Free Copperheads - 12 by Joe Nobody Page A

Get us out of here. Speed is life right now.”
    Without another word, Grim moved off.
    Only a few minutes had passed before the veteran’s voice sounded on the radio. “Too late, Bishop. They’ve already cut us off. We can’t go east unless you want to fight your way through.”
    “Damn it! I was afraid of that,” the Texan hissed into his mic. “Get back here.”
    “What’s going on?” Terri questioned, her husband’s expression causing even more concern.
    “We can’t go west because of the reservoir,” Bishop pointed. “We can’t go north because of the fisherman’s uncle and his friends. It’s a bad idea to head south and deeper into Mexico. Now the new group of villagers has us cut off. We’re surrounded … in a way.”
    Grim reappeared, running at a slow jog. “There are at least 20 of them, spread out in a picket line and heading our direction. We’ve got three, maybe four minutes before they spot us.”
    Nodding his understanding, Bishop turned back toward the north and then slowly scanned the lake area. “Hope somebody brought sunscreen, ‘cause we are heading out for a boat ride.”
    “Huh?” Grim questioned.
    “Let’s take Hannah back her boat … or at least what’s left of it. The engines should be okay – right?”
    Grim had to think about that one for a bit, finally nodding his head. “I suppose. But what about the villagers? I don’t think they’re just going to let us sail away into the sunset.”
    “Maybe, maybe not. If anybody has a better idea, I’m all ears,” Bishop countered.
    “What are you doing, Bishop? We’re not going to kill those people, are we?” Terri asked.
    “No. We’ll see if we can sneak past them, and if not, Kevin will slow them down long enough so we can get by,” Bishop said, then added, “at least that’s the plan.”
    Just then, an excited voice sounded behind the SAINT team, a quick burst of Spanish announcing the arrival of the larger group.
    “Time to move!” Bishop barked, waving everyone toward the lake.
    Hustling ahead, Grim took his standard position at point. He was soon followed by the short column of Alliance personnel.
    They passed through a series of drainage gullies, large ditches cut by runoff pulled toward the reservoir. “Let’s hope we can stay out of their sights until we reach the boat.…”
    His words were cut off by the whiz and crack of two bullets snapping overhead, immediately followed by a series of excited, shouting men.
    Diving for cover, the team from Texas crawled and scurried to the nearest cover, weapons coming into play as everyone searched for a target.
    Bishop almost shot Grim as he came flying over a low crest, a string of bullets chasing the ex-contractor as he hit the ground sliding like a baseball player trying to steal a base.
    “Fuck!” Grim snarled, rolling back to face the enemy and wiping a thick coating of Mexican soil from his face. “We ran right into them.”
    “So I see,” Bishop responded, ducking as someone up the draw managed a close shot. “Nice job picking the route, old buddy.”
    After spitting a mouthful of grit, Grim threw a scowl at his friend, “What? What the hell do you mean, ‘nice job?’ It sure as shit wasn’t my idea to try and hijack the boat.”
    Before Bishop could return the banter, the incoming fire increased in tempo, pushing the Alliance members lower into the sandy earth. Butter, watching their rear, made things worse.
    “They’re coming up behind us, sir. The gunshots are guiding them in.”
    Bishop locked eyes with his wife, sending an unspoken message – we’re in trouble here. Serious trouble. Instead of vocalizing the obvious, he said, “I didn’t want this. You know I tried to avoid it – right?”
    She nodded.
    The pain was obvious in Bishop’s eyes. Regret. The look of a man who was about to do something evil and was already asking for forgiveness.
    Terri understood immediately. The nightmares. The memories that haunted her husband every