Hidden Flames (14 page)
Prue took offence to that and swung her head to the left to get a visual on Deacon. Was it his plan to piss her off and escalate things? If so…he got his wish for what he apparently just put into place. Prue caught the slight nod of his head and then all hell broke loose. She shouldn’t have taken her eyes off of the others.
Owen suddenly switched from not moving to physical action in what seemed like a split second. One of the men was closing on his right, while the one to her left fell to a bone-crushing hammer fist to his right collarbone followed closely by a sweeping kick that dropped the man’s head back against the engine of his own bike.
Owen had one man incapacitated in less than three seconds. He was working on the second charging in from her front when she realized that the third, who had been to her right, had ducked in beside her toward Owen’s bike and had already unzipped one of the cases that held a rifle. It seemed like a lifetime between her recognition of what she saw happening around her and her first action—but she stuck to her word. It was going to be their life or his and hell if she or Owen would be the ones at a disadvantage.
It was as if Prue’s other senses had gone numb with the exception of her sight. She couldn’t hear anything beyond the blood rushing through her ears, even though there were punches being thrown and cries of pain echoing throughout the falling ash. She didn’t smell a thing and couldn’t taste as adrenaline took hold. She didn’t even feel the weapon in her hand, at least until she aimed for the largest part of the man’s body—his chest.
Crack
! Everything rushed back into her at once. The noise was deafening, the massive recoil of the .45 caliber pistol had taken her by surprise, and blood filled mouth from where she’d bit the side of her cheek. The smell of sulfur immediately made itself known when her mask was dragged off of her head, causing her to stumble. Deacon had taken advantage of the situation and used it to gain the upper hand. She twisted around, not knowing if she’d hit the other man. Her focus
had
to be on Deacon and she had to stop him from taking one of their bikes, which had to be his ultimate goal.
Deacon’s large hand wrapped around her wrist and twisted with enough strength that he was able to take her weapon fairly easily. It was a damn good thing that she had enough street smarts to have a back-up plan. She had dropped low enough when he grabbed her that she quickly withdrew the six-inch double-sided blade she had sheathed in her left boot. He’d stepped back fast enough that she was only able to catch his leather-clad forearm, but it was deep enough to have him cussing.
“Bitch,” Deacon spit out, literally. He’d removed the cloth around his mouth and quickly put on her gasmask. Prue was trying like hell not to breathe in too much ash, but she didn’t want to pull her shirt up and over her mouth in case she needed both hands. Adrenaline was still coursing through her and all she needed was an advantage to be able to take him down. She was relatively certain he’d never run into the likes of her and she would see to it that he never forgot. “Well, aren’t you full of piss and vinegar.”
Prue heard some scuffling behind her, but she was too afraid of taking her eyes off of Deacon. He now had the weapon trained on her and he was too far away for her to use her knife. She backed up a step, hoping like hell that Owen had been able to take care of the other men. She was pretty damned sure she got the one she’d shot at and had absolutely no regrets.
“Deacon, your men are of no help to you anymore,” Owen said, his position farther away than she would have liked. She was so relieved to hear his voice that she finally used her left hand to lift her shirt and cover her mouth. Not once did she loosen her grip on her knife though. “Lower the gun.”
“You did exactly what I wanted you to, soldier boy.” Prue cringed at the nickname, because even she knew that a Marine was never referred to by that label. She glanced to her left and then to her right while the men exchanged words. She did have a special talent that would end this, but she needed to be a little farther away from Deacon in order for it to work properly. He was bleeding heavily from his arm if the beam of the flashlight was anything to go by. “Bitch, I’ll shoot you dead if you take one more step back. What we’re going to do now is hop on that bike of yours.”
Prue wouldn’t allow that to happen and she was sure that Owen wouldn’t either, but her heart stopped when Deacon pulled the trigger. He’d aimed the weapon a little to her left, firing toward Owen as he rushed forward and somehow managing to grab a hold of her arm in the process. He had the weapon up against her temple, the hot barrel burning her skin, with her back to his chest in a manner of seconds, ordering her to drop her knife and Owen yelling for her to do what she was told. She released the knife at the same time her shirt slipped, leaving her unable to finish things the way she wanted to. She was now breathing so hard that she was afraid she’d sucked some ash into her lungs.
“Get on your bike,” Deacon demanded, the gasmask digging into the side of Prue’s cheek. “Do it now.”
Prue was finally able to see Owen and his dark eyes were glued to hers. She hadn’t understood until that moment how well she actually knew him. He was going to kill Deacon and all he needed was a shot. His arm was extended and his grip on the weapon didn’t waver. He was confident, which meant she should be too.
Everything went to hell before Prue had a chance to shift her stance. The man that she’d shot came out of nowhere and broadsided Owen. The two men fell to the ground and Prue noticed two things—Owen’s gun was now a foot away from him, but his gasmask managed to stay securely in place. It had to be due to his helmet still being secured on his head. That just went to show her how lazy she’d been in having her guard down. She’d still have her mask on if she hadn’t removed her helmet.
“Move,” Deacon yelled, physically forcing her to get on the bike. Prue debated on whether to fight him, but she wasn’t in a position to argue with a gun to her head. She swung her leg over the leather seat, cringing when he took up the position behind her. “Haul ass now!”
Prue hesitated for a brief moment, her stomach practically sitting in her throat. A deadly calm settled over her when she remembered that her bike was well equipped with several knives she’d personally stashed and revulsion that she’d now turned into a person who had no compunction of taking another life was pushed aside. She wouldn’t allow this bastard to take her life all because he hadn’t had the wherewithal to plan accordingly. Instead, he preyed on the weaknesses of others for his own gain.
