Page 41 of Trigger Discipline
Jerking free, Blake slid out from under Gabriel to look out the window. The blinds had fallen with the force of the explosion, and he had an unobstructed view of an old rust colored truck careening around the corner. Driving erratically on three tires, what paint was left on the side of the door wasmelting. Someone was standing in the back, one hand braced on the tailgate, the other popping off rounds from a small handgun. The driver was trying to keep the truck going, but was having a hard time, the engine sputtering as he popped a curb trying to avoid a pothole in the asphalt.
Two FUDs were chasing the truck, their wicked pinchers snapping together with glee. Tommy saw one big Handler lumbering after them, pausing to take aim as the truck zigged and zagged to avoid those nasty twin guns.
Footsteps lumbered down the hallway, and Blake turned in time to see Tommy staring out the window, wide-eyed. He took one look at the scene before darting toward the door. Phin caught him by the arm.
“Hell no, kid,” he snapped, one hand on Tommy and the other buckling his plate carrier.
“They need help!” Tommy shouted, trying to wriggle out of Phin’s massive hand. “I’m going to help them!”
Phin groaned as he gave up trying to put on his armor, grabbing Tommy with two hands so he could bodily pick him up and put him behind him, away from the door. “No,” he said shortly. “Weare going to help them. You’re going to stay here and get ready to treat any wounded.”
Tommy started to protest but Phin crowded him, a hand on either of his biceps. He squeezed. “I need you to stay here,” he whispered low, like he didn’t want anyone else to hear. It sounded a lot like a plea.
Staring up at him in shock, it was all Tommy could do to nod dumbly. With a grunt, Phin turned back to the team and finished putting on his helmet and plate carrier. Gabriel checked them over critically before they muscled out the door. Leaving Tommy and Blake behind.
CHAPTER 13
LIGHT ‘EM UP
Gabriel waited until the truck sped past them before bounding out. His men fanned out, taking up easily defensible positions. Their ammo was low. Their hopes of getting out alive even lower. Still, they would provide all the cover they could, for as long as they could. He prayed it would be enough.
The truck skidded to a halt, the smoking engine finally stalling just as they cleared the dry cleaners. He didn’t have time to focus on what the two people in the truck were doing; he was too busy peppering the first FUD with a spray of bullets.
Judd made it to the other side of the street and was currently engaged with the second FUD. He was shouting directions to Phin. The grenadier had managed to muscle past the two FUDs and was aiming at the Handler, cursing his lack of heavier firearms.
Kneeling behind the corner of a building, Gabriel tried to focus while keeping an eye on each of his men. With no real way to communicate with them, he would have to hope they could anticipate his orders.
Blake’s words were ringing in his ears. The alienssacrificed agility for their guns. The Handler wouldn’t be difficult to predict, but the FUDs were fast. Chittering and quick, it wouldn’t take much for one of their little T. rex arms to chop a limb off. Or a head.
“Here.” A thick canvas drawstring bag rolled to his feet. It was covered in dirt and blood.
Gabriel turned to see a young man kneeling beside him, wrenching open the bag and handing him fresh magazines. Judging by his uniform, he looked like he was National Guard. Gabriel couldn’t see any more than that because his face was covered in blood.
“Get into the fire station,” he barked, reaching into the bag and taking two magazines, sliding them into the pocket in his pants. “We got medical in there.”
The man had an M16 strapped to his back. He pulled it free and slapped a fresh magazine in. “I can shoot.”
“Can you even see?” he shouted over another burst of gunfire, keeping his eyes on the target.
“I said I can fucking shoot!” he grabbed the bag and took off across the street, head low, blindly firing in the direction of the FUDs. A blast from the rail gun sent him flying. The skinny guy didn’t stop, rolling to his feet and limping over to Judd. He tossed the bag at him, the same as he did with Gabriel, taking up position to cover him while he reloaded.
With one eye on the FUDs, the other on the Handler, he lost track of the kid. But judging from the way Judd whooped with renewed vigor, he’d been resupplied by the quick soldier.
Like a fucking cat, the kid ran through gunfire to make sure they all had enough ammo. Standing beside Phin, he emptied his own gun, eyes wild, his face savage beneath the blood. He must have been one of the guys in the truck, but Gabriel didn’t know where the second had gone.
Phin had the Handler up against a building, but slowing his movement wasn’t a problem. They needed the thing tochase them. Whipping around the building, he jumped the hand railing in front of the nail salon and pounded pavement. One of the FUDs caught the movement, leaping for him.
Slamming on the brakes, Gabriel threw himself backward while the thing slammed into the side of the salon. Crashing through brick and flimsy drywall, sending a plume of dust and debris raining over him. Lifting a hand to shield his face, he heard one of the big shoulder guns go off. Without thinking he rolled into the street, dropping off the curb, and kicking his legs hard to put some distance between him and the FUD.
An explosion rocked him back, sending him flying across the asphalt. His arm screamed, but he pushed himself up. Eyelashes thick with dirt, he looked up in time to see the FUD smoking and shaking, whistles turning to shrieks as the Handler’s ordinance ate through its body. Its arms snapped, shaking, before it collapsed on its face.
“Gabriel, move!” Judd’s voice cut through his haze, and he looked up in time to see the second FUD’s triangular head twist toward him. Its front legs clacked against the pavement, grinding metal across the porous surface.
Getting his feet under him, he lifted his gun just to see the Handler rounding on Phin. It had him pressed back into the alley where he wouldn’t be able to move.
Adjusting his aim, he shot up the back of the Handler. It stilled, head tilting to get a look at him.
The FUD and the Handler were both staring him down, heedless of the bullets pinging off their metal sides.