear shot considering his stance just slightly behind Rashid.

Tension slithered thick through the air, heating up the cool night. Still, Dom refused to move or give the all clear to fire a shot at least at Rashid al-Farouk.

Karim al-Jabari inhaled deeply. “You must know what I’m capable of doing. I will not hesitate to gut you like fish, ship pieces of your bodies back to your families to get what I want.”

Blood pounding in my ears, I wanted to scream at Dom to have Scottie take a shot, despite the possibility that she may not have a clear view. At least we could take out Rashid and then maybe still be able to get Karimy-boy. Now would be the perfect moment. Take down Karim al-Jabari, or at least his most loyal soldier, and retrieve the Black Box, stopping it all in one fell swoop. But something nagging in the back of my head whispered that it would be too easy.

“Crow, take the shot,” Dom said through the comms.

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