Chapter 84 - The Iron Perimeter
The wind over the gorge was freezing, carrying the sharp scent of river spray and burning diesel. The bridge was two hundred feet above jagged boulders, and halfway across, the steel walkway narrowed to a service catwalk.
Noah gave a small gasp against my chest, his forehead warm against my skin. I checked his breathing—steady, but his little frame shivered from the sudden chill. I tightened the thermal blanket around him, keeping my left hand flat against his back while my right leveled the sidearm into the fog ahead.
Footsteps echoed from the far side of the trestle. Two figures emerged from the mist, wearing low-visibility tactical gear, silencers attached to their submachine guns.
"Target acquired," one barked into his shoulder mic. "Subject is on foot with the package. Non-lethal on the child, lethal authorized on the mother."
"Try it," I snarled.
I didn't wait for them to aim. I dropped to one knee, using the heavy iron girder of the bridge as a rest, and squeezed the trigger twice. The first round caught the point man in the thigh, dropping him to the grating; the second ricocheted off the second operative’s chest plate, throwing him off balance.
The second man fired back in a burst of suppressed fire. Bullets pinged violently off the iron stanchion inches from my ear, throwing hot sparks across my face. I pulled Noah deeper into the hollow of the steel beam, covering his tiny skull with my own body, taking the sting of flying metal shards across my shoulder.
Pain burned down my back, warm blood soaking through my jacket, but the agony was drowned out by pure maternal fury.
Leaning out from behind the girder, I emptied four precise shots into the second shooter’s lower abdomen and neck where his armor left seams. He collapsed backward, tumbling over the low safety rail into the black abyss of the gorge below without a cry.
The wounded man on the catwalk reached for his sidearm, teeth bared in agony.
I walked up to him, stepped hard on his wrist until the gun clattered free, and leveled my barrel directly between his eyes.
"The extraction point," I demanded, voice icy cold. "Where is Eleanor landing her helicopter?"
The man coughed blood, laughing weakly. "She’s... she’s not landing here, lady. The old woman is already at the airstrip in Port Haven. A private Gulfstream is waiting. Once she leaves the airspace, the global satellite network takes over. You’re already trapped in the zone."
I kicked his sidearm over the edge of the bridge. "Thanks for the directions."
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I didn't execute him; I left him groaning in the cold mist. Port Haven was eight miles downriver. There was no road open to me, but there was an old abandoned logging marina nestled at the base of the dam two miles downstream.
If Eleanor thought she owned the sky, I would make her fight me on the water.
