by SP Durnin
Rae counted to ten. Out loud. “That’s it. You’re cleaning the system next time.”
“So long as ya’ take care a’ the dishes—in a French maid’s outfit—it’s a deal.”
Shaking her head, Rae took a seat beside him on the ramp. “We may be getting some aid. I made contact with Thunderbolt.”
“No shit? That’s good. I couldn’t get so much as a troop a’ girl scouts to help us out. What’d the wonks have ta’ say?”
The buxom woman brushed her long hair all to one side. “They don’t have a way to get us additional bodies, but are able to send a supply drop. From what the CO told me, over-watch support might be up and running shortly too.”
“Well, hell. Means Hess broke yer inscription. That could come back ta bite us in the ass.” He scowled at the ramp under his boots. “Didn’t you say ya’ locked it out, permanent-like?”
“I thought I did. He must have had people working round the clock to break the firewall I set up in the server. There’s no help for it now, so we’ll just have to compensate. Sorry.” He didn’t need to know about her deal just yet.
“Holy shit!” Gripping his chest, George feigned a heart attack. “Did you just apologize? And cop ta’ not being perfect in the same breath? I might faint.”
Norris snorted “You’re one to talk. How much Icy-Hot did you have to uses getting out of bed this morning? It’s pathetic. You smell like a liniment factory.”
“Yeah, well you snore.”
“I do not!” Rae insisted.
George smirked. “Yeah, ya’ do. But only when ya’ sleep on yer back. It’s not the ‘thunderstorm full a chainsaws’ like I got, though. Ya’ need yer nose broke a few dozen times ta’ achieve my level of log-splittin’. It’s that girly kind a’ snore. Cute, if ya ask me. Makes the twins jiggle a bit when ya’ get goin’ too, so there’s that.”
“You’re a pig.” Rae gave him a resigned look. “A foul-mouthed, out-of-touch, classless, sexist pig. I swear I don’t know what came over me. It must be because I feel sorry for you, having that stroke and all.”
He broke into an evil grin, showing no shame whatsoever. “I got a ‘stroke’ for ya’.”
“You’re almost as subtle as a high school boy. Almost.” Norris sighed. “Where do you dig up one-liners like that? From a sea locker next to your bifocals? They’re the linguistic equivalent of dinosaur bones.”
George leered. “If yer lookin’ for a ‘bone’, I can help with that.”
“Would you shut up?” She absolutely refused to blush. “Oh, my God! Conversations with you are like a verbal train wreck.”
Foster tapped ash from his cigar. “I seem ta’ recall you saying something along those lines.”
“Really? I don’t—”
“Trust me.” He smirked. “The whole ‘Oh my God!’ part, I mean. Somebody keeps screamin’ that in yer ear, and it tends to be pretty memorable.”
Rae blushed furiously and took a discreet glance around. “If you tell anyone about that, I swear I’ll cut you off so fast—”
“Hey, don’t get yer panties in a bunch. I was in the navy, remember? I know how ta’ keep the lips zipped.”
“You’d damn well better.” Norris told him with a glare.
It bounced right off Foster’s barnacle-like outer covering. “Don’t stress about it. Like the saying goes, secrets are best kept secret... Hey, feel like a nooner?”
“Do you have any idea how…?” She stopped talking abruptly and put one hand over her eyes. “Yes. It pains me to say it, but yes, I do. Good grief, I’m turning into a dong-crazed sex addict. Just to be clear: I blame you. You’re a bad influence.”
Foster tossed his cigar away. “Pfff! You just don’t wanna admit a fella my age knows how ta’ ring yer’ bell the right way. Youth has enthusiasm, but endurance and aptitude come from years an’ years a’ practice.”
“I’ll give you that one.” Rae crossed a pair of well-turned legs. “Want to try out the seat on one of one the motorcycles we picked up?”
“Don’t need ta’ ask me twice. I’ll close up the hatch, and you get that perky—”
“Uncle George!”
His niece Beatrix, yelling and running full-out with her green ponytails streaming out behind her for the transport, saved Rae from an embarrassing—albeit very satisfying—surrender to her baser urges. Though she loathed to admit it, another healthy session of ‘push me-pull you’ with George sounded like a really good idea at that particular moment.
