Midnight (40 page)
“Go now,” she said. “Give them hell.”
Combat started in earnest, with bravos working in silent, deadly pulses. Singer and the boy had returned to unlock all the manacles. The women struggled upright.
Rosa’s finger tightened reflexively on the trigger of her pistol.
Just as soon as they get out of there . . .
Just as soon as they get out of there . . .
Avoiding the men fighting in a melee all around her, she dodged a raider who lurched up in her path. Ex slipped past her and sank needle-sharp fangs into the man’s Achilles’ heel. Chris pounced when the raider screamed and fell, silencing him. A shiver of pleasure shot through Rosa. She found an odd satisfaction in seeing them kill for Valle. But the attack roused more sleeping guards. The unmistakable sound of weapons being cocked echoed through the canyon. Rosa cut a quick path toward the hostages, toward Singer and her savior.
There was no point in stealth and silence now, as staggering men poured out of the big tent. Rosa got her first glimpse of Peltz, who shouted orders to his men. The boss wasn’t as big as she’d expected. He had a clever face with oversized front teeth. In fact he looked more like a weasel than a dangerous sociopath, but the Uzi in his hands spoke louder than his appearance. He scanned the area, focused on the escaping prisoners, and went full auto with his weapon.
Rosa dove wide, scrambling behind a truck. The freed hostages followed. One girl cried out, but there was no telling who’d been hit.
Any fool looked impressive wasting ammo that way, but he wouldn’t hit much. Of course, it did serve one purpose—pinning them down. Rosa crouched low behind a tire.
When the weapon went briefly silent, she leaned out and returned fire, but she only had one clip. The battle raged beyond her line of sight, grunting and scuffling in the desert dirt. Men screamed and moaned. A leopard roared with rage.
Eat them alive, Cristián.
The women huddled around her as more bullets pinged the metal. But Peltz’s one-man assault didn’t continue as she’d expected. Though she hoped he’d run out of ammo, she didn’t trust the lull. She just needed to hold out a little longer and save the women. Her bravos would do the rest.
“I want the girls out of here,” she told Singer. “I’ll keep them pinned down. You get them out of camp and circle around to Valle.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Allison said fiercely.
Ex would be amazed at her bravery, this California blonde, as she gripped an opened manacle and chain like it was an old-fashioned mace. In the darkness she radiated determination and steely resolve. The clouds swept over on a cold wind, and in the scant light of an eerie, overcast night, the women looked like avenging furies. Keeping out of weapon range, they’d all armed themselves with whatever they could find: rocks, broken wood, scrap metal.
Instead of running, they intended to retaliate. Rosa had never been prouder—or more terrified. Though the girls couldn’t win in hand-to-hand, they’d committed their fierce spirits to the fight. That was the heart of Valle. Even if they died tonight, it would be well.
Peltz opened fire again, and a rain of bullets sprayed all around them.
FORTY
Fear had a scent. So did rage. The leopard could smell both, even with blood in his mouth. Words began to filter back into his animal brain. He concentrated. They came slowly, one at a time.
Stalk.
Fight.
Bullets.
Muscles pulled in his lithe body. He leaped, landing on a thin man who stank of evil things. That face contorted in agony as claws gouged his gut. There was no meat to be had on such a kill. Only disease.
The leopard shook his head, his ears so sensitive that the gunfire hurt. Rosa was behind that truck. He’d left his woman. But that was the plan. She was strong. She was well.
Crouching, he slunk low along the ground. Muscles coiled. So strong and ready.
A man called out, his voice raw with pain.
Bravo.
The closer the leopard got, the more clearly the fight took shape in his quick, reflexive mind. There, within pouncing distance, a raider felled a bravo.
Enemy.
The cat pushed back onto his haunches. Strength made him confident. He judged the angle of attack before springing. Instinct made it easy and right. The ferocious leap was not wild but completely focused on his target. His paws landed hard on the raider’s chest. Bone cracked. They landed back in the dirt. A quick bite, a scream, a gurgle. Then stillness.
