Chapter 36

THIRTY-SIX

Hatch’s stomach turned, the knot tightening with every breath, but she forced herself to stand tall, her face a mask of calm. Clean slate, she thought. No emotion, no fear. But the truth gnawed at her. They didn’t just want her dead. They needed her erased, neutralized. The wind whispered through the pines, carrying with it the smell of damp earth and blood-soaked pine.

Stone pocketed his phone, the weight of finality in the gesture. His expression hardened, the cold gleam in his eyes unyielding. "Sorry, Hatch. Orders are orders. Looks like you got Bishop, but not before he got a shot off. Don’t worry—you’ll go down a hero."

Hatch smirked, hiding the fear crawling up her spine. "Not much for awards," she said, her voice steady, despite her pulse pounding in her ears. "Definitely not much for dying either. The benefits package is awful."

Stone chuckled, a low, humorless sound, as he raised his HK416. "Nobody ever is."

Time slowed.

Bishop erupted from the ground, a force of raw survival instinct.

Rook, the operator kneeling over him, didn’t even have time to scream. Bishop drove a jagged stick into the man’s throat with a wet crunch. Blood sprayed across the forest floor, pooling at the man’s feet as he gurgled and collapsed. The forest, already deathly still, seemed to hold its breath.

Hatch launched herself into the fray.

Stone spun, bringing his gun up.

Bishop was faster. He snatched the fallen operator’s MP7A2, and a burst of automatic fire ripped through the air, forcing Stone to dive behind a boulder. Dirt and pine needles flew up as a chaotic barrage of bullets tore through the space where Stone had been standing.

Bishop pivoted, his movements calculated and precise despite the blood oozing from his own wounds. Crack! Crack! Two quick bursts, and the second operative fell, his blood seeping into the mossy ground.

Hatch turned her aggression toward the man closest to her. Caught in the decision loop, he hesitated, his eyes darting between Bishop’s onslaught and Stone. That fraction of indecision cost him. Her KA-BAR flashed, the blade finding the narrow gap between the man’s body armor. The grunt of pain was sharp, desperate, as he reached for her, his fingers brushing her jacket as they tumbled toward the edge of a steep drop-off.

They hit the ground hard, pine needles scattering as they rolled, each fighting for the upper hand. Hatch twisted, driving her knee into the man’s groin. His grip loosened for just a moment—a moment she seized. She shoved him hard, sending him toppling over the edge. His scream echoed, a fleeting, chilling sound that ended with a sickening crunch as his body hit the rocks below.

Stone reemerged from his cover, firing relentlessly at Bishop. A round struck the limp body Bishop had dragged in front of him as a shield, the heavy armor absorbing the brunt of the impact. But it wouldn’t hold for long.

In one fluid motion, Hatch dropped her knife, drew her Glock, and squeezed the trigger. Two shots. Center mass. Stone staggered. The impact to his vest drove him back. A momentary look of disbelief crossed his face before the third and final shot found its mark between the team leader’s eyes. Blood plumed into the woods behind him as he dropped to his knees, before crumpling forward, lifeless.

For a moment, the forest was silent. Hatch stood, panting, her Glock still raised, scanning the area for any sign of movement. Her hands trembled, the adrenaline coursing through her veins making it impossible to steady them. But she didn’t lower her weapon. Not yet.

Bishop slowly rose, wiping blood from his face with the back of his hand. The final remnants of Banyan’s reagent were wearing off. The mask of death he’d worn was replaced by a cocky grin.

Hatch holstered her Glock but kept her hand close. "Not bad for playing dead."

"Not bad for saving my ass," Bishop‘s smirk widened. "Maybe next time we skip the whole 'fake death' thing. The hangover’s a bitch."

Hatch allowed herself a tired chuckle, the tension in her body beginning to ease. "No promises."

She glanced around at the bodies scattered among the trees. Blood stained the forest floor, a testament to the violence they had unleashed.

The silence felt wrong. More were coming. They both knew it.

"We need to move," Hatch said, her voice low, eyes scanning the tree line. "No telling if there’s more on the way. When they come get here, I’d rather not be around for the family reunion."

The thumb drive felt impossibly small in Maggie’s trembling hand, the firefly keychain dangling loosely as she stretched it toward Reeves. Her breath came in shallow bursts, heart racing as she stared down the barrel of his gun. The cold metal was fixed on her, steady and unyielding, the threat more real than ever.

Reeves’ eyes narrowed, his hand twitching, ready to snatch the drive. “Give it here, Maggie,” he hissed, his voice low, each word laced with menace. “Make this easy.”

Her throat tightened, her pulse drumming in her ears. The second cup of coffee Pearl had given her was still in her hand, the warmth seeping into her palm and steam curling lazily into the air. Maggie’s mind spun, grasping for a way out, but there was none. She was trapped, time slipping away. She needed a distraction, anything.

The crackle of the sheriff’s radio cut through the air, snapping the silence as deafening as a gunshot. Maggie flinched, her eyes flicking to the sheriff, who stiffened as the dispatcher’s voice came through loud and clear.

“We’ve received multiple calls from up the mountain. Gunfire reported. Caller says it’s coming from over the ridge. Sounded automatic.”

The sheriff’s jaw tightened. Maggie’s breath caught. Over the ridge. It was close to here. Hope flickered, but she buried it deep, unsure of what it meant.

A deputy’s voice followed, casual, dismissive. “It is hunting season. Probably some idiot testing his new rifle.”

The dispatcher pushed back, her tone sharper. “Caller said it sounded like a war zone.”

Reeves shifted, his eyes darting to the radio, just for a second. Maggie saw the opening and took it.

She shot to her feet, thrusting the thumb drive forward, her voice shaking but loud enough to cut through the air. “Here! Take it! Just take the damn thing!”

Reeves lunged, his hand reaching for the drive, his focus locked on her.

That’s when Maggie struck.

With one sharp movement, she flung the cup of scalding hot coffee straight into his face. The liquid hit him with a hiss, burning his skin. Reeves recoiled, his scream of pain echoing in the small office. One hand flew to his face, the other tightening on the trigger in reflex.

The gun fired. The sound was deafening, the bullet slamming into the cubicle partition just inches from where Maggie had stood. She dropped to the floor, heart hammering in her chest. That shot had been too close.

Reeves staggered, his face twisted in agony, coffee dripping down his cheeks and neck. The sheriff didn’t waste a moment. In a single fluid motion, Tuck drew his gun.

Two shots rang out, the crack of gunfire splitting the air. One of the bullets hit home, striking Reeves in the side. A grunt of pain tore from his throat, his hand clutching at the wound as blood began to stain his shirt. His eyes burned with fury as he raised his gun and fired blindly, forcing the sheriff to dive behind a nearby desk for cover.

Tuck’s shouts cut through the chaos. “Maggie, run!”

Bullets tore through the office, shredding papers and wood, the space filling with the harsh sounds of destruction.

Maggie pushed herself up, adrenaline pumping through her veins, and bolted for the back door. Her breath was fast and ragged, her chest burning as she shoved through the exit. The cold air hit her hard, biting at her skin as she burst into the alley behind the station.

Her feet pounded the pavement, legs trembling but refusing to stop. Her heart raced, faster than her steps, as she sprinted toward safety, lungs screaming for air.

Maggie risked a glance over her shoulder and saw him. Blood smeared his side, dripping onto the ground with each step, but the pain didn’t slow him down. His face was a mask of rage, the gun still clutched in his hand.

He was coming for her.