Restless Soul - Alex Archer [38]
She could stop and stand her ground. Maybe give Lu and Zakkarat time to get away. But the odds were so much against her that she couldn’t risk it. But maybe she could draw them away.
“Keep going straight,” she hissed at Luartaro’s back.
She peeled off away from Zakkarat and Luartaro and slowed just a bit. She slapped the bushes and ferns as she ran, making as much noise as she could to draw the gunmen’s attention.
It was a good plan, but it didn’t work.
Luartaro, gentleman that he was, hadn’t followed her instructions. When she’d veered off, he had, too.
She wheeled around just as one of the pursuers slid to a stop and lifted his machine gun.
“Down!” she shouted.
Tiny pinpoints of fire flashed. Bullets tore into the leaves near Annja’s head. Wood splinters exploded from a tree.
She gave Luartaro a shove to get him out of the line of fire and leaped after him, taking cover behind the tree. A big hunk of the tree had been torn away. It smelled wounded and green.
She peeked out just enough to place the source of the gunfire. One of the men had found a good spot to see down the side of the mountain and was firing in an arc. Bullets and mud and pieces of pulverized greenery sprayed everywhere, each arc getting closer to them.
Lightning flashed and the ground seemed to rock in response. It was almost like the impressions she got when she first touched the skull bowl, the storm that had raged in her mind.
The rain poured down, not quite drowning out the shouts of the dark-clad men as they searched the undergrowth. One voice rose above the others, barking orders.
A sudden, shrill whistle cut through the clamor.
“Run, Zak!” Luartaro yelled. “Run for all you’re worth!”
Zakkarat tried to obey. He was several yards away from them, and Annja could see him leap to his feet and turn to run.
But as nimble as he was, he was afraid, and he whirled and fell into a tangled mess of vines.
Luartaro slipped and slid over to him and tugged him free. He turned around to make sure Annja was near, and then he wheeled and followed Zakkarat’s mad dash down the side of the mountain.
Annja leaped over a low bush and followed, dodging from side to side in case their attackers could still see them.
She struck a low branch, and with a jolt that knocked her breath away, her feet slid out from under her.
She grabbed at a bush, a tree, but everything tore off in her fingers. And suddenly, she was sliding on her back, picking up speed.
She scrabbled for another bush, and for a fraction of a second thought it was going to hold, but then it, too, failed her.
She had time for a gulp of air and a fleeting glance at Luartaro and Zakkarat.
Like her, they had landed on their backs. Like her, they were sliding wildly down the mountainside.
Like big ball bearings in an arcade game, they caromed out of sight.
9
Annja didn’t hesitate.
She reached for the sword in her mind. The pommel formed in her hand. Her fingers instinctively closed around it, and she squeezed so hard she imagined that her knuckles had turned white.
She rolled and, at the same time, stabbed out at a clump of bushes. Her shoulder jerked painfully as her mad slide was stopped short. She scrambled to her feet.
With her companions out of sight, though perhaps not safely so, she would confront any who followed. It was their best chance of getting off the mountain alive.
She spun and crouched, ready to meet her pursuers.
She immediately spotted four men, several dozen yards away and closing in. There were more, she knew, but the others might have returned to the Jeeps. She’d worry about them later.
One of the four saw her and swiveled his machine gun up and fired a burst. Bullets chewed into the trunk of an acacia tree near her, and she leaped for the tree to use it as cover. More shots rang out and wood splinters stung her face.
The men shouted and raced toward her.
She pushed off from the tree and darted toward another thick trunk, barely managing to slip around it before more shots plowed into the vegetation.
At least