A Murder in Time(8)

She flipped around a protective barrier of crates, and saw a man crouched on top of a container, firing a semi-automatic assault weapon. Her own weapon leapt in her hands as she squeezed the trigger. The man pivoted in her direction, fired off several shots, and jumped down, disappearing behind a tower of crates.

Breath hitching in her chest, Kendra dove for cover, after one shuddering heartbeat, rolled out into the aisle. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and she swung her gun around. It took less than half a second for her brain to register that the man leaping across the narrow aisle was an enemy before she squeezed the trigger. He gave a startled cry and fell to his knees. As though in slow motion, he brought his weapon up. Kendra got off several more shots. The man fell back and lay unmoving.

“Another down.” She kept going, working her way toward the stairs that she remembered from the blueprints. “I think—” She broke off as an explosion filled the room, white light followed by brilliant orange, blinding her. “Fuck!” She whipped off the goggles and mask, blinking.

“Goddamn it to hell!” Vale’s voice sizzled in her ear. “Flash bomb. They’ve got a goddamn flash bomb!”

“Take cover! They’ll cut us down!”

The steady stream of pops shifted to her right. Dammit! Kendra tossed aside the goggles and mask, slithering on her stomach around another wall of crates. Blinking the sweat out of her eyes, she spotted Vale and Sheppard. Like her, both had discarded their masks and goggles. From somewhere in front of them, someone was shooting.

“Where the f*ck is Greene?” someone yelled in her ear.

“Balakirev is on the stairs . . . !”

“Take him down!” That came from Vale. He sprinted forward, but his body suddenly jerked, spinning around like a top, a dark plume of blood squirting out from his neck. Sheppard, who’d been running behind him, fired his weapon into the dark shadows ahead and then crouched down beside the fallen SWAT leader.

“Fuck! Fuck!” Kendra heard Sheppard’s ragged voice in her earpiece. “Vale’s been hit! He needs medical attention!”

Kendra saw the man as he stepped around the corner, hoisting his rifle to his shoulder.

“Sheppard, get down!” Kendra screamed. She sprinted forward, lifting her own weapon and squeezing the trigger. The man fell behind the wall of crates. She prayed her shot had taken him out.

She skidded on a patch of oil—no, not oil; Vale’s blood, she realized with a sick jolt—and dropped to her knees. Sheppard had discarded his gloves and was desperately trying to plug up the hole in Vale’s neck with his hands. In the dim light, his fingers gleamed black with blood.

“I’m trying . . . I’m trying to stop the bleeding. I have to stop the bleeding . . .” he panted.

Kendra grabbed his arm. “He’s dead,” she said brutally. “There’s nothing you can do for him.”

Sheppard hesitated, staring at her with horror-filled eyes. “God . . . I’d forgotten . . .”

“This isn’t the f*cking time to talk about it,” she snapped, making another effort to drag him to his feet, to yank him into a more protected area. “Move!”

“God—I’ve been hit!” someone else screeched in her earpiece. “I’ve been hit!”

“Got Balakirev and Greene pinned down.”

Sheppard staggered to his feet. “Okay. Okay. We need—” Suddenly, he stiffened, and a ragged cry burst from his lips. Kendra’s heart lurched in her chest as she saw Sheppard’s features twist in agony.

“Sheppard? Oh, my God!” Mouth dry with fear, she tried to grab him, but he toppled on her, his heavier weight driving her to the floor. She hurriedly shoved him aside and fired her weapon into the shadows, even as she darted a quick glance at Sheppard. His eyes were open and glazed with pain, she noted with a surge of relief. Not dead.

Her breath came out in pants as she rolled to her feet. She clamped her fingers around Sheppard’s arms, tugging frantically. “C’mon, Sheppard! Daniel!”

The horrible artillery fire still echoed; her eardrums felt numb. She’d lost her earpiece when she’d fallen and could no longer hear anything but the volley of gunshots echoing off the warehouse walls.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow take shape. Biting back a cry, she let go of Sheppard and brought up her gun, checking the movement when she recognized Terry Landon.

“Son of a bitch! Sheppard’s hit?” He ran lightly toward them. “C’mon. The door’s just around that section of crates. Goddamn maze.” He shifted, grabbing the wounded man, hoisting him up. “I’ll get you to safety.” He paused, glancing at Kendra. “Move your ass, Donovan!”

“Sheppard’s the one wounded. Get him out. I’m going back for Balakirev and Greene.”

“No! We’ve gotta go—”

“I can do this, Terry. You know I can.” She pivoted toward the staircase.

“Dammit, stop! That’s a f*cking order! I’m team leader!”

“I’m going to finish the goddamn mission!”

“No. No, you’re not.”

Kendra stared in astonishment as he brought up his gun, and pointed it at her. “You’re ordering me back at gunpoint?”

“I’m sorry, Kendra.” He shifted his hand so the gun was pointed away from her. Despite the craziness around them, she almost wanted to laugh at his sheer chutzpah. Pulling a gun on her to get her to safety, for Christ’s sake! Then everything seemed to freeze when Landon pointed the muzzle at Sheppard, still propped in his other arm.