Chapter 10 - The Ridge Line Ambush
The red laser beam danced erratically across the frosted hood of the truck, casting a bloody glow over the windshield where Lily stirred restlessly in her sleep. Mark didn't hesitate. With a raw, primal roar, he threw open the rear door of the truck, scooped Lily into his arms, and hurled himself and the child behind the thick, rotting timber of a fallen oak tree just as a high-powered sniper round punched clean through the truck’s engine block with a deafening metallic crack. Steam hissed furiously from the radiator, filling the cold mountain air with a thick white cloud that momentarily blinded the hidden shooters up on the ridge.
Torres scrambled out of the truck bed, rolling across the gravel and coming up beside Mark with his pistol drawn and a smoke grenade clutched in his left fist. "They've got high ground on both sides of the ravine! We're pinned!" Torres shouted over the whistle of another incoming round that splintered the bark inches from his head. Mark pulled Lily tightly against his chest, shielding her eyes with his palm as dirt and wood chips rained down upon them. "Get her up the trail, Ray! Use the culvert tunnel behind the old mill! I'll cover your flank!" Mark yelled, his voice laced with absolute, unyielding determination.
Torres grabbed Mark by the shoulder, his eyes wide with disbelief. "I'm not leaving you here to die alone, Miller! We move together or we don't move at all!" Mark shoved Torres toward the hidden trail entrance behind the sawmill, his expression fierce and cold. "Move your ass, soldier! That's an order! Get Lily to the bunker and upload that data, or everything we bled for in sector four was for nothing!" Torres gritted his teeth, hoisted his duffel bag over his shoulder, and grabbed Lily by the hand, hauling her up the steep, muddy embankment toward the cover of the dense pine forest just as another volley of sniper fire chewed up the ground where they had been standing a second before.
Mark rolled out from behind the log, bringing his tactical rifle to his shoulder and squeezing off three rapid rounds toward the rocky ledge where the sniper flash had originated. A muffled cry echoed from the heights, followed by the clatter of loose stones tumbling down the cliffside. But Mark knew he couldn't hold the position alone for long. Out of the brush along the tree line, three Blackwood operatives in full tactical gear emerged, advancing methodically with their rifles raised, their visors reflecting the pale morning light. Mark backed away slowly, firing suppressive bursts as he retreated toward the mill, his ammunition counter blinking dangerously low on his vest display.
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As Mark backed through the rotting double doors of the old sawmill, a heavy shadow fell across the room. He spun around, raising his rifle, only to find Agent Vance standing calmly in the center of the debris-littered floor, holding a clean leather briefcase in one hand and a loaded sidearm pointed lazily at the floor. Vance didn't look like a man chasing fugitives through a freezing mountain; he looked like a CEO waiting in a boardroom. "It’s over, Mark," Vance said smoothly, lowering his weapon slightly as he gestured to the surrounding shadows where more operatives were quietly stepping out of the dark. "You can't outrun a corporation that writes its own laws. Now, where is Torres and the girl?"
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