Free Bodyguard Lockdown by Donna Young Page B

nowhere.”
    “Damn it, Booker—”
    “Leave it. We need to move,” he snappedweakly. “I’ll be fine. Been hurt worse.”
    He took a step, and his knees buckled. Sandra grabbed his arm to keep him upright. “Hold on.”
    “Fire ants have scouts,” he warned. “We’ve got to put distance between them and us.”
    “I know. I was raised here, remember?” Once a scout ant attached itself to her or Booker, the others would swarm them. A swarm of fire ants had been known to enveloplivestock, pick it clean and move on in mere minutes.
    Booker grunted, but managed to move his feet through the sand. “Over the dune...rock formations. Higher ground. Give us time.”
    “No.” She scanned the area for brush, trying to keep her head as the army of ants drew closer. “We fight fire ants with fire.”
    “Fire,” he grunted, trying desperately to gain his equilibrium. He reachedinto his front pocket and pulled out a lighter. “Use this and my knife. Cut the brush. Circle it around us.”
    She moved them closer to the rocks, sat him on the nearest one. Pulled the knife from his sheath. Quickly she hacked at the nearby brush, relieved when the branches broke dry and brittle.
    “Be ready. Smoke can be seen for miles,” Booker muttered.
    “One enemy at a time.” Sheplaced the brush low in a ten-foot circle around them and struck the lighter.
    The flames leaped to life, giving her a moment of safety. Booker shifted, then groaned. His face whitened.
    “I need to examine your wound.” She lifted her medical bag from her shoulder.
    “We have more important problems right now. The damn horse took the supplies and water. Besides, I can see the concussionfrom this side,” he snapped, but his words were badly slurred. He locked his legs under him to stand.
    “Hold on, damn it.” But she was too late. Booker’s head lolled back and he slumped back onto the ground, unconscious.
    “If you’d just given me a minute,” Sandra muttered. Anger and frustration clashed, setting her jaw. “Arrogant superhero stereotype—”
    Sandra stopped. Engines roaredin the distance. She jumped the fire ring and scrambled up a nearby boulder.
    Time had run out.
    Two jeeps. Four men. Rifles. Just over the nearest dune.
    Sandra jumped from the rock, made her way back to Booker. The sea of ants stood between them and the jeeps, giving Sandra some time.
    Quickly, she plowed up the sand at the base with her hands. She rolled him into the shallowhole, tossed his pistol beside him and shoved the scrub over him, praying the smoke, brush and rock hid him.
    Suddenly a flamethrower ignited; its flames spewed over the army of ants, burning them.
    The acid scent of fuel and burned insects caught in her nose. “Handy,” she muttered and palmed a nearby rock. “Why didn’t we have one of those?”
    Two of the men hopped from their vehicles,leaving the drivers of the jeeps to follow.
    No use hiding. She wasn’t armed and couldn’t outrun a bullet. And she wouldn’t leave Booker, until she was sure he’d be safe.
    The first one, the shorter of the two, smiled at her. The sweaty features and huge lips filled with conceit.
    “Where is the man, Doctor Haddad? McKnight?”
    “He’s dead.”
    The man hesitated, his eyes scannedthe area briefly, touching on the boulder before moving back to her. “How?”
    “Snakebite. Viper.” Sand vipers were a well-known danger in the desert. Their venom lethal.
    The second jeep stopped a few yards away.
    A tall man approached, and the arrogance of his stride told Sandra he was the leader.
    “Good work, Itamar.”
    Dressed in white with a red scarf wrapped around his head,he’d left one end loose against his shoulder, exposing his features. His right eye was covered by a black patch, but the other black iris burned with anticipation.
    “She said McKnight is dead, Waseem. Viper bite.”
    “You’ve survived the desert on your own?” Waseem asked, disbelief in the glance he sent the other three men, the twitch