heard you fighting inside the thicket, so they thought they could cut this way again. We dropped three of them,” Nathan told her.
Thurpa’s rifle thundered, big bullets slapping the night air and cracking it before he shot down another of the Mashonan gunners. “Make it four.”
Brigid nodded.
“Do we pull back or hold?” Nathan asked.
“Hold,” Brigid said. She unscrewed the suppressor from the muzzle of her Copperhead. At this point, they were going to be on the attack, so they’d need to make noise. Silencers in the trees helped to keep them hidden against return fire, but now they needed to sow fear and scatter the militia’s surviving defenders.
In the distance, Kane and Grant cut loose with their automatic weapons, the unmistakable throaty booms of the Sin Eaters and the high-pitched cracks of their Copperheads. They were sweeping against the Panthers in that direction, guns blazing.
“Now,” Brigid said, and Nathan and Thurpa picked up on the cue for violence. Their rifles and her submachine gun cut through the darkness. They fired at shadows, pouring out a wall of bullets. Bodies fell, struck by rounds, but the blasting was to break the will of the enemy. The militia abandoned their camp, racing off into the forest, half of their number dead and likely more wounded.
It was a decisive strike, and one that would force the gunmen to reorganize and recuperate.
That would give them time to free the prisoners.
“Grant and I are going to stick by the camp,” Kane said. “You three unchain those people. We won’t have much time.”
“Acknowledged,” Brigid responded. Thurpa and Nathan heard him over their hand radios, which were tuned to the Commtacts’ frequency.
The three people turned back toward the line of prisoners, seeking out keys among the dead guards to undo the painful, heavy manacles.
The Panthers undoubtedly would either stage a counterattack or call for help from another group. Either way, Brigid was determined to free the prisoners and get them out of the clearing within an hour. Half that would be optional.
Anything to free these victims was necessary. Otherwise, she was a cold-blooded assassin for nothing.
Chapter 5
Lyta grimaced as the yoke came off her neck. The harsh corners of the steel collar took tiny slivers of flesh with it, peeling away whatever upper epidermis was left where the metal had chafed against her skin. The other prisoners were already up, moving drunkenly but with a semblance of speed and energy. The men immediately picked up firearms from the dead guards, and one of the three people dressed in jet-black skinsuits pulled off a hood.
Brigid Baptiste revealed herself as a woman, a white woman with hair that looked like streams of curled copper spilling over her shoulders. She was so tall, Lyta had originally thought her to be a skinny man, like the African with the staff or the humanoid who looked as if he was half cobra.
“Most of us speak English, if you do,” Lyta spoke up to the woman.
Brigid smiled. “Thanks. We’ve found that out working with your countrymen. We need to get to the other camp and get more stuff for you. Food, water, weapons and ammunition. Clothing would be good, too.”
“That’s a good plan,” Lyta replied. “Who are you people?”
“He is from India,” Brigid said, pointing to the cobra man. “His name is Thurpa. The other man is from Harare. His name is Nathan Longa.”
Lyta glanced toward the man she’d indicated. “Longa...I had an uncle named Longa.”
Nathan frowned. “What was his given name?”
“Nelson,” Lyta replied.
Nathan squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “I’m his son.”
Lyta didn’t take long to put the subtext of Nathan’s painful reaction into context. “How did he die?”
Nathan looked around, hating to take time from preparing for evacuation from the area, but he spoke after only a moment. “He was murdered. By something that might be working with the Panthers.”
Lyta nodded, repeating what he’d said. “Something. As in what would eat us at the end of this march.”
“Not anymore,” Nathan returned. “You and the others take off. Get back to your home.”
Lyta narrowed her eyes. “I intend to find out what these animals wanted to do with me.”
Nathan glowered at her. “You’re not in condition to come with us.”
“She could be,” Thurpa spoke.
“Help the others gather supplies,” Nathan snapped at him.
Thurpa frowned. “They’re doing well on their own.”
“Then stop convincing my cousin that she has to risk her life,” Nathan hissed harshly.
Thurpa looked between the two. “As if you risking yours is any better?”
Nathan rubbed his brow. “I’ve got an advantage.”
“What?” Lyta asked.
“None of your—”
“The snake-headed staff that Nelson Longa owned,” Thurpa spoke up.
“Snake-headed... Is that why you’re interested in it?” Lyta asked.
Thurpa shook his head. “It’s an artifact, from the dawn of time.”
“It’s too complicated to explain here and now. You’re hurt. Exhausted...”
“And free,” Lyta responded. “Why would you deny me the chance to find out why my home was attacked? There’ve been so many people killed...”
Nathan grumbled. He gripped the strange walking stick, one she remembered from when Uncle Nelson had visited her so long ago. The object was as tall as Nathan, who was a shade under six feet, and it was one central ebony rod with strange designs inlaid along its length, wound about by two metallic serpents whose heads poked straight up. Lyta glanced at the space between the ominous snake heads and saw that there was a space for another object up there, braced or locked in between them.
Thurpa walked closer to Nathan, whispering into his ear. She couldn’t make out what was being said.
“I don’t know,” Nathan replied. He seemed crestfallen, looking first to the strange staff and then toward Lyta.
“Just give it some thought,” Thurpa said.
“Could I get some assistance?” the woman, Brigid, asked them. The two men walked away, leaving her be.
Lyta felt hands on her shoulders, sitting her down. Petroleum jelly salve was spread over her neck and shoulders. The ooze was an important supply for a militia on the move to deal with
