Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga (43 page)

By the time Denny was finished seeing to everyone's wounds, the door opened and Anse staggered back in.
 
He held his rifle in one hand and his other clutched what looked like a coat.
 
He leaned his rifle against the wall, shut the door, and slid to the floor, resting his back against it.
 

Anse appeared to have aged ten years.
 
The man's face was speckled with blood and sweat.
 
He had bits of wood chips in his beard and stuck to his knit hat.
 
He took the hat off, ran a hand through his sweaty hair, and closed his eyes.

Denny stepped over to him and squatted.
 
"Anse, you okay?" he asked, putting one hand on his friend's shoulder.
 
"Is anybody alive out there?"

Anse shook his head and pulled his hands away from his face.
 
"Dead.
 
They're all dead.
 
We made it."

The survivors inside whooped and hollered in victory.

"What is it, then?" asked Denny.

Anse looked up, his face streaked with tears and blood.
 
"That last runner, the one with the torch you spotted?
 
The one I took down?"

"Yeah…" said Denny.

"It was Jeb."
 
Anse held up a varsity jacket, stained with dirt and grime, smeared with a patch of bright crimson on the front.
 
A large ragged hole over the heart had been cut out by Anse's bullet.
 
"That's why Townsen packed up and left.
 
I killed his son…"

Denny squeezed Anse's shoulder as he buried his face in his hands and sobbed.
 
He looked around at the survivors.
 
Most of them slumped against walls and stared blankly ahead or looked at shaking hands covered in blood.
 
The injured lay on the floor moaning, clutching sides or legs.
 

Deputy Griswold knelt over the body of his fellow officer and closed the man's eyes.
 
He glanced down at the bullet hole in the crown of his own campaign hat, laying at his feet.
 
Griswold sighed and sat heavily, staring at the hat.

Denny wanted to scream at them.
 
You wanted a war!
 
You wanted a war and now we've got one!
 
Is this what you were so hungry for?
 
Nothing but death and blood…

Denny looked down at the jacket next to Anse.
 
Nothing but death and blood…

C
HAPTER
34

Skye, Scotland.

Uig Harbor.

T
HE
SMOOTH
-
PACKED
DIRT
of the trail along the shallow river felt wonderful.
 
It'd been too long since she'd been out for a run.
 
No worries about operations gone awry, no worries about guards, no worries about being recalled for another mission.
 
No friends, no family, no nothing.
 
Just the path, her feet, the long muscles of her legs, and the delicious burn of the run.
 

She focused on her breathing cycle—two long strides, breathe in.
 
Two more strides, breathe out—over and over again until her body switched to automatic pilot.
 
She let her legs lead her along the path north through the pine woods.
 

She had to admit, Reginald's private estate still encompassed a lush landscape that made running a sheer joy.
 
The entire peninsula on the west side of the seagull shaped island belonged to the Tillcott family.
 
The trees and game grew thick and plentiful, unlike their counterparts on mainland Scotland.

She'd long ago memorized the running trails.
 
At the fork around the next bend she would take the left path, leading her further north up the long finger-like peninsula toward her target.
 
Uig Bay.

Stay on target…
 
Thoughts of the mission at hand reeled her back to reality.
 
It had been a nice escape while it lasted.
 
The
 
five mile run from Reginald's castle up through the tree-capped hills along his private loch had taken her well off his lands.
 
From there she'd stolen a car from a small bed and breakfast nestled in a picturesque glen and driven the remaining ten miles north through the hills.
 
She'd parked the car in a stand of pines sheltering a small loch just south of Uig.

She paused at the crest of a hill, hands on her hips, trying to catch her breath as she looked back at the loch in the distance.
 
She could never get used to calling a loch—to her it was and always would be a
sj
ö
.
 

She turned and continued down the northern side of the hill.
 
She was on a strict schedule—there was no choice but to complete the mission and return to the castle before anyone grew suspicious.
 
The danger would only continue to grow as she completed her day's task.
 
Setting an explosion to blow using a simple timer was something she could do in her sleep—that wasn't what concerned her.
 

What worried her was that she might be found out.
 
Some hiker could find the stolen car before she returned it.
 
The owners of the car might notice it missing and involving the law would invariably lead to disaster.
 

Everything had to be timed perfectly.
 
The operation would be the most daring she'd ever pulled off, topping even her last one.
 
A smile creased her face as she thought back to the look on Reginald's face when she'd first proposed the idea.
 
Priceless.
 
She'd allow herself to be captured along with the Source and taken into the heart of Harris's government complex in Denver.
 
From inside the belly of the beast, she could neutralize the Source and cripple their vaccine program at the same time.
 

Reginald had called it a master stroke.
 
He'd applauded and when Jayne heard the details, her face had turned almost purple.

