“That’s very clever, Ellis, very funny.” Digger said, “But I’m just going to kill you like a normal person, because I am normal.”
The Australian waded in and hooked his knife around at Ellis’ midsection. He aimed at the joins between the plates of armour, where he knew the suit was weakest, but Elis blocked with his forearm. The blade scraped off the armour that covered Ellis’ arm. With his other hand, Ellis slashed with the tactical knife. The razor sharp blade sliced through Digger’s upper arm and blood spurted from the wound. Digger lashed out but Ellis blocked again, the knife deflecting off his chest.
“You can’t cut through the armour, Dundee!” Ellis said.
Ellis threw himself at Digger with a couple of standard attack patterns Digger was forced to fend off. Digger blocked his blows and shoved Ellis into a wall, trying to kick out his legs. The office was still technically on fire, and although most of the smoke was pouring out of the busted windows there was enough of it in the air to make Digger’s eyes water. The big Australian was the better fighter but Ellis’ armour was bullet and blade-proof to enough of an extent to protect him from Digger’s attacks, and his mask protected him from the smoke.
Ellis carved through the meat of Digger’s other arm. Digger groaned but kept ahold of his knife, lashing out with it. The blade scraped off the armour covering Ellis’ wrist as he blocked instinctually. Jabbing, the two of them were locked together for a moment until Ellis raised his foot and kicked Digger in the hip. Digger was knocked sideways, tripping into a five-foot-tall plastic plant with large, dusty leaves. Digger fell but held his knife up defensively. Blood dripped down both of his arms and over his upper lip.
“Fucking-, pop that shell and fight me like a man, arsehole.” Digger said.
“You know who whine a lot about fair fights? Fucking losers.” Ellis said.
Ellis lunged, bringing the knife around on Digger’s neck and face, but Digger tackled him before he could land it. Legs slipping out from under him, Ellis fell and the two men wrestled on the ground, both clinging to their knives. Digger tried to disarm Ellis, like he had done with the guns. He grabbed at Ellis’ wrist but Ellis twisted out of his grip and elbowed Digger across the face.
Ellis punched his knife into the side of Digger’s left leg. Digger let out a yell of pain and twisted away, Ellis withdrawing the blade. Digger kicked with his right leg and rolled, blood pissing out of the stab wound. Holding his knife, Digger wiggled backward. The mercenary stumbled to his feet and held himself ready for a moment.
“I should’ve finished the job on you a long time ago.” Digger said.
Ellis laughed, “Should’ve done a lot of things.” He said.
Ellis hit a button on the neck of his helmet with his free hand. The opaque faceplate retracted and revealed Ellis’ face, along with a sandy fringe of hair. He removed the rest of the helmet and let it drop to the floor. It showed off the gnarled scar tissue that remained in place of his right ear.
“I want my face to be the last thing you see.” Ellis said.
Digger didn’t hesitate, and with a grunt of effort he whipped his arm around and released his combat knife. It swung through the air as Ellis let out a surprised yell and tried to duck. He managed to move just fast enough that the knife glanced off the left side of his head instead of embedding itself in his face, gashing open the scalp. The blade rebounded and spun uselessly to the floor behind Ellis. Blood poured out of the head wound like a waterfall, painting the left side of Ellis’ face, but it wasn’t exactly the result Digger had hoped for.
“Oh, you motherfucker! You son of a bitch!” Ellis said.
Ellis stalked toward Digger and the Australian readied himself for a last ditch sweep at the merc’s legs. He’d knock Ellis to the ground and try to take his knife, drive it up and into his throat. Before Ellis got within striking distance, however, he stopped and looked over at the entry to the office where Digger had come in, that side of the room wreathed in thin smoke. Digger glanced back quickly just to see what he was looking at.
Homer was in the exit from the stairwell, near the elevator. Holding onto the edge of the wall, he stood half-hidden behind it. His wide eyes watched Digger and Ellis under the brim of his helmet. Unarmed, Homer hadn’t tried to get at any of the dropped weapons scattered throughout the room. Digger grunted in annoyance and gestured at the boy to go, to run for it.
