by wade coleman
With her hands-free, the dwarf shoots an approaching mutant and then shoots the man on the ground with a bullet hole in his foot. When she makes sure the other mutants are dead, someone screams “Medic!”
Picking up my bag, I head into the shadows and exit next to a man hiding behind the engine block of a car. Bullets spatter gravel in my face, and I spit out some dirt.
“Fuck me, fuck me,” he is holding his thigh.
Without thinking, I inject trauma meds near the wound, then pack the bullet hole with gauze impregnated with drugs to clot blood. Wrapping his leg in a bandage, I say, “You’re lucky the bullet missed the femoral artery.”
“Hey doc, how about something to get me on my feet?” I look at his face for the first time. It’s Galen, Pam’s cousin. I smile. “So, you’re looking for Doctor Feel Good?”
“It’s all hands on deck. I need to be on my feet.”
I give him morphine, and another burst from weapons fire kicks up gravel right next to me.
“Oh yeah, that’s the stuff,” he says as the meds kick in. “This might be the drugs talking, but if you want to see Pam, that’s okay with me.”
I notice that it’s gotten quiet around us. Suddenly, no one is shooting in our direction anymore, so I help him to his feet.
“Hey, Galen.”
He looks at me with glassy eyes and puts a fresh clip in his rifle.
“Try not to put any weight on that leg.”
Galen smiles. “What leg?” and starts shooting.
The helicopter flies overhead, and the fifty-caliber machine gun makes short work of the troll. Someone yells “Medic” again, and I flick through the shadows. For twenty long minutes, the battle rages before the bikers fall back.
After patching a chest wound, I insert a drainage tube. Looking around, I spot the dwarf woman in body armor. “A little help,” I ask.
She walks over; her armor cracked in places from deflecting bullets. “What’s up?”
“I need help loading this man in the back of a pickup,” I point to a vehicle.
“No problem,” and she picks him up in her arms and walks over to the pickup. I lower the tailgate, and she puts him in the back.
“You’re a lot stronger than you look,” I say impressed.
She smiles. “You’re a lot faster than you look.”
I get in the back of the pickup and check the chest drainage tube. As we drive away, I observe that a quarter of the cars left behind are damaged. It will be good pickings for the remaining bikers.
Suddenly, I’m very tired and lay down in the back of the truck beside the wounded soldier.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A sunken tub surrounds me, and I open my eyes. Natasha tells me I was out three days. A stranger helps me out of the tub and onto a table with my head tilted down. A clear fluid starts coming out of my lungs as I hack painfully. Later, I head to the showers and wash the goo out of my hair. My clothes are in a small locker with my name on it. Not a good sign when the staff expects to see you again. Finding a chair in the doctor’s office, I feel fully rested. After a few minutes of sitting, I grow bored and look the pictures on her walls.
Dr. West comes in holding her tablet and sits down. “You were unconscious when you arrived. Your body was in a state of toxic shock. The rest of your spinal cord died and the byproducts leaked into your bloodstream. The good news is your heartbeat was normal.” Dr. West looks up. “How do you feel?”
“Good, rested, my ears don’t ring.”
She smiles. “I put in new eardrums. Since I gouged you will the mitochondria upgrade, put them in for free.” Dr. West points the finger at me. “Don’t ever call me in on my one day off.”
I nod. “Yes, mam.”
“We should have kept you another day, but the brass wanted you ready for tonight.”
“Let me guess, virus hunting.”
“They don’t tell me anything. All I know is what’s on the news.”
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“The City of Frisco is under quarantine and martial law; The National Guard is enforcing a dusk to dawn curfew.”
“Good, the bad guys haven’t spread the virus, not yet.”
“How do you know?” Dr. West asks.
“The quarantine is to hold everyone together until they spread the virus, then they’ll open the gates so it can infect more people.”
“Damn, you’re right.” She stands up. “Why don’t you get something to eat.”
I stand up. Thanks for everything.
She points to the door and picks up her tablet.
I leave and head down the hall to the elevator. Pam is waiting nearby.
“I’m to keep an eye on you make sure you...”
“Don’t spaz out,” I say and finish her sentence.
Pam smiles. “Do you want to dress first or eat?”
I look myself over. I’m dressed in sweatpants, tee shirt and hospital slippers. “Dress.”
Pam leads me to a private room. Inside is a bed with clothes on top. I take inventory, spider silk undergarments, black turtleneck long sleeve shirt, jeans, new spider silk vest and my running shoes. Everything is bullet resistant.
Pam pulls the curtain and I change. In a few minutes if finish and pull the curtain back. While I put on my shoes, Pam walks over and touches the vest.
“This is what saved your skin in the bomb blast?”
“Yeah, that and this vest, and armored clothing. Let’s not forget Natasha’s speed and reflexes.” I finish tying my shoes and stand up. We walk down the hall and get in the elevator.
“What’s going on in Frisco?” I ask.
“The city exits are blocked. Cell phones and the internet is down. Only military channels are open.”
“Who’s running the show?”
