Ashen Rayne (Shadowlands Book 1) (21 page)

She sucked her lower lip and wondered what to do. There was no way she could get that many people out without being seen and taking out a dozen men with just her pistol was also doubtful. If she’d had a sniper or assault rifle with her, it would have been another matter entirely.

She continued to watch the trucks, sweat trickling down her spine in the warm summer evening. Finally, she saw her chance—a gap in the guard’s pattern. She ran, hoping she was as quiet as she felt. She ducked under the trailer and grabbed a hold of the locking structure beneath. A little wiggling and she was wedged between the spare tire and the frame, out of sight unless someone crawled under the truck and looked.

Ashley lay there in the gloom, her senses stretched to the limit. In the dark, she could see only shadows and her fingers were almost overwhelmed at the number of vibrations coming from the floor above her. There were dozens of people sitting on the floor, frightened and even more nervous than she was. She wished she could let them know they weren’t alone, that someone was trying to free them. The best she could do was send positive thoughts and hold on until she had a chance to do something.

What seemed like hours later, she felt the truck jerk into motion, moving at a low speed out onto the street. Once it turned the corner, she could see the pavement moving by quicker as they headed toward the highway. Then there was another strong jerk, and she was knocked from her perch to hang onto the frame with one hand, her boot heels bouncing on the pavement beneath her. She struggled to raise her legs back into place, but in the darkness, with all the bouncing, she couldn’t see where the tire hung.

Cursing, she let herself be dragged hand over hand to the back of the truck where she could rest her legs on the rear axle. But as she dangled there, she could feel her arms weakening and knew it was only a temporary measure. If she could even hold on until they reached their destination, her arms would be too weak to fight when she got there. She needed to move and it had to be soon.

She’d spent nearly an hour looking at the trucks and could still see them in her mind’s eye. Both of them had ladders built into the side near the doors, complete with handrails. Considering the next best thing to being inside was probably on top, Ashley pulled herself to the side of the container and looked up. Far above, she could see the clouds and a sliver of moon. It would be full dark soon, making the climb even more dangerous.

She could also see the ladder handrail above her, and she reached for it with one hand. Her fingers brushed it on the second try, and she realized it was going to be an all or nothing maneuver. Either she had to grab the rail, or she was going under the wheel just a few inches away from her feet. She took a deep breath and swung, letting go with her right hand and reaching with her left. Her hand closed on the rail, and she was hanging again, dragging behind the truck, so close to the wheel that she could feel it’s pull on her foot. She focused everything on the hand that was keeping her from a close encounter with the pavement and reached with her right. Her right hand seized the rail, and she started to pull, reaching the top to flop onto the roof like a beached whale.

Ashley lay there for several seconds, watching the sky go by and breathing, grateful she hadn’t been pancaked beneath the wheels. When her hands stopped trembling, she rolled and started to crawl toward the front of the truck. Ahead, she could see that they were on the highway heading north with the other trailer some distance ahead.

She was almost to the front when she saw a hand come up over the edge of the container, followed by a man’s head, and then the rest of him. He was a burly fellow with black hair that whipped around him in the wind and a scar that traveled up his face and made him look as if he was smiling. He approached, one step at time, a piece of chain gripped in his left hand.

Ashley stood and drew her KA BAR knife. She didn’t move as she let her legs become accustomed to the swaying of the truck beneath her and her eyes get used to the stinging salt wind that threatened to blow her off the truck at any moment.

The man moved closer and swung his chain in a roundhouse motion. Ashley ducked under the chain and stepped forward, her blade reaching for the man’s midsection. He jumped backwards and swung again. The chain missed Ashley’s leg by millimeters and threw up sparks by her foot. She stepped on it and swung the knife again. The blade sliced across the man’s stomach leaving a light cut in his flesh that made him grimace in annoyance. He yanked on the chain and pulled it from beneath Ashley, making her sway and dance backwards to regain her balance.

The pair fought atop the truck for several minutes. Geordi’s guard had the upper hand in reach and strength, and he was pushing Ashley slowly back toward the rear of the truck. As he moved closer, Ashley rolled forward and pushed with her hands lashing out with both feet. The maneuver caught the man off guard, and he fell backwards onto the truck’s upper rail. Ashley fell on top of him, her knife searching for his neck. He caught her wrist and smiled, showing gold teeth.

“They sent a woman. Never send a woman,” he sneered.

The man squeezed and Ashley felt the bones in her wrist rubbing together, a painful, grating sensation that made her fingers go numb. She let go of the knife and watched it tumble over the side to disappear behind the truck.

“That was my favorite knife, you Russian fuck!” she yelled.

With her free hand, she grabbed the guard’s chain and yanked. It slid out of his grip, and she wrapped the open loop around his throat. He instinctively let go of her to grab the chain, and she used both hands to pull.

The guard’s face reddened, and he struggled beneath her, his body bucking and trying to throw her off. With superhuman effort, he pulled the chain free and twisted his torso, pushing Ashley off the side of the truck. She caught the upper rail with one hand and hung on, her body flapping against the side like an old rag. When she looked up, she could see the man looming above her, his foot over her fingers.

“It was a good fight, for a woman,” he said. “Goodbye, woman.”

“Goodbye, moron,” Ashley replied.

She drew her Beretta and fired. Her single shot punctured the guard’s right eye and exited through his skull. He disappeared from her view, and she felt certain he had fallen off the other side.

