She slid back from the skylight and waved. At a leisurely pace, Luke and Harlan, dressed as their enemies, walked toward the access road, past Skye and Diego behind the dead autos, and curved toward the back door. Now the guards were complaining about having no beer.
“I mean, we’re out here riskin’ our lives, and Garcia didn’t even bring brews.”
“It’s rustin’ scrap’s what it is,” agreed the other. “Treatin’ us like dustborn buzzard bait.”
“Hey, fellas,” Luke said. Lark kept her head down, far from the edge. No one knew she was there.
“Lieutenant sent us to relieve you,” Harlan added.
“About glitchin’ time,” swore a guard. “Does he have another crap job for us?”
“Naw,” Luke said. “Get some shuteye.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” one replied with cheer.
Lark returned to the skylight, raised the crossbow, and sighted along the rail. The cruel guard had found a new way to torment his prisoners—brushing their faces with a dirty dust mop.
“How does it feel to eat dust, General?” he taunted. “We folks from the wastes don’t get much else. That’s about to change, ya hear?”
The back door squeaked open. Lark held her breath, her aim ready to fix on either guard in a blink.
“Hey, Sarge,” Luke said conversationally as he and Harlan entered Lark’s field of view. The skinny guy quit pestering Calder, leaning on the dust mop as he inspected the newcomers. “The lieutenant sent us over to give you guys ten.”
The sergeant—older, stockier than his partner—rose warily, his eyes narrowed and a hand on his sidearm. “Nobody told me. Come to think of it, I don’t recognize you two tall fellas.” Puffing out his chest, he took a step closer to Luke and Harlan. “Which lieutenant sent you? What company are you with? I wanna see youridentification.”
Lark froze, her attention divided between the two enemy guards, both armed. She would get one shot. After that, chaos.
Chapter twenty-one
Hidden Heroics
The brutal private dropped the mop handle and yanked a revolver, aiming straight at Luke. Lark knew he had no credentials and no chance of talking his way out of this confrontation. Her finger squeezed. The bolt slammed into the guy’s chest at a steep angle. The gun dropped from his hand as he crumpled, striking a table and sending a metal toolbox clattering.
As his body thudded to the floor, the sergeant pulled his gun. With Luke standing between Lark and the enemy, she couldn’t get a clean shot. Luke whipped the knife from behind his back and lunged, burying it deep in the man’s gut. He cried out, forcing Luke to slash his throat to silence him.
Harlan readied his rifle as the front door flew open, two more guards at the ready storming through. Not wanting to risk a gunshot bringing the entire enemy force down on them, Lark fired again, her bolt punching through an Iron soldier’s neck. He grabbed for it, staggering to the side while Luke grappled with the other guard.
“Free the prisoners,” he ordered Harlan.
Shouldering the rifle, Harlan drew his knife and crouched beside them.
General Calder glanced up, his gaze locking onto Lark’s as she peered down at him. His face contorted—half-anguish, half-laughter—as tears welled in his eyes. Harlan cut his bindings first. Calder’s attention snapped to his companion. “Lieutenant Rushing,” he eked out, followed by a cough.
A gunshot split the air, jolting Lark. Her eyes flew to Luke. He yanked his knife from the guard’s chest, but not before he’d gotten off a warning round.
“Move it,” Luke commanded. Lark scrambled to the lowest eave, grabbed it, and rappelled to the ground.
“Over here!” someone yelled in the distance. “The prisoners!” An engine blared to life, followed by the tromp of many feet.
“Run, run!” Luke shouted as he and Harlan dragged General Calder and Lieutenant Rushing from the shed’s back door.
Lark hurried over to assist, catching Calder under an arm, gripping him around the waist. Diego laid down cover fire, and Skye appeared at the general’s other side.
“Get him out of here,” ordered Luke as he swung his rifle into position. “Rushing, can you run?”
He nodded, rubbing his wrists, looking like he might stumble at any moment.
Lark, Skye, and the targets they’d come for raced for the forest’s edge as gunfire peppered the darkness behind them. The slow whine of a siren crescendoed into an insistent shriek. With her goggles back on, Lark guided the general through thick underbrush and over fallen logs as they pushed further into the woods. Still, she and Skye’s speed was hindered by supporting Calder’s weight and his command to not leave the lagging Rushing behind.