Page 25 of Brawler
Emily stopped dead. Flash held his unease tight, the sound of her sweet voice grounding him. It was like Lechuza’s, but softer. Less grit, soothing.
“Paw prints. Fresh…small ones, too. Sombra. The cubs.” She glanced ahead, her breath catching. “I have another camera up there. Can I check it? That card might be full.”
Tex leaned in to look, but Flash felt it at the same time the others did, every operator reading the shift like a change in the wind. In an instant, the team closed in around Emily, a phalanx of threat, a wall of muscle.
Tex’s voice was a low growl. “Brawler.”
Beast had stiffened several beats earlier, nose and body locked toward the disturbance. Without a word, man and dog melted into the brush.
Seconds dragged. Sweat itched under Flash’s plate carrier. The jungle held its breath.
Then Brawler’s voice rumbled over comms, steady and deep. “Group of tangos. Unaware of us, LT. They’re moving away.”
Tex depressed his comm. “Follow until we’re clear.” He looked down at Emily, voice low but firm. “Sorry. We need to move out of this area. Your camera will have to wait.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but the sudden shout cut her short.
In an instant the team reacted, hands on her shoulders and arms, hustling her off the path into the deep shadows. Shark shoved her down, her palms hitting the damp earth just as the first crack of gunfire split the night.
Rounds chewed through foliage overhead. The jungle lit in strobing flashes, fireflies of death sparking in the trees.
Brawler’s tense voice snapped in Flash’s ear. “Rival tangos engaging. It’s ugly.”
Tex’s gaze cut sharply to Shark. “Back up, Brawler.”
Shark peeled off without hesitation, melting into the brush with the kind of speed and silence that always left civilians blinking in disbelief.
Flash’s pulse hammered. The jungle had fangs, and they were bared now. Lechuza might whisper from the sky, but the real monsters tonight carried rifles.
“LT, there’s a family in the crossfire. Two kids. Permission to engage,” Brawler’s tense voice came through as a whisper. Danger must be close.
Tex stood, eyes narrowing. “Sending Flash.” Then, keeping his comm live, he pierced him with a look. “Draw them off. Discreetly. Act like one of the tangos.”
Flash was already moving before the order finished, NVGs glowing green as he slid into the shadows. The jungle became angles and obstacles, trees, brush, roots clawing the ground. Gunfire cracked, bullets whizzing past, splintering trunks, leaves spinning down in shredded confetti.
He skirted the firefight, heart steady, senses alive. Then he saw them, a father crouched low, shielding his wife and two terrified kids.
Flash slipped into position, sliding between them and the two tango bands. He raised his rifle and started firing on the move, his path cutting sharp and sideways across the line of fire. Bullets stitched the ground, drawing enemy eyes. “Come on, you fuckers,” he muttered, lips curling. “Follow the bouncing bullets.”
The tactic worked like a charm. The dad snatched his family and bolted, vanishing into cover.
Flash disengaged, a self-satisfied smirk tugging his mouth, then froze. Out of the corner of his eye, a flicker of movement.
A woman. Long, straight hair, features achingly beautiful, so sharp she cut the air. She looked right at him, expression taut, almost urgent.
His gut clenched.
Then she turned and ran.
Something inside him snapped. Too close, too real. Without thinking, he chased her into the shadows.
Emily watched Flash dash off, a streak of shadow and green-glow from the goggles swallowed almost instantly by the jungle.
Her gaze darted to her cleverly concealed camera, the small, camouflaged box blending into moss and bark. It would take seconds to change it out. Rationally, she knew the men around her could keep her alive, knew her life was in good hands. But even with danger pressing in from every shadow, she couldn’t stop herself from wanting what she had worked so hard for. These cameras weren’t just data. They were proof. Of survival. Of persistence. Of meaning. To her…they were worth the risk.
She crawled forward on hands and knees, damp earth seeping into her palms, the reek of loam and old leaves thick in her nose. The humid air pressed against her like a second skin, heavy with smoke and cordite bleeding from the firefight downrange. She slid the full SD card free, tucking it safely into her pouch.
Then her breath hitched. The moon broke through the canopy in a pale shaft, illuminating the faint depressions in the soil, a jaguar track, claw marks blurred in a scramble. Fresh. Something had happened here.