“Well shit. Lucky I go used to havin’ blue-balls when I was still active duty and on ship.” Foster mumbled. “It’s always somethin’…”
Bee skidded to a stop, breathing hard. “You guys need to come with me, right now! We’ve got a big problem!”
* * *
“What. The exact. Fuck.” Rae stared over the wall and past the moat around the town’s northern gate. Three hundred yards outside sat a familiar dump truck.
On the road beside it, sat what could only be a pair of Hess’s UNIMOGS.
“Ryan’s team had just gone out.” Garth’s shaved head was beaded with perspiration as he stood on the wall of containers. “It wasn’t five minutes before the truck was coming back. Thought they forgot something at first. We noticed the Mogs once they got closer. About a dozen RUST soldiers must have been waiting just beyond the clearance line and stopped them cold. Only Szimanski, your guy Leo, and two others from Ryan’s team survived.”
“Is that Elle back there” She demanded. “Why is she holding her rifle on them?”
George looked so pissed that his expression was actually frightening to those around him. “Take a guess.”
“The guy beside her is that No-Neck fucker that shot Penny on the dam outside Langley.” Bee had her eye glued to the scope of her Long-Arm. “I should smoke his ass right now.”
“Don’t! Drop him and they might kill Leo and Ryan!” Rae was considering options. “Have they said anything yet?”
Those on the wall heard the sound of a PA crackle to life and No-Neck held the UNIMOG’s mic up, stretching its cord out through the window so he could talk. “My name is Sergeant Gale. By the orders of General Winston Hess, Commander of the Reintegrated United States Territories army; this settlement will comply with his instructions or face military censure. Stand down all defenders, allow access through the gates, and you will be treated with respect due citizens of our nation. Refuse, and everyone within your walls will be held in account, beginning with these four men you see here. You have exactly two minutes to comply.”
“Is this clown out of his mind? There’s no way we’ll bend over and take it in the ass.” Garth scoffed.
A cold weight grew in Rae’s stomach. “I think they’re expecting that.”
“What do you mean?” Like most everyone else on the wall, Bee was still staring through the optics of her weapon.
“This is a psychological warfare tactic used to demoralize an enemy.” Rae’s face was grim. “They’re demanding our surrender and once we don’t… Well. You know what comes next.”
Foster’s niece looked at her with fear. “They’ll kill Leo and the others? Is that what you’re saying?”
“That’d be my guess.” Garth leaned his palms on the outer wall.
“Well, do something! We can’t just sit here and watch while-“
“Time’s up.” Gale nodded.
One of his soldiers pulled the butt of his rifle tight to one shoulder, and put a bullet through the back of Ryan’s teammate’s head. The man’s face exploded, becoming a soupy mess of blood and glistening bone, and he fell over chest-first. Leo cringed away as the body hit pavement to his left, but Szimanski started getting to his feet. With his hands zip-tied behind his back it was easy for another of Gale’s men to butt-stroke in the gut, and Ryan fell back to his knees gasping.
Gale got back on the mic. “Two minutes until we repeat the process.”
Itching to shoot the man who’d struck Ryan—and Elle, who was standing to No-Ne
ck’s right wearing a big smile—Bee listened as the others argued about how to secure the surviving men’s release. Garth was at a loss. He dealt with primarily with search and scavenging parties. Close was on his way with a detachment of marines, but had little hope of freeing their friends successfully. Gale could order his captives executed before the defenders got halfway to their position. Rae was attempting to calculate the odds for possible scenarios in her head, and no one had seen Jake and Kat since breakfast.
“You people are slow learners,” Gale called. “Private?”
Ryan’s other teammate fell, his scrambled brains leaking into the Texas dirt like gory oatmeal from where the .223 round exited his skull.
“You mother-fucker!” Two of Gale’s men had to take Szimanski fully to the ground to keep him from going after their leader. “Fuck you, you sorry-ass pussy! Why don’t you untie me, huh? What are you, scared? I’ll tear your balls off and make you eat them; you piece of shit!”
No-Neck glanced at him briefly, the raised the mic. “Two minutes.”