He returned to the downed bravo. But there was no movement. No breath or sounds.
Death.
The fur on his back tingled and itched, standing on end. Death had a smell too. He nudged the bravo’s slack face.
Good-bye.
Another scent caught his attention. From a nearby tent, its white walls filthy, came a woman’s cries. The scent was sex. He thought of Rosa, but that wasn’t right. His thoughts jumped too fast to catch.
Creeping low on his paws, slinking forward, he waited for a man to emerge. He knew there would be a man. An enemy. Others fought, but this man hid and made a woman cry. The cat shivered with a revolted hatred, part animal, part human.
A swish of noise at his back made him turn. A familiar face. Falco.
There was no word for Falco, neither enemy nor friend. His posture said aggression, suspicion, even fear. But he was still a bravo.
The cat waited, watching. He concentrated.
“You flush him out,” Falco said.
The words made sense. It was easier now. Rosa. He’d understood Rosa too.
Unwinding from his tense crouch, the cat eased forward. Sensitive whiskers brushed the flap of stiff, stinking canvas. Piss. And rot. Inside was another familiar face. The human male buckled his belt, standing over a naked woman. Maryann. Her clothes were shredded. She bled. She cried softly.
A growl bubbled in the cat’s throat. Revulsion mixed with the outrage of betrayal. He leaped.
The man screamed. Paws pinned his shoulders to the ground. His neck was bare, offering a quick death. The cat was feeling none so generous.
“Lem!” Falco called, his voice revealing shock. “Shit,
hombre
. What have you done?”
hombre
. What have you done?”
“Shut up and get this thing off me!”
Rosa pushed into the tent. “Falco?” The cat growled deep in his throat, wanting to go to her. But trash wiggled beneath him. He flexed his claws. “What the hell is going on?”
“I found him in here,” Falco said. “Over her.”
“Dios, no.”
Rosa dropped to her knees, holding Maryann. “Did you sell us out?”
Rosa dropped to her knees, holding Maryann. “Did you sell us out?”
“Fuck you,
Jefa
.”
Jefa
.”
The cat bristled, understanding that word even as he read fear on the man’s face. Tightening his claws again, he dug hard and deep into soft human flesh. He growled to Rosa, a question. She petted the damp hair back from Maryann’s anguished face. Rosa’s eyes narrowed. Anger had a scent like fire or blood—hard smells.
“Do it, Cristián.”
He always enjoyed when she gave him permission. Using his strong back muscles to power his claws, he ripped open the traitor’s middle. Lem cringed and screamed, dying as he’d lived.
Coward.
Rosa snapped her fingers. The cat left his victim, tasting the blood of victory. He led the humans back into the dark, with Falco supporting Maryann. He sniffed. He growled.
“What is it?” Falco asked. The abused woman leaned heavily against his side.
The air wasn’t right. It was oily. Fermented. The cat growled again, hating that the word wouldn’t come. Then knowledge burst over him, as strong as pain.
Gasoline. And fire.
He took off at a run. Rosa would follow.
The big tent was empty. Men had scattered, their rotten stink like a glow in their wake. Some lived, but not many. They scratched on the rock and in the dirt, every noise bright and clear in the cat’s ears. He stilled, listening deeper into the night.
Wolverine.
Ex.
The remaining raiders would not last long. They had company in the darkness.
But the gasoline remained. He ran to the truck, where humans waited. Human women. Rocks and sticks lifted, with the cat as the target. He hesitated.
“Don’t hurt him!” Rosa ordered.
She joined him at the truck, her body shielding his. The cat bumped the backs of her knees. He took her pant cuff in his teeth, pulling, tugging.
Rosa looked down, her face full of questions. Another tug. Another low growl.
“Chris, please, I—” She stopped too. She sniffed the air. “Damn. It’s gasoline. Everybody move, now!”