“Fantastic, two for the price of one, I’ll finish you and then I can bleed the freak, and get the hell out of here.” Ellis said.
“Get out of here! Go hide!” Digger said.
“Any last-,” Ellis started.
Ellis stopped suddenly and stumbled back. The words died in his mouth as he let out a short choking sound, like his throat had constricted. Blood seemed to have stopped flowing down the side of his head. Digger glanced between Ellis and Homer, standing in the entryway. Homer had one hand raised and his face contorted with effort. He looked exactly the same way he had when he’d stopped that thrown knife in midair earlier.
Only Ellis’ eyes could still move, darting around the room. Homer’s arm shook and Ellis’ whole body quivered like a struck guitar string. With one sudden movement, Homer closed his outstretched fingers into a fist. Digger looked away from Ellis as quickly as he could. There was a wet and sickening crunch like nothing Digger had ever heard before.
Face covered in strain, Homer held his fist out for a moment and then let his arm drop. A meaty, squelching thump was heard as what was left of Ellis hit the floor. Slowly, keeping his head down, Digger picked himself up. Bleeding from both arms and from his left leg, he limped over to where Homer was waiting. Taking a couple of quick glimpses at Ellis, he got an idea of his condition but avoided looking directly at it.
“Jesus Christ, mate.” Digger said, “You know, sometimes, there’s a fine line between overkill and just-enough-kill. But I think you might have found that line.”
Homer’s eyes were shiny with exhaustion. Peering at Digger from under the lip of his oversized helmet, he looked like a child in desperate need of a nap. Terror chilled Digger to the bone. There wasn’t even room for the kind of crazed hatred and violence that had filled him the first time Homer had shown his powers. Gently, he took Homer by the shoulder and led him to the top of the stairs.
“Just-, wait here for a moment, mate, I’ll be back.” Digger said.
Dazed, Digger returned to the office, torn apart by the fight between himself and Ellis, to recover some of the weapons that had been lost. He picked up his UMP45 and the mercenary’s lightweight assault rifle, hanging it over his shoulder. Unfortunately, whatever extra ammo and anything else Ellis had been carrying in his backpack was lost now and probably embedded deep inside what was left of his corpse. Digger tried to avoid looking at the remains as he moved through the office. Stepping around a growing puddle of blood and pulp, he picked up his combat knife, slid it into its sheath on his chest, and went back to the stairwell.
The two of them returned downstairs and across the trash-filled lobby, toward the broken front doors. Recovering quickly, Homer seemed more content and confident since crushing Ellis like a sheet of waste paper. He was coming into himself, into his powers, even without one of those injectors. Instead of staying in Digger’s shadow, Homer started onto the street while Digger lagged.
Openly fearful, Digger stared at the smooth, sloped rear of Homer’s helmet. Under the lip of the helmet was the dark nape of Homer’s neck. Although he kept moving and scanned their surroundings automatically, weapon ready, Digger’s mind was years away. On the night that had seen him kill friends and comrades and forced him to run into the desert rather than face the consequences. He had felt something in his mind then, controlling him like a puppet, and apart from the thing in the church earlier in the game Homer’s power was all that compared to it.
Digger realised he was limping, blood running down his left leg and dripping on the ground behind him. He’d been so shocked by what Homer had done to Ellis it had pushed pai
n and fatigue from his mind, but he was bleeding from wounds to his leg and both arms. He looked around and saw a clothing store nearby. The store’s plate glass window was broken, the display immediately inside filled with mannequins wearing rotting clothes, covered in dust.
“Hold up for a minute.” Digger said.
He spoke robotically, without emotion, but Homer didn’t seem to notice. Digger went inside and found more clothes on racks filling the dark store. The clothing was exotic, African mixed with encroaching Western styles. Taking his knife, wincing at the pain in his arms, Digger cut strips out of some white jackets hanging near the front of the store. He used them to bandage both of his arms and the deeper wound on his left leg. They weren’t very effective and the white material stained red over the wounds almost instantly. Digger figured they were good enough to hold until they got to the hole in the outer wall of the arena, to the mercenaries’ trucks, and he could find some proper first aid.