“Dammit, Leo’s next in line! If we don’t do something they’re going to kill him!” Bee started to take aim at their friend’s captors. “I wish Jake was here! He’d come up with a plan! That’s it. You stand around brain-storming if you want, Rae, I’m not waiting for that big prick out there to tell—”
The sound of heavy motors drowned out her next words, and the gates of Pecos swung ponderously open.
“Nobody fire! You hear me? Nobody fire!” Garth’s bellow was picked up by others along the wall and more than a hundred rifles moved away from their targets. “Who?”
George Montgomery Foster stepped out through the gate onto Route 285.
“What the fuck are you doing?!?” Rae’s scream nearly deafened nearby defenders.
“Slow yer’ tits, hot-stuff. I got this.” Foster’s chin moved up once at Bee. “Watch my back, girl. Remember what I taught ya’. And don’t shoot me. I’m getting’ on in years, and getting’ stitched up makes me cranky.”
“Oh shit. It’s finally happened. He’s lost his mind.”
“Don’t distract me,” Bee snapped and brought the Long Arm up again to follow her uncle’s course.
He sauntered toward the RUST hostage team, grinning amicably. George halted here and there to kick larger pebbles from his path, until he stood—thumbs hooked over the front of his belt—perhaps fifteen yards from the aggressors. He looked around at them still grinning, and rocked back and forth on his heels.
“Wow, you’re even more senile than I thought.” Elle cocked her head to one side. “What exactly was your big plan? Smother us with all the Ben-Gay fumes?”
Foster gave her a dismissive glance. “Nobody’s talkin’ ta’ you, cunt-rag. Keep yer traitor yap shut while I speak with the guy in charge of these booger-eaters, or I’ll pull yer’ ovaries out through yer eyeballs. Name’s George Foster. Nice ta’ meet ya’.
Elle would’ve drawn down on the old man right there, but the red laser dot dancing on her combat vest caught her attention. While the blonde couldn’t really see her face from that distance, Bee had made her point. Try it, and be ventilated.
His niece smiled into her scope as their once-companion fumed, and her uncle went on.
“Gale, huh?”
“That’s right.” The larger man looked at Foster as if he were nothing but an annoying irritation. That was his first mistake.
“Well, Gale. I was listenin’ a minute ago and I gotta ask, since you an’ yer boss got such a hard on for Pecos an’ all.” George motioned at Szimanski. “Was this fella’ here right? You really nothin’ but a big ol’ pussy?”
No-Neck couldn’t believe his ears.
“Bet ya are. Bet yer one a’ them sissies who thinks eatin’ snakes is somethin’ hardcore.” The older man laid it on thick. “You know the type. Dudes who brag about how many planes they’ve jumped out of, or lie about how much poontang they get? Or how many women they shot down like cowardly, little bitches, or while they had em kneelin’ all tied up an’ stuff? That ain’t soundin’ like you, is it?”
It seemed like Gale’s brain wasn’t able to register the aging fixer’s insults. He stood there stunned, still holding the microphone in his meaty hand.
George snorted. “That can’t be right. Big guy like you? Naw. You might be number two man on Hess’s totem pole, but that’s not really what gets yer juices flowin.’ At least, I wouldn’t think so. Nope. Yer the type a fella who enjoys getting’ his hands dirty. Who likes it when the fear and the pain are so strong you can almost taste it. Somebody who wants to feel them bones break in his hands. To get a big, tangy whiff of that coppery red stuff, while ya’ twist the blade in a man’s guts, yeah?”
No-Neck almost grinned, and George knew he had him.
“I know ’cause that’s me too, boy. I’ve killed more shitheads on this planet than you’ll ever dream of whacking. An I’ll tell ya somethin’ else. I might be gettin’ into my ‘twilight years’, but I’d damn sure love ta’ beat up my fist with your ugly-ass face.” He raised his brows. “What do ya’ say? You an’ me, for them two ya’ got there?”
Elle wasn’t fooled. “Gale, screw him. This sorry fuck’s nothing but a loud-mouthed drunk. The general wants—”
“Jesus, do you ever shut up?” George pulled a face and gave the younger man a compassionate look. “Women, right? They’ll never understand. How could they, what with all them extra hormones floatin’ around in the blood an’ all?”
Gale’s pupils were dilated and his breath was coming heavy.
