by Michael Todd
Kennedy moved before they could act on the order and raised her weapon. Instead of firing at the leader, she snapped the rifle to the right and pulled the trigger. Two of the cretins dropped, each with a gaping chest wound, and Kennedy dove for cover behind the Pita bushes. A smart move, Sal acknowledged as he ducked behind a large tree. The opposition were looters first, and he doubted that they’d shoot at their prize.
The clearing erupted in a hail of gunfire as the bounty hunters attempted to shoot Kennedy without destroying the plants. When the squad returned fire, the attackers paused the mayhem and tried to find cover themselves.
Thus far, no one had shot at Sal, but he doubted that would last. Unless, of course, they wanted to take a specialist prisoner. No, he’d definitely prefer death over being locked up and only brought out when it was time to scamper through the Zoo.
Either way, he could see the squad training had paid off. A few more of the looters dropped from lethal wounds before they could hide behind anything that might stop a bullet. Kennedy scrambled across the ground and ducked under a few scattered shots, but most of the enemy fire was now concentrated on the three on the other side of the clearing.
She came to a halt when she ducked behind the tree beside Sal’s.
“You’re still here?” she asked calmly as she checked her weapon. “I’d have put good money on you running away the moment the lead flew.”
Sal nodded. “I won’t lie—” He paused when Kennedy broke from cover and fired a few shots before ducking back. “The thought crossed my mind. Then again, I think I have a better chance to survive this gunfight than on my own out in the Zoo, so…” He nodded and closed his eyes when Kennedy launched a barrage of shots again.
“I always knew you were a bright penny,” the sergeant responded with a grin.
“Yeah, the smart guy, that’s me.” Sal attempted to keep his tone as light and comedic as Kennedy had and failed miserably. “Do you know I actually graduated from high school early?”
She laughed. “Shut up. I need to concentrate.”
More shooting ensued. Sal flinched instinctively at the gunshots, and he found it was easier to keep his eyes shut. His hands rested on his pouch, and he burrowed within for the comforting grip of his scalpel. His fingers touched the flowers he’d collected instead and his eyes snapped open. His bright mind immediately formed a plan—perhaps not a particularly good one, but it was a plan.
He ducked low and held the flowers gently in his hands as he crawled away from his cover.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Kennedy growled. “You get back right now or I’ll shoot you myself.”
Sal had the sudden and insane impulse to dare her to shoot him anyway, but he shoved it away. “I have an idea,” he told her. “I need to get around them for it to work.”
“You won’t get around anyone,” she snapped. “Get back into cover right now, or—”
“You’ll shoot me?” Sal asked and made sure his head remained hidden.
“Yes, now get back—” Her tirade stopped suddenly, and Sal’s head jerked up. Kennedy had fallen away from the tree and now gripped her leg while she cursed softly.
Chapter Fourteen
“Shit,” Sal muttered and shuffled to where she’d fallen. With so many slugs exchanged he couldn’t tell where this particular shot had come from.
“Get back into cover, you idiot,” Kennedy hissed through clenched teeth. “You’ll get us both killed.”
Sal ignored her and dragged her off the ground with a groan. Either she was all muscle or the armor weighed more than he thought it did. With extreme effort and more curses from Kennedy, he manhandled her to the tree she’d hidden behind. Thankfully, no more shots were aimed their way. Whether the looters thought that she was dead or the squad demanded their attention, Sal didn’t care.
“I need to get back into the fight, Jacobs,” she declared once she was situated. “The boys will keep the looters occupied for a while, but ammo will become a problem. I need you to patch me up.”
Sal looked at her bleeding leg and forced his gag reflex back.
“What?” she groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little blood.”
“Okay, I won’t,” Sal said, “but I still don’t know the first thing about emergency care. Why didn’t you guys bring a medic along with four gunners and a specialist?”
“We did.” She nodded toward the group. “Addams is a medic. Could you be a lamb and call him over?”
