Cliff Ryder - Aim And Fire

This hall had five doors set in its walls, but Nate had eyes for the far one, the only one that was completely closed.

Sweat soaked his mask, but he couldn’t wipe his face. The harsh smoke burned his lungs, as well, but he ignored the discomfort as best as he could while he watched the hallway.

Tracy stood next to him after creeping up the stairs as quietly as he had. Nate motioned for her to follow, and they headed for the end door. Without being told, she took up a position on the far side, pistol at the ready.

The sudden crash of the pull-down staircase as it dropped to the floor behind him made Nate’s heart race.

He stepped over to Tracy, who looked as if she was preparing to take out whoever was coming down. Putting a finger to her lips, he pushed her into the shadowed corner as the wooden staircase creaked under someone’s every step. Nate half twisted and looked back to see the big man who had given him crap yesterday step on the floor with a thump that shook the entire landing.

Muttering to himself, the hulking Latino lumbered down the hall to the stairs. Nate’s free hand held his pistol, ready to fire if necessary, but he let his hunch play out first, hardly daring to breathe. He felt Tracy’s body against his own, tense as a taut steel cable, her breathing light and rapid.

Without looking up, the bruiser rumbled downstairs. As he had hoped, covered from head to toe in their black clothes and masks, Nate and Tracy blended perfectly with the thick darkness. They waited until the heavy thuds faded away on the first floor, then Nate was back at the door, warning Tracy to watch the stairs as he tried the knob again.

Turning it very slowly, he made sure it was rotated all the way before pushing inward. The door didn’t move.

Nate pushed harder, leaning his body into the wood and pushing as carefully as he could. It flexed a bit, but he knew from the resistance near the jamb that there was some kind of dead bolt or hasp lock holding it shut from the inside.

Releasing the knob, he went back to Tracy. “Locked from the inside,” he whispered.

“We need to abort,” she said.

“Hell, no, we’re too far in now. Let’s—”

The thump of approaching feet silenced Nate. He listened as the big gangbanger approached. “Stay here,” he whispered in Tracy’s ear. “Get your flashlight ready, and flip your goggles up when the door opens. Move only if he takes me down.”

Nate crept back along the hallway, stopping only to push the attic staircase back into the ceiling. Stealing to the farthest door, he held his breath and pushed it open, slipping inside just as the man-mountain hit the first step below.

A quick scan of the room revealed a slumbering form underneath a crumpled sheet on a queen-size bed. A slow-turning ceiling fan moved the hot air around. Nate closed the door most of the way, leaving a thin sliver to see through. While he waited, he found the inside lock button on the door and pushed it.

The man reached the top of the stairs and stood there sweating for a moment, a bulging burrito in his fist. He took a huge bite, chewing noisily, then ambled down the hall. At the stairs, he looked up at the pull cord, then looked around at the other doors, for the practical joker who had pushed up his stairs. Seeing no one, he reached up for the knotted cord.

Easing the door open, Nate slipped out, making sure to close it behind him. As soon as it clicked, he charged full speed ahead, his booted feet pounding the thin carpet.

Even with only about five yards between him and his target, Nate got up a good head of steam before he lowered his shoulder, knowing he had to make this count.

The gangbanger had just started to turn at the noise behind him when Nate plowed into his back. Already off balance from reaching for the cord, the massive gang member staggered, aided by Nate shoving him forward with all his might. The burrito went flying, disappearing down the hall as the hulk crashed into the locked door with every one of his 350 pounds moving at an unstoppable velocity.

The door broke under the impact with a splintering crack, as Nate rode the big guy down to the floor.

“Lights!” he hissed, flipping up his goggles and switching on his flashlight. Scrambling to his feet, he ran at the bed in the center of the room, shining the blinding beam into Lopez’s groggy face. Nate was aware of at least two women, one fumbling to cover herself with a sheet, the other lying motionless, dead to the world. But he only had eyes for the man in front of him.

“What the hell—?” Lopez threw up an arm, squinting at the harsh glare. His chest was covered with tattoos, and as the sheet flew off him, stolen by the woman, it revealed that he was dressed only in red satin boxers. His other arm reached under his pillow, withdrawing a pistol just as Nate brought the butt of his own gun down on the man’s shoulder. The collarbone cracked under the blow. Lopez’s shout of pain was cut off by Nate sticking the barrel of his gun in the Mexican’s mouth as he knocked the pistol—a cheap Smith & Wesson knockoff—out of the punk’s hand.

Sweeping his flashlight over the dirty nightstand, Nate spotted Lopez’s cell phone. He dropped the light and swept the phone into his pocket.

“Get up if you want to keep breathing.” Using the gun as a prod, he guided Lopez out of bed and over the unconscious man he had used as a battering ram.

In the hallway, Tracy covered the doorways with her flashlight, making sure no one poked his head out. Nate removed his gun and whipped his arm around Lopez’s neck. “Tell your homies to stay put—otherwise, we shoot the first face we see.” He nodded at Tracy to check the stairs, and she slipped by them to cover the landing.

Lopez relayed Nate’s instructions, more loudly than Nate would have liked. “Whoever you are, you’re a dead man, pendejo. I’ll hold your fucking heart in my hand before this is over,” he growled.

“Move it,” Nate said. Keeping the pistol jammed into the gang leader’s neck, he moved past the doors, making sure to keep the man between him and other rooms at all times. Tracy was halfway down the stairs when she seemed to slip just as a flash and boom roared from the living room, chopping the banister to kindling and making her grunt in pain.

“Out the back, now!” Nate shouted. He forced Lopez down the stairway, catching up to his partner. “You all right?”

“Caught some pellets—in my vest. I’ll be fine,” Tracy said, wincing.

“Watch our backs.” Nate tightened his hold on the wiry man’s throat. “Tell them to drop their guns and slide ’em over, or I’ll redecorate the hallway with your brains,” he told Lopez.

Lopez issued rapid orders in Spanish, and moments later a short-barreled shotgun and two pistols came clattering down the hallway.

“Let’s go.” Nate kept Lopez in the hallway, blocking the other gang members’ views of him and Tracy. “Get the door.”

Keeping her right arm near her side, Tracy went to the door and cracked it open, leading with her pistol before opening it all the way. “We’re clear.”

Nate kicked all three guns out into the yard. He turned to Lopez. “All right, we get outside, and you run like hell with us. If you don’t, I blow your elbow out, and you still run like hell. Got it?”

Lopez hesitated, then nodded once. Nate looked at Tracy, who nodded.

“Go!”

Tracy took off into the darkness. Nate gave her three steps, then shoved Lopez out and followed right behind him, keeping a tight hold on the gangbanger as they ran.

The backyard was only about ten yards from the door to the other house, but it felt like the longest distance Nate had ever covered in his life. Even though they had taken out the roof guard, and the guys in the hall would have to fumble around to find their weapons, the gang would not take this lying down. And as he expected, just as they hit the alley between the two houses, gunshots exploded in the night.