by J. N. Chaney
I couldn't see a damn thing, and I didn't like this at all.
To my surprise, Colt went quiet. He’d seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice well enough, and the fact that he had gone silent concerned me most of all.
“You seem like a talker,” I said into the darkness. “Was that really all you wanted to say?”
I wanted to keep him going. I needed clues to figure out what fresh hell was lying in wait for me. If I kept him talking, then I could guarantee that he was at least partially distracted, and that also worked in my favor. All it would take was a moment of arrogance for him to reveal something crucial I could use.
In the silence that followed, I stared into the dark hallway. I had no idea what was waiting for me there, and I didn't want to walk in blindly.
As I hovered by the entrance, I debated asking for backup.
“Give me an update, Siggy,” I said.
“The newly arrived ship has challenged the already damaged shields,” said Sigmond. “I’ve focused my full efforts onto the vessel, and unfortunately that means some of Mr. Lockwood’s reinforcements have made it into the house. Miss Carson seems to be holding her own, but I fear she doesn’t have much time left. Additionally, I must inform you that the Star cannot sustain much more damage.”
“Are there any other ships?”
“Just the one, sir,” answered the AI.
“Could be worse, I guess,” I muttered. “Hang in there, Siggy.”
“I’m trying, Captain.”
“Ruby?” I asked.
Her mic went hot. She didn't answer, and all I could hear was the rattle of gunfire interspersed with her cursing. Ruby had problems of her own, and that meant she wasn't going to be able to help me.
“Hunter, give me status,” I said.
“I can't hold them off much longer, Captain,” said Hunter. The sound of splintering wood cut through the air, and he cursed under his breath. “They've got me holed up on the second floor. I had to take cover and go on the defensive.”
“Get back on the offensive,” I ordered. “Find a way to go help Ruby. You guys need to reconvene and regain the upper hand. Don’t let those new soldiers get in the house, you hear me?”
“Roger,” said Hunter.
I was on my own.
A light sprang to life at the far end of the corridor, illuminating a small room. A man sat on a chair, his body perfectly framed by the pitch-black hallway. His head hung low on his chest, the bag still over his head and his hands had been tied behind his back. I couldn't see his face, but it had to be Edwin.
I couldn't tell if he was breathing. At this point, especially considering the wounds he had suffered, he might even be dead. Maybe I'd made it here too late.
The stretch of darkened hallway between my position and the room at the end of the corridor was a straight shot. No side hallways that I could see. No additional doors. Just a straight line from me to the person I was trying to save, so it had to end in a trap.
I hated the idea of indulging Colt further, but I didn't have many options.
Renegade versus Renegade. This would end the way it had started.
29
The silence stretched on as I made my way down the long corridor toward the dimly lit room at the end. Edwin didn't move, his body immobile as I neared. I was still too far away to tell if he was breathing or not.
“Have you ever been in a situation like this?” asked Colt, his voice echoing through speakers hidden above me.
I flinched a little in surprise and briefly squeezed my eyes shut as he broke the silence. He’d probably done it just to set me further on edge.
“I mean,” continued Colt. “You've only been at this for a few years, right? What could you even know about the realities of life as a Renegade? You've barely scratched the surface of what it takes to live as long as I have.”
I continued down the hallway, refusing to let him distract me. He could talk all he wanted, but I would stay focused. All I needed was for him to give me one clue as to where he was, and I’d be able to end this.
“What do you think, Hughes?” asked Colt. “Is the kid dead?”
I looked again at Edwin’s perfectly still body, and I refused to answer that.
For a living legend, Colt was more dramatic than I had expected. I wondered if this was what happened when a Renegade’s ego got the best of him. When he was the best and knew it.
If I managed to get myself out of this mess, I wouldn't let myself become like him. The theatre. He didn’t care about anyone else. It was him against the world, and the rest of us were just pawns for him to throw away at will.