Sal scowled and shook his head. “I…I don’t know.”
“I assume you had a first aid class?” Kennedy said.
“Yeah, ten years ago,” he snapped in reply. “Do you want me to apply CPR?”
“Shut up.”
“Can you keep yourself from dying for now?”
She yanked a strip of gauze from a pouch at her waist and pressed it quickly to her wound. “I think so. What will you do? Bring Addams over?”
Sal shook his head. “No, something a good deal dumber than that.” He drew her sidearm from the holster. It was a large pistol and looked a lot like the Desert Eagle, a personal favorite of his in the retro shooter games he’d played. The thing was heavy and bulky, and he could only assume that it kicked like a…horse? No, a mule. That was the right term.
“What are you doing?” Kennedy asked, too late to stop him from taking the weapon.
“I already told you, something stupid.” Sal nodded and patted her on the helmet. “Stay alive, you.”
“Jacobs—” she said warningly, but he had already crawled away with the gun gripped tightly in his right hand. As awkward as it was, he managed to protect the pouch with the flowers as he shuffled forward.
There was little chance that the petals wouldn’t be bruised even if they weren’t all dead, but he still wanted to honestly say he’d made every possible effort to keep them intact. He slunk past the trees that he’d hidden behind to circle around their attackers. His plan was vague at best, but his confidence was fueled by the fact that if something wasn’t done, the best-case scenario was that they would all die.
Sal didn’t even want to consider all the worst-case scenarios.
He came to a sudden halt when he reached what looked like a series of boulders that blocked his path. He’d either have to climb over and risk the looters’ attention—and get vigorously perforated in the attempt—or he’d have to circle around. His tentative plan would be delayed, possibly to the point where it didn’t work.
After a moment’s hesitation, he went with the second option. He remained as close to the ground as possible and tried to imitate the crawl he’d seen in military movies.
When he ran directly into a smaller shrub beside the boulders, his first instinct was to brush it aside before he looked at the leaves in irritation. Aside from the fact that they were literally inches away from his face, the leaves themselves were distracting enough to catch his attention. They had the same slightly rounded diamond-shape as the Pita plants. The size was about right, and at the top, he noticed what looked like the bud. It was clearly a young plant. He couldn’t tell how young since its growth process hadn’t been observed, but none of the flowers had bloomed yet.
Sal looked around quickly. He had little time to think and couldn’t imagine that plucking the plant out to draw a horde of creatures on them would be a good thing. But he couldn’t make the situation any worse, could he?
Another fusillade of shots erupted, and he flinched again as he made a spot decision. He grabbed a plant containment unit out of his packet. It was solid with an efficient system to sustain plant life over a limited transfer time. He opened the top and placed it close to the plant. Hopefully, if he put it into the containment unit quickly enough, he might avoid stirring every critter within a five-mile radius into a killing frenzy. Sal sifted the soil around the base of the plant and gripped firmly. With a strong tug, he pulled it out of the ground.
The air suddenly filled full of a pungent smell, and he panicked. He shoved it quickl
y into the containment unit and sealed it shut. The unit adjusted the plant, and it settled its roots into the soft sponge-like base. It would have light and water on a regular basis, recycling both for a short while. It wasn’t a long-term situation, but since the smell had quickly disappeared, he assumed the unit had prevented the pheromones from spreading too far.
Sal swept a nervous glance around the clearing. He’d almost expected to see creatures descend in a wave to shred him to pieces. Thankfully, he saw and heard nothing. In the videos collected by the few survivors, the animals had definitely screamed and gone berserk.
So far, so good. Sal nodded to shore his courage up again, tucked the unit into his pouch, and moved on.
He still hadn’t decided what to do. The exchange of gunfire had lost some of its intensity over the past few minutes. Either that or he had simply adjusted to it.
The second option sounded more badass, but it would be better. He could hear the slight difference between the guns used by his squad and the clatter from the lower-quality weapons that the looters used. His team sounded like they were conserving ammo, which meant he had little time.
