Emma: Part Three (3 page)

Max registered the bright flash of a detonation before he heard or felt it. The shockwave from a massive explosion knocked him right off his feet. His brain rattled against his skull as the thunderous boom shook his body and tossed him around like a ragdoll.

As he flipped through the air, his boots pointed toward the sky and his head dipping dangerously close to hard ground, he thought of only one thing.

Emma.

2
Chapter Two

Flat on his back, Max closed his eyes as an incredible burst of heat flared over his skin. Deafened and dazed, he stared at the dark night sky, now awash with the glow of even brighter flames, and stretched his jaw. He couldn’t hear a damned thing. The pressure in his head and the pain arcing through his chest and ribs told him he was probably injured, maybe badly. He couldn’t breathe. He tried to suck in air but his body seized up in agony.

When he finally got oxygen into his lungs again, he wished he hadn’t. The sour burn of fuel and the excruciating pain along his ribs made him want to never breathe again.
Get up
, he ordered himself.
Get the fuck up and move.

Pushing up on his palms, he surveyed the carnage. On instinct, he lifted his weapon to the ready position and slowly inched back toward the closest downed soldier. Ready to fire at the first unfriendly face he spotted, Max patted the soldier’s chest. The slap of a hand and a squeeze of his wrist communicated the man was down but not hurt. Taking his eyes off their surroundings for just a few seconds, he helped the specialist to his feet and got him oriented before moving onto the next man.

All around him, cyborgs crawled and stumbled into fighting positions. Their previous defensive positions had shielded them from much of the blast. Most of them were bleeding or singed. A few had obviously broken bones or were guarding their ribs. It looked as if most of them were still in fighting shape. That was the main priority.

The few buildings that hadn’t been damaged by the initial blast were now falling apart or engulfed in fresh flames. Only one stood tall and strong. The limestone building stood away from the main part of the town and seemed like their best defensible position. He identified it as their casualty collection point and the place they would make their stand.

But there were so many civilians on the ground, most of them unmoving or badly injured. They’d been out in the open, waiting to load up onto trucks or tending the wounded. Being so exposed had left them incredibly vulnerable to the explosion.

One of the Keaton trucks had been blown over onto its side. Lifeless bodies, many of them torn to bits by shrapnel, spilled out of the mangled truck. Thinking of the young mother and her child, he was relieved to see that the vehicle they had been climbing into seemed largely unharmed. Hopefully the civilians inside had been protected from most of the blast.

Blood dripping from a gash in his head, Laird Keaton proved what a tough bastard he was as he stumbled, one broken arm clutched to his chest, toward the truck bearing his family’s name. As Max helped another cyborg brother to his feet, he watched Laird run awkwardly toward a spot in front of the wrecked truck. It wasn’t until the man dropped to his knees that Max noticed the fatally wounded body of a young man.

His son. His boy.

Refusing to be distracted by the gut-wrenching scene of loss and grief, Max struggled to orient himself. The ringing in his ears told him he wasn’t permanently deafened. His med sensors sent a live feed of readouts that were projected onto the lens in his left eye. He was banged up, but there wasn’t any internal bleeding.
I’ll live
.

Standing tall, Max scanned his surroundings. He glanced toward the fence and the gaping hole there. Although Luke Keaton had inadvertently set off the secondary explosion by flipping that switch, it seemed the bomb had actually been placed off to their right. Luke had been spared most of the blast but was limping badly and obviously wounded. Tripwire rushed to his aid, half-dragging the man to safety.

Rafe was already on his feet and getting a headcount for his men. Max glanced at the water tower where Jack had taken up his sniper’s perch. Miraculously, Jack seemed unhurt as he tossed down debris that had been blown up onto him. It looked as if the ladder had been torn away in the explosion. They’d have to figure out a way to get him down eventually.

I’m good. Worry about yourself.
Jack gave a thumbs-up signal.

Max returned the signal in acknowledgment and then jumped into action. With an explosion like that? Attack was imminent. He’d seen this tactic before, years ago, during a different war and a different time.

One: Cause a mass casualty incident.

Two: Wait for medical and tactical support to arrive.

Three: Detonate a bomb to cause a secondary mass casualty incident and confuse the tactical teams.