I was a better man than that, or at least I tried to be.
As I crossed into the last third of the corridor, Colt went silent again. At this point, I knew better than to take that as a good sign.
Edwin’s body was painfully still in the chair. With the bag on his head, I couldn't see his face. Given the low lighting in the room, I could barely see much of anything. I studied his chest and shoulders, but they didn’t move.
Either he was breathing shallowly, or the kid was dead, something I didn’t put past Colt.
My jaw tensed, and I forced myself to keep my pistol elevated. I couldn’t check on him yet, not when I didn’t know Colt’s plan.
A strange thump echoed through the corridor. I paused mid-stride, trying to figure out where it was coming from.
Thump.
The distant rattle of gunfire thundered overhead, muffled and unwavering as the war raged on above us.
I let out another slow breath as I trained my gun on the room in front of me, trying to figure out where it was coming from.
Thump.
I'd heard it more distinctly that time. Whatever was making the noise was coming from within the room where Edwin was being kept hostage. It originated from the left side from inside a chamber that was clearly bigger than what I could see of it.
As I reached the end of the hall, I prepared myself for the worst.
In a single, fluid movement, I shot into the room and trained my pistol toward the thumping sound.
I nearly pulled the trigger on impulse. I’d expected to find Colt standing just out of sight with a pistol aimed at my face.
Instead, I saw Edwin laying on the ground. The bag was gone, but his hands were still tied behind his back. A gag over his mouth stifled anything he was trying to say, and his foot bumped again against the wall as he struggled to break free. He went still as I entered, his eyes wide.
Shit.
Edwin’s gaze shifted behind me. When I looked over my shoulder, Colt stood behind me with the bag in one hand and his pistol in the other.
He’d pretended to be Edwin, even worn the bag over his head and pretended to have his hands tied behind his back. I caught sight of a comm in his ear. That was how he’d spoken to me through the speakers while he was pretending to be Edwin.
That clever bastard.
The barrel of his gun was aimed right at my face, and the asshole grinned as his finger coiled around the trigger.
A pang of adrenaline and dread shot through me like ice.
Colt fired. Instinct took over as I threw myself against the wall to avoid the bullet.
It didn't work.
The shot landed square in my bicep, and I stifled a yell as the rifle slid down my shoulder. The strap pulled on my injured arm, and I grimaced with pain as I impulsively fired off a round from my pistol. He tried to move out of the way, but the bullet landed square in his shoulder. He cursed and stumbled backward, hitting the wall behind him as he caught his balance.
Our duel had begun, and only one man would walk out of here.
Colt aimed his pistol again as I tried to adjust the rifle.
I bolted forward and grabbed his handgun with my free hand. The rifle strap slipped off my arm with the movement, and my weapon clattered to the floor.
As we struggled, his foot smacked against the side of my rifle. The gun slid into the hallway as I fough
t to wrench Colt’s gun from his hand, and I cursed under my breath.
I had to focus on the immediate threat, even if it cost me my rifle. I still had my own pistol and the revolver in the holster at my side.
I could make this work.
Colt grimaced, and I twisted his wrist seconds before his pistol went off. The bullet hit the floor, and the gunshot echoed in the small space. My ear rang from the noise. I aimed my pistol at his forehead, but he grabbed my hand and nailed me hard in the gut with his knee.
The comm fell out of my ear as I doubled over. I clung tightly to his gun, unwilling to give him the upper hand even as I fought a surge of nausea.
He nailed me again, and this time his knee smacked hard against my jaw. My grips on both his and my own pistol loosened, and my gun clattered to the ground as my world spun.
Screw this.
I threw my shoulder against his chest before he had a chance to fire again, slamming him hard against the wall. Pain splintered through my body from the bullet wound in my arm, but I pushed through the pain. His head smacked against the metal wall, and his grip on his gun briefly relaxed. We fought for control of his pistol, and as his finger squeezed the trigger again, I managed to lift his arm. The gun went off as I pointed the muzzle toward the ceiling, the painfully loud boom thundering and echoing through the small room.
