Bone Rider (36 page)

Riley shrugged, grim and tight-lipped. “Too close to run.”

Misha heard the worry beneath the rough tone and a dark, twisting coil of fear. Thanks to McClane, Riley’s options were severely limited; death might actually be preferable to some of the other possible outcomes. Where Misha’s morbid mind had tortured him with the specter of comas and brain damage before, it was now whispering encouraging things like
lifelong imprisonment
and, much worse,
vivisection
. Riley, so used to wide open space, locked in a tiny cell. Riley, strapped to a table, bared to the merciless stares of faceless spooks, reduced to a piece of flesh to be studied.
No
, Misha thought, torn between terror and the cold, vicious madness that had woken in him when he’d seen Dotty’s Diner go up in fire and smoke. This was not going to happen. Not while Misha was still alive.

That was when Andrej lost his marbles. “J.C.!” he bellowed. “Cheat sheet! Now!”

J.C. unhesitatingly joined the madness by calling back, “Coming!” and ran for the house.

Misha blinked. “What the hell?”

“Don’t look at me,” Kolya growled testily. “Nobody tells me anything.”

C
OWBOYS
, aliens, hit men, and now a canyon full of survivalists. Young stared down into the chasm and the flurry of movement their approach was causing and shook his head in disbelief. How was this his life? It was over the top, completely unreal. Butler had been right, this could’ve been a bad action movie. All it needed was a ruggedly handsome hero and a damsel in distress running for their lives. He scanned the ground suspiciously and felt his eyes widen when he promptly spotted a tight formation of people making their way across the canyon. They were the only group that didn’t fit into the smooth pattern of activity going on as the survivalists scrambled to get into position to defend their territory.

Young brought up his weapon and peered through the scope. Four men. Running full tilt, one in jeans and a T-shirt, the others wearing dress pants and white shirts. They were followed by half a dozen men in dark suits. Definitely not survivalists.

“Two o’clock,” Young barked. “The runners.”

The pilot obediently veered off into the indicated direction and the rest of their small armada followed suit. Young could tell that someone—probably the leader of the survivalist outfit down below—was hailing them on an open channel, but Young had no intention to negotiate with whatever redneck crackpot was on that line. He was interested in the alien and its human host, in that order. If he could manage, he’d love to take out the fuckers who’d rolled his men at the diner, but they weren’t a priority right now. Under different circumstances, he’d have shot the lot of them from the air before he dealt with the alien, but this was home ground, not a foreign war zone. There were certain rules to observe.

“Loudspeaker’s on, sir,” the copilot offered, handing over the mike.

Young snatched it up. “This is the United States Army,” he barked, mostly so nobody could claim they hadn’t properly identified themselves. “Put down your weapons and—”

One of the runners turned around and started shooting. The rounds pinged harmlessly off the reinforced belly of the Black Hawk, but they got the message across loud and clear: these were excellent marksmen down there, and no, they weren’t going to surrender and hand over the alien like good citizens. Young hadn’t expected them to, which was why he’d brought enough firepower to level the whole damn canyon. He handed back the mike with a thin smile.

“I’d say that’s a go.”

I
T
WASN
’
T
even a proper warning.

It was a jolt of alarm that hit every nerve of Riley’s body at the same time like a kick to the cerebellum.

“Scatter!”

He yelled the order as he dove at Misha and tackled him to the ground, trying to cover every inch of the man’s body with his own, because he knew, he just
knew
the goddamn idiot wasn’t going to leave his side, not even for better cover.

The closest two helicopters opened fire a second later.

Eh, he wouldn’t have made it to better cover anyway
, McClane noted philosophically. He flexed like a muscle, licked across Riley’s skin hot and cold at once. Riley scowled, ducked his head down instinctively and clung to Misha with all his might, needing him to be safe. Bullets kicked up dust and stone shards around them, and a weird prickling sensation pebbled all over Riley’s body. Misha cursed and struggled under him.

