"Moving gets us killed faster," Cole snapped back. But Hoskins was right. They couldn't stay pinned down. Cole scanned the terrain, looking for anything they could use. The pass widened about 50 yards ahead, opening into a rocky clearing that would give them room to maneuver.
If they could get the wagons moving, if they could break through the initial volleys, they might have a chance. "Lyra!" he called. "Can you drive a wagon?" "Never tried." "Now's your chance."
He pointed at the lead wagon. "Get it moving. Head for the clearing." Lyra didn't argue. She scrambled up into the driver's seat, grabbed the reins, and whipped the horses into motion. The wagon lurched forward, wheels clattering over stone.
Immediately, gunfire intensified, focused on the moving target. Cole laid down covering fire, working the lever on his rifle as fast as his hands could move. "Go!" he shouted to the others. "Follow her!" Sani drove the second wagon, Kaya riding alongside, firing methodically at the ridges.
Hoskins took the third, cursing a steady stream as bullets whined past his head. Cole stayed on horseback, weaving between the wagons, trying to make himself a harder target while keeping the bandits' attention divided. A shot grazed his shoulder, burning like someone had dragged a hot iron across his skin. He ignored it, fired back, and saw another bandit drop. The clearing was close now, maybe 30 yards.
Twenty. Ten. They burst into the open, and Cole immediately shouted for the wagons to circle. It was a defensive formation, classic and effective, turning the wagons into a mobile fort. The women understood instantly, maneuvering the wagons into position, while Hoskins added the third to complete the circle.
The bandits came charging down from the ridges, thinking the fight was over. They were wrong. Cole dropped two of them before they made it halfway. Kaya took out another. Lyra, crouched behind a wagon wheel, fired with shaking hands and somehow hit a man square in the chest.
The remaining bandits pulled up short, realizing they'd walked into a kill box. For a moment, everything hung in balance. Then the bandits broke, scattering back toward the hills, leaving their dead behind. Cole lowered his rifle, breathing hard. His shoulder throbbed where the bullet had grazed him, warm blood soaking into his shirt.
Around him, the others were checking themselves for injuries, reloading weapons, trying to process what had just happened. "Everyone alive?" Cole called out. "Alive," Kaya confirmed. "Same," Lyra said, her voice shaking. "I'm fine," Sani added.
Hoskins climbed down from his wagon, face pale. "That was too damn close." "They'll be back," Cole said. "We need to move. Now."
They didn't stop until nightfall, pushing the horses and wagons hard, putting as much distance between themselves and the ambush site as possible. When they finally made camp, everyone was too exhausted to do more than collapse around the fire. Kaya came over to where Cole sat, examining his shoulder. "Let me see," she said. "It's fine."
"Let me see anyway." Cole sighed and pulled his shirt aside. The wound was shallow, more of a burn than anything, but it had bled enough to stain the fabric dark. Kaya pulled out a canteen and a strip of cloth, cleaning the wound with efficient, practiced movements. "You've done this before," Cole observed.