Heat Wave ➣Romanogers

Twenty-one

They didn't have to go far to find something. Fifteen minutes later, they spotted a building nestled in a copse of trees. The sky had grown consistently cloudier as the storm approached, which spared them the burning heat of the sun, but a few fat drops of rain were splattering on the jeep's windshield. In a few minutes, another massive downpour would certainly be upon them. That made them more willing to investigate the small place than they probably should have been. There was no way to hide their approach, not with the open savanna spreading around them as far as the eye could see, but neither Steve nor Natasha spotted any obvious signs of people. So they chanced driving right up to the back of it and checking it out.

Steve ignored the persistent ache in his gut as he slowed the car to a stop and shut it off. He climbed out, grabbing a couple of the handguns. One he stuffed into his shorts. The other he carried in his left hand, his right tightly grasping the straps of his shield. He also slung their replenished bag of supplies over his shoulder. A quick brush of his hand to his right thigh found the Eye of Ra still safely tucked into his pocket. Ready, he looked to Natasha and found her nodding in response.

Thunder grumbled warningly as they headed through the grass toward the building. It was in serious disrepair; the gray exterior was blackened with mold and other stains. The windows were smashed in some locations, and the roof looked to be significantly sagging. It looked a bit like a research outpost; there were faded signs around it in English for some sort of zoological survey team. Lawn chairs that were broken and covered in rot surrounded the building, as well as what appeared to be empty animal hutches. A large, old gas generator draped in rust was against one side of the building. Clearly it hadn't been active in years. Whoever had used this place seemed long gone.

Silently they approached. There wasn't a door on the front anymore. They flanked the dark opening, backs to the building, listening. When it was silent aside from the soft patter of rain and the aching groan of thunder, Natasha went in first, gun up. Steve followed. Inside was about as sadly dilapidated as outside. Everything was colored in various shades of gray, brown, and black. The remains of furniture, supplies, and research materials littered the floors. They were careful as they advanced, but a quick sweep of the small building revealed they were alone.

And that this was clearly some sort of storehouse for Rego.

The back room was positively loaded with crates. Guns. Drugs. Jewelry. Alcohol and stolen goods. Food, at least. Natasha looked around, appraising the pirate's loot with a slightly astonished look on her face. Slightly. "Pay dirt?"

"You said these islands were a hub for pirating and narcotics trafficking. You were right," he said.

She winced. "Not sure if I should be proud of myself or pissed off," she commented.

"Both?" he offered. Steve found an abundance of what he assumed was cocaine in a few large crates in front of him. Millions of dollars worth, in all likelihood. Disgusted, he pawned through the next box. Fruit. And dried meat of some sort. Thank God. Still, some caution would be prudent. This was clearly a lair of their enemies. "Think it's safe?" he asked.

"Go ahead," Natasha said with a tip of her head. "I'll keep watch."

Relieved, he started eating. The food tasted fairly exotic, but he was famished enough not to care. He made himself slow down; the last couple of times something similar to this had happened to him and he'd inhaled a quick meal, he'd regretted it later. "Would you toss me a banana?" Natasha asked. She'd moved closer to the window to keep a better eye on their surroundings. He threw her an entire bunch of them. She'd been hiding it and still was with her sedate peeling of the fruit, but she was ridiculously hungry as well. She had consumed two of them and almost a whole bottle of water when Steve looked back a couple of minutes later.
They kept eating. Rested. Minutes dragged by. Natasha watched the rain, coming over briefly to get some of the jerky and raid another box that apparently contained chocolate. Expensive chocolate. "Much better than that crap in the car," she said, taking an appreciative bite of the softened bar she'd unwrapped. She gave one to him on her way back to the window. "Might as well enjoy it."

Steve unwrapped the candy. The foil around it was gold, not real gold of course but it sure looked like it. This he ate more slowly. He'd never had a big sweet tooth. Growing up they'd hardly had money for the necessities, so things like treats were just that: treats, not staples. Even still, he found himself savoring it because it was undoubtedly the best chocolate he'd ever had, the unbelievable fact he was having it with Black Widow inside a pirate's lair on an isolated tropical island notwithstanding. This was actually kind of nice.

Watching her enjoy it in the way she was, subdued and controlled like she didn't want to admit to him let alone herself that it wasgood... Eyelids fluttering shut just a little, tongue darting out to lick wayward chocolate from her lower lip... That was just about as nice.

But the crackle of what was very clearly a radio made them both stop completely. Steve's heart leapt. He looked up and stood, setting his chocolate to the crate. She had already located the source of the noise. Behind a wall of crates there was an old, disgusting desk littered with guns and discarded loot and empty bottles of booze. A military-grade walkie talkie was there, buzzing with static. "Parente, você está ouvindo?" They knew that voice. Rego. His words were slurred and he was yelling quickly. "O comprador está aqui e não temos nada pra vender pra ele. Seu beberrão idiota! Eu mesmo vou arrancar sua tripas se você não estiver lá!"

"You understand that?" Steve asked.

Natasha shook her head. "Other than the fact they're coming?" She snatched up the walkie talkie buzzing loudly on the desk and dashed to the crates with the weapons, digging through them quickly to locate a shotgun and an automatic rifle. She tossed those to Steve, who caught them and slung them over his shoulder by their straps. She rushed over with a handful of grenades, and those and the walkie talkie she jammed into their supply bag that Steve had on his other shoulder. Food followed. As much as the bag could hold. "I'd make some comment about how gentlemanly it is of you to carry all my stuff, but-"

"Make it later," he commanded, and then they were running. They burst outside into the light rain, sprinting to the jeep. Both of them vaulted in, Steve shoving the bags in the back. "This time you can drive."

"How kind," she muttered, turning the key in the ignition and firing the engine up. The car was hardly running before she threw it into drive and slammed on the gas. Steve steadied himself, grabbing one of the rifles. She tore out into the flatlands again, staying away from the road, which took them onto less defined terrain and thus slowed them. But avoiding the road didn't matter, at any rate.

Two - no, four jeeps and trucks were headed straight at them.

Natasha gave a low curse in Russian, driving as fast as they could while staying fairly safely on the ground. Steve could hear men shouting, guns being readied. Natasha yanked the wheel to the left, and Steve got his shield up just in time to block the barrage on gunfire screaming at them. The bullets slammed into the side of the car and his shield. "Go, go, go!" he cried to her, and she did, barreling past the enemies coming at them. Tires shrieked as they narrowly escaped a collision. Steve angled himself around, taking the rifle and shooting at their pursuers. He got a better look now, despite the jeep jumping and bouncing all over. There were more than a dozen of them. Damn it. And one of them had an RPG launcher. "Left!"

Natasha swerved left a split second later, and the missile that would have hit them slammed into the soil beside them instead. The impact jostled them roughly, destroying Steve's aim, and his next shots flew wide. The jeeps and trucks kept chase, coming after them furiously. Natasha glanced over her shoulder, shaking her head. With the wide expanse of the savanna around them, there was no way they could outrun them and get away. And there was no place to hide.

They had to get back to the rainforest.

She came to the same realization, altering their direction to head toward a distant line of trees. A particularly deep rut in the ground sent the jeep nearly flying anew, and Steve floundered to hang onto his gun. He ducked as a round of bullets slammed into the back of the jeep. This isn't good. He rose and returned fire. He knew he had a steady hand, but damn if it wasn't impossible to aim with the car bouncing as wildly as it was. "Can you keep it steady?" he demanded of Natasha.