Their Property (Four Mercenaries 3)

“One! One!” he screamed out Tank’s codename at the top of his lungs, and when the tall, broad-shouldered man by the truck turned his way like Pyro had seen him do so many times, time slowed down.

One of the guards turned to face Pyro, but Tank cut him down with a single punch. The other stepped back and took aim at Tank’s head, but his own exploded with blood before he could have pulled the trigger.

Clover, who must have been hiding on the bed of the truck, emerged from behind the cab, his long hair floating around his face like a halo. Tank joined him on top of the vehicle in a quick leap and sank lower, only to emerge holding a shape that put a wide smile on Pyro’s face.

“Fuck, yeah,” he whispered when Tank opened fire from the assault rifle.

The familiarity of the flash appearing at the end of the muzzle boosted Pyro’s energy. With the goons cut down like logs, he reached the truck within seconds and opened the driver’s door just as Clover climbed in from the other side.

Their eyes met, and for the briefest moment regret over things that couldn’t be unsaid punished Pyro like a fist to the gut. But he shut the car, punched the roof three times to let Tank know they were leaving, and started the ignition.

Next to him, Clover strapped himself in, his loud breath echoing in the tiny space to the tune of Pyro’s heart, but as soon as Tank knocked in confirmation, Pyro backed away from the gate, aggressively pushing the back wheels over some kind of bump.

The open fire above was a sign that they weren’t out of the woods yet, so he switched on the high-beam lights and stepped on the accelerator, dashing along the empty road through a long-abandoned holiday resort.

The glow of the headlights licked trees and deteriorating cabins as he gained speed, trying to keep in mind that the pickup wasn’t nearly as agile as Boar’s Subaru. “Write this down,” he snapped, ignoring another series of bullets shot from above his head. He could only hope Tank was holding on to something, because their ride might get even bumpier soon.

Clover didn’t argue, didn’t ask any questions, just opened the glove compartment and pulled out a notebook. Pyro recited the licence plate number as they sped past a children’s playground overgrown with vines. His focus turned razor-sharp as they followed a straight road for the next exit, heading for the gates of the entire complex. His foot lowered on the gas pedal, and the vehicle darted down the uneven road until the pickup shook, maneuvered between bumps and potholes at a speed far exceeding reason. Next to him, Clover gasped when two men ran to the middle of the road in front of the mesh gate with barbed wire on top. Pyro buckled his seat belt.

“Duck,” he said, bending lower to minimize the chance of getting shot before they even reached the gate, but both guards fell following a couple of loud bangs from above.

Tank was a better shot than he’d thought.

There was no time to open the barrier. He leaned back, stretched his shoulders and took deep, even breaths as the wall of metal approached at breakneck speed.

The collision sent him forward, but he pressed the gas pedal all the way down, adding that bit more juice to the force driving the vehicle. The gate bent, but didn’t resist for long, torn off the fence like a scrap of fat from meat. It fell, and Pyro hurried into the darkness, speeding down the empty road.

It was only then that fatigue returned, twisting in his muscles.

Something knocked at the back window, and Clover scrambled to open it. Tank’s voice hit Pyro like a baseball bat.

“What the fuck, Pyro? You wrecked my truck for some mayhem?”

Pyro’s tongue stuck to his palate, numb as if it were made of wood, so it took him a few heartbeats to answer. “I found Boar.”

Chapter 7 - Tank

I found Boar.

Pyro’s voice, this time not angry or full of impatience, but hopeful, rang in Tank’s head over and over. The night felt cool, yet his hands were damp around the steel railings used to secure his motorcycle to the bed of the truck.

“What? How?” Tank shouted as the vehicle raced down a country road, which would have allowed half of their current speed in normal circumstances, but if Tank could cope with losing his home, what was a busted truck when their friend’s life was at stake?

“I went to this death match, and they walked him in, and he’s like… a celebrity in those circles. People were chanting his name and shit.”

“Is he okay?” Clover asked, his gaze darting to meet Tank’s.

Pyro groaned. “He’s in one piece, but he says they’re moving him all over in a van. That’s the registration I gave you, Clo. If we find that vehicle, we’ll find Boar.”