Hot Zone (Elite Force 2)

“They’re in vans. I’m heading toward the beach. It’s more open, more exposed, but they won’t have the same traction we will.”

She stared at the back of his vulnerable head and thought about the gunfire earlier. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure it’s our best odds.”

“Okay, then.” Like they really had a choice at this point.

He half stood in his seat, twisting to fire his gun at whoever followed them. Damn it, she could do that part.

“Give me the gun,” she yelled. “I’ll shoot. You drive.” She would be in a better position for coverage and he would be a much safer driver.

He passed the gun over the seat. Thank God he saw the wisdom of her judgment and hadn’t wasted time arguing. She eased up in the seat, aimed the gun at the van’s radiator, and squeezed off a shot. The gun’s recoil knocked her against Hugh’s seat.

“You okay?” he shouted.

“Just fine.” And better prepared now.

Pop. Pop. She squeezed off two more shots that made her ears ring. The first van spun out as the engine spewed smoke. A second van roared around, taking the lead as the other stopped altogether.

Hugh steered around a tree. “Good job evening up the odds. Need you to hunker back down, though, and hold on tight. This next part’s gonna be rough.”

Like the rest wasn’t? She passed the gun back to Hugh.

Amelia ducked behind the seat again, staring at her feet bouncing on the floor from the rough ride. She locked her arms and gave Joshua a kiss on his forehead.

The Jeep raced out of the jungle, going airborne for an instant before landing in the muddy sand. Her teeth slammed together. Blood filled her mouth and she realized she’d bitten her tongue. Joshua started crying in earnest, his fearful wails tearing at her heart. She checked him over with her hands as best she could and he didn’t appear hurt. Just terrified.

“I’m right there with you, sweetie,” she whispered in his ear. “Hang in there.”

Rear tires fishtailed, spewing sand as the Jeep worked to catch traction. Just when she’d begun to fear they were going to bog down… the four-wheel drive launched forward smoothly, flying across the sand like a sailboat over smooth waters.

She looked up at Hugh again in the rearview mirror, her mouth so dry she could barely form words. “Update? Please?”

Smiling, he winked back at her. “Other van’s stuck in the sand. How’s the kiddo?”

“Vocal.” She eased up and checked every inch, kissing each precious finger and toe to be sure. “Pissed off, but completely unscathed.”

“Nice work. In about ten miles we should be home free.”

“Home free,” she repeated, some of the relief seeping away since they were headed right back to the middle of a lawless city devastated by an earthquake.

***

Holding an IV bag, Liam raced alongside the litter carrying their latest rescue toward the open cargo plane of the C-17 preparing for takeoff on the crappy small runway—basically a long strip of dirt.

“Hold, hold,” Liam shouted, as he jogged beside the victim he’d just freed from under a collapsed college building. “We’ve got one more. Critical. Head trauma and double amputee. Gotta get him out.”

A three-ship of cargo planes roared overhead. Aircraft had been flying in and out at a regular clip, transporting humanitarian relief from the U.S., Canada, Brazil, Italy, and Cuba, and the list of countries grew by the day. More than twenty so far. Ports were beginning to fill with boats and ships as well. Some supplies, especially early on, were parachuted in.

The loadmaster in the C-17 raised a thumbs-up and waived them forward. “Haul ass, sir. We’ve gotta clear out.”

There wasn’t much parking space alongside the already-short runway, so as soon as supplies, troops, and relief workers were unloaded, the cargo hold was filled with departing injured and they were quickly airborne again. The C-17 was the world’s premier cargo craft for delivering troops and supplies anywhere, anytime, able to land on dirt runways as short as thirty-five hundred feet and as narrow as ninety feet.

Communication was improving with more reliable cell phone reception, satellite phones, and radios. And still he hadn’t heard anything more about Hugh Franco, the woman, and the child. Meeting the woman’s family—Dr. Aiden Bailey and his wife, Lisabeth—hadn’t brought any new information on the whereabouts of the missing trio. The Baileys had looked at him with such damn hopeful eyes, as if he could deliver their loved ones back to them. It had been hard as hell to tell them he knew nothing more than they did. Just that Hugh, Amelia, and the baby, Joshua, had last been seen together at the field hospital set up in a school.

Never had keeping his focus sharp been more difficult than now. One foot in front of the other, he kept charging ahead because he couldn’t afford to deal with the emotional fallout until afterward.

His combat boots clanked along the load ramp as they passed over the patient. Turning, he almost slammed into a vaguely familiar military nurse handing off an infant to a refugee in the plane.