The Hungry 5: All Hell Breaks Loose (The Sheriff Penny Miller Series) (35 page)

Marta Ross crouched down in the shadows near the edge of the parking lot. Her heart felt like it was fighting to escape her rib cage. A three-quarter moon stared down like a sadistic spectator, just one giant pocked face peering around a dark corner.

Despite her panic, the night was warm and the air rich with the familiar scent of fertilizer and freshly cut grass. Marta studied the dark grounds, looking for a clear exit. Locked semi trucks squatted around her like sleeping dinosaurs. She was completely disoriented. Zeke was the expert. He had been here before. And now where was he?

Marta felt like a fool. She’d been so assured, so full of self-righteousness while planning the raid, but now, in the heat of it, her nerves had failed her completely. She was going to end up in prison, or worse, dead.

Shivering and sweating at the same time, Marta tried to reorient herself using the moon, but she couldn’t remember exactly what part of the sky the cold orb should occupy, so she searched the stars instead. Orion gave her a starting point, though it seemed to judge her unauthorized presence in a top-secret complex whose powerful owners had hidden it in plain sight.

Someone touched her shoulder. Marta nearly screamed.

“Come on.” Zeke whispered. He took her by the hand and pulled. “We have to keep moving.”

He tugged hard. Marta rose and followed him. Zeke seemed centered and confident. He kept them moving, staying low, trotting near the edge of the vehicles and reasonably safe from the security cameras. Zeke was supposed to know where he was going, but now Marta wasn’t so sure he did. They approached a tree planted at the edge of the lot near a handicap sign. Something rustled overhead and a crow cawed harshly, almost as if in warning. Marta found herself wondering why a crow would be up at 3:00 am. She was beginning to wonder the same thing about herself. She wanted to be home in bed with Zeke, holding him instead of running for her life.

Marta believed in their mission, but Zeke had hit that guard
so hard
and that poor man’s head had bounced on the floor with a sickening thud and then he’d bled so much, she had to bite her hand to stay silent. All the self-righteousness had left her. Marta began to wonder about the purity of her motives, and her partner’s. They were supposed to be there to save lives, not take them. An old quotation floated through her mind.
Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster
or something like that… Had they comprised their souls by turning violent?

Zeke motioned for her to get down and lay flat. She complied, knowing they’d be exposed to the security cameras soon. The cement felt warm and rough and smelled of gasoline and oil. Marta studied Zeke’s posture. She guessed that his eyes were fixed on the tiny camera which was now pointed their way. He patted her leg, telling her to stay low until he gave the signal. All the cameras moved in sweeping arcs. Zeke had somehow already timed it, and he’d felt confident they could get in and out without leaving a clear photo behind to reveal their identities. But now that they’d hurt that guard who’d surprised them, would there be an alarm as well? What if he hadn’t checked in as scheduled?

Marta whispered. “Are we in trouble?”

Zeke whispered. “Don’t think, Marta. Just move when I say go.”

Thirty seconds crawled by like a languid spider approaching its prey.

They heard a loud noise from within the main building. It sounded like someone slamming a door open.

Zeke rose and tugged her sleeve. He whispered again. “Come on, Marta. We’ve got to get the hell out of here.” She let herself be led. Zeke pulled her across the office complex quad, and that’s when suddenly Marta got her bearings. He’d found the right way after all. They were heading for the line of trees beyond camera range, where they had hidden their car. They might make it. They ran.

She tripped and went down. The pavement tore out the knee of her jeans. Marta grunted in pain. Zeke helped her up. “Move! Do you want to get us both killed?”

They raced for the tree line. They kept low and shot from car to car, eventually ending up behind some dumpsters. The satchel strap bit into her shoulder. The files they had stolen felt heavier than she would have believed possible.
These bastards had probably planned it that way,
she thought bitterly. Her muscles complained, and now her knee ached. Zeke ignored her weakness, increased the pace. Marta tried to ignore it, too, but she sensed that Zeke was beginning to panic. He seemed to be hurrying now, running faster than he’d said they should go if they wanted to stay off camera. The system could pick them up and track them. He’d said so. They needed to be especially careful this close to getting out, they’d agreed on that. That was as good a reason as any to slow down again, but Marta kept those thoughts to herself. Her steadily growing fear gave her reason to want to run full out. She wanted to get the hell out of this evil place while there was still time.

They bolted for the next hiding spot, but the security camera did not move away as expected. Instead, it began to track them.

Maybe we can make it,
Marta thought, heart in her throat. Her eyes burned with tears.
We’re almost there.

Zeke had seen the security camera too. He sped up. They passed the corner of an outbuilding, and made a desperate, full speed run for the trees. Here, the smell of fertilizer from the nearby fields was acrid, biting deeply into Marta’s sinuses. The rustling corn stalks echoed their urgent footsteps. They ran harder now, holding hands and gripping backpacks stuffed with files. They were both experienced long distance runners but not great sprinters.

