Iron Goddess (23 page)

A growing rumble in the distance confirmed the rest of the Jaguars were on their way. This was turning into an all-out gang war.
I gotta get outta here.

Going out the front wasn't an option. The back door was her only escape route. Shea crept behind the shelves. The door was locked. She had left her lock pick set at home.

She glanced back at the melee. Victor fired a few more shots and stopped. He pounded his rifle several times.
Out of ammo,
she thought.

Hunter appeared from behind the Bronco, joined by the Thundermen. Hunter passed the detonator to Monster and pointed his SIG at Victor.

“Por favor, amigo.”
Victor stood with his hands held up in surrender. “Let us stop this madness.”

Hunter pulled the trigger, showering the forklift with Victor's brains.

“Where the fuck are you, bitch?” Hunter peered around the room. “I got a bullet with your name on it.”

Shea fired her Glock at him, but it pinged off the metal shelf support a few inches from his head. He shot back. What felt like a sledgehammer to her left shoulder knocked her to the ground. Shea gritted her teeth while examining the hole in her jacket. No blood. The bullet must have gone through the jacket's shoulder guard, missing her skin by a fraction of an inch.

“Leave her be, Hunter,” said Monster. “We got bigger fish to fry.”

As the sound of the approaching Jaguars grew louder, the Thundermen took up defensive positions inside the warehouse, hiding behind overturned tables, sacks of cornstarch, plastic bins, and wooden crates. Shea pulled herself to her feet and stumbled to the back door.

Several cars and a couple of trucks charged up the driveway in rows of two. People shouted in English and Spanish, followed by a random drum solo of gunfire.

Shea again pressed on the release bar of the back door, but it didn't budge. Without a key or her picks, there was only one way through. She pointed the Glock at the lock. Before she could pull the trigger, a bullet whizzed past making a quarter-sized hole in the warehouse's aluminum wall. Three more holes appeared next to the first, each one closer to her.

Shea whipped around. A Jaguar wearing a yellow bandana across his face stood behind the open driver's door of the Bronco, firing an AR-15 at her. Shea shot back a couple of rounds, but he was a small target at this range. She hit the Bronco's fender twice, but missed her attacker.

He fired again at Shea. Bullets hit a bag of cornstarch next to her, sending up a cloud of white powder. She ducked, turned back to the door, and put two bullets through the lock. The door opened a crack. Keeping her head down, she bolted out the door and emerged into sunlight. The land sloped away into the trees. The juniper and pines were densely packed with waist-high undergrowth.

Even if she could reach her motorcycle undiscovered, she'd never start it without getting shot by either the Jaguars or the Thunder. Her best option was to hide out in the woods until the situation in the warehouse resolved itself one way or another. She looked for a good spot to wait out the fight.

“Where the fuck you going, lesbo?” someone shouted over the intermittent bursts of gunfire coming from the other side of the warehouse.

Shea whirled around. Hunter stood by the back door twenty feet away from her, pointing an AK-47 at her. A few bullets burst through the warehouse walls from inside. He didn't flinch, keeping his focus on her instead.

Shea pointed the Glock at his chest. “You and the Mexicans wanna play king of the mountain? Be my guest. This ain't my battle.”

“On the contrary, you're the one who invited me, remember?”

“Didn't tell you to bring the whole goddamn club.”

“Think I'm stupid enough to come here alone? You're dumber than you look.”

Shea ducked behind an old twisted pine tree as he fired three rounds. The smell of fresh sap filled her nose from two bullets hitting the tree trunk. The third zipped past, deep into the forest.

Shea popped out and fired two rounds at his chest. He stumbled back but didn't fall. No blood oozed from the two holes she'd put in his T-shirt.

He straightened up and pounded his chest with his left hand. “Body armor, bitch! Military grade.” He raised the rifle again, but there was no shot. He pulled on the bolt handle, but it was locked back.

Shea smiled. “Out of ammo, bitch!”

He charged her. Shea fired at his head, but only nicked his ear. Before she could fire again, he swung the empty rifle, knocking the pistol out of her hand. When he swung it again, she grabbed the rifle's stock and the top of the receiver.

She grappled with him, using all her strength and weight to try and wrest the rifle from him. But he had the strength advantage. Her grip was slipping. She kneed him in the groin, but hit something hard instead—he was wearing a cup.

He headbutted her. She stumbled backward and collided with a tree before she regained her footing. He came at her again with the rifle, swinging at her head. She dodged left, extended her leg, and used his momentum to send him tumbling to the ground.