He hadn’t had much to start with, he reminded himself, but he continued and managed to move a little faster now. The sounds of the fight shifted. It sounded like the looters pressed forward and his squad fell back. He couldn’t tell if any of his people were down, aside from Kennedy of course, but to be of any help, he had to ignore the distraction.
What were these guys there for? Money. If he threatened that payday, he might draw their attention for a second and hopefully give Lynch, Cortez, and Addams a window of opportunity.
And what if he were gunned down in the crossfire? Or maybe his gunners wouldn’t react quickly enough and he’d be gunned down before they could do anything about it.
Sal had never gambled much, and he really hoped that he hadn’t made a mistake.
Finally, he thought he’d moved behind the looters. He couldn’t see much and could only hope he hadn’t somehow managed to get between them and his squad. Since he didn’t hear any gunfire behind him, it was the safest gamble he would make for the rest of the day.
Sal pushed to his feet and glanced at the scene. The looters hadn’t noticed him yet. They were huddled behind cover with their attention on the men and woman on the other side of the clearing. They might not even notice if he simply walked away from this whole thing.
He couldn’t help it. The impulse was there—walk away. It wasn’t like he’d be missed. He was completely out of his depth in situations like this, and he’d known the members of his team for less than seventy-two hours. What did he really think that he could do anyway?
Sal clutched the weapon in his hands. That damned new leaf that he had turned over had become as dangerous as hell. So far, he hadn’t given much to society. His admittedly considerable brains had been dedicated to his own survival and comfort. He hadn’t been much of a contribution to the gene pool either. He’d lived a quiet life with good parents and few tragedies. Now, there he was, fighting for his life on the other side of the planet, immersed in looters and alien life forms and the experience of his life.
It was time to step up, shape up, or die. He had to grow a pair of cojones and be the man he’d always imagined himself being. Death was a very likely outcome, but why not be killed doing something ballsy for once?
It made sense that the first ballsy thing he could remember doing in his life would probably be the last. He chuckled and rolled his neck to ease the tension. Oddly calm, he held the packets with the Pita flowers above his head and aimed the pistol at them.
“Hey!” he called but received no response from the looters who were still alive.
Sal scowled. “Hey! Stop shooting, motherfuckers.”
He realized it might be better to simply shoot them from his advantageous position. As he considered this, someone noticed him and shouted something. A few of the others looked at him and narrowed their eyes.
Good, they were confused. A specialist who stood in the open and held a gun to a packet of flowers was bound to confuse anybody.
Sal quickly remembered to put the packets closer to his body. He planned to use them to keep himself alive, so they should provide at least a little cover.
Thankfully, the shooting ceased, and the rest of the bounty hunters turned to look at him. A few guns now aimed at him, and he realized that he needed to talk quickly.
“You boys do know what these are, right? These flowers are worth eighteen grand a set. That’s a nice payday, huh?” He pitched his voice so everyone could hear him. Including, hopefully, the rest of his squad.
Please be listening, boys.
“Eighteen grand?” a man repeated. “No, they’re only worth two thousand, American.”
Sal shook his head. “I’m paid eighteen grand for each set, so maybe you should talk to your boss over there about him cheating you out of a bigger payday. I mean, look at his armor and weapons. You guys weren’t even a little suspicious that he got so much richer doing this than you?”
The leader stepped in quickly amidst grumbling from his men. “Why shouldn’t we simply shoot you where you stand? We can take the flowers off your dead corpse.”
“Well…” Sal swallowed with difficulty. His mouth had very suddenly dried up. “Yeah, you could. But the guys in the Staging Area told me that turning these babies in with bruised petals means a cut in pay. I can only imagine it’s more severe if they come with bullet holes. Hey,” he continued with a grin, unable to resist the jibe, “they might actually be worth two thousand then.”
