LeMarck didn’t figure anyone was inside the convention center. Whoever had entered the pit had mined it on their way in. Getting rid of the sec teams on top made sense, but he didn’t know why the one-eyed man had returned to this site with his companions. There was no way out.
He peered through the scope, searching for his quarry. For a moment he thought he might have spotted the one-eyed man among the trees. His finger slid around the sniper rifle’s trigger and took up slack. He let out half a breath, then held it. He thought he might have a shot, but also figured the bullet might have been deflected from the branches.
LeMarck also found himself of mixed emotions about killing the one-eyed man. Of all the champions in the Big Game, the one-eyed man and his group deserved most to live.
“Hayden.”
The sec commander recognized Baron Hardcoe’s voice at once. “Sir?”
“Do you see them?” The baron came to a stop beside them.
LeMarck hesitated only a moment. No matter what else the one-eyed man might represent, he was a danger to Hardcoe if he chose to follow a path of vengeance. “Not clearly, sir, but I’m hoping for a shot.”
“Good man.” Hardcoe set his Ameli 82 on the fence line. “Mebbe I can flush them out for you.” He settled in behind the machine gun and opened it up.
“Dawson, Hughes!” Connrad roared. “You people are with me! Now move your asses!”
Out of his peripheral vision, LeMarck watched Connrad grab a home-built grenade launcher along with a small bag of bombs, slinging both over his shoulder.
“You can stay up here if you want,” Connrad told Hardcoe, “but I’m going down to ground level and fuck those bastards over royally. You can sort through the pieces later.”
“You’ve got men down there, too,” Hardcoe said.
“Then mebbe we both lose,” Connrad said. “Mebbe we’ll do the Big Game over in the next few weeks, or mebbe Giskard just gets lucky this year. Either way, those skanks die in the next handful of minutes. You can take an ace on the line on that.”
Connrad led his men down the metal staircase that had been welded together to reach the ground, their boots ringing against the steps.
LeMarck looked back through his scope, sorting out the blacks and the greens until he found part of a face. Memory told him the fedora and steel-rimmed glasses belonged to one of the men among One-Eye’s group. He let out his breath and steadied for the shot as Hardcoe’s machine gun howled in unrestrained carnage.
Then the building shuddered again, letting him know there had been a secondary set of explosives.
Peering over the edge, he saw the bottom of the convention center come spewing out. “Shit!” Glancing back up, he saw the line of riders gallop out of the trees. He turned and used the stairs Hardcoe and his sec crew had taken.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Ryan fought his horse as the plas ex went off in the building, showering the trees with concrete chips and debris. Watching the wall fronting the underground garage, he saw the hole take shape, yawning open to a mouth of darkness almost twelve yards across and nearly as tall.
“Ride!” he told the others.
Krysty took the lead since she knew the interior of the garage, followed by Mildred.
J.B. held back, manhandling his frightened horse. Specks of blood glowed on the animal’s muzzle, sprayed out through its nostrils. “These animals don’t have much more to give.”
Ryan nodded in agreement. “Mebbe they got enough, though.”
When the last of the riders took off, Ryan kicked his mount in the sides. Bullets hit the ground in front of him and on both sides, striking sparks off rocks. The snipers on top of the wall were getting their nerve and the range back.
J.B. took a slight lead over him as they neared the rock-strewed incline leading to the hole in the underground garage.
Ryan stayed low over the saddle and the horse’s neck as he passed through the hole. His eye had problems adjusting to the darkness in the underbelly of the convention center.