She holstered her pistol and tried to pull herself up again, but her arms were spent. She was wondering how long she could hold on when she felt something on her leg. She looked down and saw the Evade with Rock leaning out the window. She smiled and pushed off the side of the truck to land on top of the utility vehicle. The impact knocked the wind out of her and she rolled, ending up spread eagle and gasping for breath between the racks. A second later Smoak rode past, bent low over the handlebars of her bike.

“You’re late!” she yelled at her friend.

Smoak arrived downtown as the sun was creeping beneath the horizon, throwing its final rays onto the city and letting twilight settle over the buildings below. She pulled up next to Rock and lowered her sunglasses.

“Where is Ash?” she asked.

Rock ran a hand through his hair. “She didn’t really say.”

“What the hell does that mean, Rocky?”

He shrugged and pointed at the tower. “She went in there. She thinks that Frulov is moving the last of his women and bugging out tonight.”

Smoak turned her head and looked at the squad of men surrounding the trucks. They weren’t thugs. They were trained. and she spotted at least two Spetznaz Vympel tattoos in the mix. Special forces.

“When did she go in?” she asked.

“Ten, maybe twenty minutes ago,” Rock replied. “I haven’t heard any shooting, so whatever she is doing. she’s doing it in the shadows.”

“Fuck.”

She took her glasses off and stowed them inside the jacket she’d borrowed from Blaze.

“Now you know how she feels,” Rock said.

Smoak looked back at him, her purple eyes dead. He took a step back and raised his hands as if placating an angry lioness.

“Sorry,” he said.

Smoak turned to survey the guards again. They didn’t appear to be agitated or aware that Ashley was out there somewhere, which meant she was still lurking in the shadows.

Motion caught her attention, and she spotted something only she was looking for: a pair of legs vanishing beneath one of the trailers.

“She’s okay,” Smoak said.

“How do you know?” Rock asked.

“I saw her. Get ready to move and try to keep up.”

She started her bike and swapped her sunglasses for her driving glasses to give her something to do while she waited. It wasn’t long. The first of the trucks rumbled past, then the other, both heading for the highway. She followed, her eyes on the trailer and the woman she hoped was still safely tucked underneath.

They passed through city center and accelerated onto I-95, heading in a northern direction. A veritable crater caused by recent road construction appeared at the end of the ramp, and as the truck went over, she saw Ashley almost fall from her precarious perch.

“Hold on, Ash!” she yelled.

Smoak twisted the throttle and the bike shot forward with a roar, almost hitting a black Cadillac that suddenly cut in front of her. She swerved and almost dumped the bike onto the pavement, a curse spilling from her lips. She righted the bike and accelerated again. Ahead of her was the Cadillac SUV, blocking her view of the truck. As she watched, the Cadillac’s sunroof opened, and she saw a man with an automatic rifle step up, the weapon aimed at something in front of him.

Smoak gritted her teeth and accelerated, her other hand drawing one of her knives from beneath her jacket. She passed the SUV on the right and smashed the blade into the passenger window, shattering it in a spray of broken glass and shredded tint. The rifleman spun and fired, missing her and blowing chunks the size of her fist out of the pavement. Smoak swerved away from the gunfire and tapped the brakes, trying to stay out of the gunman’s sights. More pavement exploded in front of her, and she felt pieces bounce off the bike. She swerved again and pulled behind the truck, her mind working furiously. Sooner or later, the thug with the AK-12 was going to hit something other than tarmac, either her or Ashley. She needed to do something.

She scanned the highway ahead, but there was nothing but a little traffic, seemingly oblivious to what was going on in the middle of the highway.

She wedged her knife in the rack behind her and let a handful of needle-like caltrops fall from her belt into her hand. As she accelerated around the vehicle, she rolled the needles in her hand like dice. The motion caused them to spring open into angry, diamond-tipped pyramids and she dropped them in front of the SUV’s front tires. A beat later, the truck’s tire blew, making it spin out of control into a guardrail.

She pushed her glasses back up her nose and looked ahead. In the commotion, Rock had rescued Ashley, and the Evade was pulling off to the side. Smoak breathed with relief and twisted the throttle, again chasing down the fleeing tractor-trailer.

When she reached the cab, she paused. It was an old six wheel Peterbilt with two hydraulic lines in the back and an exposed exterior air-cleaner. Ordinarily, she would just cut the brake lines or toss a handful of caltrops under the wheels, but anything like that was likely to cause an accident. If the container rolled, the people inside would end up a few thousand pounds of human pâté.

She was staring at the truck wondering how to stop it safely when the passenger window rolled down and the barrel of an AK-12 nosed out, spouting flame and leaden death. Bullets punctured the bike’s tank, covering her legs in gas and making the V-twin cough beneath her.

Without hesitation, Smoak stood on the foot-pegs and stepped from her treasured bike onto the tractor’s sideboard. The bike wobbled behind her and crashed to the pavement, sliding beneath the trailer’s wheels where it was pounded into so much scrap metal.

You’re going to pay for that, Igor,
she thought.

She reached up and pulled the door handle. The passenger leaned into the gap, his rifle at the ready. He wasn’t prepared for the knife that sliced through his fingers and into his thigh. The AK-12 fell to the ground, along with two of his fingers, and he howled in pain, clutching at his hand. Smoak grabbed him by the shirt and tugged. He tried to catch himself with his bloodied hand, but the dripping claret made his hand slippery, and he fell from the cab.