The door opens, and we get out.
“Mayor Clay controls the local National Guard and the police. But they only control the city center and the roads in and out of the city. The rest of Frisco belongs to the gangs.”
In the first floor cafeteria, we order fish and chips, then sit next to a window, showing the late afternoon sun over the water.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how do you get away with spending money you don’t earn?” Pam's eyes are inquisitive.
I point a fry at her. “That’s a business question. Does that mean you’re interested in doing business?”
She sets her coffee cup on the table. “What does that mean?”
“I work with a pool of people, utilizing their skills, depending on the situation.”
“This business of yours makes millions of credits?”
“Yes.”
I pick up my cafeteria chair, place it next to Pam and sit down.
I lean in until our shoulders are touching, and speak directly into her ear, my voice little more than a whisper. “I’ll make you make more money in one day than you will make in your whole life.”
Goosebumps go up her long neck. “How?”
“I don’t know yet, but Jason Baron is a rich man, so I sure he has a lot to steal.”
“Well, that’s kind of spooky,” Pam says, “I just go his invitation to the Baron’s annual August party.”
I whisper in her ear. “Say yes.”
She smiles and checks her lipstick in a compact mirror, then her cell phone rings. She answers, says yes a few time, hangs up, and then stands up. “You’re wanted…my dad sent a car.”
As we move outside, a car pulls up. Pam walks me to the curb, and I get in the passenger seat.
She taps on the glass, and I roll down the window.
Resting her elbows on the open window, I can’t help but notice her cleavage and freckly breasts, and my heart skips a beat. “When you have a courting a lady, it’s best if you come with a gift.”
And with that, she saunters off, sashaying back inside. I admire her for a minute; then the car pulls away from the curb. Heading to the harbor, the driver bites down a smile.
“What do you
know that I don’t?”
“It’s safer to run through a minefield than date a society girl.”
“It can be that bad.”
“That’s her cleavage talking to you, whispering lies.”
We laugh while he drives us to a small inlet. “You’re going out to sea. There you’ll meet a hydrofoil.” He parks the car next to a dock, a concrete ramp leading into the ocean.
Tied to a concrete apron is a spider-silk raft with a motor on the back, a man sitting behind the rudder. The driver stops the car nearby, and I get out.
Stepping away from the vehicle, I wave, and he drives off.
I head for the motorized raft and get in. The helmsman starts the motor while I untie us from the dock. He puts the engine in gear, and we head out to sea.
In the distance, there is a speck is bobbing on the ocean. The ship grows larger the closer we get to the Pegasus-class hydrofoil that tops out at sixty miles an hour. I climb the ladder and get on the deck.
As soon as I’m aboard, a Lieutenant escorts me below deck. In the mess hall, the table is laid out with equipment and weapons. I pick up a slingshot. Next to it are round balls the size of marbles.
Pulling it back, I line up the sights. “When I was a twelve, I could hit a pencil at twenty-five feet.”
“Then this will be easy.”
Looking at the Lieutenant, I notice she’s an elf with azure blue eyes and hair held in a tight bun.
“I was told you didn’t use firearms,” she says.
“I don’t like carrying guns. It increases the chances of getting shot at.”
She looks at me with her piercing sky blue eyes, and I am uncomfortable under her gaze. “Do you know why that is?”
I shrug. “If something works, it’s best not to look at it too closely. I don’t want to jinx it.”
“You won’t. It works because the universe is mental. Our thoughts help mold the world.” She gets up close, looking me over. “Some, of course, are better at it than others.”
A shiver goes through me, and I turn my attention to the weapons on the table. “What is this slingshot for?”
“You’re going to an old army base. After you take out the primary target, you proceed to the main building complex and paint targets for guided missiles.”
“And my primary target?”
“The main radar antennas.” She points to the backpack on the table. “Inside is five pounds of C4. Put this on top of the main junction box and walk away. The timer is set.”
Also on the table is a pair of goggles like the ones I have in my vest pocket. I put them on. “These will come in handy.” Playing dumb, I let the Lieutenant with the azure eyes show me how to use the goggles, because, well, how often do you get close to a woman with sky blue eyes? That and the goggles go for twenty thousand credits on the black market. I know because I just bought a pair.
She continues with the briefing. “At four AM the bomb goes off. When it does, the base surface-to-air missile defense will be inoperable, and we’ll send in the troops.”
The lieutenant continues: “The Baron’s cooking up something dangerous in there. “We’re going to shut him down.” She hands me an immersion helmet. A flash of light blinds my eyes as I put it on. I take it off and put it back on the table.
She hands me a small backpack. “Your implant has been briefed. Follow me to the deck.”
We stand topside with the hydrofoil traveling at top speed. We’re only a few miles from the shore. The sun sets and the cold creeps under my skin. After an hour, we slow down and move closer to the coast.
A silk rug lies in the back of the boat, and the lieutenant tells me to lie down. Two men roll me in the silk, and I feel it tighten around me, shaping me into a human bullet. They attach my silk case to a rocket and raise it forty-five degrees into the air.
