Free PRIMAL Reckoning (Book 1 in the Redemption Trilogy, the PRIMAL Series Book 5) by Jack Silkstone Page A

nose across
the street with a dozen more officers in riot gear.
    Something
didn’t feel right. He heard a shout from the closest line of riot police and saw
an officer pointing at him. Something whistled past his head and smacked into a
building. He jumped down from the truck as another projectile sailed into the
crowd. One of the demonstrators was struck in the head and collapsed to the
ground.
    The
cylindrical projectiles hissed as they released gas and Roberto coughed as he
dragged the unconscious man off the street. “He’s alive.”
    Emilio
grabbed a spluttering canister with a leathery hand and pitched it over the
crowd back into the police line.
    Yelling
turned to screams as the police swung batons and beat their way through the crowd.
Banners became weapons as the students retaliated. More grenades fell among
them and the cloud of tear gas grew.
    Roberto
tore a sleeve off the wounded student’s shirt and used it to bandage a deep
gash on his head. “This is getting out of hand.”
    Emilio
pointed up at the camera on the Secretariat building. It was aimed directly at
them. “I think they’re trying to get us. I’ll call Carlos, we need to get back
to my truck.”
    Gunshots echoed
down the street and there was a shriek from the crowd. He hefted the wounded
man onto his broad shoulders as one of the riot police pointed and yelled, “That’s
him!”
    “Go, go!”
screamed Emilio, coughing and stumbling through the gas.
    Beanbag
rounds hissed through the air as they floundered in an eye-watering haze.
Roberto covered his mouth with one hand, gripped the casualty on his shoulders
with the other, put his head down, and ran.
    “Stop,
get your hands up!” The voice was amplified through a speaker attached to a
police truck. It was a roadblock, less than a hundred yards in front. Roberto
skidded to a halt. Emilio tugged at his arm. “Leave the kid. Let’s go. This
way.”
    He
lowered the student from his shoulder and followed the grey-haired rancher.
Emilio attempted to enter a restaurant, but it was locked. He kicked the door,
failing to budge it.
    Roberto shoulder
charged the door, splintering the wood around the deadlock. “Stop!” a voice
yelled followed by a shotgun blast. As he stumbled inside, a paintball-sized
nylon bag filled with lead struck him in the arm.
    Emilio followed
him in, slammed the door behind them, and shoved a table against it.
    Roberto
tried to grab another table with both hands, but his right arm hung useless by
his side. The muscles were numb. “Goddamn it.” He dragged the table with his
good arm and Emilio helped heave it against the other.
    Someone
bashed at the door. “ Policia! ”
    “That’s
not going to hold them for long.” Roberto was clenching his fist in an attempt
to work some feeling back into the muscles.
    Emilio
led the way to the kitchen. “There’s got to be a back door.”
    They
dashed out of a service entrance as the sound of splintering wood and crashing
furniture came from the dining area.
    The
ranchers sprinted down an alley, the police in hot pursuit. They weaved between
empty crates and piles of trash before bursting out onto a busy street. To
their left was the police checkpoint, orientated away from them toward the remnants
of the demonstration. A thin shroud of gas hung in the air. It stung their eyes
and nostrils.
    A horn
sounded as an old red F250 screeched to a halt. It was Carlos, Emilio’s son.
“Get in!” yelled the skinny youth.
    They
piled into the truck as riot policemen appeared from the laneway. One of them
raised his shotgun and fired. The beanbag round slammed into the tailgate with
a clang.
    “Jesus
Christ!” yelled Carlos as he slammed his foot down on the accelerator. The
truck took off like a startled gazelle.
    “Watch
your mouth,” said Emilio.
    The teenager
weaved the truck through the traffic. “They killed people. They opened fire
with no warning.”
    “They
wanted us.” Roberto shook his head. “They were searching for