In the building facing him, he assumed Dos was bringing the big man into his sights, as well.
“Beautiful keep on comin’, just keep on.”
Kane had lagged behind, and that made the order so much easier to complete. Guana Teague had been very clear about keeping Kane alive. There was no sign of the third Mag. It was almost as if some divine providence had arranged the chill to be quick, clean and simple.
If only Dos kept his head and waited until the target was in the exact position for a short, effective cross fire. Then Uno heard the stutter from across the alley and he groaned.
IT TOOK GRANT a split second to associate the drumming sound with an autoblaster. As a general rule, it wasn’t a noise common to the Pits. The walls of the buildings amplified the sound and sent it booming back from all points of the compass. Pebbles and stone fragments exploded right in front of him, scouring his face with grit.
He went to one knee, the Sin Eater slapping into his hand, and he automatically braced the blaster with the other. He knew Kane was somewhere behind him, but he didn’t waste any time looking for him. He swung the barrel of his blaster up, toward the second floor of the building on his right. He saw nothing but dark windows.
“Kane,” he shouted. “Spot it!”
“Hit the ground!” Kane’s tense voice floated from behind a pile of rubble.
Grant did as he said, hitting the ground full length and pressing his face into the sharp-edged gravel. Several slugs whistled through the air inches above his head, then the sounds of the shots followed them. Spouts of dirt sprang up no more than a foot from his right leg.
“Damn it, Kane!” he bellowed. ” Spot it !”
Crouched down behind the heap of broken brick and masonry, Kane spotted it. Two blasters were speaking from second-floor windows on the facing squats. He gripped the Sin Eater in two hands. There were many things about his life that he hated, but being caught in a cross fire topped the list.
He didn’t expend any mental energy wondering why the girl had led them into the trap or if she had tried to warn Boon about it. This was the second time in twenty-four hours he’d been pinned down by autofire, and that was two times too many.
He kept his eyes on the window to his right and saw a twinkle of orange flame stab out of the shadows. A divot of dirt flew up between Grant’s splayed legs. One part of his mind identified the reports as belonging to an Uzi or mini-Uzi.
The other part of his mind locked on to the window. He leveled the Sin Eater and squeezed off three rounds. He saw duraplast dust explode in miniature mushroom clouds all around the window.
“Move!” he roared. “To your left!”
Dos wrenched his body aside as a sleet storm of duraplast chips and powder swept over him. He hefted the blaster in both hands and fired what was left in the clip toward the black-coated man rolling diagonally over the ground. Eight brass casings rattled down on the wooden floor. The bullets stitched a path across the ground. He hadn’t come close to the target, but he figured Uno could nail him. He watched the man vault to his feet and start running.
Angrily Dos ejected the spent clip and fumbled to insert another one. He’d get the son of a bitchhe’d get the fucking Mag. Or Uno would.
Grant ran, shielding his eyes from the spraying columns of dirt and rock fountaining up all around him. Though his eyes were protected by his dark glasses, a shard of stone could shatter a lens and blind him, like poor Carthew. He pointed the Sin Eater over his left shoulder and pressed the trigger. He had no idea if he hit anything.
Dust and pulverized rock danced in fountains around him. Two subguns had opened up in full-auto bursts, trying to chop him to pieces in a cross fire. Bullets snapped the air all around, sounding like steel whips. Ricochets whined and whistled.