shouted, “Holster your weapons when you’re running, assholes!”
Frankie heard Bull snort a laugh. She kept moving.
“JJ, when we get around the next corner, throw a flashbang back at them,” Gabe ordered. Knowing the trail better than any of them, he was in the lead.
“Yes, sir.”
Cops and their flashbangs.
The yelling of their pursuers grew louder.
Frankie tried to find more air, to move faster, but the damp track was slippery. She fell onto her knees. “Merda.” What she’d give for a city sidewalk…
Bull yanked her up onto her feet. “Okay?”
“I’m good. Go.” She shoved her staff into the dirt and waved him on. This was like following an unstoppable tank. Panting, she lurched into a run again. They sped around a corner.
At a hoot from behind, Gabe stopped, as did Bull.
Catching Frankie, Bull tucked her against his side. “Cover your ears; close your eyes.”
In the dim light, she saw him put his thumbs in his ears, fingers over his eyes. She tucked her staff under her arm and imitated him.
Bang! Even with her eyes covered, her ears plugged, the world went white. And the sound was like being in a room with a giant firecracker.
Trying to blink away the glowing after-images, she felt Bull take her hand. Gripping her staff, she jogged forward. Behind them were shouts and curses, a couple of screams of pain.
Caz and JJ caught up quickly.
Ahead on the trail, there was movement, and Frankie gasped. No, not the PZs. Worse. They’d caught up to the slow-moving line of women with the guide crew.
The sounds of the PZs grew closer.
Gabe held up his hand, and the assault team stopped.
“Persistent bastards.” He ran an assessing gaze over them. “You up to an ambush?”
Oh, Madonna, no. Frankie nodded with the rest.
Gabe pointed toward the rear. “Bull, take the rearmost enemy from the left. Frankie—stand there”—he pointed to a dark patch of brush on the left—“and attack when the middle reaches you.”
“Got it,” came Bull’s rumbled acknowledgment.
She added her whispered, “Yes, sir.”
“Caz, rear on the right. JJ, middle right. Take them down hard. I’ll play bait and deal with the front.”
As Frankie edged into the shadows, Bull moved farther down and disappeared into the brush.
Flickering lights showed through the trees, approaching fast. The PZs were using flashlights—no wonder they’d caught up.
Rounding the bend, the beams flashed across Gabe.
So many PZs. A dozen, at least. A whimper edged into Frankie’s throat. Too many.
But on the trail ahead was Kit, unconscious in Chevy’s arms, little Aric with Hawk, and all the Rescue people who’d risked their lives.
Mouth flattening as determination filled her, she gripped her staff harder.
Lit up by the flashlights, Gabe glanced over his shoulder at the PZ horde and broke into a limping flight.
Like a pack of wolves, the bastardi howled and chased, blind to everything else.
To her left, Frankie saw a glint of steel in the air. Another. Two men in the rear fell. Caz stepped out of the undergrowth, holding another throwing knife.
Fight, Frankie. Her heart had crammed into her throat so tightly she could barely breathe. She crouched. Now.
Her feet wouldn’t move.
Now!
A man pulled his pistol out and aimed at Gabe. With a frenzied scream, Frankie charged out of the brush and slammed her staff down onto his forearm. Bones cracked. Screeching, he dropped the gun and hunched over his arm.
The guy behind him lunged at Frankie, and her body took over. Spinning, she roundhouse-kicked him upside the temple, knocking him into another man. She drove her staff into the belly of a third.
No time to think. It was all yelling and blocking and striking, reacting instinctively with hard-won muscle memory. Lean back, pull opponent off balance and twist to throw him into another. Regain balance, spin, and leg straightens into a side kick to another man’s belly. Foot touches the dirt; weight shifts forward enabling a rear kick into the PZ behind her. Lean away from a knife and swing jo into his head. Move with the rebound to swing at another. Sway with his block and snap kick into his belly.
A firearm cracked. A PZ yelled in pain.
Shooting in this tangle of people? They could hit their own men.
Moonlight gleamed along a pistol…that was aimed at Bull.
“No!” She dove at the man. Her shoulder hit his chest, knocking him back, their fall halted by a tree. With an ear-deafening bang, the weapon fired.
Pain burned down her calf, and she yelped.
The man backhanded her to the ground. His boot caught her in the belly, knocking her sideways. On