Four: Strike when vulnerable and kill everything that moves.

Worried they might only have precious seconds until they were under fire, he glanced at the water tower.
Jack, we need eyes. Let me know what you see.

Jack dropped to one knee and methodically searched the darkness.
Scanning.

“Rafe!” Max houted at the Zed squad leader who was hurriedly mobilizing his men. Their gazes met across the expanse of burning and battered ground. They both knew what was coming. “We need to get a perimeter established.”

“Already on it.” Rafe had men from his primary Zed squad rushing to secure a perimeter.

Max turned to the second squad who had been tasked with loading up the wounded and began barking at them to get a casualty collection point setup in one of the few defensible buildings that wasn’t falling down or on fire. He had the third squad providing security for the casualty collection team. Despite the wails from the wounded and scared civilians, it was a well-organized and calm response. He trusted his men to see this through…however it ended.

Max hastily updated the Outpost on the quickly deteriorating conditions and the latest attack. In the middle of his radio transmission requesting immediate air support and medical evacuations, Max heard an air horn blowing quickly and loudly. The sound took him back to the day that Emma had saved them by guiding them to the safety of her small farm.

Fuck
. In the immediate aftermath of the explosion, he had forgotten all about Leila Keaton, Butch and Butler. His brain had been temporarily scrambled and his thoughts were mush.

Jack! The girl! Our men!

I see her. She’s got dozens of them hot on her heels. I don’t see our men.

Shit.
If Jack couldn’t see them, the men were dead. Neither man would have left a young woman exposed and undefended.

No! I see Butch and Butler. They’re pinned down and wounded. There’s a dog protecting them. The girl is—oh hell. She’s going back for weapons one of our men dropped.

Can you give her some breathing room?

The crack of Jack’s rifle answered that question.

ETA to your location is seven minutes
. Fighter pilot Logan Gray transmitted the message to Rafe, the scene commander, but Max also picked it up because of his rank and clearance.
Pave my way with the laser. I’ll hit everything outside your casualty collection point and perimeter.

Doing the calculations, Max didn’t think there was any way to get out to Butch, Butler and Leila Keaton and bring them back to safety before Logan started raining fire from the sky. The best chance of saving them was to grab them and pull them as far away from the path of fiery hell that Logan about to unleash.

We’ve got company, boys.
Jack transmitted that message wide.
A field of Biters about fifty yards wide and sixty—shit—seventy yards deep. I see one truck following. They’re too far out for me to make out the driver or the number of passengers.

Every cyborg there knew what was at stake now. Even with the incoming air support, this could very well be a fight to the death.

“We can fight.” Laird Keaton, his face bloodied, his arm dangling useless at his side, gestured to the crates of unharmed weapons in the back of one of their trucks that his youngest son was now breaking open with a crowbar. The kid had a piece of shrapnel embedded in his lower right leg but he wasn’t letting it slow him down. He would be useless if they needed to run, but he could still shoot.

Max didn’t ask what had been done with his other boy’s body.

“You tell us where you need us.” Laird set his jaw. “Every man and woman here will fight—but I’m going to get my girl.”

“No. I’ll go.” Max made an on the spot decision. He had come out to this scene as the extra man and the eyes-on-the-ground for the top brass. Rafe had been tasked with the command of this mission. If they had one man to spare, it was him. Even though it was probably a suicide mission, he wasn’t going to let Emma’s friend or his men die out there alone when there was a chance of saving them. “You’re needed here, Laird. These people trust you. Rafe!” He caught the scene commander’s eye. “You’re point. Laird is your go-to for civilian response.”

“Got it.” Rafe didn’t even pause as he ordered his men into position for the attack that would soon bombard them.

Max, I can’t give you much covering fire. That girl is pulling a lot of heat. But I have to focus my fire on the incoming hostiles if we have any chance of holding them off until air support arrives.

Max looked up to Jack’s perch and nodded.
Do your job.

“Here. You’ll need these.” Laird slapped a set of keys in his hand. “You can take Rooster.”

He followed the man’s pointing finger to the ruggedized 4x4 truck with a double-cab and roll cage. A damned 50-cal had been mounted on a swivel base in the bed.