With one hand wrapped around Colt’s gun, I elbowed him sharply in the nose. Pain splintered down my arm from the wound in my bicep, but I gritted my teeth and tried to tune it out.
I couldn’t let myself be distracted by anything, not even the bullet in me. Not now.
Blood poured from Colt’s nose, and he muttered curses as he tried to shoot me yet again. He twisted the gun in his hand, still trying to aim the barrel at my chest.
I couldn't remember exactly where I'd shot him back on Brax, but using that against him was worth a try. I rammed my knee into his gut, hoping I’d hit the wound.
He doubled over in pain, and I was finally able to wrench the gun from his hand. It clattered onto the floor and slid toward the far wall, out of reach.
I didn’t want to give him a chance to recover. I swiped my pistol off the floor at my feet and aimed it at his face, ready to fire.
Ready to end this.
Before I could pull the trigger, he drew a knife from a sheath hidden in his pocket and stabbed me in the thigh. He drove the entire blade into my leg, until only the hilt stuck out. Pain shot through my body, and I barely kept my grip on my pistol as I let out a shout, unable to hold it in.
“You asshole!” I said. I stumbled backward, the knife still embedded in my thigh as I leaned against a nearby wall.
“You and me both, Hughes,” answered Colt.
Colt’s fist shot out, catching me hard in the jaw. For a moment, I couldn’t hear anything but a sharp ringing in my ear, and all I could see were stars. I fell to the ground, dazed from the blow, and I barely felt pain anymore.
My head swam, and it took everything in me not to black out. For a few seconds, I didn’t know where I was. I couldn’t tell up from down. I didn’t even know my own damn name.
As my vision cleared again, I found myself slumped beside Edwin. Edwin nudged me with his shoulder, trying to shake me awake as he muttered something indecipherable through the gag.
My pistol lay on the floor between me and Colt, and his gun was only about three meters from him. He’d reach his long before I grabbed my own pistol off the floor, no question.
Before anything else, I had to get this knife out of my thigh.
I grimaced, wrapping my free hand around the knife in my leg as I braced myself to pull it out. Tugging it free, I stifled a yell as agony burned through my leg. I could already feel the adrenaline kicking in, which was a good sign. I’d need every bit of help I could manage to push through this pain.
Colt stood and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, staining his skin with his own blood as he glared at me. He limped toward his gun, most likely ready to grab it and deal the final blow.
This was why I always carried two guns.
I drew my revolver and aimed it at his head. In the same instant, Colt grabbed his gun off the floor and cocked it as he stared down the barrel, his eyes locked on me.
For a moment, no one spoke. None of us even breathed.
I'd known this was going to end bloody. I’d known it was going to hurt, and at this point, I’d do whatever needed to be done to kill this guy.
I'd been stabbed, shot, and conned. Whatever he tried to do to me next, I didn't give a damn as long as I didn't die.
And if I did, well, I planned to take him with me.
30
In the bunker below a war zone, Colt and I held each other at gunpoint. We both breathed heavily from the fight so far. I studied him, waiting for a chance to gain a temporary advantage.
We both had bullets in us, and the bastard had upped the ante by stabbing me, too. Pain splintered through both my arm and leg, and I clenched my teeth together as every heartbeat made the agony worse. I didn’t even have time to staunch the bleeding of either wound. If I looked away for even a second, Colt would shoot me.
“Was this worth it?” I asked him, gesturing to the bunker around us. “The dead men outside. The money wasted tracking me. The public bounty you put on a fellow Renegade. All of it over some piece of shit criminal that used his connections to you to get away with murdering kids.” I grimaced with disgust. “That’s on you, Colt. That’s all you. I hope you’re satisfied.”