“Hold the fuck still!” Riley snarled, stressed out and totally willing to take it out on Misha, because he’d rather not distract McClane right then. He tried to make himself taller, cursing the few inches Misha had on him, hoping desperately that luck would be on their side for once. He realized the prickling was caused by whatever McClane was doing to disperse the impact of the bullets. “We got this. We’re fine.”

Tell him to tuck in his arms
, McClane suggested mildly.

“Tuck in your arms,” Riley hissed out from between clenched teeth and nudged Misha’s ankles closer together with his feet.

Misha tucked in his arms. “You okay?”

Something ricocheted off Riley’s head. A small cactus exploded to their right. Riley had barely noticed the hit. “I’m good.”

Misha tried to look around, but stopped moving when Riley growled at him. “What about the others?”

Andrej got grazed
, McClane reported, effortlessly filtering through the sensory input Riley couldn’t make sense of in all the chaos.
Kolya’s got him under cover. Three of the Russians are dead. The others got away in time.
He paused.
Oh. Awesome. J.C.’s men got grenade launchers too. I recommend we run like hell before they drop a helicopter on us
.

“Three dead so far, Andrej and Kolya are mostly okay,” Riley summed it up for Misha. “Get ready to run.”

Misha tensed without actually moving. “Ready when you are.”

One
, McClane muttered.

“Misha!” Andrej’s voice was a roar of fear and fury, loud enough to cut through the deafening cacophony of death hammering down around them.

“I’m good!” Misha yelled back.

Two
.

“On my mark, run,” Misha screamed into the noise.

Something exploded with a dull
whoomp
and a sudden flare of brightness and heat in the air above. The helicopters bearing down on them ducked away from the blast.

Now
.

“Run!” Riley grabbed Misha and pulled him up with him.

“Andrej!” Misha yelled, up and off like a shot without further prompting. One of his hands darted out to snatch Riley’s jeans. He hooked two fingers through a belt loop and together they sprinted toward where Andrej and Kolya had popped up from behind a rock like a pair of murderous jacks-in-the-box.

“We gotta get up there.” Andrej pointed at a door set into the sheer canyon wall up ahead and to their right.

Kolya looked up. “Not gonna make it.”

Heart in his throat, Riley did a quick three-sixty and took stock. It was like they’d been picked up and dropped right into the middle of a war. The survivalists had rallied and were giving the soldiers hell, tying up more than half of the Black Hawks in a fierce gun battle. The remaining Russians had joined forces with them, but they were going to lose anyway. One helicopter, scorched and smoking, was currently trying to swing an emergency landing at the other end of the canyon, but the ones that weren’t busy raining down death on J.C.’s boys were already swooping back in and bearing down on Riley and his woefully outgunned escort. Well, the ones that weren’t hovering low, heavily armed soldiers pouring from their bellies. If they didn’t get a move on, they’d be cut off by the ground troops. And their dogs. What the fuck?

“Goddamn it,” Riley breathed.

McClane wasn’t fazed.
Bringing down a chopper
, he suggested,
might buy us some time
.

Bringing down a helicopter would kill the crew. Riley glanced at his companions. Thought of bullets barely felt. They’d shielded Misha just fine.

Can’t protect them all
, McClane told him bluntly.
Right now, it’s kill or be killed. I vote kill
.

Riley took in the trail of destruction the helicopter-mounted machine guns had left. The bullet-riddled corpses of the Russian mobsters who’d tried to protect Misha, blood and pieces of them smeared all over the rocky ground. If Misha lost Andrej or Kolya to this, it’d break him.

Do it
, Riley thought, but in the end they did it together, smooth as if they’d practiced the move a million times. Riley had his father’s gun drawn and aimed before anybody realized what he was up to. His world dipped into cool blue, narrowed and zoomed in on his target until all he could see was the face of the pilot. Mid-thirties, smooth features, cool eyes that seemed to meet Riley’s gaze across the distance. He looked close enough to touch and very intent on his own target, which was Riley. And Misha. Riley’s arm had never been steadier.

Now
, McClane whispered in his mind and they pulled the trigger as one. There was absolutely no recoil. They adjusted their aim minutely and put a second round through the co-pilot’s head. He was dead before the pilot had sagged down onto the controls and the helicopter dropped like a stone, nose first. The other helicopters veered off sharply when one of the pilots realized what had happened and warned the others.

