Impact (Book 5): Black

the rail shed. She paid careful attention to each tuft of tall prairie grass or weedy patch, but none of them were tall enough to hide a person. However, where the weeds and greenery was thickest, she noticed a small drain pipe coming out from under the roadway.
“Ash! I’ve found something!” She trotted over to the pipe, waving to Asher as he came across the white gravel road.
By the time he made it to her, she was crouched next to the pipe. It didn’t seem large enough to fit a person, but she checked anyway. “Oh. My. God. Look!”
She pointed to the bottoms of a pair of boots, toes down, barely inside the hole. They wiggled from side to side, indicating the owner was alive.
“Hey, mister! We’re here to help you!” She motioned for Asher to grab a shoe. She also waved over to Robert, who was spraying a white mist on the fire. He waved back, acknowledging her efforts.
The man had somehow shimmied himself into the hole, but he might have stayed in there forever if she hadn’t noticed him. He seemed unable to move backward. He spoke, too, but it was so muffled and quiet it was impossible to hear what he’d said.
“Pull!” Asher blurted.
The man’s legs slid out. His voice became louder. He was thanking them over and over.
When they pulled half his body from the drain, she recognized the navy-blue material of his TKM shirt. They hesitated for a moment, but the man was able to get his arms free, allowing him to pull himself from his predicament.
She and Asher fell back, reaching for their rifles.
When the man came out, she could confirm he was with TKM, but it wasn’t only due to the shirt.
“Misha?” she snorted, pointing her gun at his face.
He sat in the grass, hands up. “Hello, my friends. I wonder if I—”
“You aren’t my friend! You want to kill us!” Grace sensed her cheeks burn red with anger. His people had shot up Asher’s sister. Shawn Runs Hard. The whole city of Denver. She’d seen all the death up close.
“Is true,” he said in his Russian accent. “But I could call your attention to my saving your life. I used big-ass rifle, no?” He pointed back toward the truck.
It took a few seconds for the words to register. “You saved us from the nutjob in the helicopter?”
“A woman, yes?” he responded.
“She was a woman. Black hair. Likes to shoot machine guns.” Grace hated engaging with him, but there was no denying what he’d done.
“Nerio Torres. Her husband was pilot. They have been sent out here to finish the job I would not do. Kill you two.” He pointed at her and Asher, though it was no surprise.
She reoriented the rifle on him. “And why the hell are you here?”
He lowered his hands, as if unafraid of being shot. “Put guns away. I will explain. I am here to save your lives.”
Boonville, MO
Even going full throttle didn’t seem fast enough to Ezra. He glanced at the map, estimating they had about ten miles between the two bridges. If the men got in their trucks and intended to meet them, they’d be able to go three or four times as fast as his group traveled on the water. His only hope of beating them was they were going almost fifty miles an hour on a straight shot, while the men had to take a longer route with multiple roads.
Fifteen minutes later, the bridge appeared in the distance.
“Are you sure about this?” Butch asked, cradling his rifle.
Haley had asked about using her new rifle, but she’d never fired it. He thought using it would expose her to needless danger, with very little upside. Wherever the men appeared, they would have the concrete railing of the bridge decking to hide behind. They, on the other hand, would be exposed to the world as they splashed on the water. He wanted her to take cover and reduce her risk as much as possible.
“I think we beat them. I don’t see any trucks up there.” He hoped it was all worth it. Their fuel was down to a bit over a quarter of a tank. The last ten miles had burned through a full quarter tank by itself. They’d been forced to slow down and speed up twice when they had to get through short stretches of trash-filled water.
They now faced due west on the wide river, and the concrete span ahead was easily visible since they were on a straightaway. The shifting breeze created a little chop on the water’s surface. It wasn’t glassy as he preferred. Still, it wasn’t enough to slow him down, especially while going in a straight line. He kept the motor’s RPMs maxed out.
“Don’t see ’em yet!” Butch yelled. He’d taken up a position at the bow. He crouched behind what was left of a handrail designed to prevent passengers from falling over the sides and front. It would do nothing against bullets, but at least it hid him from view.
They were about a half mile away when a truck stopped on the bridge. It was easy to spot as there were no trusswork or supports above the roadway. From the side, the span appeared as a flat concrete slab with four pylons pointing into the water. The blue pickup truck drew his eyes to it; there were no other vehicles crossing.
“We’re going for it,” he declared, unwilling to give up the miles of gas they’d burned through.
“Give ’em hell!” Butch screamed into the wind.
As they closed the distance, two more trucks came from the left side and skidded to a stop. Men got out and shuffled around the edge of the bridge, but some of them disappeared almost immediately, as if they had other places to go.
“What are