“Oh, it’s just. And fair. And long overdue,” Krista replied. “Let’s face it, Lipton. Deep down in that big, fat brain of yours, you knew this was coming. It was only a matter of time.”
“Maybe in the dream world you live in,” Lipton shot back in a tone similar to what Krista had used when she said that same phrase. “Look, we have a critical meet with Blackstone. You need me. I’m the sole reason they’re coming here in the first place. Without me, you get nothing. How does that help you and your cause? Or anyone back at the silo?”
“Yeah, like I believe any of that bullshit for a second,” Krista said, turning and walking away.
If felt amazing not to have to look at the man’s face. Or listen to his incessant chatter. His voice was like a barrel of cats being pureed in a blender, making her want to take out a fork and jam it into his eye.
Summer may have given her a direct order to stay and protect Lipton at all costs, but this time the girl was wrong.
It was time to disobey orders, maybe for the first time since she’d enlisted with the Army, long before the volcanoes erupted and ruined everything.
“Hold it right there,” a man’s voice called out from somewhere ahead.
Krista snapped out of her thoughts and stopped her feet, then dropped into a one-kneed firing position, bringing her weapon up.
Two figures—both men—broke through the trees in single file formation, just to the left of the boulder shaped like a teardrop.
The guy in back was huge, at least six-four, with a chin covered in facial hair. The other one was smaller, blonde, and looked as though his hands were bound behind his back.
When they stepped closer, Krista realized the bigger one was missing sleeves and had a tattoo on his neck.
Plus she recognized the kid in front. It was Simms—with a gun trained on the back of his head.
If Simms was a prisoner, then so was Summer.
Shit.
And probably the rest of her people.
Double shit.
Or they were all dead.
Endless shit.
Krista took a moment to glance back at Lipton and the truck. She saw the scientist flailing about in the driver’s seat, trying to work himself free.
Total piece of shit.
Krista brought her attention forward. “That’s far enough.”
“Krista, it’s me. Simms,” the prisoner said after the man holding him pushed him forward in a stumble.
“You okay, Nick?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
“What about Summer?”
“Fletcher has her. And the others.”
“Put your gun down and raise your hands,” the big man said.
“Please, Krista. Do as Boone says. If you don’t do what they want, they’re going to kill Summer.”
“We just want Lipton,” Boone said. “Turn him over and the rest of you are free to go.”
“Shit. Shit. Shit,” Krista said, working the situation through her head. Somehow they’d found her and her friends in the middle of nowhere, heading to a meet with some unknown group.
It didn’t make sense, but it didn’t change the fact that they were here. Now. Holding Simms. And apparently the others, too.
“Put your gun down and stand up slowly with your hands above your head. I’m not going to ask again,” Boone said, pulling Simms closer to the barrel of his weapon.
Krista held her position, not wanting to surrender to a threat. It would go against that which she stood for.
Boone continued, his voice even sterner than before. “Lipton, for the others. Simple enough. So what’s it going to be? Decide. Now.”
Her trigger finger was ready to shoot but her heart couldn’t go there. Not without more time and firepower. It would take lightning-quick aim and a perfectly placed bullet to kill the man before he could take out Simms. She knew she could do it, yet it was a gamble. A huge one.
The only other choice was to turn over Lipton in exchange for Summer and the rest, but it still didn’t sit right.
Especially since she didn’t have her own intel to rely upon.
Only what was standing in front of her.
She needed to shake things up, see if she could glean any additional information or change the balance of force.
Plus, giving up her weapon was a no-go for her. “Go ahead and shoot him. That kid means nothing to me.”
“Wait. Wait. Wait,” Simms said, his voice charged with energy.
Boone pushed Simms to the ground and levered a boot into the kid’s back, standing with his arm out and pistol aimed in a downward trajectory. “Need I remind you that when Fletcher hears the gunshot, he’ll execute the rest of your group? Summer included. You have three seconds to surrender.”
“He’s serious, Krista. They’re gonna kill everybody. Please, just do as he says,” Simms said. “Lipton’s not worth it.”
“Three . . . Two . . .” Boone said in a measured tone, cocking the hammer on his weapon.
Krista let out the breath she’d been holding and got to her feet, then put her hands above her head. “Okay. Okay. I surrender.”
“Toss the gun away and lace your hands together behind your head.”
“You can’t be serious,” Lipton said from the truck, his voice echoing across the landscape. “They’re gonna kill us anyway. Don’t you see that?”
“Toss it away,” Boone said. “Now.”
Krista did as the man asked, sending the sidearm into the dirt.
“Walk toward me. Slowly.”
Krista put one foot in front of the other, working through a dozen scenarios in her mind as she factored in all the available data.
Boone was a big man.
At least twice her size.
Even bigger than Fletcher.
But he appeared to only have the pistol and what she assumed were spare mags in his tactical vest.
Possibly a knife, too.
It seemed odd that Fletcher sent a single man here alone, even if he was a mountain of testosterone, muscle, and facial hair.
Why would Fletcher do that?
Unless Fletcher couldn’t spare any more, needing to keep the others under control.
That would mean his numbers were small.
Either way, if she was going to make a move, she’d need to distract Boone. For a moment. Somehow. Just long enough to surprise him. Grab his gun.
If she hadn’t been wearing a tactical rig herself, she could have lifted her shirt and flashed him. That would catch him off guard. Something he’d never expect. But her vest wouldn’t let that happen. Or her logic. No way to do that fast enough for any of it to work.
Then again, given his enormous size and the one-sided nature of the situation, he might just think he couldn’t lose. Be overconfident.
A straight-up attack might be something he’d never see coming. Not from a lowly woman. Some chick he’d never dueled with.
But for any of it to work, she’d have to move fast.
Before he got off a shot.
Granted, Simms and Lipton were a calculated risk and what some might call acceptable losses, but she’d have no way to stop Fletcher from killing Summer if Boone’s gun went off. Assuming any of what Boone and Simms had said was true.
Then again, she had no reason not to believe Boone. Or Simms. It all fit a profile. One she’d seen before, back in her days in the Army. It was called Force Multiplier—a term used to describe an unbalanced situation, where one side has far more power and resources.