Hit Hard. Amy J. Fetzer

stopped a couple yards from him, adjusting her footing on the wet, broken concrete. “You will never grow accustomed to the heat, Thomas.”

      “What’s your secret?”

      “Don’t fight it.”

      He made a sound of impossibility, and stood. They’d been sidestepping their personal feelings since he’d arrived after the flood. It was good, he thought, this barrier, because he wasn’t here just to help the engineers find the problem. His position gave him access to vital information the Sri Lankan government might not pass along so quickly. Though the government was doing its best to get aid to the victims, intelligence was slow and the US was interested. But it wasn’t enough. Tiger rebels were in the hills near the river when the dam broke. Several bodies had been identified, along with many Sri Lankan soldiers.

      “Are you ready for a preliminary report?” she asked.

      He shook his head. “There is nothing wrong with this dam, the concrete strength, the metal skeleton. I was here during the construction. It’s sound. It shouldn’t have broken.”

      “Thomas, you know a small fissure, given the pressure per square inch, could very well have worsened in a short time.”

      He was already shaking his head. “There are no cracks, no residue left from explosive charges. A dam this size doesn’t just break. Your government has an inspection team go over this dam a couple times a month. You have crews watching the pressure and water flow. If something changed in the days before the break, why didn’t they see it?”

      “Charges could have been set recently. And we’ve considered that because some Tigers were close, they were perhaps waiting for the blast, and wanted to witness their destruction.”

      “Possible.”

      “The residue likely washed away with the water flow.”

      Again, he shook his head. “But the break in the section is still intact.” He rose and gestured below. The dam had broken from beneath the rim. “And I’ve done a dozen chemical residue tests.”

      She frowned, suspicious. That wasn’t his job.

      “Do you want my help or not? The US is prepared to pour funds into helping your country, Risha, and I’m the first wave.”

      She looked over the broken dam. In spots, the water still flowed and farther inland workers struggled to create a levee in the basin. This was the water supply for the entire region.

      “Without a crack, the only thing that would have caused this type of damage—”

      She looked at him sharply.

      “Is a drop in temperature, and I’m talking near freezing.”

      She stiffened. “Impossible.”

      “Yes, I know. Or sensors would have gone off. They didn’t.”

      She frowned and he still adored that intense expression. He could see her thoughts ticking off scenarios.

      “We built it and people are dead. It is our fault, Thomas.” She finally looked at him, the sadness in her eyes clear and bitter. She felt too much, he thought, but it was hard not to. Below them, workers sprayed the area with a bacteria killer before they unearthed more bodies.

      “What do you need?”

      He pointed to the concrete. “We have to get into the tunnels. That would be the best place to start.”

      “Not up here?”

      “The dam break didn’t have anything to do with construction.”

      Her look said she doubted that. “Then how?”

      “That’s our job. Come on.”

      Risha pulled her radio from her belt and spoke, informing her team that they needed pumps and workers to empty the tunnels. It would take days, but Thomas was a brilliant man and she trusted his judgment.

      Viva met the top of the ridge and hesitated when she saw more jungle. A mile to the road, she thought and ran into the forest. She batted away branches and prayed they’d survive, yet felt they wouldn’t. There were too many of the bandits. A hundred yards or so in she stopped to catch her breath, then pressed on. She didn’t get more than a few feet when a man appeared in front of her.

      Instantly, she darted in another direction and confronted another small man. She turned and was surrounded, men dropping from the trees. Hill tribes, she thought, by the look of their clothing and old weapons aimed at her.

      Sam’s going to be really pissed if I get killed today.

      She put her hands up. “Help, Jao Pho, two Americans are trapped.” She pointed and the first man, wearing a perpetual frown, followed the line of her arm. “Help, please!” She closed her eyes briefly and prayed she got the dialect right. When she opened her eyes, she was alone.

      Sam aimed carefully and fired, swiveling to match his sight on the bandits. They’d taken cover at the first shot, but a few were bold. Max had his automatic off, firing one shot at a time to conserve ammo, moving closer to Sam’s position with each blast. A shot spiked leaves above his head and Sam ducked, taking deeper cover, but the muzzle flash gave his position away. And theirs.

      Max backed up, signaling and Sam mimicked. They couldn’t get them all, but enough for them to escape. He counted time, giving Viva plenty, and in tandem, Sam and Max raced up the steep hill. He heard a grunt, a rustle in the bushes, then Max was moving with him. They stopped, turned, and fired, then overtook another twenty yards. Sam prayed he didn’t find Viva anywhere near here. He glanced at Max, his pulse staggering when he realized he was covered in blood, but still moving.

      Sam had a couple bullets left, his headset and radio wet. They were pretty much screwed. A bandit ran out into the open, and Sam aimed, but never got off a shot. The man went still and stiff with shock, a dart in the center of his throat.

      He twisted sharply—and saw Viva. Damn woman. She waved, and on either side of her was a line of locals, covering them. Sam took off, racing up the incline, grabbing vines and propelling himself forward. She reached for him.

      “I told you to run!”

      “Yeah, well, that wasn’t working for me.”

      He dove over her, then pulled her back with him as the tribesmen opened fire. He pushed her low, then, on his stomach Sam moved up beside the tribesmen.

      Sam spent his last rounds, taking out a man who wouldn’t give up. Alongside him, the tribesmen aimed slow and careful, expending precious rounds and getting the job done. As good as a squad of Marines, he thought, as they watched for movement. The leader nodded, then signaled. The men eased away from the edge, then rose, hurrying backwards into the jungle for a few yards before turning into its darkness.

      The leader grabbed Viva as he passed, pulling her with him. Sam was on him, prying his hands off her. The man scowled, let go, urging them on, and went farther into the jungle.

      Max approached, and when Viva saw the blood, she was on him, patting him down for the wound. “I’m not hit, he just got close enough to bleed on me.”

      “Jesus, and you call me a thrill junkie,” Sam said, pulling off his hat and rubbing his head before replacing it.

      “Got my radio, though.” Max held up a tangle of wires and shattered plastic. He tossed it.

      Viva looked between the two. Their calm was amazing.

      Sam checked his weapon, one bullet left, then motioned Viva ahead. This wasn’t over yet. The tribal leader kept looking back at them, more specifically at Viva. “Got your own tribe now?”

      “They found me. The hill tribes rarely get involved with outsiders.” She didn’t know what changed their minds, but was more than grateful for it.

      “You’re certifiably insane,” he said.

      She cocked a look at him,