“Come on. Takin’ on an old guy like me doesn’t scare ya’… Does it?”
“You men stay out of this.” No-Neck dropped the mic and stripped out of his tac-harness. George realized the man was huge, even without the vest and armor. “If Popeye here takes me out, give him back his friends and tell the general to proceed as planned.”
Elle stepped forward. “Are you stupid? Don’t tell me you’re actually considering—”
A round blew the pavement in front of her feet up in a puff of dust. The blonde stopped in her tracks and glared at the wall over the gate. Foster’s niece moved one hand from her long arm and threw her the bird. From the livid expression on Elle’s face, she could see the green-haired girl as Bee let her know she was “number one in her book,” but took the hint and backed off with the rest of her RUST buddies.
As the giant warmed himself up, swinging his arms and limbering up his massive frame, Foster waited. He cracked his neck (both ways), and then his knuckles (twice), but otherwise stood there totally at ease while Gale went through an entire stretching routine.
Finally feeling limber, the big man rolled his shoulders once and advanced on George. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
“Yer’ flappin’ that lip a lot boy, but I’m gettin’ sleepy here. You need ta’ stretch some more or what? Maybe grab a protein shake while yer’ at it?”
Gale licked his lips. “I’ve always liked hunting people. We’re the top of the food chain for a reason. There’s nothing like crushing the life out of another man, watching all that life leak out of his eyes until they go dark. It’s orgasmic.”
“You don’t get laid much, do ya’?”
No-Neck was almost drooling as they circled one another. “I’ll break one of your arms first. Let you feel a little pain. That makes it so much more fun. Then your shoulder, just so you realize who it is that’s going to kill you. Then a few of your ribs. You’ll feel them go one at a time and think ‘If I run, I might get away.’ Once you do, I’ll chase you down and then it gets really fun.”
While RUST and the Pecos survivors looked on, he larger man bent low in a fighting stance, psyching himself up. Foster just faced off with him, arms loose, knees slightly bent, looking for all the world like he was out for an afternoon stroll.
Gale leapt forward with far more speed than should be possible for a man his size, swinging his arm in a crushing haymaker that…
Completely m
issed when George took a half-step to the right. He didn’t duck, or raise his arms for a block, or anything. Just stepped cleanly out of the way. The giant man stumbled, momentarily off balance, then recovered and spun to face him again. Gale lunged at him, fist blurring in a punch that would knock the him into the next time zone…
And hit nothing.
Foster leaned to port, bent his left leg, took hold of his foe’s shirt-collar, and effortlessly tossed him over his right hip. Gale went airborne, sailing up as his arms and legs windmilled until gravity took over again. The impact when he landed nose first to skid along the pavement, nearly caused the ground to shake, but he bounced back up. Reaching around with one hand, Gale drew a fixed-blade Field Fighter Combat Knife from its sheath at the small of his back, ignoring the face-full of bloody road rash. He took it in a fighting grip—pommel up to his thumb and spine along his gigantic forearm—and advanced on Foster, grinning madly.
“Nice tricks, old man. Let’s try it my way.” He flicked his hand around, passing the blade through the air so quickly it whistled. “I want your eyes. I’ll keep them in a bottle of Captain Morgan I found in a bar outside Lubbock until they’re nice and pickled. Then I’ll eat them.”
The fixer wasn’t impressed. “You wanna know how I’m whipping-your ass all over the street?”
“Sure. How?”
Gale’s arm shot out fast as a rattlesnake, knife hand winging up to shed Foster’s blood.
This time George got nasty. When Gale was fully extended, he swept the bigger man’s arm past his own right shoulder. That earned him a good slice on the rear of his hand from the knife’s edge, but also left the killer wide open.
Hess’s bully-boy didn’t even see the blurring knife-hand George used to crush his trachea. He dropped to his knees, one hand going to his throat in surprise. He could only use one, because George broke both his radius and ulna, sending them poking up through the flesh of his right arm, and rendering the limb useless. As the giant reeled with the shock of seen his bones on the outside his skin, George boxed his ears causing Gale’s eyes to cross and him to waver drunkenly on his knees. To be fair, that may have been because he couldn’t get any air down his crushed windpipe.