She forced thoughts of Jayne and Reginald from her mind.
 
It was time to focus.
 
She slipped back into her role like putting on a pair of well broken-in jeans.
 
She was deep within enemy territory now—much deeper than when she'd gone to Denver.
 
At least there, the Americans could be relied upon to put her in prison and attempt to interrogate her for the rest of her life.
 
Should she be found out now, Reginald would take great pleasure in executing her in front of his other operatives—after he'd tortured her until she begged him to do it.
 
Treason was one thing Reginald would never tolerate.

The path rose sharply as she approached the final bend.
 
She glanced at her watch—45 minutes since she'd left the castle.
 
It had taken her 28 minutes to traverse the five miles of hills in order to reach the car.
 
She frowned.
 

I used to be able to make that run in 25 minutes.
 

She crested the pine-covered hill and a clearing opened up through the trees to the left.
 
Before her stretched the magnificent vista of Uig Harbor.
 

The sleepy little town had wrapped itself around the cone-shaped bay more than a dozen centuries ago.
 
Tiny cottages lined the water on the south side.
 
On the north side, most of the buildings were commercial.
 
It was a working town, a fishing town.
 

She descended the hill without pause, her long legs chewing up the distance to her target.
 
On the far shore of the narrow bay near the edge of town sat a long, squat building painted glaring white.
 
She wasn't sure what it was, but she knew it was not a residence and figured with the British government's recent quarantine, most people would not be out and about anyway.
 

She raced through deserted streets, glancing at darkened shops.
 
'Closed' signs were plastered on most of the doors. They asked for the prayers of anyone passing by and wished everyone well through the crisis.
 

Uig was a close knit little community.
 
She chose her path well—there were only a few streets—but she tried to avoid any with houses.
 
It would not do for someone to see a blonde stranger out for a run just before the explosion.

She set her face in grim determination and pushed herself harder to allow extra time at the target.
 
If she timed everything right, even if someone reported her presence to Reginald, it would be too late.
 
This was to be her final mission.
 
She would leave the Council's service forever.

All the years of torture, all the years of punishment, all the years of enslavement to the sadistic Earl Dunkeith would be paid back in spades in the next 24 hours.
 
This day she would at last have revenge for a stolen childhood, murdered parents, and the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people.
 

As she slowed to a stop, she looked around the corner of her target building to catch her breath.
 
Hands on her knees, out of sight of the casual observer, she smiled.

The ocean gurgled at the base of the boulder-covered slope only a few feet away.
 
The sounds of nature enveloped her and washed away her fears and worries.
 
Gulls circled overhead and laughed,
aaah aaah.
 
The waves lapped against the rocks below and she breathed in the salty air, carried by an invigorating cold
 
breeze off the North Atlantic.
 

She cast her eyes out over the gray-green ocean that stretched to the endless horizon.
 
Somewhere out there, Cooper Braaten and his SEALs waited aboard an American submarine.
 
Somewhere out there, death waited for Reginald.
 
She only hoped and prayed she would be there to witness it.

She clenched her fists to control the pent-up emotion which threatened to distract her.
 
She didn't have time to dwell on the past.
 
She didn't have time to think about how Reginald had stolen her innocence and forced her to do so many vile things—she'd never be able to repent enough.
 

With an iron will, she clamped down hard on her fears and worries about abandoning Chad in the wilderness.
 
She knew deep down he was perfectly capable of survival in the wild—he'd been doing just fine on his own in Glacier National Park before the North Koreans had found him.
 

She took a calming breath, then broke the lock hanging from the front door of the target building and slipped inside. It turned out to be a pottery warehouse.

She stepped inside and the movement brought a swirl of dust to her face.
 
She sneezed and felt a quick tinge of guilt—while the rest of the world lay waiting for death at the hands of the Korean Flu, she was immune.

The Americans had created a successful vaccine for the flu—they'd already begun mass-producing it and given the formula to their allies.
 
The flu had a stranglehold on Europe, it was true, but as she peered in the darkness she realized that like the coming of the dawn, the vaccine would arrive soon.
 
She hoped it was enough.
 

She peered through the darkness and silently searched the building to make sure no one was there.
 
The sign on the door said the shop had closed due to the national health emergency and would reopen as soon as possible.
 

A layer of dust lay on the ground and equipment—she assumed the Potter had not been in his shop for more than a week at least.
 
If he was still alive, it wasn't likely anyone would visit this place at the end of town any time soon.
 

To be on the safe side, she peered through the grimy window and double-checked the street one last time.
 
Deserted.
 
Not a single soul moved outside—not even a parked car on the street.
 
She got to work.
 

Searching the rear of the long workshop, she discovered what she needed: several large propane tanks, stored together behind a locked cage marked with flammable liquid warning signs.