Page 85 of Lash

"Copy," comes Solomon's voice. "Engage. Weapons free."

"Alright," Rev says. "Let's fuckin' go, boys and girls.”

Nico is on his feet at the big machine gun, and the weapon is belching fire and noise, and the whole vehicle shudders and rocks with the recoil. Rev twists in the seat to lean through theopen window, tucks his rifle to his shoulder, and opens fire, adding to the deafening barrage of gunfire.

Nico's first burst walks rounds toward the enemy vehicle, sending chunks of road spraying everywhere, and then the rounds smash into the SUV's hood and shatter the windshield. White smoke billows from the hood and the big vehicle wobbles, spins sideways, and then flies into a barrel roll. The vehicle behind it swerves and barely avoids it, only to meet Rev's bullets, which pock the hood and put spiderwebbing holes in the glass. Nico sends another burst at them, and the glass shatters and red sprays, but the vehicle continues after us. Someone in the Suburban returns fire, and I see the metal of the bed pock and dent and divot inches from Nico, and then the rear window shatters. I duck, screaming, as more rounds thunk into the console inches from me. Nico fires another burst and these rounds smash into their hood, loosing a cloud of white smoke, and the vehicle wobbles, brakes, and fishtails.

Rev doesn't let up, pouring fire into the vehicle even after it has halted, and I catch a glimpse of crimson spray. His weapon clicks, and he passes it to me, shouting "RELOAD!"

I trade with him as we practiced, put a new mag in the weapon, and spend the next few moments thumbing shells into the plastic magazine.

"I think I might've killed someone just now," Rev says, conversationally.

"But you don't know," Kane answers, "So don't fuckin' worry about it. This is survival, bro. Mercado can send a fuckin' army after us."

Two down, two to go. The other two have closed the gap, and now men are leaning out of both rear windows of the lead SUV, their rifles chattering—their shots go wide, although one smashes the side view mirror on the driver’s side.

Nico fires another long burst, pauses, and fires again, but the Suburban swerves just in time and the rounds hit the vehicle behind them—tires pop, the hood sprouts holes, smoke billows, and that vehicle brakes and spins to a halt. The Suburban swerves, narrowly avoiding oncoming cars. The shooters open fire at the same time, and several rounds walk with vicious violence up the bed and into the seat next to Rev, into the console, and into the radio, smashing it to splinters. I duck instinctively—a round punches through the headrest where my head was moments before, and then through the windshield. Nico's weapon barks, and the technical shudders with the recoil, and Rev fires as well. More rounds clank and thunk off the side of the truck, and glance off the roof.

And then Rev grunts in pain, pulling himself into the cab with a string of curses. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, fuck. That fuckin' hurt, you fuckin' twat." He's bleeding from the arm. "Goddammit. Lash, finish them off, for fuck's sake!"

"How bad is it, Rev?" Kane asks, without turning to look.

“Had worse," Rev answers, peeling his shirt off with a wince and grunt. "Through the bicep."

Nico loads a new belt into the gun, he racks the action, and pours another long burst at the final Suburban—the shooters are reloading as well. Nico is faster, and his rounds smash through the driver's side of the glass and send a cloud of red mist up to paint the interior—the vehicle swerves, tilts, and rolls; an oncoming car avoids it, but another isn't so lucky, causing a pileup.

The sudden silence is strangely loud—the only sound is the whistle and roar of the wind through the windows.

Rev rips a strip from the hem of his shirt and ties it around his wound, gripping one end in his teeth and yanking it tight until he grunts in pain. That done, he sags against the seat, panting.

"Getting shot fuckin' sucks," he mutters.

"Yeah, it definitely doesn't tickle," Kane answers. He looks at me briefly. "You good?"

I finger the hole in the headrest, feeling shaky. “That one was close."

Kane touches a hole in the dashboard—that round nearly hit him as well. "Yeah, that one almost had my name on it."

I hold out my hand, which trembles uncontrollably. "I cannot stop shaking."

He nods. "Adrenaline. It'll pass. Just focus on breathing." He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. "You did good, Tatiana, real good."

Rev squeezes my shoulder as well. "Yeah you did. Good job, darlin'."

I give them each a weak smile, and then look at Nico through the now-shattered window. He's leaning against the back of the cab, a hand pressed to his hip.

Blood streams down his thigh, and he slumps slowly to his butt in the truck bed.

"Nico!" I cry, scrambling over the console and leaning through the rear window frame. “You're hit!"

snuggle-fest

Lash

Igently but firmly push Tatiana back into the cab and away from the window frame. "You will get cut."

She resists. "Nico, let me see."