The Suicide King (The Grave Diggers Book 2)

by Chris Fritschi

  The Moth was crabbing at an angle as it flew away but felt steady in Fulton’s hands.

  Tate’s hands were shaking and his body was buzzing with adrenaline. He swallowed a couple of deep breaths trying to slow his racing heart. “You all did great,” said Tate. “Status?”

  Everyone responded at once filling Tate’s radio with a jumble of voices, but somewhere in it he heard fear.

  “I’m hit,” said someone.

  The radio went deathly silent as everyone reacted to the words with dread.

  “Who said that?” said Tate desperately trying to see his team in the darkness. “Report.”

  “Wesson…” came Wesson’s weakened voice.

  Before anyone could react Kaiden had snapped on a small flashlight. She put it in her mouth to free up her hands as she searched Wesson for wounds. Kaiden’s light traveled down until it stopped on a spreading pool of blood around Wesson’s boot.

  Kaiden unbuckled from her seat and knelt down by Wesson’s leg. “Hold this,” said Kaiden as she shoved her light in the nearest hand. “Keep it on her leg.”

  “I got it,” said Ota, holding the light steady.

  Wesson’s lower pant leg was dark with blood. A wicked looking knife seemed to magically appear in Kaiden’s hand and she deftly sliced open the leg of Wesson’s pants then cut through her boot laces and took off her boot and blood-soaked sock.

  As the team’s medic, Rosse’s reflex was to shoulder by Kaiden, but he saw she knew what she was doing. There was no wasted movement, doubt, or indecision. Instead, Rosse pulled open his med kit and handed Kaiden a wad of bandage. Wesson hissed in pain as Kaiden wiped the excess blood away to better see the wound. Blood dribbled from a deep gouge that ran from Wesson’s foot up to her knee. Near her foot was a jagged hole in the deck of the Moth. The patrol boat’s heavy machine gun had punched through the Moth, carving through Wesson’s leg.

  “I need to clot this,” said Kaiden flatly.

  Rosse pressed a can into her palm and Kaiden held the nozzle near Wesson’s leg. As she sprayed white foam down the length of her wound the foam flattened into a flexible seal. Kaiden double checked her work and nodded her head, satisfied the bleeding was stopped.

  Between the loss of blood and fear of not knowing what was happening to her leg Wesson looked pale as a sheet. In a rare display Kaiden sat next to Wesson and put her an around her. “It’ll be okay,” said Kaiden. “You’re not losing the leg, but you’ll have one bad ass scar.”

  Wesson smiled and closed her eyes, letting her head lay back against the seat as Rosse knelt down and wrapped Wesson’s leg with a fresh bandage.

  “Hope I didn’t step on your toes,” said Kaiden to Rosse.

  “Huh?” said Rosse. “Oh. No. You did great. I kinda feel like a third wheel.”

  “And here I thought you wouldn’t say something stupid,” grinned Kaiden.

  “I hate to be that guy,” said Monkhouse, “but there’s still a city block of poison cocaine heading for our purple mountains majesty. What are we going to do?”

  “We wait,” said Tate.

  “For the ship to run out of fuel?” said Monkhouse. “Okay, so we knocked a bunch of holes in the tanks. After they weld up the hole that ship will be on its way again.”

  “You didn’t shoot that up just to make it run out of gas,” said Tate.

  Monkhouse pondered for a moment then chuckled as he shook his head. “You didn’t think you were going to set that ship on fire, did you? That’s diesel. We could shoot that all day and no amount of sparks in the world is going to set that off.”

  Tate could feel the others looking at him and wondered if they were questioning his judgement, perhaps doubting if he was really qualified to be making decisions that would risk their lives. Tate avoided their gaze and looked out the cabin door at the shrinking lights of the container ship.

  The pilot on the ship’s bridge began to breathe a sigh of relief. With the help of the patrol boat they’d beaten off their attackers. Like a tenacious guard dog, the patrol boat continued its position behind the ship. Even with their escort the ships pilot was worried they’d be attacked again and maxed the huge engine at full power. He could feel the vibration of the steel decking under his feet as the RPM’s of the propeller shaft rose above its operational ceiling.

  The gauges on the ship’s board showed the pilot he was losing fuel, but all the mattered was distance from his attackers. They’d tow him back for repairs once the danger was clear.

  Seventy feet below the bridge rested the enormous fuel tanks. Of all the rounds Monkhouse had fired, only three had connected, but connect they did and diesel fuel was chugging out of the holes. The large room that housed the tanks was sealed to contain any leaks, but several of Monkhouse’s other shots and dug cleanly through the metal floor and streams of fuel were spilling into the decks below. Open passageways funneled the fuel deeper until it reached the engine room.

  The engine room was deafening as the huge power plant roared. Parts of the engine too hot to touch, under normal conditions, began to radiate intense heat. As some of the diesel fuel splashed down the metal stairway to slosh harmlessly on the floor, trickles of fuel wandered along the ceiling, dripping onto the equipment below.

  As the ship pitched the engine tilted out of the way of the occasional drip until the engine lined up with a single drop. The metal surface was well beyond the diesel’s flashpoint and the fuel set off a chain reaction. Suddenly thousands of gallons of fuel went off like a mini nuke.

