Edge of Valor: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller(52)

The rat-a-tat of gunfire sounded. Simultaneously, a distant explosion shattered the air. Several blocks away, to the northeast. That would be Perez and her team.

The soldiers went rigid. Before they could react, Liam leapt into action.

He yanked the pull ring clear of the device. In one fluid movement, he swung around the corner and tossed the M84 stun grenade toward the first cluster of sentries.

From their opposite flank, Bishop did the same.

Liam turned away, covering his eyes and opening his mouth.

Both flashbangs detonated. The explosive bang slammed into his eardrums. Harsh white light flashed bright against his eyelids.

The soldiers stumbled back, momentarily blinded and disoriented. One screamed, dropping his rifle as he clutched at his face.

They’d come to in ten to fifteen seconds, likely faster.

Sprinting toward the garage, Liam fired once at each soldier’s ceramic-plated body armor. He made certain he didn’t miss.

A round to the chest would drop the guards to the ground and incapacitate them momentarily. It shouldn’t be fatal or cause permanent injury.

He faltered as an electric shock of pain spasmed in his spinal cord, seizing his back. Fear knotted in his chest as he limped through it, forcing his body to its limit and past it.

“Alpha Team One, this is Team Three,” Perez said over Liam’s radio. “We nailed the ammo dump. Blew it sky-high! We even got a few party favors. I’m bringing them to you now. We’re in a five-ton truck filled with ordnance—whatever you do, don’t shoot us!”

Bishop and Reynoso ran in, disarmed the fallen soldiers, and zip-tied their hands and feet before relieving them of their weapons and ammo.

One of the guardsmen was still on his feet. The soldier whipped around. Liam lunged. Before he could get his gun swung around and aimed, Liam reached him.

He glimpsed tufts of brown hair sticking out beneath his helmet. Uneven mustache. Wide, frightened eyes in an oval face. Mid-twenties, if that.

Liam spun the kid around and gripped his neck with his forearm in a chokehold.

The kid’s arms flailed, dropping the carbine, fumbling for a knife at his belt. Liam half turned him and smacked his shoulder against the exterior cement wall of the parking garage.

The soldier lost his grip on the blade. It clattered to the pavement. He tried to claw at Liam’s face. His strength faded fast. In seconds, he was unconscious.

His body sagged. Liam zip-tied him and left him leaning against the wall.

He glanced back at Bishop, who gave him a thumbs up. All hostiles down.

No sooner had they incapacitated the sentries than Perez came roaring around the corner in the stolen 5 x 5, otherwise known as a M923 military cargo truck. Her team had obtained cases of grenades, 7.62 and 5.56 ammunition, and one gorgeous .50 caliber M2.

One case of white phosphorus grenades sat in the front seat in beside her. She patted it. “We got the party favors! Time to blow this joint.”

“I’ll do it,” Liam said. “Cover me.”

“Team Two will cover us from Broad Street.” Perez jumped out and wrestled the M60 from the hands of the unconscious soldier. “Hurry up, old man. We’ve got a minute, tops.”

The 5 x 5 was low on fuel, but they could reach the link up location and switch it out for the Orange Julius they’d hidden in a used car lot. It might be enough to get their goodies home.

Bishop took up position at the entrance to the garage, taking cover across from the gate booth behind one of the massive concrete pillars holding the weight of the second story. Perez and Reynoso gathered the M60s and joined him.

While they provided cover, Liam drove into the parking garage. Inside was dark and heavily shadowed. He drove past the dark humps of parked cars whose owners would never return for them.

Gummy glass shards littered the concrete from the shattered vehicle windows—all of them scavenged. The sharp stink of gasoline fumes from punctured gas tanks stung his nostrils.

He wound through the garage to the open top floor before he reached the long rows of military vehicles. Most of the trucks were packed with supplies.

This was a temporary staging area. The General had likely set his sights on Winter Haven.

Not today. Not tomorrow, either.

Not if Liam had anything to say about it.

He got to work. He drove past each parked Humvee and lightweight tactical all-terrain vehicle and pitched white phosphorus grenades like candy at a parade.

The grenades did not explode. The air reacted to the phosphorus chemicals. It looked like a smoke grenade going off. Then came the fire.

Metal, cloth, and plastic ignited immediately. With 5000 degree heat, the fierce incendiary burned holes through armor.

The vehicles lit up like matchsticks—incredibly hot and incredibly fast. Metal twisted and melted. The crates of supplies went up with a whoosh.

White smoke poured from the fiery vehicles. Liam sped up one row and down the next, hurling grenades as he drove. Five Humvees down. Ten, fifteen.

The vehicles and their contents were rendered unusable. He hated to destroy valuable supplies, but they had no way to capture it for themselves.

“We’ve got company!” Bishop yelled through the radio.

He was out of time.

The tires squealed as Liam swerved, narrowly missing a concrete pillar, and barreled for the exit, ignoring the arrows and “wrong way!” warning signs.

He squinted, the smoky haze pouring into the cramped quarters making it hard to see.