“I’ll drive.” Chloe Morgan, ax in hand, appeared from the shadows. “I’ll take you out there and get you back alive with Leila and your soldiers—but I want my sister and her baby out of this hellhole on the first helicopter.”

Max wasn’t in a position to bargain. He needed an extra set of hands. She seemed capable enough so he tossed the keys at her. “Deal.”

Glancing at Rafe, he transmitted his order.
The mother and the child are on the first medevac transport back to base. They’re light enough. The extra weight won’t matter.

Done. Get my men back.

Yep.
He raced toward Rooster with Chloe at his side.

“You’re gonna need this.” Limping and grimacing with pain, the youngest Keaton boy threw weapons into the bed of the truck—shotguns, pistols, more ammo and even grenades. He pointed to the harness attached to the roll cage. “Buckle up, sir. Chloe drives like a bat out of hell.”

“I heard that, Lane!”

Lane just grinned and stuck his head in the passenger side window. “Chloe, the floor panels and undercarriage are all reinforced. You’ve got enough clearance to mow those sons-a-bitches down. You bring back my sister, and I’ll get your sister and the baby on that helicopter without a scratch.”

“You fucking better, Lane.”

“Have I ever let you down?”

“Nope.” Chloe cranked the engine and gave the monstrous beast a burst of diesel. “You ready back there?”

Max whacked the top of the cab. “Let’s roll.”

Within twenty seconds, it became clear that Lane Keaton hadn’t been joking. Chloe Morgan had some serious skills behind the wheel, but she was a lead foot.

Grateful for the harness keeping him in the bed and behind the mounted machine gun, he leaned down to yell at her through the small window there. “One of my snipers is feeding me intel. He says go straight fifty yards then make a right. We should come up parallel to the girl soon after that.”

“Got it.”

Concerned she had never been in combat, he said, “When I open up with this gun, it’s going to be very loud.”

“I know.” She answered calmly and kept her eyes forward. “Hang on.” She neatly executed the right turn, and he managed to hang on to the roll cage and not be hurtled out of the back like a slingshot. “You still with me?”

“I’m with you.” Hearing the hissing snarls of the approaching undead, he expelled a steadying breath. “Whatever happens, you keep your foot on the gas. We only slow down to grab the girl and my men.”

“Not a problem.” She switched on the high beams. “I see Leila!
Oh
shit
.”

He didn’t have to ask the reason for that expletive
. Oh shit
was exactly what he was thinking when he spotted the sprinting pack of bloody, rotting Biters hot on Leila Keaton’s tail. Like Emma, she dressed in men’s clothing but hers was better fitting and obviously tailored to her smaller frame.

And damn. That girl could
run
. Even loaded down with a shotgun, pistols and ammo, she was booking it across the dark plain.

“Get up alongside her!” Max hoped Leila would understand that she had to jump into the bed while he laid down suppressing fire. “Don’t slow down too much.”

Chloe blared the horn and punched the gas. Leila lifted a hand overhead to let them know she had heard them and made a quick cut to the right so she could pass in front of Rooster’s path. She cleared his field of fire so he unleashed hell with the gun. Zombies jerked as the rounds tore through them. The sight of the nasty bastards falling made him grin with satisfaction.

As Chloe eased off the accelerator, Max took his hands off the gun just long enough to reach out and grab onto Leila. He snatched her up by the back of her thin jacket and one upper arm and hauled her into the back of the truck. “She’s in!”

Chloe hit the gas again and got them the hell out of there. He opened fire on the Biters racing after them. The wind kicked up as the storm rolled closer, and the horrid stench of death and decay soured his gut.

Leila scrambled to her feet and opened up a second can of ammo for the .50-cal. “Your men are hurt. I’ve got them tucked away in a safe spot but one of them took a gut shot. He’s bleeding out bad. The other one took a round to the thigh and one to the knee.”

After re-arming his weapon, she stuck her head into the small window between the cab and bed of the truck and gave Chloe directions back to the site where his men were waiting and wounded. “And make sure you swing us wide around, Chloe! We’re right in the line of fire between the town and this attack. The sooner we clear out, the sooner the folks back at Purgatory can let loose.”