  The explosion blew off the back of the ship lifting the rear of the hull into the air and cratering a hole in the water forty feet deep. The shockwave instantly killed the crew of the patrol boat as it pitched forward into the crater. With a titanic groan the container ship fell back down crushing the patrol boat and breaking its back. The hull of the ship cracked open. Tons of water surged through the open hulls pulling the broken ship beneath the surface. In less than a minute all that remained was the glow of a bonfire on the open water.

  * * *

  Tate watched with satisfaction as Wesson snapped out critiques while the team drilled on room clearing. Everyone heard the thump of her crutches from the observation platform above as Wesson kept pace with the fast-moving unit.

  Two days ago, Colonel Hewett and General Rojas had returned for a status meeting. Even though the general’s report was all good news every time he looked at Tate there was murder in his eyes.

  According to General Rojas the joint operation to eliminate the Suicide King wasn’t necessary anymore. Acting quickly on intel the Suicide King was going to be exposed as he traveled to a safe house, Rojas had put together a rushed ambush and caught the Suicide King in the open and killed him.

  Colonel Hewett congratulated the general for his swift actions while Tate laughed to himself at the irony of general Rojas and the Suicide King being the same person. What was it Mark Twain said? The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.

  “Good work catching the Suicide King in the open, general,” said Hewett.

  “Yes,” said Tate. “I’m sorry I missed that firefight with you.”

  “Don’t worry, Sergeant Major,” said Rojas. Lines creased his face with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Opportunities have a way of sneaking up and we never see them coming.”

  The general stood, signifying the meeting was over. Tate extended his hand to the general who shook it with a very firm squeeze.

  “I look forward to our next opportunity,” smiled Tate.

  “As do I,” said Rojas.

  After that meeting the general had gone off the radar, but Tate knew Rojas wasn’t the kind of man who would tolerate looking over his shoulder for very long. Tate was a threat. Sooner or later they’d cross paths again.

  Tate’s thoughts began to wander about the future of his team and The Ring. No doubt The Ring was leaning heavily on leveraging what wealth and resources they could claim in South America, but it only made sense that they’d ex
pand their efforts elsewhere. More importantly, what could Tate do to know once and for all if Colonel Hewett could be fully trusted? He was walking a fine line in the dark not knowing friends from traitors. That is, except for his team.

  It didn’t happen overnight, but they were slowly becoming a family. The thought made Tate’s gut tighten. He’d failed and eventually abandoned his last family. He wasn’t looking for a new one, but there it was, forming right in front of him.

  Is it inventible that I’ll fail them too?

  “Top,” said Wesson, startling Tate out of his thoughts.

  “Huh?” said Tate feeling a little embarrassed. “Sorry sergeant. I was a million miles away. What did you say?”

  “I’m done with these scrubs for today,” said Wesson good naturedly.

  The team playfully groaned and protested Wesson’s criticism from the room below.

  “They’re all yours,” said Wesson.

  “Yeah,” said Tate with a smile. “I guess they are.”

  THE END

  Thank you for reading The Suicide King. If you enjoyed this book, please leave a review. Your support makes a difference.

  Is your Grave Diggers collection complete?

  Click to see the entire Grave Diggers Series

  Add this free prequel to your library!

  A simple mission turns into terrifying fight for survival.

  As night creeps up on a remote village in the Syrian wastelands a small special operations team, the Night Devils, prepare a dangerous 'snatch and grab' of a terrorist zealot.

  They're about to walk into something more horrifying and relentless than they could ever imagine.

  CLICK HERE FOR YOUR FREE BOOK

  Digging Into The Story

  While reading this book you may have asked yourself, ‘When did this happen? In the future, or is this a parallel world, or what?’ You might (even) have gone back and reread some of it, thinking you missed the key sentence that explains it. To answer your (assumed) second question, no, this isn’t a parallel world. In answer to your (equally assumed) first question the answer is the near future. I know. That doesn’t exactly put a pin on a year, but if it’s any help in narrowing down a date, you probably have enough time to work out your evacuation plan and stock up on MRE’s before society is cannibalized by the undead.

  I kept to current military gear because most equipment has a long service life before something new comes along. Look at the M14 rifle, for example. It first saw action in 1961 and is still in service 55 years later. I did cave to the temptation to come up with a fictitious weapon because, come on, it’s cool.

  One Last Thing

  If you think you’ve seen all there is to the Vix in this book you’d be very mistaken. I’ve grown up on zombie lore and, like you, feel that once the monster has stepped out from behind the curtain you’ve seen it all. What kind of storyteller would I be if I did that to you? There’s more to the Vix you haven’t seen yet, and judging by how creeped out people got from reading the early copy of my next book, I think you’ll enjoy it.

  Chris grew up on George Romero, Rambo, Star Wars and Tom Clancy, a formula for a creating a seriously good range of science fiction, action, paranormal, and adventure novels.

  Chris is currently working on The Grave Digger series, an action packed thrill ride that will have you hooked right up to the last page. It’s Tom Clancy meets Dawn of the Dead and X-Files, and it’s guaranteed to keep you on the edge of your seat. Jack Tate, ex-Delta operator, has assembled a rag-tag team of rookies and motley group of wannabes is all he has to go up against a secret cabal who are plotting a takeover of the United States. Can they do it before time runs out?

  website: chrisfritschi.com