AS SOON AS FRANCESCA made it into the cover of the trees on the slope behind the lodge, she dropped her backpack and ripped off the bulky moon suit. She was out of breath, and had to wipe the sweat from her eyes to see the lodge clearly. Lacey and Skylar were crouched low beside her, staring at the open window in the back. They’d carted the kids’ packs and Marshall’s gear up the hill, and still they’d beat her to the trees. Lacey’s face was pinched in fear. Her husband was still inside.
“Come on, baby,” Lacey said under her breath. “Move, move, move…”
A buzz came from their left, like the sound of a disturbed beehive. It was faint at first but got louder quickly. When Francesca followed the sound, she spotted a faint line of red LED lights streaking through the trees toward the lodge.
Drones.
“God, no,” Skylar said.
As Francesca’s gaze swept from the lodge to the drones and back again, she saw Marshall launch headfirst out the window. He landed so far outside that he must’ve been running at top speed when he dove through. When he hit the ground he tucked a shoulder, somersaulted to his feet, and kept moving in an all-out sprint up the hill.
Lacey jumped up. “Run!”
He was halfway to them when the drones broke into the clearing, split in eight separate directions, and rocketed into all four sides of the lodge at once. The blast wave that followed singed Francesca’s skin and knocked her from her feet. She shook her head, pushed up, and gasped for air. The lodge was engulfed in flames, and Marshall was trudging toward them with smoke spewing from his back.
Skylar grabbed one of the discarded moon suits, raced to him, and draped the suit over his shoulders. Lacey was right there with her, patting out the embers on the back of his hair.
“Gotta…keep moving,” Marshall said breathlessly.
Lacey wrapped an arm around him. “You sure you’re okay?”
With his drawn expression and smoking hair, he looked like he’d stepped out of hell. But his eyes were alert. He ran his hand over the back of his singed hair. “Won’t need a haircut for a while.”
Lacey slugged him.
“Enough love talk, you two,” Skylar said as she hoisted Marshall’s satchels. “We’re not out of the woods yet.” She took off up the hill.
Francesca marveled at how easily the three of them sloughed off the near-death experience. It reminded her of Jake, and she felt a quiver of hope at the realization she would soon be with him and Alex again. But first they needed to locate Ahmed and Sarafina.
There was a dirt fire road at the top of the ridge, and when they got there, they found Pete standing outside his stunt-crew truck with an assault rifle in his hands. The broad-shouldered, forty-six-year-old Irishman beamed when he saw them. His thick red hair was swept back from his weathered face, and his trim beard gave him the look of a pirate. He wore his usual multi-pocketed vest over a wrinkled shirt and cargo pants.
“By God, ’tis good to see yer okay, lass,” he said, sweeping Lacey into a big hug.
“Yeah, well, it takes a lot more than a big-ass exploding ball of flames to put me down.” She pulled away and smiled. “As you know better than most.”
“I do indeed,” he said. “I’ve spotted no movement since the explosion, but that doesn’t mean the coast is clear. We need to hightail it.” He opened the rear door of the panel van, which was about the size of a taco truck. It was the mobile workshop Pete and Skylar took with them on film shoots, with a long workbench and shelved cages containing everything from blasting caps to theatrical makeup.
“That’s my seat,” Marshall said. He shrugged the moon suit cape off his shoulders, grabbed his satchels from Skylar, and climbed aboard to sit at a computer station at the far end of the workbench.
Pete patted him on the shoulder as he passed by. “Help yerself to anything ye need, Marsh. ’Tis good to see ye, too, though I amn’t gonna say much about yer poor manners in goin’ before the lasses.” He winked at Francesca.
“He needs to use your system to find my kids,” she said, taking Pete’s hand and climbing in.
“Darlin’, what is it about them kids of yers? Seems like goin’ missing is becoming a bit of habit for them.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Lacey said, jumping in along with Skylar.
Marshall was already distributing items from his satchels onto the workbench by the time Pete got into the driver’s seat. “Back to Simi?” Pete asked, referring to his home and stunt training ranch located in Simi Valley, about a thirty-minute drive from Hollywood.
“LAX first,” Skylar said.
“Really? Where’re we headed?”
“Nowhere. We’re picking up Little Star.”
“The Chinese monk?”
“Yep. But I need to get Lacey dolled up before we meet him.” Skylar set a tackle box on the workbench and opened its expanding trays to reveal a variety of latex prosthetics. She held up a bulbous nose. “Time to wipe some of that pretty off your face, dearie.”
Lacey wrinkled her nose. “You call that getting dolled up?”
“Wouldn’t want anyone recognizing you as one of the Global Terrorist’s crew, now would we?” Lacey was a popular film star, but the world had turned against her just as quickly as it did against the rest of them.
It was eight p.m. Little Star’s flight was scheduled to land in a couple of hours. Francesca wondered again what the man had traveled so far to bring them. She had her suspicions, and if she was right, it could change everything.
“Jeeze,” Marshall said, picking up his smartphone. “Voice mail. Must’ve come in when all hell broke loose.” He stared at the screen. “It’s from Sarafina.” He put it on speaker.
“Uncle Marsh, we’re in trouble,” Sarafina said, her voice raised to speak over what sounded like gusting wind and a speeding car engine. She sounded frightened and her words were rushed. “Ahmed and I came to investigate the ranch near Castaic. We were just going to take a look from a distance, b-but Ahmed went for a closer look, and next thing I know there were a bunch of vans and Ahmed’s not answering. They must’ve found him. I’m following them. What should I…? Wait, what’s that? No!”
There was a scream, the squeal of tires, and a loud explosion.
Francesca’s lungs stopped working.