Page 107 of The Fates We Tame
Adjust. I need more firepower.
Think.
“Swap weapons,” I say to Halo as I switch my Glock for Halo’s assault rifle.
The sound of gunfire increases.
I hear Bates yell Niro’s name.
There are too many of them. We were ten. They must have twenty. Maybe even thirty. King is out of ammo but he’s astraddle a guy, pulverizing his face with the handle of his gun.
I run to where Vex and Spark are taking heavy fire from four assailants on the other side of the lot, and I open fire indiscriminately. The volume is way too loud for us to have not attracted attention.
“We need to get out of here,” I shout to Spark.
“Tell those motherfuckers that,” he replies.
“They want the weapons,” Vex says. “I have the keys to the van, but they could boost it.”
We make our way slowly back to the van. I grab Halo, allowing him to put all his weight on me. But it’s too much. My left arm still doesn’t function properly. My right is holding my weapon.
Seeing us struggle, Spark steps in and grabs Halo from me. “Provide cover. Go.”
I hate the feeling of helplessness.
That I somehow wasn’t enough this evening.
And that’s an indulgent thought when we are still taking live fire.
We get Halo to the van and slump him in the back.
My ammo runs out about ten steps away. “Fuck,” I curse.
Bates has his back to a container, his knives in his hands. He must be out of ammo too.
Saint climbs down from the top of the container but is met by two assailants.
We’re losing ground.
We’re out of time.
I can’t believe Sophia and I survived what happened to us for me to die at the New Jersey docks.
Two vans screech around the corner, and more men join the fray, but then I hear the accent and breathe a sigh of relief. It’s the fucking Irish.
I watch Cillian’s men, on fresh legs and with surplus ammo, take over and finish the fight we started.
Vex offers King some ammo; he takes it and runs to back Bates up while Spark provides strategic cover.
“We need to get ready to get out of here,” I tell Vex. “Halo. Give me your keys. I’ll ride your bike back.”
The Irish wrap up the rest of the men. At least, those who don’t run when they realize they are outnumbered.
“Let’s go,” King shouts.
“You’re welcome,” Cillian says as he reaches us.
“I’ll throw you a party in thanks once we get the fuck out of here,” King says, glancing over his shoulder.