More complaints followed, and Sal could tell that the leader had begun to lose support. He wondered how this hadn’t been obvious to them before. He assumed they’d operated under something like the pirate law, where the leader took the best. But if they were under the erroneous assumption that they received equal pay and now found out they didn’t—well, that had to be a hit to morale.
He only hoped that the reason Cortez, Addams, and Lynch took so long to shoot these guys down was that they needed to get into a better position. Some of their opponents had even stepped out of cover.
Really unprofessional of them.
Sal gripped the pistol tighter and pressed the barrel to the flowers. Sweat soaked into his gloves.
“Well,” the leader said, “you forgot the clump of the plants over there. Sure, our gains take a hit, but once we kill you, what’ll stop us from picking these plants clean and finding another clump to collect on?”
Sal nodded. He really hadn’t thought this through at all.
“Good point,” he said.
“Boys…” The man turned to his men. “Ice this bi—”
The inside of his helmet suddenly erupted in blood in the middle of what Sal assumed was his catchphrase. It was cool to know that looter captains had catchphrases. What a fun time to be alive.
The leader dropped to his knees, and when he twisted, a massive hole gaped in the back of the helmet. The rest of the enemy froze in shock, and Lynch, Cortez, and Addams picked them off one by one. With their leader down and their will to fight gutted, they ran. They were clearly not professional soldiers.
A few rounds came too close for comfort and Sal hit the dirt quickly. He covered his head with his hands, still holding the weapon and flower petals. Hs courage was spent, and it was all he could do to protect his head and close his eyes. The shooting continued as his squad mates picked the survivors off one by one.
It felt like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes before the shots ceased altogether. Even then, he didn’t have the guts to stand again until he heard the three gunners talk in the clearing.
“Hey, Doc, are you still out there?” Addams called. “Are you still alive?”
“Yep.” Sal pushed slowly off the ground and poked his head above the light brush cover. “Still alive. Still kicking. Well, still alive, anyway.”
Addams chuckled and moved closer. Sal struggled to still the trembling in his
extremities.
“Are you okay, rookie?” the gunner asked. “That was a crazy thing you did back there.”
Sal nodded. “It was a stupid thing I did back there. I didn’t think it through at all. I mean, I could have fired at them instead or caused some other kind of distraction. I don’t know what I was thinking—” Addams stopped his rambling with a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Crazy and stupid, but you saved our bacon, man.” He patted the side of Sal’s helmet. “Maybe think your plans through next time, but you did good.” He looked around, concerned now. “Where’s Kennedy? I thought she’d back you up if this plan of yours went south.”
Kennedy?
“Kennedy?” Sal echoed, and his eyes widened. “Oh, shit. Kennedy was shot in the leg and needs some medical attention. She said you’d know what to do.”
Addams nodded. “Show me where she is.”
“I’m over here, assholes!” she called irritably
“Right,” Sal said. “She’s over there.”
They jogged to where he had left her. He still felt bad about it, but what should he have done? Sit and hold her hand while her squad was decimated? He knew he’d made the right choice—the better choice, anyway—and she did too. He also knew that she would give him a hard time about it.
When they reached her, she looked pale. She’d removed her helmet and still pressed the gauze to her thigh. The blood had completely soaked through and seeped into her gloves.
Sal didn’t need a doctor to know her wound was serious. He knelt beside her but left enough room for Addams to examine her leg. The soldier peeled the armor away and studied the gunshot, his head tilted with concentration. Wordlessly, he drew another long strip of gauze from his own kit. He removed the first, blood-saturated piece and inspected the wound hastily before he pressed the fresh dressing to it.
“Jacobs,” he said. “I need you to keep pressure there for me.”
Sal nodded. He’d joked about knowing nothing about first aid, even though it was completely true, but he still wanted to do whatever he could to help. His courage to stand up against armed thugs had gone, but it had apparently drained him of his usual aversion to blood. He maintained the pressure, even when he felt the warm blood soak through.