Last Man Standing

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Drake raced out of the supermarket, hitting the concrete running. The team pounded along at his side, Crouch already falling back. After only a minute’s sprint he pulled up short.

“Wait!”

Everyone reined it in around him. He held up a finger. “Listen.”

The unmistakable sound of military choppers, of military might, and even the sound of a gathering force drifted on the breeze and beat a rhythm through the clouds. Drake made a face.

“That is more than a slow assembly, my friends. That is the sound of a military force getting ready to strike.”

“You’re right.” Crouch nodded as he finally lumbered up. “But they have to wait. They need to wait. Not just because they don’t know about the nano-vests, but because of their presence. What else could Coyote have up her damn sleeve?”

Drake pointed to the rear of the supermarket. “You did it once, sir. Time to go again.”

Crouch nodded. “Agreed. Oh, and Drake? I already told you I am no longer anyone’s boss. So stop calling me sir. Crouch will do. Or Michael.”

“Mick?” Alicia piped up. “Mickey? Miks? Oh, I like that.”

Crouch glared into her face. “Keep on talking, Myles, and I’ll be happy to blacken your other eye. No charge.”

Alicia turned away. The black eye was a matter of pride. Or rather — injured pride. She glared at the town. “Shouldn’t we be going?”

The four SPEAR team members approached Sunnyvale’s town square with extreme caution. The area was an open grid, lined with thick stone pavers and bordered by a waist-height stone wall. Several gaps in the wall provided entrances, each one marked by twin ornate posts. Above it all a pitched tiled roof provided shelter, held up by thick wooden columns. Flanking the square itself were two rows of stores and cafes, a large dilapidated-looking hotel with a ‘Closed for Refurbishment’ sign across the door and other businesses, a road leading toward the castle, and another leading out of town. A reddish light lit the skies above the square, casting a ruddy, almost fiery glow over the entire scene.

Nothing moved; not an early riser nor even an inquisitive bird. No sounds intruded upon the deep blanket of silence.

But a dozen men stood inside the town square. And another dozen stood around the outside.

And one smaller figure stood before them all. Revealed at last for all that she truly was.

Shelly Cohen.

The Coyote.