James Axler – Watersleep

As planned, Shauna left her weapon behind and made her way down to a far end of the ditch, far enough down to where it would appear she had merely been walking down the road and come upon the wag’s unfortunate predicament, just an innocent encounter with a pedestrian.

Shauna stepped into the open and jauntily walked toward the downed Land Rover. “Need a hand?” she asked, granting them a dazzling smile. Mildred noted the woman had unzipped the front of her jumpsuit even more than usual.

“She’s going to fall right out of that thing if she’s not careful,” Mildred whispered.

“So much the better,” J.B. replied.

“Get ready,” Ryan said.

Two of the men whirled toward Shauna with their AK-47s held ready when she spoke. The third man outside of the Land Rover was occupied with the jack.

The leader, a veteran sec man named Martin, re­laxed when he recognized Shauna. He knew from ex­perience she wasn’t there to cause any trouble. Still, it was odd for the commune leader to be showing up so far down the road from the settlement, and why was she alone? Martin decided to let his partner han­dle the questioning. That way, he could let his eyes enjoy the view of Shauna’s exposed breasts without having to play the heavy.

“What are you doing here, little lady?” the other armed man asked, voicing Martin’s own concerns.

“Stealing your wag,” Ryan’s voice said from be­hind them.

To their credit, the sec men didn’t surrender with­out a fight. However, Ryan and the others had the advantage of surprise. The firefight was succinct and to the point. All remembered Ryan’s words about aiming for the heads, more specifically, for the faces.

Mildred’s Czech target pistol fired once, and the large caliber bullet entered Martin’s left eye, felling the man with a single shot. A red torrent spewed down his cheek as he fell forward, the bullet continu­ing to move through his skull and brain tissue, exiting the back of his head and finally stopping dead at the interior of the helmet he wore. Martin convulsed for a few seconds, his hands clawing in the dirt and gravel until he died.

In the same instant, twin pairs of mirrored sun­glasses shattered like dropped china cups as the faces of the other two men dissolved from the auto fire of J.B. and Carter.

While his friends engaged the trio of sec men, Ryan had made his way around the back to the open side door of the wag and shoved his SIG-Sauer inside, aiming at the driver.

“Your pals are dead. You’re next, unless you want to come out of that seat quietly.”

The driver raised his hands.

“Good. I hate cleaning up brains off a wind­shield.”

The spare was then placed on the wag without fan­fare by the captured driver, under Ryan’s close su­pervision. J.B. and Carter dragged the bodies into the former hiding place in the ditch while Ryan ques­tioned the driver.

“What’s your name?”

“Edgerton.”

“You enlisted or merc?” Ryan asked, recalling that Carter had said enlisted men were the chosen elite in Poseidon’s farcical attempt at a navy. Hired men were always more easily swayed. Bought loyalty was only worth as much as the highest bidder was willing to pay.

“Edgerton, Ray, sir! Enlisted man.”

“Great,” Ryan said.

A spare helmet and pair of sunglasses had been discovered in a storage drawer inside the wag. Ryan would wear the outfit and ride shotgun with the sur­viving member of the sec squad while J.B., Mildred and Carter hid in the back. Once they were on the base, the second part of the operation would be car­ried out with the grens and any other explosives they could scrounge up on-site.

Carter, Mildred and J.B. would play delivery boys. Ryan and Shauna were going in search of Poseidon.

But Ryan had one final stop to take care of first.

“I’M GOING WITH YOU, Dad.”

“No, Dean, you’re not.” Ryan said.

“I’m not a kid anymore! You need me—”

“I need you right here,” Ryan said firmly, cutting the boy off in midprotest, “with Doc. He’s still too weak to go off into a firefight. Somebody has to stay with him.”