My phone buzzed. Venuti.
“I’m behind a rock outcrop maybe two-tenths of a mile from the drones. The sniper has me pinned, but I’m safe for now. I’m looking at a drone on the highway with two more lined up behind it. The lead has its wings on. Five guys are working on the other two. Each of the other two has a wing on. Two people are in the cab of the truck. One is female and could be a pilot who was at the Strata field. The truck cab might be where they’ll fly the drones from.”
“You’re pinned down?”
“Yeah, and now I’ve got another problem. Looks like two guys with guns are heading my way. They’re along the highway shoulder.”
“Can you get yourself out of there?”
“Not yet, the sniper is on me. How long until the cavalry gets here?”
“At least fifteen minutes, probably more like twenty. Give me more on the location of this sniper who’s got you pinned.”
I did that as I watched the pair creeping toward me. I also gave him more on the drones.
“These are the three drones from the Strata airfield. I’ll video them. Get someone on the phone with Strata. Maybe they know a way to disable them.”
I took a stinging graze from a bullet along my left bicep when I held my phone up to get the video. It dripped steady blood and stung as I skirted cactus to get to another rock outcrop with better cover. My bicep burned, and the two guys coming for me looked experienced, but they’d have to cross with almost no cover to reach me. I took another quick look and heard a distant pop, pop, pop of gunfire from where the southbound traffic was trapped. I heard faraway screams.
I saw that the pair coming for me were going to take the risk and do it. One stood at the edge of the road shoulder, gun held above his head, emptying clips and spraying bullets around me as the other ran in a crouch with an AK-47 in his hands. I got a look at his face through the scope, just before centering on his torso. It was the young man, Mansur, whom Smith had sketched. I caught his running pace, led him, and squeezed as gunfire ripped through cactus near me.
My bullets hit, but he was tough. He went first to his knees. The gun fell away and I watched him pick it up again and start a slow crawl toward me. A long string of rounds came from the other gunman, and when I looked back at Mansur he was on his feet again, but I could see he wouldn’t get here. His gun sagged as he staggered forward.
The sniper with his big gun chipped rock way too close to me, so I scrambled again, crawling as fast as I could through burning sand littered with cactus spines. I laid the phone down, looked for the second gunman, and caught my breath before talking to Venuti.
“SWAT is on the way,” he said. “So is everybody else. Have you backed away?”
“No, and the wings are on the third drone, and no one is working on the first anymore. Can the air force get a fighter up?”
“Trying to get approval right now. What about the two coming for you?”
“I’m down to one, but he’s getting close. I’ve gotta lay the phone down.”
The second shooter had gone well up the road, and it looked to me like he was counting on the sniper to protect him as he circled in. A tiny stand of desert trees hid him for a moment, and I sighted along a stretch ahead of him. If he kept going, he’d cross into my line of sight. I stayed focused on a patch where the road shoulder met the edge of dry gray soil and tried to breathe slow and deep. When he came around those small trees, he should see me lying here. I needed to shoot well without thinking and took another breath, and then there he was, tan pants, white shirt, and the gun barrel swinging toward me.
My shot caught him liver-high and he sprayed bullets off to his left as he sat down. But he wasn’t quite done. Like the first man, he slowly stood as if making some sort of statement. My next shot puckered his shirt just beneath his sternum. “Try that,” I said.
When his legs collapsed, I picked up my phone. Venuti was agitated, high energy, and I was jittery. My hand holding the phone shook.
“There’s a blockade like yours, but without drones, stopping northbound traffic. A handheld missile there brought down the Nevada Highway Patrol spotter plane. They’re holding all aircraft except our SWAT.”
“I got the second shooter. Hold on, Beatty’s calling me.”
“Assume he’s with them. Do not give him anything.”
I switched to Beatty’s call.
“Jeremy, where are you?”
Beatty’s response broke up.
“Say again.”
Now his voice was clearer, and I could tell he had me on speakerphone.
“I’m coming hard up the southbound side of 95. Where are you?”
“On the north with a good view of the southbound lanes. Three drones are nose to tail out in front of an 18-wheeler. Two have their wings on, and the last one is almost there. Same drones you were flying.”
Beatty asked, “What do you think the target is?”
“Creech.”