“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 motherfuckin’ 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 assholes 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 assholes’ 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 motherfuckers were blowing every fucking 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.
Motherfucker.
If anyone had been stuck aboveground when those missiles hit, they’d be dead by now.
He shoved that worry aside and concentrated on their immediate predicament.
So far the tunnel they were in was holding up remarkably well. No doubt its stability had much to do with the fact that the concrete cylinder was buffered by twenty feet of soil. With luck, they would make it to the hub, and its natural rock protection, before the stress started to show.
Slowly the explosions above dwindled. Several minutes of heavy breathing and pounding feet followed. Christ, they were making more noise than a crowd of panicked civilians. He strained to hear anything from aboveground.
Had the chopper left yet?
“Do you think the helicopter left?” Amy rasped from behind him.
His skin tightened as an eerie chill worked its way through him. Her question was identical to his. Apparently they’d been wondering the same thing at exactly the same moment.
Doesn’t mean a damn thing.