Burnt Sienna

“Are you okay?” he blurted.

“… Head hurts.”

“We have to get out of here.” He coughed from the black smoke that swirled around him, stinging his throat. “This thing might explode.”

That caught her attention. After one more dazed look at him, she was suddenly animated, freeing her harness, shoving at the hatch on her side of the chopper. “It’s stuck! It won’t -”

Malone desperately tried his own side and groaned when he found that it, too, was stuck, the impact having twisted it. Sweat stung his eyes as he strained to his limit, his nerves quickening when the hatch reluctantly creaked open. One of the blades had been bent down by the force of the landing. Rotating, it had struck a boulder and frozen, jamming the rotor so that the other blades were frozen also.

At least, I don’t have to worry about one of them spi

He had plenty to worry about as it was. When he jumped free, then turned to grab Sie

Leaping down, Sie

Hearing a whoosh behind him, Malone recognized the distinctive sound of flames reaching spilled fuel. He barely saw a gully suddenly appear before he had time to jump instead of stumble into it. He landed and rolled, Sie

They stared apprehensively at each other, their eyes asking if either was hurt, each quietly responding, I’m all right, but what about you? Tasting sweat, smoke, and dust, Malone tried his arms and legs. After Sie

“How far is that airfield?” Sie

“Maybe a half mile.”

“We’re wasting time.” She climbed painfully out of the gully. “But if we ever get away, you’re going to tell me how you learned about this place.”

He didn’t know how to respond. Not that it mattered. As they climbed the rocky slope, another sound intruded. Malone now had an added taste in his mouth – coppery, that of fear – as he turned toward approaching engines and saw three four-wheel-drive vehicles speed past trees on a road below him. They swerved into the bumpy field that led in this direction.

People from a nearby farm? Malone wondered. Did they see the chopper go down and come to help? The state-of-the-art vehicles, almost military in design, made his heart sink with doubt. So did the relentlessness with which their occupants ignored the jostling punishment of the uneven terrain.

“It’s Derek,” Sie

Despite her bruised legs, she spun toward the crest and ran.

12

As his vehicle jolted across the field, Bellasar gripped the steering wheel harder and glared through the windshield toward the smoke and flames billowing from the wreckage. “Does anybody see survivors?”

Increasing speed despite the shocks to the vehicle, he sca

There damned well had better be survivors, he thought, steering sharply toward the right. It no longer mattered to him that he had been making arrangements for Sie

“I see movement!” The guard next to Bellasar pointed toward the right, toward where Bellasar steered.

Even the toughest civilian four-wheel-drive vehicle would have long since broken its suspension, so punishing was the rocky terrain. But one of Bellasar’s engineering teams had developed a military version that had civilian styling, rode well, was heavily armed, and would survive just about any hardship demanded of it. A number of drug lords and dictators had ordered the armor-plated model, but before making delivery, Bellasar had wanted to test it further. It gave him great satisfaction that its performance this afternoon left no doubt that it was ready.

You think you can get away from me? he mentally shouted toward the two partially glimpsed figures who scrambled up the slope. You think you have even the slightest chance?

Reaching the bottom of the slope, not bothering to reduce speed as he jolted upward, he saw the smoke disperse enough to verify that the scurrying figures were in fact Sie

Each weapon was capable of swiveling within a thirty-degree radius, of being raised and lowered within a similar range, and of firing independently. Bellasar didn’t worry that shots would bring the police. This was still his property; he sometimes tested weapons here. Farmers in the area would think it was business as usual. Judging the distance and angle, he used his right hand to maneuver the right stick, pressed a button on top of it, and heard a brrrrp, its vibration negligible as a stream of bullets tore up the slope to the right of his targets. He didn’t want to hit them. God no. He wanted to scare them and convince them that ru

Sie

Bellasar tracked them with the left machine gun. About to press its button and tear up the slope farther to their left, he had to jerk his hand from the stick and grip the steering wheel, needing both hands to veer around a boulder that loomed ahead of him. The instant he was safely around it, he gripped the stick again and refocused his gaze on the ru

Or tried to. In the few seconds it had taken him to avoid the boulder, Sie