Two men, dressed in black tactical garb, hustled toward the corner of the warehouse with rifles shouldered. They paused for a moment, checking the blind corner for any threats, then slipped around the back of the building, and moved down the pier side by side.
Sarah watched the men sweeping the junk piled alongside the exterior of the warehouse. Their attention was focused ahead of them and not on the empty SUV’s.
She turned toward the street that connected to the dock–finding it clear of any armed men. A row of buildings sat on the other side of the road. She could make it if she ran fast enough.
Sarah stood from her crouched position, then peered through the rear window of the SUV.
A figure stood near the front of the vehicle just past the open passenger side door. A portion of the SUV concealed his face, leaving only the black tactical gear and gloves he wore visible.
Who the hell are these guys?
He set his piece on the SUV, slammed his fist on the hood, then turned toward the windshield. His forearms rested on the vehicle, his head hanging in frustration. He ran his hand over his face, then over the top of his shaved head.
Sarah caught a glimpse of the burnt flesh that resided on the side of his face. The skin looked coarse–leathery even. It made him look more monster than man.
He lifted his head, then glanced her way.
Sarah dipped below the edge of the window. Her heart hammered against her chest. She waited a moment, raised up, and glanced through the bottom portion of the dingy window again.
Static hissed and crackled from the two-way radio he clutched. He lifted the radio to his mouth, shaking his head.
“Team two, report,” Leatherface said. He tilted his head to the side, training an attentive ear to the speaker. No response came. He adjusted the dials on the top of the radio, then said, “Johnson, Bennet, what’s the situation back there? Over.”
The report of gunfire tainted the air. It sounded muffled and restricted, then died off.
A distorted voice broke through the constant crackling and white noise, making it hard to hear what they said.
Leatherface tweaked the signal some more, clearing the distortion out.
“We’ve got two bodies–Kinnerk’s men,” the voice replied. The voice sounded robotic. “Blood… heading… building.”
What? Only two bodies identified as Kinnerk’s men. They didn’t mention Mandy. Did that mean she survived or escaped?
Leatherface continued adjusting the dials on the top of the radio, trying to clear up the garbled signal. He retrieved his pistol from the hood, then walked around the front of the SUV. He held the radio close to his ear and made for the corner of the warehouse. Despite moving away from the vehicle, she could still hear his voice as if he stood next to her.
“I don’t give a crap about his dead men,” Leatherface said, shouting into the two-way radio. “Those two females and Kinnerk’s head are worth a lot of money, so if you value your lives, find them, now.”
Sarah peered around the edge of the SUV, watching Leatherface.
He stood with his back to her, staring down the long stretch of pier with his piece at his side. The radio stayed close to his ear as he craned his neck and shifted his weight.
Sarah backed away from the SUV, watching Leatherface’s every move. His attention remained focused dead ahead.
She turned about face and took off in a dead sprint. Her feet hammered the wooden planks of the pier. She made for the road. Sarah skimmed over the buildings, searching for a way through the solid wall of metal that spanned down both sides of the road. It looked to be more warehouses with roll up doors lining their fronts.
The armed men yelled in her direction.
Gunfire crackled in the sky behind her. A warning shot that went wide, missing her by a mile. She flinched, lowered her head, and kept running.
Sarah peered over her shoulder, nearing the end of the pier.
Leatherface pointed in her direction while barking at two of his men chasing her down. They skirted past the SUVs with their rifles clutched in their hands.
A narrow gap within the buildings presented itself ahead of Sarah. It looked like a tight fit, but large enough for her frame to slip through.
She ran hard and fast for the opening.
The armed men gained on her–their footfalls growing louder.
Sarah slipped through the narrow passage, then ran down the long corridor. If she had any hopes of surviving, she had to lose them, and fast.
CHAPTER TWO
RUSSELL
The day’s events had taken its toll on Russell, wearing him down beyond the point of exhaustion. He hadn’t realized how damaged he was until he stopped moving.
Every inch of his body ached.
The muscles in his legs throbbed.
His ankle radiated pain.
Each breath he took made his ribs hurt.
It was all par for the course. Moving through the rugged terrain of the Blue Ridge Mountains for the past few days had been no small feat, even for those in top form. But recovering from a plane crash and a hostile encounter with crooked police and backwoods rejects was bound to prolong any expected recovery. He didn’t consider himself a slouch, but he wasn’t in peak physical condition either.
Russell adjusted himself in the seat of the Bronco, trying to find comfort any way he could.
His eyes grew thick with sleep. A yawn attacked him, forcing his mouth open. His eyelids clamped shut, pushing the wetness out both tear ducts.
“You all right?” Cathy asked, slouched in the passenger seat with her boots resting on the cracked dash. “Do you need me to drive for a bit? I don’t mind. It’s the least I can do.”
Russell shook his head, then blinked, erasing the sheen from his vision. “I’m good. Just tired and sore is all. If I get too comfortable, I’ll be out. I need to stay alert. Besides, you’re a better navigator than I would be.”
Max, Cathy’s German shepherd, rested in the back on the bench seat. His front paws dangled from the edge of the worn tan leather. He stared at Russell with his large, brown eyes, then yawned. His jaws opened wide, revealing his fangs.
Cathy folded the map in her lap, then sat up straight in the seat. “I’m not one to beat a dead horse by any means, and I know I’ve already thanked you, but I do appreciate everything you’ve done for Max and me. I can’t say that too many folks would have gone up against Marcus Wright and his goons. Lord knows no one had except for me. Anyway, thanks again for not bailing on us. You’re a good man. Your wife is pretty lucky to have you, Cage.”
Russell offered a warm smile, then nodded. She didn’t have to keep thanking him, considering she saved his life first from that mountain lion that sought to make a meal of him, but Cathy did nonetheless. She had a generous and kind soul. One that made her go out of her way for him when he needed it most.
“I appreciate the kind words. All of them. But don’t worry, I have no plans of holding any of what I did over your head,” Russell replied, smirking.
Cathy guffawed, then folded her arms across her chest. “Somebody thinks they’re funny.”
Russell shrugged, then winced from a subtle pain in his ribs. His hand pressed against his side with a gentle touch. “Funny might be a stretch, but I try.”
“All right, funny man.” Cathy peered at his side, erasing the warm smile off her face. “Ribs hurting?”