Clay pointed the shotgun up the slope. Celine could just make out the men starting to climb down. Despite the headlights that lit the scene, the men above still hadn’t seen the group yet, thanks to the heavy undergrowth. It wouldn’t be long before they did.
“Great, just what we need, Los Hooligans hound-doggin’ us every step of the way home,” spat Clay.
Danny looked up. “You know I didn’t invite them, right?”
“We gotta move,” said Clay.
“They’re going to catch us without trying.” Danny motioned at the woman who lay twisted on the ground.
“Damn it, there’s half a dozen of those butt monkeys coming. I’d give my back teeth for a fully loaded M4 and a bag of ammo right now.”
“My van’s totalled,” Danny said. “We can’t go back that way and we can’t run with the wounded.”
“Please, don’t leave us!” Celine rested a hand on the injured woman’s forehead. A mixture of pride and fear swept over her as Danny replied, “We’re not leaving anyone behind.”
“Everybody, get down!” Clay bared his teeth in the glance he exchanged with Danny. “They’re on us in twenty seconds.”
Celine said a silent prayer, crossing herself as she did so.
Rebecca joined Celine and Danny by the side of the maimed woman. Her words came loud and fast. “We’ve got to create a diversion. Get their attention. Give Danny and Clay a chance to come at them sideways. Let them get away from us, then everybody scream as goddamn loud as you can!”
“That might just work.” Clay traced a rapid arc in the air with one finger. Danny gave a single nod then reached into the cab of the ruined van. The blade of the machete glinted.
The Gunn brothers sprinted away from the group. The shadows swallowed the brothers within seconds.
As soon as they vanished, Rebecca and Celine let loose with bestial screams, long and furious. Gillian and Laura dropped next to them, giving voice. Like a pack of primal creatures, the others joined in the fearful cacophony.
The four men were nearly upon them, bringing the promise of death or further captivity with them. The men moved in pairs, the white material of their shirts looking like V-shaped wraiths in the darkness of the jungle.
Celine continued to scream. Each throat-rending shriek was a sliver of glass scraping the length of her vocal cords. Desperate faces surrounded her. Some crouched at the side of the ruined van, a few still peering from the back of the pickup. All looked as terrified as Celine felt. Yet in the fear was a rising defiance. Clay and his brother were risking their lives to save them. Celine took a deep breath and continued to scream.
The scream faltered in her throat as a loud boom split the night. The two cartel soldiers, seconds from running into the midst of Celine’s group, spun on their heels. One of the gunmen pitched onto his face in a cloud of red.
Now the cartel men were screaming. Flashes from their handguns accompanied the frenzied burst of fire. To Celine, the three pistols sounded like a firework display, each staccato crack immediately followed by another.
Boom!
Clay’s shotgun roared again, thirty feet from his first position. A second cartel man went down onto his knees. The man raised his weapon with a string of foul language.
Boom. The injured man was punched into the ground by Clay’s follow-up shot.
The closest shooters sent a volley at Clay’s position.
The shooter without the jacket turned and fired a shot that missed Celine by mere inches. “Stop that damned screaming!”
Celine fell silent, not because of the threat from the cartel, but from the sight of Danny Gunn emerging like a demon from the darkness. The machete he wielded moved faster than her eyes could follow. The man’s severed hand, still clutching his pistol, sprang from his extended arm. The man staggered into the light, blood spraying onto the white fabric of his shirt. Another slash caught him across the side of the neck. The man dropped to his knees. As fast as Danny had appeared, he blended back into the darkness.