She didn’t want to die at all.
Maybe they would hold her for ransom. She was a U.S. citizen, after all, and they knew she was a journalist. Maybe they just wanted money. Oh, God, she hoped so.
God, help me!
It was so hot, so hot. Her entire body was sticky with perspiration, her mouth dry from thirst—or was that fear? Claustrophobia began to take hold again, the close air pressing in on her. She had to get out of here. They needed to open the trunknow.
Except that . . .
What would they do to her when they did?
Abruptly, the car swerved, then accelerated. Men’s voices rose in shrill whoops and shouts, guns firing, the terrible sound making Natalie jump. Were they being pursued? Had someone come after them, hoping to free her? What if there was a firefight and someone accidentally fired into the trunk?
She held her breath and listened, desperately hoping to hear sirens.
More shouts. More gunshots. And now singing.
But no sirens.
And then it came to her.
They weren’t being pursued. They were celebrating.
All those murders, the grief they would cause, the fear they’d created on that street—they had committed a massacre, and they were reveling in its aftermath.
What kind of men could enjoy killing like that?
No, not men. They were monsters.
And she was their prisoner.
ZACH LAY ON his side, no longer able to give a damn about scorpions. His body shivered uncontrollably from shock. His skin burned, seeming to shrink around his bones, every nerve ending on fire. His throat was raw from yelling—or whatever you called it when you screamed from between clenched teeth. He’d been through surf torture in BUD/S. He’d been hungry, cold, hot, sleep deprived. He’d lain half-dead in the dirt for hours with a round lodged in his back. But he’d never ever been through anything that could touch this for sheer pain.
What was it Jimmy used to say when they went into combat?
Hoka hey! It is a good day to die.
Todaywasa good day to die. Yesterday had been good, too. The day before would have been even better.
Quit your whining, McBride. You’re pathetic! On your feet!
“Hooya!” Zach answered aloud and raised his head before realizing that the voice he’d just heard had come from his own mind.
He was losing it. He’d hit the wall—hard. Time to rest. He needed rest.
He closed his blindfolded eyes and sank into oblivion.
Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water
Jack fell down and broke his crown
And poor Jill got stuck carrying the water by herself.
Natalie bit at the duct tape that bound her wrists, reciting nursery rhymes in her mind to keep her panic at bay. She spat out a little piece of tape and bit into it again, gratified when she realized she was down to the layer just above her skin. The tape was so strong and sticky that she’d had to nibble through it a layer at a time. Not that having the use of her hands would do her much good. There were more of them—and they had guns.
Hey-diddle-diddle
The cat and the fiddle