“FBI! Drop your weapons!” Naomi’s voice boomed through a portable megaphone, cutting through the panic like a blade.
Instead of surrendering, the darkness was instantly lit up by the muzzle flashes of automatic weapons. The mercenaries fired blindly into the tree line.
“Engaging!” Vance yelled over the comms. Suppressed rifle fire from the crane began dropping the cartel guards with terrifying precision.
Naomi moved. She didn’t stay behind cover; she advanced laterally, using the confusion and the rain to close the distance. She moved like a phantom, her training overriding any sense of fear. A mercenary rounded the side of the truck, raising his weapon. Naomi fired twice, a tight double-tap to center mass. The man crumpled to the mud.
She vaulted over a rusted oil drum, sliding into the cover of the logging truck’s massive tires. Bullets sparked and pinged off the metal frame above her head. The smell of cordite and wet earth filled her lungs.
“Vance, keep them pinned on the left side! I’m moving on the command vehicle,” she ordered.
She peeked around the tire. In the strobing flashes of gunfire, she saw Sheriff Daniels dragging Deputy Ryan toward their SUV, trying to escape the slaughter. The confident, arrogant men from earlier in the day were now terrified animals caught in a trap.
Naomi broke from cover, sprinting through the mud. A bullet grazed the sleeve of her windbreaker, but she didn’t flinch. She reached the rear of the SUV just as Daniels threw the driver’s side door open.
“Going somewhere, William?” Naomi shouted over the din of the firefight.