Page 27 of Fury

He laughed, making her glance over at him as she rounded the corner to the bridge.

She had no idea what the heck he could be laughing at. This was how field work went. You observed and questioned and then once you dug into some of those answers you often went back for more. Rinse and repeat. It was all pretty standard.

Her brain clicked on something. “Ohhh—you meant…”

She didn’t get to answer, because suddenly something didn’t feel right as a chill swept across her skin.

In fact, since the moment they’d taken the turn toward the bridge, something in the had air changed. The easy breeze and sunshine she'd soaked up during her morning coffee stop dissipated and cloud cover moved in. It had taken an extra minute to feel it because she’d been distracted.

"Is there supposed to be a storm coming in?” She searched the darkened sky. “Those clouds moved in quick.” she asked.

He looked out the window and said nothing right away. But she caught a deep frown spreading across his face in her side view mirror.

"What's wrong?" The hair on the back of her neck had stood on end the second she passed the black and gold engraved Devils Point sign.

"Nothing," he said before mumbling something else too low for her to hear.

"I thought we already established it's not nice to keep secrets," she said, fighting the urge to rub the back of her neck. Something was very off.

He settled back in his seat. "Everyone keeps them. Everyone. You care to share all of yours?"

His question rankled. This wasn't supposed to be about her. It was about finding out who blew up a building and hurt a bunch of people. She glanced over at him, catching on one of his many scars. He of all people should want to cooperate.

"Are we really on the same side?" she asked as a sudden clarity crystallized in her mind.

He turned and looked at her and she spared him a glance. The anger she expected wasn't there. Instead, he looked tired.

“Do you want to be?”

“What kind of question is—” Through the fog a wall of people suddenly appeared in the middle of the road. Penelope white knuckled the steering wheel and stood on the brakes.

The tires squealed and smoked as she put all her weight and skill into stopping the car before she ran someone over.

"Don't stop," Sawyer yelled.

"What?" With her foot still on the brake, she spared him another quick glance to find his face stamped with anger and determination. "I have to." It was too late anyway, she'd already brought the vehicle to a complete halt with mere inches to spare.

A strange popping noise sounded at the same time Sawyer yelled, “Fuck!” and slapped his hand across his neck. When he pulled it away there was a dart sitting in his palm.

Penelope reached behind her and pulled her service weapon from her back holster. “What is that? Is that a—? Jesus, are you okay? What the hell is going on?" Rising panic swept through her causing her muscles to jerk.

"Get down." He yelled at the same time he pulled her toward his lap.

Another pop sounded and this time she knew someone had taken another shot with what she hoped was still a dart gun.

"I assume you know how to use that thing." He was waving toward the gun in her hand, but his eyes were dilated and his eyelids beginning to droop.

"Yeah, I do." She looked back and forth between the men lined up in front of her car and the big-bodied man partially pitched sideways in the seat.

"Shoot them. Doooonnnnn't assssssk. Shoo...." He slumped forward, pressing more of his heavy weight across her side and she knew he'd passed out. Whether it was temporary or permanent she had no idea. And there was no time to find out.

Her grip tightened around the butt of her service weapon and her finger slid around the trigger. Whatever this was, she had to do something.

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