air, hitting them in the face.
The Tesla swiveled left and then right, finally centering as it came to a steaming halt no more than a foot in front of Evan and Keller.
Keller was stooped, his arm swaying from the wrecked shoulder, foam flecking his lips. He coughed out a single note of relief.
The team leader had been tossed forward into the wheel, his handgun thrown onto the dash. He pried himself back, met Evan’s eyes, reached for his pistol.
Evan took hold of Keller’s ruined limb, twisted it into an arm bar, dropped his full weight into the joint lock, and swung the man down and around, tripping him as they fell.
Their shared momentum accelerated Keller’s face as it slammed into the Tesla’s grille.
The air bag deployed, the gun inside the car giving a muffled pop.
Keller slid off the hood and slumped to the ground, his arm striking the asphalt with a moist slap.
A hissing sound issued from the air bag as it deflated, speckled with grit and white powder, a firework burst of crimson across the sturdy nylon. Evan stayed on his knees, panting as the air bag diminished further, revealing the team leader slumped back in the driver’s seat, mouth ajar as if he were sleeping. The air bag’s explosion had propelled the gun upward, causing him to shoot himself in the face.
The autobrakes had delivered him to Evan.
And the air bag had done the rest.
Evan’s ribs ached. His right side was doused in Keller’s blood. The close-range gunshot had reduced his hearing to a ringing whine, and cotton filled his head. Enough adrenaline had dumped into his bloodstream to make him light-headed.
He allowed himself the luxury of three full breaths. Then he pulled himself upright, his lower back aching.
No bystanders. No sirens. Not yet.
First step, he told himself. Secure your weapon.
He trudged over behind the Mustang, the blown-out heel of his boot lopsiding his gait. The metallic rasp of the exposed shank against the asphalt accompanied every other step. He picked up the ARES where he’d dropped it and slotted a fresh magazine in. Heading back to the kiosk, he staggered a bit but then regained his balance.
Next in the gear checklist was the RoamZone. Not surprisingly, it had cracked in the brawl, turning the screen into a mosaic. As he moved through the labyrinth of cars, he placed both his thumbs over the fault lines and applied pressure, the self-repairing polyether-thiourea knitting itself back together before he reached the clearing.
Diaz was right where Evan had left him, pinned to the wall by his hand, his weapons on the ground just out of reach. Fighting the pain in his impaled palm and quaking on his intact right leg, he strained to reach the MP5.
There was no way.
Evan approached, the steel shank click-click-clicking on the ground. As he neared, Diaz gave up, sagging back against the wall. He’d tugged the Polartec mask down around his neck, pained breaths huffing in the cold air. A bib of drool sheened his chin. The damage to his hip was severe, arterial blood snaking down his leg. It wouldn’t be long.
Diaz looked down, tried to stem the bleeding with his good hand.
“You’re a private military contractor,” Evan told him.
“… did good, too…” Diaz’s chest juddered as it rose. “… everyone thinks … bad … but we’re the ones … call in when they need … demine a field in Mosul … Kurmal…”
“That doesn’t interest me,” Evan said. “Who do you work for?”
Diaz licked his lips, his eyes halfway gone. “Every cleared mine a saved life or … Every one.… I’m not bad … not bad…”
“Who do you work for?” Evan asked again.
“We come back here.… What are we s’posed to do…?”
His head lolled, his hand slipping from the ragged wound on his hip, the life running out of him, pooling in his boot.
Evan stepped forward, gripped Diaz’s chin, lifted his face. “Who do you work for?”
The dark lashes parted sluggishly. “… don’t know … call him … the doctor … All I know.” He was crying now. “I’m not all bad … helped people, too … help me now … help me.…”
“You were willing to kill witnesses,” Evan told him. “Cops.”
Diaz’s large brown eyes held a depth of sorrow that seemed bottomless. “… not all bad.”
“Okay,” Evan said. “I understand.”
Diaz slumped forward, his good leg giving out, his body sagging from the impaled hand. An ignoble pose, even grotesque.
Evan stared down at the top of Diaz’s head. Then he ripped the KA-BAR free