Cut and Run 2 - Sticks and Stones

didn’t reach the roof. It was an eight-foot drop to the top level from where they were.
    “I hate this fucking town,” Ty grumbled as he secured his gun and glanced over his shoulder. He could hear shouting, the various patrols communicating to each other; they obviously didn’t possess the same sort of gear he and Zane were using to stay in touch with their comrades.
    He looked back down at the fire escape. It was their only way down unless they fancied trying to fly.
    They were almost out of options, and not just because they were stuck on a roof. They’d planned for this contingency, though. There were three two-man teams in town today, each equipped with enough charges to blow one of three targets and radio receivers linked to each set. Bravo team had achieved its objective—blowing up a television station that doubled as the town’s communications center. But in doing so they’d moved too early and announced their presence before Ty and Zane could even reach their own target.
    While Bravo team had done its job, the two men hadn’t survived long enough to celebrate. Alpha team had managed to set its charges at the supply stores at the end of the street, but the men had been assaulted on their way out and hadn’t managed to blow them. They were now involved in a running gunfight through the streets, taking their radio receivers farther and farther out of range as they went. They were screwed, much like Ty and Zane were about to be.
    Ty climbed over the edge of the brick and lowered himself slowly until his feet dangled just a couple feet above the metal platform below, Zane following suit. To jump would have made too much noise, and they couldn’t afford to be captured or killed before they laid their charges. One target out of three was unacceptable. Two targets was still a failure, but it was better than nothing. Ty wanted all three targets, even if he had to do the last two himself.
    They made their way down the fire escape quickly, causing only the occasional clang or bang as they hurried. When Ty’s booted feet hit the pavement, though, a shout from the corner of the building met them.
    “Stop! Federal agents!” the man behind the protective mask warned as he held his gun up.
    Ty turned without a moment’s hesitation and fired at him, two quick shots, and red bloomed across the letters on the man’s chest. He fell back, and Ty and Zane ran toward him rather than away, firing at the other agents who rounded the corner. Before the other two men in the patrol could retreat or call for backup, both took shots in the chest and dropped with pained cries.
    Zane lowered his gun and pulled off his headgear. His dark hair, longer than it used to be and brushing his collar, was ruffled up now, and a curled wire from the ear bud ran along his scruffy cheek. He turned his chin to look at Ty. “We can still make the objective. This is the right street.” He nodded to the road at the nearby crossing.
    “Lead on,” Ty told him as he tossed his protective mask at the agents lying on the ground. He didn’t plan to wear it anymore; if he took one in the face it wouldn’t do him much good anyway, and he couldn’t think with it on.
    Zane’s safety gear hit the ground as well as they loped past the fallen men, and at the end of the alley they flattened against the vinyl siding of that building so Zane could look around the corner.
    The town’s main street was a long, paved corridor lined with shops. Laundromat, barber shop, diner, movie theater, the deserted pool hall they’d fled just a few moments ago, and several other buildings. Some in use, some not. At the very end of the street was the large brick building that served as the area’s supply storage, its front lined with garage doors for freight trucks to drop off provisions. The munitions dump was several stores over on their side of the street, concealed in a computer repair shop. That was their objective.
    Ty knew that the big problem was not the distance they had to travel, but the teams of agents that patrolled the streets. He and Zane had nothing but the charges and receivers, the guns they held in their hands, and their communications gear. And a bottle of hairspray Ty had taken from the drug store down the street when they’d ducked inside to avoid a patrol.
    Their biggest ally now was stealth.
    They made their way to the corner of the block undetected, swiftly coming up on the ammunition cache.
    Shouts came from their right, and then they