EIGHTEEN

THE MOUNTAIN WAS alive.

Or at least it appeared that way. Brush, ferns, and tree limbs all converged on the wall defended by Rook, Bishop, and the still unconscious Somi. It was as though the mountain had come to life and decided to attack. Rook aimed down the incline, but had no idea where to shoot. With limited ammo he had to make sure his shots were true. Firing at a bush swaying in the wind would be a waste.

But what was bush and what was camouflage?

Rook guessed and fired a three-round burst. Foliage exploded from the assailed brush, but nothing else. He grunted with disappointment.

He tried again. This time he was rewarded by a yelp of pain. But the hillside continued its advance, slow and inexorable. At least the attackers didn’t know it was just the two of them. If they had, Rook felt certain they would have already charged en masse.

Rook ducked behind the wall and looked at Bishop, who was lining up targets, but not firing. “How much ammo you have left?”

Bishop squatted behind the wall and shook his head slowly, clearly annoyed. “Not enough.”

“You know we’re screwed, right?”

Bishop nodded slowly.

“Any ideas?”

Bishop smiled. “Shoot ‘em up and run like hell?”

Rook grinned fiendishly. “You should talk more often, Bishop. I like your style.”

Bishop chuckled.

“One shot per target,” Rook said as he switched his assault rifle to single-round firing. “Hit as many as possible. Kills or not, it will take them out of the fight.”

Rook took several deep breaths like a swimmer preparing to dive. “I’ll go first.”

Bishop nodded.

Rook rose up over the wall, found a target, and squeezed off a single shot. He moved on, sighting new targets, and fired again. And again. And again. Still, the hillside rose up toward them. Some shots were rewarded by grunts of pain, or a body toppling over, but just as many struck nothing but earth, wood, or the already dead.

Click. Rook pulled the trigger and nothing happened. He was out of ammo. He tossed the assault rifle aside. He’d had it for five years. One of his favorites. But now it was a dead weight.

“Your turn, big guy.”

Bishop stood, lowering his machine gun onto the wall and taking aim. But before he pulled the trigger a shot rang out from below.

Rook flinched back as the meat on Bishop’s shoulder exploded. Bishop shouted in pain and fell to his knees, breathing hard. He gritted his teeth, eyes burning with rage.

After wiping the blood from his eyes, Rook watched as something he’d heard about, but never seen, took place. The baseball-size wound on Bishop’s shoulder began to heal, slowly at first, then the flaps of skin on either side stretched out, as though reaching for each other, and sealed the wound perfectly, like it never existed. QuikClot had nothing on Bishop’s regenerative ability. But it took its toll on his mind.

Rook reached to his hips and felt his dual Desert Eagles still resting in their holsters. They all knew what would have to be done if Bishop lost control—a .50-caliber round to the head was the only cure.

Bishop looked at him. “Not yet.” He stood, taking hold of his machine gun again, then pulled the trigger and held it tight. Rounds and tracers streaked down the incline for ten full seconds, tearing the hillside to pieces.

Click.

“So much for one shot at a time, eh?”

Three pops sounded out in the distance. The two men held their breath and locked eyes. Both recognized the noise. They looked up and saw three small projectiles arcing towards them. No . . . over them.

“They’re bringing the mountain down on top of us!”

Bishop abandoned his machine gun and lunged for the tunnel hatch. There was nowhere else to go. An army waited below and the mountain would soon crumble down above them. Bishop yanked the hatch open as Rook hoisted Somi into his arms, and placed her by the open hole.

Rook jumped into the tunnel, took Somi under the shoulders, and dragged her into the hole. Somi’s feet disappeared from view as Rook dragged her away. Bishop jumped in a moment later and closed the tunnel entrance over him.

Darkness consumed the tunnel.

There was no time to turn on a flashlight. They simply charged into the darkness, waiting for the mortars to strike. Unlike shells fired by howitzers or field guns, mortars sailed through the air without a hiss or whistle. They were deadly silent until the first boom rang out.

Boom.

The ceiling of the tunnel shook. A cascade of dust poured from freshly formed cracks.

Boom.

Bishop and Rook, both large men, bruised and battered their bodies as they surged through the tunnel, smashing their heads, knees, and elbows into the surrounding stone surfaces.

Boom.

The third mortar struck. Rumbling echoed through the tunnel as the mountainside above gave way and rolled down the slope, covering the wall they’d so futilely defended. Then the hatch gave in to the sudden weight. It split and allowed the mountain to reclaim the space as its own.

A plume of dust rocketed down the tunnel, enveloping Rook, Bishop, and Somi. They stopped moving and covered their mouths, coughing and wheezing as the air fouled. Rook, who had been shuffling backward and dragging Somi with one arm, pulled her lithe frame up close to his body. He wrapped his sleeve around her nose and mouth, though he wasn’t sure how much good it would do.

In fact, until the dust settled, they were as good as trapped. They couldn’t breathe and Rook was sure they couldn’t see a lick, even if he’d turned on his flashlight. He did the only thing he could think of: call the others. After activating his throat microphone, he spoke through wheezes. “King . . . Queen. This is—Rook. Do you copy?”

Nothing. No response. He didn’t bother trying again. If they didn’t respond it meant they were indisposed, the signal was being blocked, or they were dead. “Knight. Tell me . . . you’re there, little man.”

The signal came through fuzzy, but it was there. “Sorry, big guy,” came Knight’s voice. Rook could tell he was out of breath. A loud hooting sound filled Rook’s ears, making Knight’s voice hard to make out. But he was there. “Can’t talk right now. Running for my life.”

“You and me both,” Rook said. He knew not to try talking further. If Knight said he was running for his life, then he was. “Good luck.”

“You too.”

The signal cut out. Knight was gone. Rook hacked as he breathed in a mouthful of dust. His head spun. Bright spots of color danced in the dark tunnel, lulling him to sleep. He fought the urge, knowing that he was close to passing out. Then he stopped fighting and gave in as his lungs filled with more dust than oxygen.