From outside came the clatter of automatic fire, sounding only yards away.
The agonized scream of a soldier just outside hit with mortal fire grated across his ears. Flinching, Alex froze in Michael's arms.
"Tristen…" he whispered, eyes widening in horror and realization. "I didn't make check in…" Nearly dropping Alex, he lunged for the window.
The scene of decimation across the field struck him in grim detail. An overturned jeep, the driver pinned and dying, ammunitions burning and guerilla soldiers scattered throughout, leveling fire on a lone helicopter as it swept low and fast across the camp.
"Michael!" Alex pleaded. "What's going on? What's happened?"
Ignoring her desperate questions, he spun away from the window, snatching up the fallen guns from the floor. "Come on!" he grated, dragging her to her feet.
"Michael, wait!" she protested, wincing in pain as she stumbled along behind him. His arm slung around her shoulders supporting her, they ran through the camp ducking bullets as they went. Gun in hand, Archangel kept her moving, the strain beginning to show on his face.
"Enough…" gasped Alex as they crouched panting behind an empty covered truck. "I've… got to …rest. I can't…go on."
Silently agreeing with her, the pain clawing at his bad leg threatening to fell him, Michael shook his head denying them both. "You'll have to," he rasped. "We've got to keep moving. It's not just our lives on the line now. It's Tristen's as well."
"I can't, Michael," she moaned.
"You can and you will," he bit out impatiently. "I'm not letting Tristen get blown out of the sky 'cause you "can't"," he retorted mimicking her. "Get your act together Delacorte."
Panting, breath heaving in her lungs, sweat sliding down her back and her neck sticky with blood, Alex glared back. "Who elected you king, Coldsmith-Briggs?" she snarled shoving his hand away.
Sardonic grin teasing at his mouth, Archangel ignored her look, slamming another clip into the 9mm he held. "You ready?" he clipped, tossing her the AK-47.
Seething, she snatched it in mid-air. "You never did answer my question, Michael," she retorted, eyes flashing. "Who made you king?"
Glancing back at her, he quirked an eyebrow mockingly. "I did," he replied arrogantly. "If you've got a complaint - file it later."
With that he dashed for the next building and cover, motioning her to follow. Each step seemed an eternity in the open, an easy target for the rifle fire that rained around him. Heart in his throat, he ducked, avoiding it even as he dove for cover.
Reaching it, what there was of it anyway, he levered off return fire. "Come on, Alex!" he grated. "Run!" he cursed frantically, knowing they were out of time.
AK-47 in hand, she lunged for cover and Michael, fire exploding around her, bullets ripping into the ground at her feet tearing it apart. Stumbling and screaming in terror she fell, yelling his name.
Without a thought, he ran for her, abandoning the safety of the building and cover. Hand outstretched he reached for her, fingers touching, clamping around hers. Her hand in his, they ran for the helicopter.
"Get them!" Kersey screamed in rage. Slamming the jeep into gear, the soldier beside him tore off after the two fleeing Americans. Incensed, Kersey pumped off several rounds trying to hit them, shots going wild as the jeep jounced over the uneven ground.
Lungs sobbing for air, Alex ran beside Michael every pounding step torture as it slammed through her wounded shoulder. Stride for stride she matched him. Even now she could hear the sharp staccato of weapon fire around them.
Lunging for the waiting helicopter, they reached it together. Flinging open the door Michael shoved her inside, grabbing a handhold to pull himself up behind with. Gaining a foothold, he heaved himself in behind her even as a bullet slammed through the glass beside him.
"Agghh!" he cried out in pain, the bullet thudding into his flesh.
"Michael!" Tristen screamed, watching the metal of the handgrip slide through his nerveless fingers. Unable to hold on he slid to the ground. Struggling, he tried to rise, collapsing only mere feet from freedom.
Scrabbling, Tristen clamored across the cockpit of the helicopter, Alex only a heartbeat behind. Panting, the two women desperately tried to drag his limp body into the helicopter.
"Come on, come on!" the younger woman pleaded, desperately glancing over her shoulder. Muscles trembling, the taste of fear bitter in her mouth Tristen heaved again. Alex hauled with all her strength on Michael's wrists as she did. And suddenly, they had him…
"Got him! We've got him!" Alex cried in triumph. Fingers closing around each others wrists, strength flowed between the two as Tristen deftly swung Alex up into the helicopter beside her. Instantly she was into the pilot's seat expertly flicking levers and easing back on the collective as she shoved it airborne.
With a shudder, the Huey rose climbing slowly from the treacherous ground that had nearly cost them their lives. Oblivious, Alex turned her back to the cockpit and back to Michael sprawled unceremoniously across the floor of the helicopter. Crawling to his side, she reached for his hand, still fingers in her own. "Michael?" she whispered, the words questioning and uncertain over the roar of the rotors around her. Anxious fingers searched his neck for a pulse, unable to find one for one desperate moment.
Nervously, she swallowed hard reaching a trembling hand out to smooth away the sweat-drenched dark blonde hair that clung to his forehead wondering if all their efforts had been for nothing. "Please, no," she whispered.