Page 30 of Rush

“We count seventeen,” said Joseph. “I think between all of us, we can take the guards down, set the boys free, and blow the building. At the south end, you can see they have a stockpile of weapons and ammunition. This will make quite a display for Ari.”

With a head nod, the men slowly made their way down the hillside at dusk. Attempting to mingle with the others, they slumped their shoulders, crouching as low as their bodies could take them. The dim light only made Noah and Rush’s hair stand out further. A man tapped Rush on the shoulder.

“Who are you?” he demanded. Rush said nothing, huddled low, trying to remain docile. “I asked you a question, vermin. Who are you?” He raised a steel baton, drawing it back to strike Rush. Rush stood straight, making the man gasp as he gripped his wrist, crushing the bones beneath his fingers.

Taking the baton, he rammed it down his throat, shoving him to the wall. With an elbow to the baton, he penetrated the back of his neck in a sickening crunch. Noah raised a brow at his son’s handiwork, then nodded as they made their way to the next guard. When they came upon Tailor standing over a man bent backwards in an awkward position, Noah raised a brow at his friend.

“He called me fat,” frowned Tailor. “I’m just a big boy. I ain’t fat.”

“He did not mean to hurt your feelings, I’m certain,” frowned Noah. “He won’t call anyone fat again. Besides, we all know that you are just big-boned.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’,” said Tailor, nodding.

“We got them all,” said Gabriel, looking down at the backwards man. He frowned at his teammate, shaking his head. “Really?”

“He called me fat,” muttered Tailor.

“You’re just big-boned like Mama always says,” said Gabriel. They heard Trak calling the men closer and, in their own language, told them they were free to go back to their homes or families but to get out of the building.

Many of the men weren’t sure what to do. They stood staring at their saviors, frightened that if they left, the demon who brought them to this place would kill them all.

“You have five minutes to get as far from this place as you can,” said Trak. “Your captors left food and water behind that screen. Take it and run.”

The men began to move quickly toward the food and water, many having been without for days. As they scattered into the desert, Ghost stared at the weapons cache, trying to decide if there was anything they could use. Directing some of the younger men to carry the extra rounds, he carefully placed charges on the boxes of weapons, then followed the others into the hills.

“Are we ready?” asked Ian. Everyone nodded. “Light it up, Ghost.”

With a deafening roar, the explosion rocked the already crumbling buildings in the small village, causing them to fall completely into disrepair. The old wool factory collapsed, burning with the fire caused by the weapons. Clouded by the smoke and falling wreckage, the moon was blocked out, giving them clear access to head back to their temporary home.

Grigoryan lost more than two hundred men, thousands of weapons, and a training factory all in one night. Trak looked at his friends, nodding.

“One thread pulled.”

“Are you the man that brought the young woman in?” asked the doctor.

“Yes. We both are,” said Moose, standing with Red. “Is she alright?”

“She will be, thanks to you. We’ve got her cleaned up. She was quite fortunate that only her leg was broken. The pelvis is bruised but alright. The leg was a clean break, and we’ve placed a boot on her for that.”

“That’s a relief to hear. We were concerned for her health,” said Moose.

“We’ve contacted the news agency, and they’re sending a representative,” said the doctor.

“A news agency?” asked Moose, frowning at the man. “Why would you contact a news agency?”

“She’s a correspondent for GNN, Global News Network. She was here covering a story, apparently. I thought you knew.”

“Yes. Of course,” said Moose. “Sorry. Can we see her now?”

“Of course. She’s in room three. We’ll keep her overnight until her assistance arrives.” The doctor returned to the desk, typing his notes into the computer.

“A fucking reporter,” growled Red. “We should have left her there.”

“I’ll be right back,” said Moose.

He stepped toward room three and pushed open the door, closing it and locking it behind him. The woman was definitely cleaned up. Her damp hair was twisted over her shoulder, her pale skin now with a soft pink glow. She wore a hospital gown, the sheet and blanket covering her below the waist.

“My hero,” she smiled.

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