surge of adrenaline to every cell.
It’s her.
“Alpha team, go for package,” CJ directs Alpha to move off their sweep of the cabins and head toward Moira.
“Negative.” Max’s tone is terse.
“Negative?”
“Hostiles. Engaged. No can do.” Clipped and to the point, his words rip through me.
So damn close.
I don’t even wonder why Alpha encounters hostiles on board. This should be a ship full of seasoned, but harmless, crew.
“Permission to pick up the package.” No way in hell am I leaving her down there.
“Negative.” CJ kills my joy.
“But…”
“That’s a negative.” He refuses to budge.
I lean back with an exasperated sigh and slam my fist into the floor of the chopper. Speed taps his headset and I flip to our internal channel.
“I’m getting static from Command.” He flashes a goofy grin. “What about you, Battle Angel? Having the same problem?”
Ariel joins the conversation. “Is that your girl down there?”
“Yes.” I don’t hesitate.
“Then something seems to be seriously wrong with my headset. How long do you need?”
“Two minutes.” One to rappel down. One to hook Moira into a safety harness.
“I’ll give you three.”
Speed and I exchange a look. He disengages from his weapon and walks to the back of the cabin. After I secure myself to the cable of the winch, he hands me a secondary harness.
I lean out while he keeps tension on the line. With a nod, I push off and drop through the air.
Twelve
Moira
Gunshots pull me from a restless sleep. I’d like to say I drifted off and got actual rest, but gruesome nightmares snap me awake the moment I fall asleep.
Shelly’s dead eyes stare at me, judging me, as his brain matter leaks all over the floor. Bossman’s blood splashes against the walls and slowly creeps upward, like a living thing, to cover the ceiling overhead.
My gut twists and my heart seizes with every horrific detail. It’s a non-stop horror movie I can’t escape from inside my head.
I’m a killer now, a murderer just like Bossman. Shouldn’t that make me feel different? Like a smear on my soul? A mark on my life?
I don’t. I’m glad Shelly died. He was a rutting pig and poor excuse for a human. I’m happy Bossman no longer walks this world. He was vile and despicable.
I’m not happy about killing him. I’m—apathetic.
That’s the word I’m searching for. The whole thing makes me feel—nothing.
It’s been hours since I took his life. I’m sure of it, and it must be well past midnight. I look to the East, right off the bow, and see nothing but darkness.
Maybe I’m the one who died and this is what hell feels like. It’s an odd sensation because while the air is hot and muggy, the steel beneath my butt saps my heat.
I shiver and curl into a small ball, desperately trying to stay warm. My toes curl and press against the unforgiving metal of the cargo container, and my ass hurts from the hard surface. Thankfully, there’s very little wind. I’m protected from that by the containers stacked in front of me.
Another pop sounds from someplace behind and overhead. I glance up to peer into the darkness but make out nothing.
At first, the gunshot doesn’t worry me, but then others follow. Those are followed by a barrage of shots coming also from overhead.
Gunfire closes in on me and I suddenly realize how poor of a hiding spot I found. There’s no real way up. I’d planned on climbing back down once the ship hit port and figuring out an exit plan then.
Technically, I could squeeze myself between the containers and crawl up. That’s how I got here in the first place. Strong back, stronger legs, and an even fiercer determination, I scaled the stack of containers as if my life depended on it.
It made sense at the time.
Hours later, I feel the result of that exertion in the angry protests of my legs and back. Bordering on hypothermia, I don’t think I can do that again. As for any adrenaline? I emptied out that reserve when I killed Bossman and fled here. Simply put, I’m too exhausted to do anything but wait.
More shots fire overhead. They’re definitely overhead.
A low vibration draws closer, building to a crescendo in my chest. Well-attuned to the noises of this ship, that sound is different.
Whomp! Whomp! Whomp!
I push back to huddle in the corner, not that it’s much of a corner. There’s a gap on either side of this particular stack about three feet wide. Behind me, and to the front, the gap is smaller,