Page 72 of Agent Zero
“Hit!”Cal snarled.“Goddamn it.Got a kit?”
Relief that it wasn’t Holly smashed through him as he dragged her along, an awkward duck scramble.“Back door.This way.”
“What the hell?”Holly, tugging against his grasp.“Someone’s shooting!”
No time to wonder why she wasn’t agent-strong—did the virus dilute?As soon as they were behind enough cover he pulled her to her feet, hooking down the first-aid bag—camo green, the Army still did some things best—from its shelf and tossing it to Cal.If he was moving, couldn’t be that bad.“Status?”
“Fine!”The other agent was suddenly all business.So he shut up when he was under fire.
Good to know.
Snow had drifted high enough to touch the sloped-down roof outside the back door; the resultant tunnel was full of shadowy ice-filtered light.Adrenaline threatened to make Reese’s fingers clumsy; he twisted the lock too hard and metal pinged, breaking with a high sweet noise.
“Christ,” Holly whispered, hitching her backpack up on her shoulder.“Shooting at us.”
Be careful, Reese.Don’t give anything away for free.The angle of the slope behind the house made it safer, unless another sniper had worked around during last night.The car could make it out, but instead, he swept the shed with a single glance and pointed at the canvas-shrouded hulk in the corner.“Holly, get Cal bandaged up.We’re leaving.”
“But...my clothes, the?—”
“Everything you need’s in the backpack.I put it together while you were cleaning up.Get him bandaged.”
She was still struggling to catch up.“Youwhat?”
“Clothes can be replaced, ma’am.”Cal stepped in to distract her.“Open this up.I’d like to stop bleeding.”
“Oh,God.”A burst of high brassy fear in the middle of her scent—it almost rocked him back on his heels.But she was already ripping the kit open, and Cal had struggled half out of his coat.
The canvas cover fell aside and a battered snowcat reared up in front of Reese, scratched and scored blotches of green and paleness meant to break up its outline against wooded hills.Of course the damn thing was as loud as two world wars rolled into one, but it could go places a sedan couldn’t.
“Does it still work?”Cal winced as Holly’s shaking hands applied antiseptic to the wound—it was messy, but only a crease.The wound was already closing, and Reese hoped Holly wouldn’t notice.
“Checked it when we got here.”The mice saw it, sure but they didn’t get anything critical.Another piece of luck.“Full tank, extras strapped on.”
“A bit of cross-country?”Cal winced again, but Reese suspected it was only for show, to keep a nervous, trembling woman occupied.
“Smart man.”Reese checked the tanks one last time.
“That car will wallow,” the other agent observed.
“Like a fat horse.”
“Want me to take her?”Cal could have meant the car—or the girl.
Holly’s head snapped up, her eyes wide.
“Holly stays with me,” Reese answered, steadily.“You’re bait.”
“Great.”At least he didn’t argue; for all his chatter, the man was a professional.“Rendezvous?”
“Your second job in Mexico.Sixteen days from now.”Reese shouldered Holly aside; she was having trouble with the compression bandage.A few seconds had everything set right, the white gauze pad pinkening a bit in the middle as he taped it down.The other agent still smelled right—peppery adrenaline, the blue sharpness of determination, not a single off-note.“North side.”
“Got it.”Cal shrugged back into his coat.“Good luck.”
“You too.”It was safe enough to open the shed door, and within a few moments the roar of the ’cat began to seesaw as it slip-slid, gunning for a stand of pines that would provide the best cover.
Holly, numbly pawing at the passenger-side door of the sedan, flinched when Reese caught her elbow.
“It’s all right,” he managed around the rock in his throat.He held up her parka and began bundling her into it.“We don’t need the car.Come on.”