“I'm sorry I lied about Wendy and Annie.” She glanced around looking for the Glock, but didn't see it. She grabbed a large tree branch instead.

He came at her again. “Not as sorry as you will be.” He swung the rifle. Shea ducked and brought the tree branch down on his hands with a sharp crack. He dropped the AK with a yelp.

Before she could swing the stick again, he tackled her to the ground. She twisted, struggled, and rolled on her side, but before she knew it, he was partially underneath her with his arm around her throat.

As she faced heavenward, she pulled, but his arm was like a vise. She elbowed him, but hit the body armor. She tried to scratch at his eyes, but couldn't reach his face. His grip tightened and she struggled for breath. Her vision grayed.

With her remaining strength, she curled her body and launched her knees into his head. He let go.

As she rolled away, she retrieved the Glock and blew a hole in Hunter's forehead. He collapsed.

She sat on the ground, dizzy and sick to her stomach. While she struggled to clear her head, two Jaguars with yellow bandanas over their faces came running around the outside of the warehouse, both armed with Uzis. As they raised their weapons, she fired two shots at each of them. They dropped with blood pouring from their chests.

A moment later an explosion rocked the mountainside. Shea's ears rang from the blast. She struggled to her feet as smoke rose from the other side of the warehouse.

Engines roared and tires squealed. The occasional gunshot punctuated the agonized screams for help.

Disoriented from the blast, she stumbled to the building, pistol ready, leaning against the wall for support. She shuffled past Victor's Pathfinder. Acrid smoke billowed from where the Jaguars' cars had been parked. Pieces of metal and bits of rubber rained down from above. She cautiously approached the front of the warehouse.

All the Bronco's windows were blown out. To her surprise, her bike still stood next to it with no signs of damage. The Bronco must have shielded the bike from the blast.

The bomb had ripped apart two of the Jaguars' cars and blown them to opposite sides of the road. They were barely recognizable as cars. Just twisted scraps of smoldering, black metal. Pieces had embedded themselves in tree trunks. A pickup truck and a car that had been parked behind the first two were each missing their front ends. The engine block from the truck was now embedded in the front seat. The entire top of the car next to it was gone as well. All the other cars had driven away, leaving deep ruts in the gravel from their rapid retreat.

Her eyes were drawn to the human carnage. Body parts littered the gravel, blood soaking into the sand. Shea counted a half dozen Jaguar bodies, most missing limbs or a head.

She stood there dazed, mouth gaping like a grouper. How many times had she seen news video following bombings and other mass killings? It didn't prepare her for the heartrending cries of dying men or the bitter perfume of burned flesh and melted plastic, mixed with the reek of death. In that moment, she wanted to be at home holding Jessica.

“Helluva blast, wasn't it?”

She spun around with her gun raised. Monster stood a few yards away, surveying the carnage with a proud smile. He held an AR-15 under one arm, muzzle pointed at the ground.

“Tossed that bomb right in the middle of them Jaguars. You shoulda seen 'em scatter. Like Mexican cockroaches.”

His amusement at the bloodshed and chaos made her want to puke.

“You all right?” Monster asked Shea.

She nodded, eyeing him warily. “I think I'm in one piece.”

“You ain't seen where Hunter went, did ya?”

For half a second, Shea thought about telling him the truth.
Yeah, asshole, I shot your precious president.
But it would only get her killed.

“A couple of Jaguars came around the back of the building. I killed them, but not before they shot Hunter in the head.”

Bitterness replaced Monster's amused expression. “One-Shot! Mackey! Follow me!” He ran toward the back of the building, with the other two following.

Shea walked to her motorcycle and swept broken glass from the Bronco off the seat. Tires looked okay. No damage to the block. Hoses and cables all secured. Seemed in better shape than she was.

The guys returned moments later carrying Hunter's body and laid him on the ground next to the Bronco, blocking her escape route. The rest of the Thundermen gathered around, kneeling in front of the body, silent.

One-Shot walked up to her with a stern look on his face. “The Jaguars shot Hunter?”

“Yeah.” She rested a hand on the grip of her Glock, unsure where this was headed.

“Hey, One-Shot, ease up on the girl,” said Monster.

“Shut up, Monster. I'm in charge now.” One-Shot kept his eyes on her. “How I know you didn't kill him yourself?”

Shea stared into his eyes, heart pounding in her chest. “Guess you'll have to take my word for it.”

“Better be telling the truth.” One-Shot held her gaze for a moment then turned away. “Mackey, you and Monster put Hunter's body in the Pathfinder and park it somewhere. His death lands on the Jaguars.”

