Avass, Iran
December 5—1505 Hours GMT+3:30
JON SMITH FORCED HIMSELF to slow, glancing over his shoulder at the people strung out behind him. Sarie wasn’t having any trouble keeping up—her life in the African bush had combined with a healthy dose of terror to keep her injured leg turning over. Farrokh was lagging a bit, struggling for breath as he shouted for everyone to stay inside their homes and barricade the doors and windows. Howell was bringing up the rear, running in an awkward sideways lope as he covered their flank.
Satisfied that everyone was all right, Smith faced forward again and leapt over a hastily abandoned basket of vegetables. A burning pain suddenly flared in his head, and he went down on the jagged cobbles, rolling as the sound of the shot bounced off the stone buildings.
His balance was gone and his vision was spinning, making it pointless to attempt to get to his feet. Instead, he stayed as flat as possible, trying to clear his mind. A familiar voice reached him and he crawled toward it, still confused when Sarie grabbed him and dragged him behind a parked car.
“Hold still!” he heard her say as she tore off a piece of the jacket they’d found for her and pressed it to his scalp. “Jon? Are you okay? How many fingers am I holding up?”
He blinked hard and watched her hand come slowly into focus. “Uh… two?”
She helped him to his feet and then carefully let go, making sure he could stay upright on his own.
“I’m fine. It’s just… It’s just a graze.”
“It’s more than a graze, Jon. It looks pretty deep.”
“Don’t worry. It’s not my first.”
“You still with us, mate?”
Howell had broken out the driver’s window of a vaguely Soviet-looking flatbed, and he and Farrokh were pushing it into a position that blocked the street behind them.
“Not dead yet.”
“Well, if we get pinned down here, you will be soon.”
He was right. They didn’t know how many infected were headed in their direction or the positions and strength of the Iranians fighting against them.
“Omidi gave it to them,” Sarie said, sounding a little dazed. “He infected a bunch of innocent people to keep it alive.”
“We’ll worry about that later,” Smith said. “If the guy who just shot me calls in our position or can hop enough rooftops to get above us again, we’re going to have serious problems. We need to keep moving.”
“How? He can—”
“Incoming!” Howell shouted, and they both spun to see a man sprinting around the corner. He let out something between a scream and a choking growl when he saw them, the blood that had run into his mouth spraying down the front of his shirt. Howell rested the butt of his pistol on the hood of the truck while Farrokh fired wildly, managing to hit the man in the stomach and left thigh. Howell did better, catching him just below the sternum and dropping him to the ground. The Brit stayed lined up on the man as he tried desperately to get up, not lowering his weapon until he went completely still.
“Keep our flank covered!” Smith said, pulling Sarie to the wall and tapping the rifle hanging around her neck. “I need you to do something for me.”
“What?” she said.
He pointed to the roofline. “I need you to shoot the guy up there.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Because I can’t see straight, Farrokh can’t shoot straight, and we need Peter behind us.”
“It would be nice if we could get out of here,” Howell called back. “Sooner would be better than later.”
“Working on it!” Smith responded and then turned his attention back to Sarie. “Listen to me. I’m going to run out into the open again. When I do, lean around the corner and sight along the rooftop.”
“Are you crazy? He almost killed you last time and now he’ll be ready.”
“Then you’re going to have to hit him.”
“I’m not a soldier, Jon. I—”
“You are today,” he said, backing away. When he had a good ten yards to get a running start, he took a deep breath and charged forward, passing Sarie as she flattened herself against the building.
He heard a shot and saw the round impact a wall a few feet away. When the second sounded, he tensed, certain it would be the one that got him. He remained upright, though, and a moment later he was safely around the next corner.
A series of bright flashes threw shadows across the building next to him, and he eased back the way he had come, listening to a strange crackling that was impossible to decipher.
A careful peek around the corner revealed the shooter. He’d fallen into a tangle of power lines and was hanging upside down from them as sparks showered the ground.
Sarie, Howell, and Farrokh appeared a moment later, running hard in his direction. He ignored them, instead focusing his attention on a growing drone from above. Two C-130s were coming overhead, flying low enough that he could make out their open doors.
“I don’t suppose you have any antiaircraft capability you’ve been keeping from me?” he said as Farrokh stopped next to him.
The Iranian just shook his head as the first parachutes opened against the deepening blue of the sky.