Almost home, almost home…
She could see their truck. It seemed to call her to climb inside and get away.

Marta stumbled again. At that exact second, a whistling sound passed right by her ear, a night beetle perhaps.
Unless…
She wanted to dismiss it as just an insect, but then something hot and fast clipped her arm, burning and tearing the flesh. Marta watched her own blood, dark in the moonlight, splatter over Zeke’s back and shoulder. She felt another round slam into the backpack with the low thud of a baseball bat, thankfully blocked by the thick sheaf of papers it contained. It knocked her off balance.

“Oh, God!” Marta screamed, clutching arm, stumbling again from the pain. “I think I’ve been shot!”

“Don’t stop.” Zeke seemed to consider running off without her. Instead, he grabbed the strap of her pack and held her up and pulled to kept them going. Marta fought the pain and moved her legs. Their car was tantalizingly close now, the passenger door beckoning her on.

Another hissing whine as two more bullets swarmed past them.

“Please God, please God,” Marta chanted.

Zeke stumbled. “Motherfucker!” He reached down for his calf. They both gasped at the dark stain spreading across the leg of his jeans. He grunted in pain, a desperate, wordless curse. The moon stared down without emotion.

“You can’t stop! Get up!” This time Marta dragged on his arm, pulling Zeke along now, the car so close now but likely out of reach. She did not want to die.

A bullet tore at the ground at her feet, and another struck a eucalyptus just ahead of them. The silence of the bullets scared Marta as much as if she had been facing a firing squad. She glanced behind her, but she could see no one in the relative darkness. Whoever it was must have been using night vision equipment. Yet she and Zeke had each been wounded only once. Did they want them alive, or were they just toying with them?

Stumbling, sobbing, they made it to the truck. Zeke went around the front to get into the driver’s seat. Marta opened the passenger door. As she dragged herself inside, yet another bullet struck the flesh of her exposed shoulder. Marta grunted with the shock of it, her body flooded with adrenalin, the true pain not yet arriving. She slammed the door and looked over at Zeke as he climbed into the driver’s seat. The bright white moon may as well have been a spotlight.

“We’re not going to get away.” Marta coughed. She had bitten her tongue. She tasted blood in her mouth.

“Don’t say that,” Zeke said absently, his attention elsewhere. He fumbled to insert the key into the ignition.

A bullet struck the metal fender, the sound deafening in Marta’s pulsing ears. She felt her body begin to go into shock, the cold creeping into her bones.

“Come on, come on,” Zeke shouted, as the starter whined. Marta began to wonder distantly if he’d flooded the truck. It didn’t matter. They were doomed.

Marta sagged heavily in the passenger seat, unable to even remove the backpack from her aching shoulder. She struggled for breath, too exhausted to cry. Zeke fought the engine, this time without pumping the gas pedal. Marta turned her head and focused as best she could.

Someone was coming.

“Zeke?”

A figure approached them, one tall ghost in the darkness of the cornfield. It was a carrying a long, ugly looking weapon with a silencer at the end. He moved quickly, efficiently, like an athlete.

“Go, please go!” Marta pleaded.

Zeke finally got the truck started. He shifted into reverse with a grinding thump and hit the gas. The truck jerked backward. Zeke shifted again and spun the wheel to the left. Moonlight lit him like an actor on the stage. He stared at the armed man. Zeke had a look of triumph on his face, an infectious confidence, and for the first time in what seemed like ages, Marta really believed they were going to get away with this, they had succeeded and the bad guys were finally going to go down, that it was finally over, that there
was
justice in the world. She loved Zeke so much at that moment, his courage and his youth and endless energy.

The man outside lazily raised his weapon.

The bullet struck Zeke in the left ear. To Marta’s horror, his head popped open like a melon, drenching her in his blood and God knows what else. The engine stalled immediately. The stench of voided bowels and blood filled the cab. Marta slid deeply into a state of shock. She squeezed her eyes shut, urgently willing all of this to be a mistake, a dream. Her heart pounded. Her shoulder ached. The disturbing smell was overpowering.

Nothing else happened.

The engine ticked in the night.

Marta did not want to look but she could not stand peering into that endless inner dark. She opened her eyes. The moon had gotten brighter and now the tall cornfield flowed like water in a light wind. A few bright stars freckled the black sky, unable to compete with the light of the moon. The world had never looked so beautiful. She could see the man who had killed Zeke moving near the beams of the headlights. He held that wicked-looking weapon to his shoulder. It was pointed right at her forehead.

He was smiling.

Broken hearted, body throbbing with pain, Marta finally accepted that it was all over. Zeke was dead. They had failed. She closed her eyes again, trying desperately to accept that this time the darkness would last forever. She wondered if Zeke would be there waiting when she arrived.