Homer waited outside the store, framed by the broken window. Staring at him, Digger felt his mind wander. One well-placed bullet or even thrust of Digger’s blade into the nape of Homer’s neck could end it all before his abilities could protect him, unless they were more instinctive now than Digger thought. Digger tried not to consider it too hard, in case Homer could sense the thoughts at the forefront of his mind.
If he stayed alone with the kid, he was going to kill him, Digger thought. Or Homer would kill him for trying. His mind was strained until it was close to breaking but having protected the boy thus far, Digger didn’t want to turn around and exterminate him, mutant or not. If the others were alive, he needed to find them to create a kind of calming influence and stop him from attacking Homer. Or for them to make sure his motives for wanting Homer dead made sense.
“I’ve changed my mind, mate, the others-, Miller and them.” Digger said, “Let’s go find them.”
Digger emerged from the clothing store, makeshift bandages tied off around his limbs. Homer didn’t look confused or surprised. He gestured vaguely and then started to lead the way, taking Digger back the way they had come before they’d been attacked by Ellis as if he knew exactly where they were. Warily, not sure what thoughts he could trust, Digger started to follow. He kept his grip tight around his weapon, eyes boring into Homer.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“You’re in a desert walking along in the sand when all of the sudden you look down and you see a tortoise, it’s crawling toward you. You reach down, you flip the tortoise over on its back. The tortoise lays on its back, its belly baking in the hot sun, beating its legs trying to turn itself over, but it can’t, not without your help. But you’re not helping. Why is that?”
“Worry no more with our patented ShellFlyp Tortoise Realignment System™! Simply clip to your tortoise’s shell, or the shell of any tortoise you come across, and it rights itself in seconds!”
A small, green tortoise totters along with a spring-loaded contraption clipped to its shell. A hand knocks it onto its back, legs waving feebly. Moments later, the Realignment System triggers and flings the tortoise back onto its feet. The process is repeated several times on different surfaces. The contraception rewinds itself each time after flipping.
“Works on sand! On carpet! Tiles! Grass! Gravel! Wooden floors! Cement! Metal grates! This slightly slippery linoleum! Always be reassured your tortoise friend will get back on their feet without any help from you!”
Warning: Does Not Work With Turtles. Absolutely Do Not Use With Turtles.
Across the central portion of the arena, the massive, vaultlike doors Layla and Tommy had disappeared behind remained closed. Eventually, a small circle started to glow red on the outer surface of one door. It grew quickly, becoming white with heat, and then metal softened and started to run down the outer surface. Glimmers of blue lasers pierced the molten metal. The lasers moved sideways and slowly carved the shape of an arch, cutting through the thick armour.
From the moment the red spot first appeared it took almost twenty sustained minutes to cut an arch the size of a small doorway. Molten metal puddled on the ground and cooled into solid sheets. The gravestone-shaped chunk of metal was booted out of place from the inside, landing heavily. There was a pregnant pause as the metal cooled. Drippy stalactites of molten metal hung from the top of the arch. Smoke wafted off the door.
“See, I told you it would work!” Tommy said.
Tommy emerged through the doorway carrying a cobbled-together weapon. Half a dozen cutting lasers had been scavenged off the droids in the tunnel and belted together. Thick cables led from the lasers to a bundle of batteries dragging on the ground behind him, all the batteries Tommy could find in one piece after the fight. Although Tommy had worked as a feedsite journalist before capturing the attention of Slayerz producers for the wrong reasons, he also had a degree in electrical engineering. It had come in handy more than once the previous season, even when his memory hadn’t returned. The weapon looked like some kind of mutant vacuum cleaner made of scrapyard parts but with enough time and concentration it had cut through the blast door that even the scorptank’s laser had left intact.
“I never doubted you for a minute.” Layla said.