The rocket ignites, the force of gravity three times normal, and I shoot into the air like a cannonball. In less than a minute, the acceleration stops and the rocket engine falls off and drops to the ground. The wind rushes past, and for a moment I’m in free-fall. Then my cocoon unfurls into a silk albatross.
After gliding inland over the almond fields, I fly over the fence and into the army base. The albatross wings entangle in the branches, the silk stretches, and I come to a springy stop. The thread relaxes and lowers me to the ground, then releases me. I hike up a hill to the radar station with five pounds of C4 in my backpack.
A man at the front gate is reading a book, oblivious. Sometimes I can’t believe my luck. With enough darkness around me, I slip past undetected, continue toward the radar antennas on top of the hill. Cables from the antenna array meet in a junction. I lay the charge on top and hurry back down the hill. The man at the front gate is still reading his book and hasn’t noticed a thing I’ve done.
Natasha informs me I have two hours until the bomb goes off. Going downhill to the building complex, I spot several armed men at the gate, some walking the perimeter fence.
Slipping into the shade of the tree, I get out the slingshot from my backpack. I aim at the transmitter tower and let loose a soft plastic sphere. It sticks to the metal and hardly makes a noise.
Skulking around the site, I leave a trail of painted targets. I save the command and control building for last. It’s a concrete two-story building above ground and with four stories below. Men patrol the roof, walking around the four corners. I wait for a man to turn, walk to the edge of the parking lot and let fly a sphere. It sticks to the base of the building, and I slip back into the trees before the next man passes.
I find a spot in the trees that overlooks the building complex and wait.
At exactly 4 AM, the hill lights up with a concussive blast. Sirens sound all over the compound. Men assemble and take up defensive positions in concrete bunkers with fifty caliber machine guns.
At 4:15 AM, guided missiles from Navy fighters find the homing beacons stuck to the painted targets: communications, machine gun bunkers and the command and control building. Within a few minutes, a dozen sites are reduced to smoking rubble.
Five minutes later, three helicopters land and men hop out. The soldiers break into two groups. One squad heads for the buildings, the other heads up the hill. According to Natasha, they are moving towards an anti-aircraft bunker.
Gunfire erupts from the motor pool, and I zoom in with my goggles. In the distance, I see a troll in body armor holding a large bore rifle against his waist and calmly firing single shots into the approaching soldiers. Three men fall before the other soldiers decide to find cover at a corner of a building.
I pan over to the other group of soldiers heading up a hill. “Natasha, what’s so special about that bunker?”
“Behind the shelter is a door that leads to the underground tunnels.”
Looking back at the first group, I watch as a dwarf launches a missile from a tube on his shoulder. It hits the troll square in the chest and explodes. The troll goes down, and the soldiers advance.
Six infrared heat sources on four legs come out of the side of the hill where the anti-aircraft bunkers are. They are approaching the company going up the hill.
I turn on my radio. “You have six bogies on four legs coming down the hill towards your position.”
The soldiers form up while large armored dogs come barreling down.
“They're coming down fast. They’ll be on you in seconds.”
Flashes of light from their rifles overwhelm my goggles for a second, then they compensate. When my vision returns, the dogs have broken through, and now only half the men are shooting, and soon their rifles grow dark.
Four dogs continue down the hill, one slower than the other three.
“We have a problem,” I shout into the radio. “The men on the hill are down, and the dogs are heading for the group securing the front gate.” After watching the dogs advance, I call out on the radio. “There’s a concrete building east of your position. It’s shipping and receiving. The garage door is secured with a padlock.”
The soldiers move quickly and find the back door. A thirty caliber round burrows through the lock. The dogs approach. Soldiers enter the building, and the door closes behind them.
With the doors closed, a dog crashes through a window, and another follows.
“Guys, they’re inside!” I yell.
Seconds later, gunfire erupts from inside the building. Nearby a twig snaps, followed by the footsteps of a big dog, which I see out of the corner of my eye. I move cautiously to the closest tree I can find and scale it, then look down.
Bounding toward the tree I’m climbing is a dog as large as a tiger and built like a wolf with large front claws. With her head held high, the beast looks at me and howls. “What the hell is that?” I say to myself. The beast slams into the tree and I lose my grip for a second, then climb higher.
Natasha speaks. “Darling…I have information on these creatures in the mission briefing. Hellhounds are the latest in mobile light armor platforms. Their jaws can shred sheet metal and a prehensile front claw grips like a thumb. They’re designed to take out heavily armored troops.”
“I have a file photo.”
Climbing further out on a branch, I shout, “Natasha, I should have been told about these hounds before now!” and then remember where I am and lower my voice.
The hound leaps up and holds onto the branch with her claws, the talons digging deep into the bark. She uses her black claw like a thumb to grab the branch. Her hide is covered with small black scales that reflect the dim moonlight.
The Hellhound inches out onto the branch where I get the first good look at her face. It’s shaped like a wolf; her front canines are six-inch daggers. This beast could hold you to the ground while she chopped you into pieces.