The Lost Dutchman

Prologue

   "Shit!" She exclaimed as she ducked behind a stack of crates, a line of bullets embedding themselves into the metal of a truck to her left. She brought her hand above the top of the crate and blind fired her pistol. More gunfire sounded, mixed with shouting and other profanities, all directed at her.

The radio transmitter in her hand crackled to life, the voice on the other end incoherent. Her anger sparked as she remembered who exactly was on the other line and wondered why he wasn't where he was supposed to be.

"Your ass should've been here fifteen minutes ago! Where the hell are you?" She whispered harshly, growing impatient as she waited for a response, praying something would come in.

"... can't... -stand...say-...-gain..." was the only reply.

Sighing in defeat, she pressed down on the emergency call button, hoping that whoever was on the other side, and it better be him, would receive the message and understand what she meant by it. Crawling on her hands and knees, she slowly moved forward until she had edged around the corner of the crates. She then took off in a sprint, her destination a cluster of trees to the right.

   "She's headed this way!" A man shouted, but she dared not spare a glance behind her as she pushed herself further. She made it into the trees, the branches scraping against her as she ran past them, and allowed her pace to slow a fraction as she pulled her pistol from its holster and slid out its magazine to reload it. Her ammunition was running low, meaning that if she didn't find more, she wouldn't have any shots left, and being stranded in a desert while being hunted by a pack of bloodthirsty mercenaries hellbent on getting paid isn't the best scenario to be lacking anything, much less a way to protect oneself. It left her wondering one thing as she closed her eyes for a brief second in exasperation;

How the hell did it all go downhill so fast?