Facade 

Still pinned down in the false building, Bro winced at the ear-shattering battle outside between Angel’s strike team and the cartel. Determined to escape without getting shot, he lay on the ground and kicked at a weak spot in the rear wall of the structure. 

“Ouch!” he swore as his foot smashed a hole in the wood. He continued battering the wall until his body fit in the breach. The gunfire echoed in the background as he crawled out of the false building and raised himself to a desolate part of the dirt-street. 

They’re all around the block fighting. But Sis went the other way. With rifle in hand, Bro shifted to his good leg and hobbled in the last direction of his twin. 

Sand

When Bro reached the corner of the block, he spotted Sis sitting on the edge of a concrete barrier. She appeared disheveled. He hobbled faster. 

“Yo, Sis!”

“Bro?” She turned and revealed a bloody hand wrapped in cloth.

“You look terrible,” he said, reaching into a back pouch and retrieving first aid gauze.

“Not as bad as him.” She pointed at a dead body a few feet away. “That’s Juan Pablo. Bastard shot me. ”

“I see.” He tended to her hand.

“Hey, you know what’s crazy? That duffle bag is still on the fountain about a block from here,” she said, pointing in the direction, “there’s a truck parked near it.”

“Huh?” Her words stumped him. For he no longer cared about the duffle bag that may-or-may-not contain money. He just wanted to escape in any vehicle that rolled. On top of that, Sis’s hand needed stitches and he couldn’t bend his knee. “That’s great, but do you hear the shootout down the block? I think we should cut our losses and go.”

“Yeah, I hear the shooting," she squinted at him. "It's fine, let them kill each other down the block while we sneak up the block. They’re too busy to care.” She leaned back on a concrete barrier and gave Bro her shotgun, “Take this, I can’t fire with my messed up hand. But still, we didn’t drive to Mexico to get shot and leave with nothing, did we?”

“Hmm.” Bro wasn’t sure how to answer. Sis was always cocky, but if an acceptable risk existed, he’d consider her plan. Using the shotgun as a cane, he hobbled to the edge of the intersection and turned his head right. Down the block, Angel’s strike team shot it out with the enemy. He turned his head left. Up the block, the fountain stood with the duffle bag on top of it. And thirty-feet away from the fountain, one of the strike team’s SUV. “That truck’s close enough to that bag. We'd be fools not to take both.”

“Exactly, we’re on the same page,” she agreed.

“I suppose.” 

Just then the gunfire stopped. Bro squinted right. Two hundred meters out, Angel walked in the street, her weapon down. It appeared her strike team won the battle against the cartel. “Sis, I think our window closed, we gotta go!” 

“Oh!” Sis retrieved her empty rifle and started hustling up the block toward the fountain. 

Bro followed but kept turning his head to keep an eye on Angel. She had her back turned, talking in her earpiece. Good! She’s busy, not thinking about us. But before he could turn away, a lone Romero gunman appeared from behind a concrete barrier. With rifle in hand, the man sprinted toward Angel.

Oh shit!

Grit

Angel checked the corpses of two Romero men shot off the main street. The Rifle Girl spoke in her ear-piece. 

“Victor, sit-rep!” 

“Sixteen confirmed kills on the west end, but Tox and Rust were wounded.”

“How bad?”

“Rust will live, Tox needs emergency evac.”

“Get them both to medica-” 

It all happened so fast. Before Angel could say another word, Dutch ran toward her screaming, “Get down!” 

On reflex, Angel dropped to the ground. But as she fell, she turned just as a running cartel gunman aimed a pistol at her head. Never one to give up, the snarling Rifle Girl raised her weapon, but it was too late. 

Pop! Pop! Pop!

Three shots in rapid succession struck the running gunman. Two rounds to the back and a headshot. The man collapsed dead at Angel’s feet. He never fired the pistol. 

“Ah!” The Rifle Girl stood in shock, gazing at the dead man set on murdering her. But who killed him? As Dutch reached her side, Angel shielded her eyes and scanned up the block. And there, two hundred meters out, with a rifle in hand stood the Cowboy.

“Leader, you good?” Dutch asked while radioing to the other members.

But Angel heard nothing. She just gazed at the man who saved her life before her expression turned to fury. 

“Dutch.”

“Yeah, Angel?” 

“Give me your sidearm and an extra magazine,” she said, handing him her rifle while pulling her own pistol. 

“Ten-four, Leader,” Dutch replied with a smile. He gave her his Sig Sauer nine-mm. 

“Good, lad.” She inspected both guns in her hand, “Last thing.”

“Yeah?”

With her eyes focused in the distance, she replied, “Once the wounded are evacuated, rally the men to this point. But no one interferes with me. I repeat, do not interfere!”

“Ten-four, Leader. You’ll handle it.”

"I will." 

Armed with two pistols, and slits for eyes, Angel raced up the block. Her target, the Cowboy and his sister. 

...

Bro wielding an MSR-10 Battle Rifle

illustrated by Fuuyure