Hail Warning

Snake Island, Nigeria

The bullets came in loud and fast. What remained of the SUV’s back window had dislodged from the frame and had fallen inside the vehicle. One bullet later, the front windshield exploded with cracks, as if it were a sheet of ice hit with a sledgehammer. If Kara’s head was located where any responsible driver’s head should have been, she would have been instantaneously killed. But she was now driving blindly, having scrunched down low in her seat, so her head was below window level. She hoped that Afua had added Kevlar to the back of the seats. For what the SUVs cost, it wouldn’t have been an unreasonable addition. Most men who had money and feared for their lives would typically have vehicles specifically built to include armored exteriors, Kevlar seats and bulletproof glass. Kind of like The Beast the president had. The glass had shattered but it had not blown apart, so that indicated that the SUV had some special work done to the glass. Kara was bad at math but guessed she could drive in this position for another twenty seconds before she would be forced to see where they were going. When they reached the end of the runway, there would be some decisions they would have to make.

From behind the Suburban, the machine guns pumped out large .50 caliber rounds. Kara heard Kornev cuss as the rounds flew over their heads and peppered the back of their seats. As each bullet was absorbed by the Kevlar seatbacks, it made a loud thud, as if a hippopotamus was being put down with a mallet.

Other than the occasional cuss words, in either English, Russian, or in some language Kara didn’t know, Kornev was silent. But, then when being pursued by those prepared to kill you, there wasn’t a helluva lot to say. They would either make it out or they wouldn’t.

Kara snuck a quick peek over the steering wheel. The jungle was only about 300 yards away. If they made it to the jungle without the SUV being disabled or Kara catching a round in the back of her head, their chances of survival would improve.

As Kara prepared to pop back up and find the elusive road ahead of them, an explosion behind them shook the jungle. The shockwave hit the SUV, followed by a ball of fire that encompassed their vehicle. The Suburban fishtailed to the right. It was a slight wobble at first, but as Kara tried to counter steer, the SUV protested and went up on two wheels.

“What the fu—” but Kornev didn’t get the words out.

The Suburban’s heavily treaded tires dug into the asphalt, and the vehicle flipped over onto its passenger side and began skidding down the runway. Kara was buckled in and stuck to her seat. Even though she had warned Kornev to get strapped in, he had ignored her recommendation. Kornev flopped face-first down onto the backseat passenger door with only the tempered glass protecting his face. If not for that slight barrier, Victor would have received a facelift, courtesy of the asphalt road.

The roof of the Suburban caught an edge and the SUV began to barrel roll. As the car tumbled over and over, Kara thought she heard more automatic fire, but this time it didn’t sound like the big .50 calibers. She heard a smaller gun, and it was shooting much faster. The rounds were coming out so fast it sounded like one continuous sound — like that of a demonic chainsaw. As the SUV continued its never-ending tumble down the runway, Kara saw Kornev in the front seat next to her. But moments later, he was gone. She didn’t know if he had flown out the front windshield along with the mat of shattered glass that had cut loose two revolutions previous. Kornev’s safety was well outside her control. Kara covered her face with her hands, and she ducked her head down. The airbag had long ago deployed. It was now deflated while the vehicle continued to roll. Each time the car rolled, the roof began to cave in further. It was like a tin can being stepped on by a giant. Kara ducked lower and placed her arms in front of her face to keep her nose from smashing into the steering wheel. For now, there was nothing to do but ride it out.

Pressing the trigger on the .50 caliber machine gun, Baako watched the rounds blast through the back window of the SUV ahead of him. For an instant, he clearly saw two heads poked up from the protection of the seatbacks. But after a fresh blast of gunfire, both heads disappeared again. He knew that all the SUVs had been armored, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t be stopped. After all, they were machines, and machines did not like to have pieces cut off or perforated by huge bullets. The soldier in the Land Rover next to Baako’s vehicle began firing. As each bullet entered the body of the SUV, a white dot appeared, exposing the grayish armor and primer beneath the shiny black paint. The fragmented glass sheet of the Suburban’s back window fell inside. With the glass sheet out of the way, Baako had an unobstructed view into the SUV, but he still saw no one.

Baako checked how much ammo was left on the belt feeding his machine gun. He fired another quick volley through the naked back window. He saw the front windshield of the vehicle crack into a glistening spiderweb of glass, but it didn’t affect the direction or speed of the SUV. The Suburban was still going fast, maybe

75 miles per hour. But Baako knew they couldn’t maintain that speed for long. Up ahead, the road that led from the runway to the bridge dipped down and then made a sharp right turn. They would have to slow considerably, and that was when he would—

The Land Rover next to Baako exploded. It went sailing into the air above him. It all happened so fast that he had no opportunity to react. The white Land Rover was next to him. A second later, the side of Baako’s face was burning, and the Land Rover was thirty feet in the air. The soldier who had been manning the vehicle’s gun flew from the vehicle. The top half of his torso went in one direction, but his lower half headed in the opposite direction. Almost instantaneously, the shockwave hit Baako’s Land Rover. Baako felt their vehicle lift. All four tires magically hovered over the runway like they were riding a magic carpet. Amazingly, the driver could maintain control when they landed — at least for a few seconds. And within that time, someone had started a chainsaw and a swarm of bullets began tattering their Land Rover. Baako looked down from his turret and saw the driver go limp. He then felt something nick his right shoulder and right wrist. He crumpled back into the vehicle and sat down hard on the soft leather seat. The driver’s face limply fell on the steering wheel. Fortunately, the bridge of his nose wedged into the steering wheel, preventing the Land Rover from turning either to the right or left. Baako clutched his gunshot wounds and watched the black Suburban ahead of them tumble down the runway. His vehicle began to slow, and there was nothing for Baako to do but wait, content with the fact that at least he was not flipping down the asphalt. Up ahead, the SUV finally came to a stop, miraculously ending up on all four of its mangled tires. With his good arm, Baako began fumbling for the gun in his waistband. His hand found the weapon, and even before they had come to a complete stop, he had opened the door. Baako jumped out and began running toward the battered SUV.