Page 27 of Don't Let Go

“The party has arrived,” McQuade damn near drawled. “Table for five, corner right. Looks like a bunch of irritating bastards.”

On my stomach, weapon set, I checked the sight and scratched off two stealthing toward the front of the cabin. Their all white garb let them blend in where the rest of the crew were in black. Interesting.

“Optical illusions. Two tried to jump the line. Two eliminated. Take care of your first guests. I’m on the next wave.”

McQuade drew their attention nearly as much as he took down his targets. But it was my job to flush them out of hiding, particularly those who went to ground when the first of their camouflaged people didn’t get past me. I was scanning for the three I’d spotted earlier, when I caught one of the SUVs roaming backwards.

“Hmm, someone’s walking the check,” McQuade practically tsked.

“I see them.” Lifting the remote, I set off the first wave of charges. They exploded upwards in sequence, the pattern seeming to increase in speed as it approached the attackers trying to flank us.

Lowering the remote, I sighted the secondary explosive device we’d planted. Like obedient sheep, the freelance guns scattered, following the path I’d left open. In three, two… I squeezed the trigger in between the heartbeats and hit the mark.

This explosion went upward in a plume of displaced snow, and smoke. The snow muffled some of the sound and helped with the shrapnel, but the concussive force they rushed into blew them backwards and took all seven men out.

“Nice,” McQuade complimented before he shutdown another grouping who lined themselves up.

“Thank you,” I said, evenly, scanning the field for my next shot. The hotheads and the reckless ones were always the first into a fray. Currently, they were all down and removed from the field.

That left us with the cagier, more experienced members of their assault team. The ones who understood the value of patience. A glimmer of light in the distance pulled my attention from what was directly in front of me. I shifted, every so slightly, using the scope to check the farther ranges.

Another flash.

I zeroed in on the location, just a quarter of mile to the southwest. A blue scarf wrapped to a sapling, fluttered faintly in the near nonexistent breeze.

Tracking back from the scarf, I located the faint movement. The sniper had hunkered down. Probably aware that the milky sunlight fighting to penetrate the cloudy gloom of dawn had given him away.

Or at least worried that it had.

Touching my tongue to my teeth, I fired three shots in rapid succession. The first went wide—on purpose.

The second also went wide, but ahead of him instead of behind.

Be cocky, I said internally. The third shot went four inches above that flash of motion.

Keeping watch via the scope, I nodded as the weapon suddenly dangled like a poisonous fruit in the trees.

Gunfire strafed the roof, the bullets chewing up the sealed wood and sending the chips of it flying. The shards peppered me, slicing cuts along my cheek. They might have done more except I wore gloves and a heavy, dark coat that helped me to blend in.

The gunfire came from two separate locations. Smart. An experienced pair, working in tandem to cover each other while keeping me pinned. It was an excellent maneuver. I spared about ten seconds of admiration for them as they got to where I needed them.

Squeezing the button on the remote, I dropped my head for cover as I set off another daisy chain of explosions. Unfortunately for the tandem pair, it effectively ended their pincer move efficiently, if spectacularly.

“Damn,” McQuade’s voice reached me via some static on the comm. “Clear down here.”

I lifted my head and scanned the area. No movement beyond the occasional operative that writhed on the ground. Some of them were in death throes. Most were already there. One or two looked like they were trying to crawl to freedom.

“Baiting the hook,” I warned McQuade before I pushed back part of my cover. The movement would catch attention as would me pushing up a helmet.

Had more shooters been present and aware enough to take their shot, the helmet would get attention. Then again, maybe it wouldn’t.

“No movement.”

“Standby,” McQuade answered. A door opened somewhere. The sound was almost violent in the quiet left by the battle’s aftermath. With the litter of bodies and blood spilled over the snow, it was a scene of discarded and broken toys. “No movement.”

“On three then?” Neither of us were going to move without the other clearing it. The first one up or out would be the most vulnerable.

“One,” McQuade said, and I could feel him scanning the area.

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