The cat led the way away from the busted truck. His spiking fur wouldn’t lie down. They needed to move faster, go farther. But the women were still injured and fearful. Though strong for human beings, they needed care.
Bravos emerged from the shadows. Some wore blood, their own and that of their enemies. Some carried boxes. The cat’s mind couldn’t find the words and names fast enough. Purpose drove him, sinking language into a far corner of his mind. He snarled again.
Come now. Faster.
Rosa stopped to help one of the girls; she lifted the woman, pushed her on ahead. The cat doubled back. He would not lose his mate. They took up the rear of the straggling line, escaping the stink of gasoline. An explosion flared over the ravine floor. He pounced on her, human and animal huddled low and silent. Flames shot skyward, then swirled down from the canyon’s steep walls. Heat spiked across his pelt, followed by chunks of metal. He cringed beneath the pain. A whimper escaped his throat.
“Chris?”
Rosa tried to push free, but he held her still. Not until the worst was over.
When the explosion had ceased, when fire was all that remained of Peltz’s truck, the cat eased off the woman and crouched in the dirt. His tail flicked.
Chris’s mind shut down as pain flamed over his pelt. His body realigned, shaking, trembling under the shock of so much change. Fur shrank to the hair on a human male. Dizzy, Chris crashed back into himself, lying flat on his stomach. His throat felt parched and dry, the air suddenly colder on his bare skin. Lying there, he realized Ex was missing. Each individual scent lined up in his mind in a list, mingling feline and human knowledge. Some were dead. Some lived, fleeing the camp and its stench.
The habits left behind by his feline self meant his first reaction was to nudge and touch and rub, checking her for injuries. Instead he forced his tongue to form words. “You okay?”
“Claro.”
She sat up and touched his naked back. Her fingers came away bloody. “Damn you. Stubborn no matter what you look like.”
She sat up and touched his naked back. Her fingers came away bloody. “Damn you. Stubborn no matter what you look like.”
Chris grabbed her backpack and retrieved his pair of jeans, quickly kicking into them. “Let’s go.”
It was a short way to the truck, but it required picking a careful path through a narrow canyon, up loose sliding rocks and onto level ground. Chris scanned the terrain as they ran to catch up with the others, cocking his head to scent the night air.
Blood. Death. Distant fires.
Ex was somewhere nearby, injured, he thought, but not fatally so. A darker stink filled his nose, and he sneezed as Falco led the way through a narrow crease in the rock, Maryann still cradled in his arms. Her head lolled against the bravo’s shoulder, and Chris felt sick at what she’d suffered before—what had been done to her tonight.
The path had a blind spot, but before he could call out a warning came the unmistakable sound of a rifle being cocked. He jerked his gaze up to find Peltz on the high ground, weapon trained on Falco and the woman he carried.
“No one moves,” the dust pirate ordered. “Or they both die.”
Rosa obeyed, but Chris saw how she calculated the distance and angle, the likely speed of her enemy’s reaction time versus the wind speed. And he saw her conclude that someone
would
die before she could get her weapon up.
Damn it. We were so close.
would
die before she could get her weapon up.
Damn it. We were so close.
“What do you want, Peltz?”
“Safe passage, of course.”
“You fucking coward,” Rosa spat out. “You ran when your weapon emptied, abandoning your men. What kind of leader are you?”
“One who’ll see the next morning, if you care about your people as much as you claim. I know you don’t want to watch this pretty thing die tonight. Hasn’t she suffered enough?”
In response, Maryann whimpered and turned her face against Falco’s shoulder. Chris noticed how the bravo’s fingers flexed at his side; like Rosa, he was wondering if he could get a shot off before taking one in the face. He stilled, evidently realizing that the woman would be caught in the crossfire. Even as he died, Peltz could still nail her, curved as she was across Falco’s chest.
Rosa let out a slow, agonized breath. “Don’t hurt her. I’m listening.”
The raider boss nodded, as if he’d expected them to cave to his demands. Chris wished he could shift instantly. He’d love to disembowel this son of a bitch.
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