Hot Zone (Elite Force #2)(4)
Author: Catherine Mann

“And you have.” He pinned her with his eyes, with his determination, the swath of light staying steady on her face. “Keep the faith. Hold steady and picture your family in one of the camps for survivors right now going nuts trying to find you.”

“I’ve read stories about how babies do better because they have more fat stores and they don’t tense up or get claustrophobic.” Her eyes pleaded with him. “He’s just napping, you know.”

The force of her need pummeled him harder than the spray of rocks from the jackhammered ceiling. The world closed in to just this woman and a kid he couldn’t see. Too clearly he could envision his wife and his daughter trapped in the wreckage of a crashed plane. Marissa would have held out hope for Tilly right to the end too, fighting for her until her nails and spirit were ragged.

Shit.

The vise on his brain clamped harder, the roar in his ears louder, threatening his focus. “I’m changing your IV bag now, so don’t wig out if you feel a little tug.”

She clenched her fist. “You must get pretty jaded in this line of work.”

“I’ve got a good success rate.” He didn’t walk away from tough odds. Every mission was do-or-die for him.

“About my foot…” she started hesitantly. “Am I imagining that it’s okay? Be honest. I won’t panic. I need to be prepared.”

“The mind does what it needs to in order to survive. That’s what you need to focus on. Surviving.”

Not that any amount of determination had mattered in the end for Marissa or Tilly. They’d died in that plane crash, their broken bodies returned to him to bury along with his will to live. A trembling started deep inside him. His teeth chattered. He dug his fingers into the ground to anchor himself into the present. Amelia Bailey would not die on his watch, damn it.

But the trembling increased inside him. Harder. Deeper. Until he realized… The shaking wasn’t inside, but outside.

The ground shuddered with another earthquake.

Chapter 2

Major Liam McCabe lurched as the ground shook under his feet. He grabbed the tractor beside him for support. Debris shifted below his feet, rattling all the way to his teeth. Rescue workers scrambled down the piles, carrying the male victim he’d just stabilized and extricated—a businessman who’d been trapped in his office chair.

Frantic wails filled the air from family members who’d been digging with shovels, even hands, in search of loved ones. A German shepherd jockeyed for balance on top of a shifting concrete slab.

He had to get off this oscillating pyramid of debris. Now.

His pulse ramped with adrenaline. Splaying his arms for balance, Liam tested for firmer ground. The structural triage report on this site had sucked, but Hugh Franco had been ready to tunnel in once Zorro barked a live find.

Liam looked left fast to check on team member Wade Rocha. Combat boots planted, Rocha balanced with the feed line tight in his grip�� the other end attached to Hugh Franco somewhere underneath the trembling hell.

Shit. Franco. Stuck below with his victim.

And just that fast, the earth steadied.

The demolished wasteland around him went eerily quiet. Sweat and filth plastered his uniform to his body, his heart hammering in his ears. Relief workers stood stock-still as if the world had stopped. But spirals of smoke affirmed the world hadn’t ended, just paused to catch a breath.

He exhaled hard. Adrenaline stung his veins. The tremor hadn’t been an earthquake, just another aftershock. Four so far today. Nerves were ragged, especially with the locals.

His headset blazed to life again with a frenzy of orders, questions, and curses from command center, along with check-ins from others on his team—Brick, Fang, Cuervo, Data, Bubbles—spread out at other potential rescues in the sector. But the most important voice was conspicuously missing.

Hugh Franco.

Dread knotted his gut. Liam had lived through hell on earth before, but it was always worse when his men’s lives were on the line. They were his family, no question. As his three ex-wives would attest, he was married to the job.

“Franco? Franco?” Liam shouted into the mic. “Report in, damn it.”

His headset continued to sputter, some voices coming through piecemeal. None of them Franco.

Crappy headset… Liam’s hands fisted.

“Shit.” He punched the tractor. Knuckles throbbing, he resisted the urge to pitch the mic to the ground.

Wade “Brick” Rocha edged around the tractor. “I’m going in after him, boss. I’ll follow the cable, dig through, and—”

Reason filtered through the rage. He needed to level out, stay in command.

“Hold steady. Not yet. I don’t need two of the team missing.” He refused to believe Franco was dead. Only his voice was gone. Just the radio connection fading. “Let’s check in with the cleanup crew, maybe nab one of the search dogs again to confirm the exact location, since things have shifted.”

Scrubbing along his jaw, he scanned the crews returning to business as if nothing had happened. Training kicked into overdrive at times like these. The cold-sweat stage would set in later, once there wasn’t anything to do but sit and think about how very wrong the day could have gone.

How badly it could still go, as they all hung out together in an active seismic zone.

Guards formed a circle around the perimeter. American soldiers armed with M4 carbines stood alongside multinational troops carrying Uzis, all on the watch for looters targeting more than just store goods. Food and clean water were at a premium, which made them a target, since they had both, thanks to the air force’s RED HORSE unit: Rapid Engineer Deployable Heavy Operational Repair Squadron Engineers. Whether in a war zone or natural disaster, they responded within twenty-four hours with food and water-purification units filling up water trailers called water buffalos.

Liam scanned the outskirts. Everyone from starving survivors to ra**sts trolling for a defenseless victim.

His M9 pistol stayed strapped to his hip, loaded. Ready.

For now, he had to find Hugh. He steadied his voice and tried again. “Franco, check in.”

“Roger… here…” the familiar voice cut through the chatter, sporadic, but alive.

Thank God.

“Am okay…” Franco continued, the connection crummy with broken interference. “We’re shaken… No exit. Would appreciate… dig us… soon.”

“We’re on it. Not leaving until you’re clear,” Liam promised without hesitation.