He hesitated, and it seemed like he honestly wasn't sure. He never took his eyes off me, but his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. It seemed like a bit of the truth was seeping through his otherwise steely expression.
It was obvious, right then—the answer was no. None of this had been worth it. I’d complicated everything by being too stubborn to die.
“You thought I’d be an easy kill,” I said, piecing it together. “You thought this would be over and done with on that moon. It just kept escalating, and you were too much of an obstinate bastard to quit.”
“I'm a man who finishes what he starts,” said Colt, his tone firm. “I can't have the world thinking they can kill people close to me and get away with it. It makes me look weak.”
“You already are,” I warned him. “Your pride got in the way.”
Colt smirked and opened his mouth to reply, but I shifted my aim and shot at his gun hand. To be safe, I fired twice. The first bullet hit the weapon but the second missed. His pistol went off as it fell to the ground, and something hit me in the shoulder.
I felt a sharp sting and heard the crack of bone, but adrenaline and my own stubborn grit pushed me onward. I could barely hear anything except for the sharp ringing in my ear and occasional muted gunfire from somewhere overhead. I could barely see anything except for Colt, right there in front of me, as he clutched his bloody hand and screamed obscenities.
Nothing mattered except killing this man, and I would give it everything I had.
With my revolver still in my hand, I dove for Colt and took him to the ground. We rolled across the floor, and as we slid toward the other wall, I delivered a left jab to the face that made a satisfying crack.
He impulsively shielded his face with his arms as I cocked my arm to punch him again, and I noticed he was missing his trigger finger. Blood spilled from his hand, staining his wrist and everything he touched.
I almost laughed. My bullet had taken out the most important finger on his hand, and after the hell he’d put me through, it served him right.
With his arms raised and protecting his face, I aimed my revolver at his head. He couldn’t even see me, now that he was cowering behind his own hands.
I didn't care about final words. I just wanted to end this.
As I cocked the gun, he grabbed my hand and shoved it away in a move so quick I didn’t even register it at first. The gun went off, the resonating boom thundering again through the small bunker, and the bullet landed on the
floor beside his head.
Colt twisted my hand, nearly breaking my wrist, and I stifled a yell as my fingers instinctively let it go. The revolver slid along the floor and out into the hallway.
Damn it.
He threw a left hook at my temple, and the blow hit me hard. It must’ve been a blow he had perfected over the decades, because I collapsed to the ground.
It had almost taken me out entirely.
Even as my head lolled on my neck, I forced myself to sit upright. My vision blurred, and I shuffled backward to buy myself time. As the world around me spun, I didn’t know where my revolver had gone. I couldn’t hear anything other than that shrill ringing in both ears.
A fist cracked down hard across my face, and my vision went dark. It was getting hard to even keep track of what was happening in the room.
Colt may have had a few decades on me, but that didn't slow him down. If anything, that experience gave him the advantage. He hadn’t landed that blow by luck of the draw. He’d known exactly where to hit me to take me down, and now I wondered if he’d just been waiting for a chance to use it.
He was right about one thing—I’d only been in the game a few years. He’d had a long time to hone his combat skill, and it didn’t matter if he was getting up there in years. No matter how old he was, a Renegade didn’t last as long if he didn’t keep in shape.
As my vision cleared, Colt loomed over me and threw another hook at my face. This time, I deflected it with seconds to spare and kicked him hard in the gut. He doubled over, and I took the rare moment of reprieve to scan the room for weapons.
The butt of my revolver was barely visible in the dark corridor beyond the bunker. The rifle was nowhere to be seen, and Colt’s gun had ended up in the far corner, out of reach.
The closest weapon was my pistol, halfway between me and Edwin.
With his hands still tied behind his back, Edwin watched our fight through half-closed eyes. His face was pale, almost a sickly white from all he’d endured, and his body slowly slumped as he struggled to keep himself upright. His eyes kept drifting shut, and his chest rose and fell in exaggerated movements as he struggled to breathe.