Forged in Smoke (Red-Hot SEALs #3)(104)

“Zane,” he yelled into his mouthpiece as he hit the first landing. “Get out. The place is rigged.”

He didn’t hear his second in command’s response, not surprising considering the heavy breathing and hammering feet filling the stairwell. They’d pass right by his LC, though. If Zane was still there, he’d drag him out.

He leapt over Benton’s body and hit the first-floor landing at a dead run. Zane was gone—thank Christ. The adrenaline coursed through him in hot fluid waves. He jerked the stairwell door open, scrambled around the corner, and shot down the hall.

Twenty feet to the front entrance.

How much time had been left on the timer? Not much, judging by Wolf’s urgency-infused warning.

Fuck—he was in front. Cosky, Wolf, and Wolf’s entire team charging after him. There wasn’t enough room for anyone to pass him. Not enough time for him to stop and let Cosky and Wolf’s team by. Which meant everyone’s f*cking survival hinged on how fast Mac’s out-of-shape, desk-jockey body could get out that door.

The realization seized up his lungs. Not a reaction he could afford.

Ten feet to go.

Gunfire erupted outside. An assault rifle from the sound of it. A quick succession of shots.

What the f*ck is going on out there?

Nothing he could do from here. He tucked his elbows and put every ounce of strength he had into his legs and lungs.

The front door stood partially open, hanging crookedly from its gaping top hinge. Mac leaned forward, increasing his stride, milking every kernel of speed possible from his adrenaline-charged muscles, praying that it would be enough.

Three feet.

He hit the crooked front door like an anvil, slamming it against the wall and bolting through the door. The night sky spun overhead—black velvet, brilliant with stars. Spongy grass and mud tried to grab his boots, slow him down. But there was room now, room to his right and left. Room for his team to get past him—get out of harm’s—

Suddenly he was lifted up and thrown forward by what felt like a giant vibrating hand slamming into his back, shoulder, and thighs. A sonic pressure penetrated his back, squeezed through flesh and bone, numbing every cell.

Boom! Boom! Boom.

The explosions ripped overhead in quick succession—each detonation less violent.

Mac hit the ground hard, his body and mind numb, that black-velvet, diamond-studded sky still spinning lazily overhead.





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Chapter Twenty-One




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RAWLS SQUEEZED OFF his first shot, followed by a second and third in quick succession. Simultaneously the Tango, highlighted in bright green by his NVD, dropped his arm, targeting Rawls’s position on the ground. The crack-crack-crack from Rawls’s SCAR-L assault rifle masked the pistol’s suppressed report, but Rawls knew the bastard was firing by the kickback of the Tango’s hand. The acrid bite of spent gunpowder coincided with a sharp pinch in his right side. Rawls kept firing.

The luminous figure dropped to his knees, his hand with the weapon dipping toward the forest floor. Rawls fired again, relief whooshing through him as the target slowly collapsed backward.

“Faith?” He spun on his knees to check behind him.

“I-I’m . . . I’m okay.”

Her shaky voice was the sweetest music to his ears. Launching himself up and across the forest floor, he kicked the pistol from the Tango’s hand. The green blob didn’t move. But before he had a chance to bend down and check for a pulse, an explosion sounded behind him. The pressure wave struck a heartbeat later, knocking him off his feet.

As the pressure wave rolled over and through him, he scrambled to his knees and rotated to check on Faith. She was curled up at the foot of the tree trunk, her arms wrapped around her head as chunks of brick, wood, and Formica rained down from above.

Sweet Jesus! The blast had come from the direction of the building. His chest tightened until he could barely breathe, until his exhale sounded like a whistle rather than a breath.

Cosky and Zane. Mac. Wolf. Sweet Christ—Wolf’s entire team—they’d inserted into that building. Had they been in it when it blew?

His ears ringing, he dug his toes into the ground and booked toward Faith on his hands and knees. He needed a sitrep on Faith’s condition first, after which he’d head toward the explosion. Assess the situation over there.

The icy, hot rush of fear swelled. Zane. Cosky. Mac. He forced it back down.

Faith stirred when he reached her. Since her ears would be ringing as badly as his, he abandoned language in favor of pantomime and observation. Her pulse thumped urgently against his fingers, but it was strong and steady. Her breathing was unobstructed. No sign of pain when he moved her limbs or palpated her abdomen. She’d escaped remarkably unscathed.

The relief was almost dizzying, until the memory of his teammates bled it dry and urged him to his feet.

He yanked his backpack up by its shoulder strap as he rose. The rain of debris had slowed, but an orange burn painted the sky to the north. Should he take Faith with him or hide her in the woods? Neither option gave him peace of mind, more like turbulent foreboding, but she took the decision out of his hands by rising to her feet beside him with a wobbly smile.

They pushed through the shivering foliage and emerged on the lawn circling the building. A cloud of dark green obscured his vision through the NVD, so he tore it off and handed it to Faith. It took a good ten seconds for his eyes to adjust, but even then he could see the eerie burn of the shuttered building. It glowed like a square jack-o-lantern with malevolent orange eyes.