A rack held weapons. He took two Sig Sauers plus extra clips. While he armed himself, Sophia pulled a pack from under one of the cots and slipped her arms through the straps.
“My emergency supplies,” she explained as Phil lifted an Uzi from the rack.
They had only taken a few steps toward the blackness beyond the camp when Cash looked back and realized that Phil wasn’t following them
“What are you doing?”
He gave Cash a hard look as he pulled out more heavy weaponry. “Getting a surprise ready for them. Go on.”
“You . . .”
“Go on,” the other man said again. “I’m going to handle this. You need a head start—with that bad leg.”
“Okay,” he said, conceding the point and assuming Phil would join them quickly.
They had covered a hundred yards when someone behind them started shooting.
He heard someone else returning fire.
Phil and the guards.
The exchange went on for several moments, sporadic at first, then with more fury, and he pictured the guards advancing on the lone gunman.
“Come on,” he muttered. “What are you waiting for?”
The words were barely out of his mouth when the firing suddenly stopped.