Pain throbbed through Coulter’s ribs, arms aching from the hits, everything spinning. He rifled through their gear, searching for some indication on how they’d brushed off the injuries without blinking. Similar to something he’d seen in the field during his last deployment — an injectable that had enabled one of his men to keep pushing after getting shot in the side.
But that had been elementary compared to the strength and stamina these men had displayed.
He paused at the watch on the guy’s wrist. His medic had slipped something less sophisticated on his teammate’s wrist to transmit the data. Though, that didn’t mean this device was connected.
He shoved it in his pocket regardless, grabbed a radio and a couple canisters before stumbling to the door, jerking it open, sweeping the hallways with his Sig. A door opened and closed off to the right, another radio clicking amidst the silence before shutting off.
He headed left, quickstepping down the hall, boots silent against the concrete floor. He stayed in the shadows, hugging the walls, checking for cameras before darting across an open corridor — busting into the stairwell.
He cleared the area above with a single sweep, then descended, dropping two more men with head shots when they burst through the lower level, looking up as if searching for him. An alarm shrieked overhead, strobe lighting filling the stairwell. Some guy barked out orders over the radio before it went dark.
Shouts rose above him, boots pounding down the stairs, a few rounds sparking off the metal rails. He bypassed the next exit, stormed through a maintenance door on the right, a blast of heat slapping him in the face, diesel and burnt oil coating his throat with every shallow inhale.
He checked his mag, reloading as he wove through the bowels of the facility, ducking under pipes and pushing past bulkheads. Boots clanged against the grated metal flooring, sparks jumping off an air exchanger as someone peppered rounds his way.
Coulter kept moving, steam hissing from a few vents, fans whining overhead. Flashlight beams bounced off the duct work next to him, a couple bullets punching through the wall.
An exit sign glowed off to his right, the red light like a beacon in the heavy air. He caught a glimpse of movement through a tangle of wires, fired, knocking some hulking guy in tactical gear back a few steps. The guy grunted, but kept coming, covering two steps for every one of Coulter’s.
Coulter snagged one of the canisters off his vest, tossed it. It banked off a compressor, then hit the floor, exploding in a hiss of fire and smoke, metal shards spraying across the room. The blast threw him into the wall, peppered shrapnel down one side, several pieces punching through the gap in his vest.
A loud shriek roared inside his head, hot ash burning a line down his throat as he staggered to his feet, pushed through the exit.
The door opened onto a long narrow hallway, a wall of glass showcasing the motor pool one level below. A figure stopped walking at the far end, glancing over his shoulder at Coulter.
Ramsey.
Even with the guy’s face half-hidden in shadows, Coulter’s vision fraying at the edges, he recognized the curve of the man’s face, the shape of his massive silhouette.
One shot.
That’s all he needed.
He turned, raised his Sig — hand shaking a bit from the blood loss — when the door behind Ramsey opened, a wall of suppressive fire filling the hallway. Casings ticked off the floor, brass scything off the metal frame, as muzzle flashes lit up the shadows. A bullet grazed down his thigh, more punching into his vest, as shots echoed behind him, the assholes closing in with terrifying speed.
Ramsey folded into the shadows as Coulter returned fire, capping two men who moved in front of the bastard before Coulter pegged the glass panel twice, then raced ahead, hurtling through the window — crashing onto the floor below. His right shoulder took the brunt of the fall, a carpet of tiny glass squares fanning out around him.
Two breaths, then he scrambled to his feet, limping behind a heavy equipment transport, his chest wheezing, his lungs barely sucking in any air. Shouts rose above the lingering whine, more glass shattering across the floor as the men cleared the frame, landed without buckling.
Pain clouded his vision, every breath a jagged prayer, as he palmed his last frag, tossed it into the mix.
The canister landed next to a couple of fuel barrels, spinning a few times before erupting in a fury of light and sound. The barrels blew a second later, fire shooting into the air, the sprinklers cracking on, dousing the equipment in a numbing spray.
Coulter emptied the last of his mag as he limped off, the chaos covering his escape. He raced out the open garage — sprinted for the tree line, blood dotting the asphalt behind him. Rain cooled his exposed skin, quickly soaking through his gear as he hit the edge of the pavement, launched into a bordering ditch.
The cold water stole his next breath, locking up his muscles as he waded across the culvert, dragged his ass out the other side. A spotlight brightened the foggy night, the eerie gray bouncing the light back on itself as the beam swept through the parking lot, lingering on the drainage canal for a few moments before panning away.
Coulter crouched next to a large spruce, chest heaving, rain running down his face. He waited for the spotlight to sweep across the edge of the forest before traveling a bit deeper, following a hint of a path into the woods.
Fatigue weighed heavy on his shoulders, every wound bleeding through the numbing cold, dropping him to one knee. He crawled into a tangle of roots, wedging himself between the gnarled wood, blood staining his hoodie, his ribs protesting every ragged breath.
A strangled laugh bubbled free, his strength fading with the creeping fog.
Just his luck, he’d had Ramsey in his sights and hadn’t been able to finish the job. A crowning fuck up on a list of recent failures.
He checked his ammo, holstered his Sig out of habit, then grabbed his spare knife. The blade reflected the storm-bruised sky, the weight easing any lingering reservations.
In the distance, dogs bayed in the rain, boots pounding the parking lot on the other side of the ditch. Three minutes, five tops, before they followed the blood — zeroed in on his location.