Page 79 of Trigger Discipline
Judd beamed. “But you admit—it’s a team!”
Phin looked like he was willing to risk intense pain just to launch over Blake to throttle Judd when Tommy giggled slightly. “TeamOh Shit.”
They all paused, staring at the smiling EMT. He looked so happy, with donut dust painting his face and his lips curled into a little self-satisfied smile.
Gabriel buckled his helmet. “Could be worse.”
“Could be Team Dead,” Victoria pointed out.
They gathered themselves up and Judd once again took point. Just as he was about to survey the street, they heard thetelltale clicking followed by an explosion that rattled the shelves.
“Give it an hour,” Blake muttered to himself.
CHAPTER 22
POP SMOKE
Blake glanced over his shoulder as they turned a corner, nearly running right into an overturned moped. Cursing under his breath, he adjusted his grip on Phin, and they clambered over the twisted vehicle, desperate to keep pace. Behind him, Gabriel stopped to listen, cocking his head. There was no change.
The whining was getting closer.
From the moment they stepped out of the convenience store, the aliens had been hot on their ass. Blake had no idea why. He thought they would be disinterested in them if they weren’t shooting. The Monkey Cats should have had their full attention.
Why were they chasing them now?
A bad feeling began nagging at him. It didn’t make any sense. They were moving slowly, and while Judd was doing his best to lose the Off Formers in the maze of side streets and switch backs, it shouldn’t have mattered. A Handler or hell, even a FUD, could have blasted through any of the walls and caught up with them in an instant.
Sweat dripped down the back of his neck, and a stitch pulled at his side. It hurt to breathe, but he couldn’t stop. Phinhad dropped his gun, the barrel bouncing against his leg where it dangled from the strap attached to his plate carrier. Victoria had even acquiesced to Tommy’s help. In any other situation, Blake would have laughed at the sight—Tommy looked tiny next to the statuesque pilot.
Gabriel’s boots skidded as he leaned against a wall, sighting down his rifle to scan behind them. His face was grim. The whining and clacking seemed to be getting closer. Blake could already hear the hydraulic hiss of the rail guns aiming.
When the first shot hit over their heads, Blake stumbled. Crumbling bits of building rained down on them as pain exploded from his chin. He’d struck it on the asphalt, and now he could feel the hot blood pouring down his neck. Dazed, he blinked the dust from his eyes and tried to get his legs to work. They were sluggish, and the urge to just curl up was too great.
A strong hand grabbed him by the belt and jerked him to his feet. “Blake!” Gabriel’s voice sounded far away, but he tried to find it. Shaking his head, the dirty street came into focus just as they started running again. His legs felt heavy, and his chin throbbed with every beat of his heart, but he didn’t have time to check it out.
Gabriel had grabbed Phin when Blake didn’t, and they were limping ahead of him.Shit.That was his job. Gabriel needed to be focusing.
Before he could speed up and take the big grenadier, another shot rang out. Closer this time. Luckily, it was just a drone, so nothing started immolating under them, but he could feel the concussion from where it hit.
The drones don’t have railguns,he thought as he caught sight of one of the ruined pieces of concrete the round had hit. It made sense. They didn’t have the same bracing capabilities as the Handlers.
But that only made him wonder again—why was it chasing them?
Arat-a-tatof gunfire drew Blake’s attention. Ahead, Judd was firing as he backed up, steps steady as he aimed up at a FUD. The claws were snapping, the metallic clang echoing in the narrow alley. Blake grabbed Phin so Gabriel could run forward and help, but it wasn’t doing much. Their bullets plinked right off the FUD’s matte sides.
Backing up, they hit a wall. Their only way out was a narrow side door to a restaurant. Victoria wrenched it open, the metal door screeching against the narrow frame. She stepped inside on her good foot, scanning with her firearm before waving them in.
The interior was dark, but Blake didn’t have time for his eyes to adjust. With the gunfire behind him, he hauled Phin inside, and they made for the front, looking for an exit. Stumbling into tables, Phin yelped when a chair hit him right in the knee. His fingers dug into Blake’s shoulder, but he didn’t say anything else.
Blake caught sight of the front door. The glass had been blown out, but the late afternoon light streamed through clearly. Phin dragged him toward it, but just as he was about to step through, he froze.
This was wrong.
That FUD had been right on Judd, its claws only inches from his face. And the drones hadn’t shot at them since the beginning, preferring to stand back. Judd called them the generals.
Why now? Why was one chasing them for miles, only to let them get away?
His eyes widened. “It’s a trap,” he panted.