Forged in Smoke (Red-Hot SEALs #3)(55)

“We’re not on a damn nature hike, Faith.” The chill in his voice was enough to frost the air surrounding them. “Nor do we know what kind of listenin’ devices they have topside. Less chatter, more speed.”

Well that certainly shut down any chance of conversation. Although he did have a point. Maybe she had been a bit premature in her assessment of the danger facing them. Her heart jumped into double time, but quickly dropped down to normal again. Her hand reached for her pocket and the little white pill nestled within, but she hesitated. Normally she’d have taken an extra dose when her heart got this erratic. But this was her last pill. If she took it now, and later in the day things got worse . . . Scowling, she dropped her hand and increased her speed, paying close attention to her heartbeat.

They approached a section of the tunnel where the concrete walls and ceiling leaked dirt through thick cracks. Thick, fibrous roots squeezed through the fissures. They must have reached the tree line.

From above, a muffled explosion sounded. The ground rolled beneath Faith’s feet, and the concrete walls to her right and left shook. A low groan rumbled from the ceiling, and the trickle of dirt and crumbling concrete increased to a stream.

“Son of a— The ceiling’s giving,” Rawls yelled. Half turning, he reached out and snagged Faith’s arm. “Move!”

The deep moan above them shifted to a shriek and then a crack.

“Move! Move!” Rawls bolted forward, dragging her along.

Another crack. A chunk of concrete slammed into her shoulder. Rawls yanked her arm—hard—jerking her out of the sudden avalanche of dirt. She felt, rather than heard, the pop as her shoulder separated. Her heart jumped into rapid, irregular spasms. There was a second—maybe two—of gravid numbness from her chest into her shoulder and down her right arm. And then raw, burning agony swallowed her from the inside out.

Vaguely, she heard the scream break from her. Heard Rawls’s frantic swearing. Somehow his cursing was important, but her foggy mind couldn’t quite pinpoint why. Her vision blurred, black squiggles and pinpricks shrouding her sight.

The agony consumed her, restricted her chest until her lungs refused to draw breath. Turned her head heavy and thick. Incapable of thought or reason.

“Faith.” An urgent voice drew her back to consciousness. “Come on, baby. Stay with me.”

Baby?

Distantly she felt something thick and hard, driving into her pocket. His hand. In her pocket. Searching for the Cordarone.

Her heart. Ah this was bad . . . very bad.

Fear swelled.

She had to be awake to swallow the pill.

She tried to focus, to drag herself up from the whirlwind sucking her into the darkness. To remain awake long enough to swallow that one tiny pill. To swallow her one chance at life.

“Goddamn son of a motherf*ckin’ bitch.”

She must have already lost the battle, because she was dreaming. They were Mac’s words, but Rawls’s raw voice.

And then that dusky whirlwind caught her, dragging her into the smooth, velvet blackness.





* * *





Chapter Eleven




* * *





THE FIRST MISSILE struck the compound within five minutes of them entering the tunnel, by Mac’s estimation. He spun to face Amy and her kids as the muffled explosion shook the terrain above their heads. The ground heaved beneath his feet.

At the youngest child’s shrill cry, he lunged forward, grabbed both boys, and pressed them to the ground. Crouching over their small bodies, he tensed—waiting. But the walls and ceiling held.

After the ground stopped shaking, he dragged the boys back up and tossed an urgent glance their mother’s way. “Let’s move.”

More detonations rocked them.

The kids must have been scared shitless as they didn’t even squeak. Even the youngest, and they all knew how much that kid liked his voice.

He didn’t have to tell Amy twice. As he hustled the boys forward, his flashlight beam illuminating their path, he heard her footsteps and heavy breathing behind him. At least she was keeping up.

On the one hand, it was reassuring to know that Rawls hadn’t hallucinated the attack force surrounding them. On the other hand, if the *s above continued to hammer the compound with air-to-ground missiles, there was a good chance the tunnel would collapse before they could reach the hub. In which case, bye-bye to all of them.

Fuck . . . if those *s’ intentions had been to incinerate the compound, why bother bringing in the ground crew?

The obvious answer was that they’d learned from their mistakes. This time around, survivors wouldn’t find refuge in the woods. Whoever escaped the missiles would be picked off by the snipers surrounding the camp. It would have worked too—if they’d taken to the woods.

Thank God—or in this case, Wolf—for the tunnels. His foresight had proved to be a lifesaver. Hell, multiple lifesavers.

Assuming his men and the civilians they protected had made it into the tunnels. And assuming the aforementioned tunnels hadn’t collapsed on anyone.

He scowled, tension locking his muscles tight. The cabins were gone. He had no doubt of that. From the sound of the fireworks overhead, those motherf*ckers were blowing every f*cking building in the compound. He could track the destruction by the location of the explosions. First the lodge, then Zane’s cabin, followed by the one he’d shared with Rawls.