“What're ya gonna do?” Shea asked. “Hang him from a bridge?”

Mackey stood up, face red and eyes puffy. “Jesus, One-Shot, tell me you ain't gonna disrespect Hunter like that.”

“Do as I say. Rest of you grab as much dope as you can. Might as well get something out of this deal.”

Shea needed to leave these idiots while she could. She pulled on her helmet and gloves. Directly above, the sky was bright and cobalt blue, but another afternoon monsoon was fast approaching from the south.

Shea started the bike and eased her way through the smoldering scraps of the four Jaguar vehicles that remained. She hoped it would be the last she'd see of the Jaguars, but she doubted it. Cortes wasn't a big county.

She'd gone maybe half a mile when she realized she wasn't sure where she was headed. Should she return to the hospital or Terrance's? She pulled over to the side of the road and called him. It rang until she got his voicemail. She hung up without leaving a message. She'd drive back to the hospital and take her chances. While she put away her phone, the Pathfinder rumbled past her, followed by the Bronco and the Thundermen on their motorcycles. She waited until the roar of their engines died down and the forest was once again quiet.

Raindrops pelted her windshield as she pulled her helmet back on. She wasn't a big fan of driving in the rain, especially on a gravel road. However, Kali's suspension and knobby tires were built for this kind of terrain. Besides, the rain-cooled air was always a nice treat during monsoon season. She started up the bike again and rode back toward civilization.

She was halfway to the highway when a white sedan appeared coming from the other direction. Maybe it was someone staying at one of the campgrounds or a university student looking to spend a little time in nature. Or it could be one of the Jaguars returning.

As it got closer, she noticed the push bumper covering the grille and the spotlight by the side mirror. It was a cop.

Just play it cool,
she told herself.

The gravel road was narrow with deep gullies on either side. She pulled as close to the right as she dared without risking ending up in the ditch. She expected the car to pull the other way, in order to get by, but it didn't. It kept coming right at her, taking up the whole damned road.

What the hell's wrong with this guy? Doesn't Buzzkill train these jokers how to drive?

She laid on the motorcycle's tinny horn. The unmarked cruiser continued hogging the road.

Fucking cop!

In a desperate move, she pulled over to the left while the car closed in on her. The cruiser did the same. This idiot wasn't letting her past.

At the last second, she swerved right again, hit a large rock, and flipped over the handle bars. She landed on her right side next to the cruiser.

The impact knocked the wind out of her. Her body trembled as if it had been rung like a bell. Everything hurt, especially her right arm and shoulder. A car door opened. She lifted the visor on her helmet.

Willie stood over her, pointing his service weapon at her. “Geez, Shea. That must have hurt.”

“Fucking murderer.” She considered reaching for her Glock, but he'd shoot her dead before she could get it out of the holster.

“Quit yer bitchin'. Where's Oscar?”

“He's dead, asshole. I killed him.”

“Guess that makes both of us murderers, don't it?”

“You're a real piece of shit, you know that? Kidnapping and mutilating little girls.”

He patted the brass shield attached to his belt. “Yeah, but a piece of shit with a badge, a gun, and a warrant for your arrest.”

A blue sedan with a cracked windshield came barreling down the road, siren wailing, and screeched to a stop behind Willie's car.

Rios climbed out. “Sergeant Foster, put the gun down.”

Edelman emerged from the blue sedan's passenger's side and unholstered his weapon.

“Detective Rios, you need to leave. I have the situation under control.”

Shea hoped he would turn and face Rios, so she could shoot him. He kept his gun trained on Shea instead.

“Sergeant,” said Rios, “you need to come with me.”

“Detective, as your superior, I am ordering you to leave the scene, or I will have you charged with insubordination.”

Rios drew her weapon and pointed it at Willie. “I have orders from IA to bring you in for questioning. Please drop your weapon. I really don't want to shoot you.”

“Detective Edelman, please relieve your partner of her weapon.”

“Put the gun down, Toni, or I will shoot you.” Edelman aimed his pistol at Rios.

A chill ran up Shea's spine.
Edelman is the one working with Willie? Not Aguilar? He so doesn't fit the type.

“Micah? What the hell's going on?”

Willie turned toward the two detectives. “Edelman, if Detective Rios does not lower her weapon, I'm ordering you to shoot her.”

With her right arm out of commission, Shea pulled the Glock with her left hand and shot Willie in the throat. Edelman turned his gun toward Shea.

She tried to roll for cover until a white-hot jolt of pain erupted in her lower back. She wanted to run but her legs weren't working. Another two gunshots shattered the air as everything went dark.