Yes
, McClane confirmed Riley’s half-formed question,
I’m patched into their frequency. Run
.

Riley turned back to Misha, who was staring at him with something like awe, something like shock, and knew he’d do it again in a heartbeat. Fuck ethics. Anybody who tried to kill Misha was fair game.

Noted
, McClane hummed.
RUN
.

They ran.

“
W
HAT
the fuck just happened?” Young bellowed, trying to make sense of why the helicopter next to his would suddenly, for no discernible reason, take a nosedive and kamikaze into the ground. He grabbed the edge of the open hatch to steady himself as the Black Hawk dipped sharply under him.

“Stinger Five is down, sir,” the pilot informed him, voice tight with tension and more than a hint of disbelief. “Break.” There was a pause as he conferred with the other pilots then he clarified, “Tango shot both pilots, over.”

Which was, had been, an impossible shot. Two impossible shots. No way had one of the killer yuppies been the shooter. Something else had pulled that trigger and while it confirmed that they were chasing the right target, it turned Young’s stomach to ice, the realization of what this creature was capable of with nothing but a handgun. Its apparent ability to pick up a weapon and use it, better than any human could, effectively axed any illusions of a viable “safety radius.” Forget about being jumped. That alien fucker was learning how to take them out long distance.

For a second, Young was tempted to just unload all of the Spitfires on the parasite and its human supporters and blow them all to kingdom come, but given their limited supply of warheads and the entity’s enhanced reflexes, he didn’t dare risk it. If they missed, they were screwed. They needed to corner the critter, push it up against a rock wall or into a side canyon where it didn’t have so much room to maneuver. It meant taking losses, but Young didn’t see any other options. They didn’t have a choice but to engage. They wouldn’t get better conditions than this and they couldn’t let this thing escape and adapt. He tapped his throat mike.

“Stinger One. All units, open fire.”

T
WICE
more the Black Hawks gunning for them got too close.

Twice more Riley and McClane pulled off impossible shots, taking down whichever helicopter was closest with a pilot/co-pilot double tap, once through the windshield and once through the side window. Didn’t matter how small the target or tricky the angle. Riley didn’t waver. McClane didn’t miss.

By the time they reached the door, Andrej and Kolya were eying Riley warily from the corner of their eyes, but they didn’t say a word about the absurd accuracy of his shooting. No way had they missed that the back of Riley’s T-shirt was tattered from the hits he had taken, either, or that he always seemed to know exactly when it was time to stop, turn, and fire. The jig, as Riley’s dad would’ve said, was up. Riley didn’t worry about it. They had bigger problems right then. The fact that the goddamn door was locked, for example.

“Fuck.” Andrej slammed his fist against the metal in frustration. “Left the keys with J.C.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” Kolya barked.

Incoming
, McClane hissed, and then, alarmed,
big-ass gun!

Riley turned and caught a glimpse of a soldier lying flat on his belly in the open cargo area of one of the Black Hawks hovering just out of range, calmly taking aim with what looked like the mother of all sniper rifles. McClane did the math. Their heart stuttered in their chest. The motherfucker was aiming for Misha.

No
.

They moved faster than ever before, spun and jammed Riley’s body between the bullet and Misha. It was different than taking a round from the mounted machine guns; different kind of gun, different kind of ammo. Whole different kind of kick. Even with McClane dispelling most of it, the force of the impact drove them forward into Misha, who caught them instinctively, but staggered back a step. His head threatened to smash against the metal door and Riley dropped his gun to cushion the blow with his hand.

For a moment, they were frighteningly vulnerable, pinned against the locked door with no cover except for Riley’s alien-armored body, and nowhere to go. Misha’s hair was soft where the back of his skull was still cradled in Riley’s palm. His breath was hot against Riley’s skin, ragged puffs like little ghost kisses. He was looking over Riley’s shoulder and clinging to Riley with as much fierce determination as Riley was holding on to him, both of them resolved to pretend that they hadn’t reached the end of the line, that they still had a chance to get out of this together.