Both Tommy and Layla had survived the fight with the tunnel droids intact, although Layla wasn’t technically in one piece. She ducked and shuffled through the melted arch in the massive blast door. Her left arm was gone and her whole left side stiff and lagging. Having stripped off the top half of her scorched armour she was wearing hard-shelled white pants and her flat-topped helmet but only a tight black undershirt that offered no protection for her torso. The shirt exposed some of the rubbery scar tissue covering Layla’s left shoulder. Although it had stopped sparking, all that remained of her left arm was a mechanical stump. All of her remaining ammunition, grenades and weapons had been used up in the tunnel fight.
“What do we do now?” Tommy said.
“Regroup with the others, and get the hell out of here.” Layla said, “We fought the good fight but it’s hopeless, we’ve got nothing left to give.”
“What about the scorpion tank?” Tommy asked.
Lying nearby, bits of Cho’s body were splashed across the ground with blood soaking into the dust. Her armour and flesh had been torn apart by anti-aircraft rounds from the scorptank’s tail. Layla looked around, limping, to try and make sure Cho’s face was at least covered, but she couldn’t find her head. Apart from the body, the surrounding ruins seemed just as empty and quiet as ever. Stopping and listening, Layla could hear the scorptank stomping across the section, safely away from them.
“What about it? We avoid it, we’re out of ammo and couldn’t scratch it without another FatBoy.” Layla said, “We head down this way to the other side. Bring your new toy with us in case we have to cut through again.”
The two of them set off again around the outskirts of the blasted arena. Rubble littered their path and made going slow, with Layla limping and drained. Without her arm’s battery, her cybernetic parts were dragging her down. She would only be able to use the reinforcements across her shoulders and down her left side in short bursts, if at all. They kept their ears open for the scorptank’s patrol.
“At least we have the footage, all the footage from my drones and the shoulder cam.” Tommy said.
“So, what?” Layla said.
“So we can still make the film when we get out, show people what really goes down in here!” Tommy said.
“Come on, big guy, that’s not going to make any difference out there.” Layla said, “People know what they’re getting, death, torture, a little Greek tragedy. Even after last season when we tried to get the word out about the fake contestants, what they had done to you, no one cared. We had to shut it down and shove it right in their idiot faces, but we couldn’t pull it off. All of this was for nothing.”
“Don’t say that-, Cho, Haldeman, everyone we lost, we can’t-,” Tommy started.
“Shut up, I hear something!” Layla said.
“Layla Jackson!” A voice said, “You’re famous!”
“So I’ve heard! One of the mech pilots was a big fan! At least until I beat his ass, I don’t know how he feels about me now.” Layla said.
Layla had no weapon to fend off attackers. She had used up all the ammo for her revolver and her grenades in the tunnel against the droids, and her machete had been destroyed by a cutting laser. Reaching into a nearby pile of refuse, Layla withdrew a short piece of rebar. She held it in her remaining hand like a club.
“Can’t really pull off that signature move though anymore, can you?” Uzi Kahneman said.
Kahneman moved around the building, holding his two T-shaped submachine guns. The ex-Mossad agent looked ragged, his outfit torn and face hollow. His partner, the genetically engineered superman called Boche, appeared behind Kahneman. The Nazi was still wearing his massive jackboots and black coat, belted around his waist again, but it was obvious he had caught the brunt of the earlier nuclear explosion. His face and hands were bright red and covered in boils.
Kahneman started coughing, looking paler with each hacking expulsion. When he finished there was blood on his lips. Both men had been poisoned by the nuclear blast, the FatBoy Layla had fired, even after escaping the explosion. Instead of dying fast, like the Ringers, it was killing them slowly.
“We have meds.” Layla said, “The ones we were carrying were destroyed, but with the others, anti-rad meds, can fix that situation right up.”
Boche hefted his chainsaw, long, serrated blade in front of him. Fist wrapped around the ripcord, Boche yanked it out.The engine grumbled and then howled with the teeth around the chainsaw’s blade starting to spin.
“Don’t think you’re going to make it that far, and you’re the one who irradiated us!” Kahneman said, “Once we’ve taken care of you and finished this, we’ll get the cure!”
Kill Switch: Final Season Page 34