Prue had never locked the ignition, so all she had to do was flick the run switch and hit the starter button. The engine revved to life while Owen fought for his on the ground with the guy she thought she’d shot. He now had the upper hand but he wouldn’t be able to reach her in time. She used her boot to retract the kickstand and pulled away, doing her best to keep from breathing deeply as the ash became heavier as she moved through the gears.
She was on her own, but for the first time…she truly believed that she would have help. Owen would stop at nothing to find her and kill Deacon.
O
wen was finally
able to turn his body underneath the man that Prue had shot so that he could gain some leverage. He wrapped his legs around the man’s waist, establishing his guard and shoved him up with his left hand under his chin, thus gaining enough separation to deliver a quick thrusting punch with his right hand directly into the guy’s larynx. The man struggled, but he didn’t have the strength to fight off Owen while strangling in his own blood. This wasn’t a television show or a wrestling match where he could incapacitate his opponent, leaving them to fight another day. None of these men would live to see another day. This was life or death and he wasn’t about to entertain the latter for anyone he was with.
It was never easy taking a human’s life, but Owen had done it in the name of his country many times. He needed to do so now in this new world paradigm. It was what they had been given, regardless of their wishes. He would ensure the others were in fact finished and then set out to locate Prue and Deacon. There was no way in hell he’d continue on without her. The thought never crossed his mind. That one driving mission gave him the strength he needed to finish the dirty job at hand. He rolled the biker’s body off of his and assessed the situation while deliberately slowing his breathing down. All three men were in fact dead and their bikes were essentially useless junk. Owen spotted his weapon and reached for the Sig P220. He holstered it and then sat still with his eyes closed, counting each inhalation. He strained to hear the slightest sound and finally caught the rumble of Prue’s bike power braking in the distance.
Owen didn’t like to think that she was going more than thirty to forty miles per hour in this shit without a mask in place. The description that Berke had laid out to him when a person lined their lungs with ash was enough to fill him with nightmares for years to come. That wouldn’t happen to Prue. He limped to his bike, his body having taken more blows than he’d originally thought. He pushed past the pain in his ribs and managed to snatch the flashlight that had fallen into the ash below his tire.
Owen settled on his bike and turned over the engine, holding the flashlight down so that he could track the direction Deacon had made Prue take through the ash. It wouldn’t be difficult, but he feared that he’d find her body along the way. Deacon didn’t need her anymore and it wouldn’t be long before he took care of business. Owen had to be there before that happened.
Three miles had passed and Owen was tracking Deacon’s progress as if he were following a fat squirrel through wet grass from the neighborhood acorn tree. There was no way to cover up the sound of his approaching engine, which meant he had to go a faster clip to gain ground as well as the advantage. He didn’t see the people step out in front of him until it was too late.
Owen pulled the handlebars to the left, losing control when the back tire skidded out from underneath his weight in the layer of ash. The flashlight dropped and he had just enough time to grit his teeth as he laid into the slide, his leg taking the weight of the bike along with the abrasion from the ash. It was somewhat softer than what the road would have been, but the rough texture did a damn good job in shredding his denim and tearing his shirt. He’d held his elbow into his body, his shoulder receiving the injuries that would have to wait.
Owen had managed to slip out from underneath the sliding bike and was standing before the bulk of metal came to a stop. He didn’t have time to assess the damage to the body of the bike. His sole thought was that Deacon was getting farther and farther away.
“Are you all right?” a man called out, running over and trying to put a hand on Owen’s arm. He didn’t have time for this and shrugged off the concerned gesture. “We tried to flag you down, but it wasn’t our intention to cause you to wreck.”
“I’m fine,” Owen declared, clipping his words. He leaned down and used all his strength to lift his motorcycle from the ground. Miraculously, the supplies had managed to remain intact with the exception of some minor shifting. He immediately used his boot to tap the kickstand into place. How long had passed? He pushed aside his worry and focused on securing the supplies. The faster he was able to get things in order, the quicker he’d be able to get back on the road before the falling ash filled in the tread and he lost her tracks. “Go find a place to hole up—some place with a solid roof that won’t collapse when the ash thickens.”
“We’re headed to the Mexican border,” a woman said behind a handkerchief, coming to stand beside the guy Owen assumed was her husband. “We’re out of gas.”
“It won’t matter.” Owen looked down the road where his headlight shined, the darkness looking more ominous by the passing seconds. He would have sworn the clean air in his mask had evaporated, making it hard for him to breathe. He straightened his bag anyway, along with the weapons and supplies, tightening the cords that had held up during the slide. “You’ll only be able to travel an hour in this ash, if that. The substance is going to corrode the filter and you’ll be stranded.”
Owen refused to turn around when he caught wind of the panicked cries of several people, including children. The engine on his bike had died when he didn’t clutch and the skid killed the engine, so he straddled it and used his thumb to press the starter. It turned over but didn’t start. Fuck, this couldn’t be happening now. The filter must have become clogged from the accident.
“We’re not from around here, so we have no idea where there might be shelter.” The man’s fear practically oozed over his words and Owen wished more than anything he had the ability to help these people. He glanced up while removing the primary intake filter to tap out the impacted ash, noticing that there were a good seven people surrounding him. “Do you know of a place where we can stay until the National Guard arrives? We’d hoped to be in Mexico by now, but…”
The man didn’t have to finish for Owen to understand. He completed the job and reattached the intake. He had his bike up and running in less than thirty seconds. These people needed help and he didn’t have the ability to do so right this minute. That truth went against everything he believed in. The sad certainty of it was that he couldn’t give them what they needed. He wasn’t traveling by the means necessary to take these people somewhere and Prue needed him right now because her life was in danger…imminent danger.