“Looks like we either both put down our guns,” he said, his voice strong and even, “or we join each other in the Halls of the Dead.”
“You first,” I replied, teeth clenched.
“Yeah,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “I don’t think so. What do I look like? An idiot?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?” I asked, matching his tone.
“We can talk this all out,” he said, holding up one hand with the palm towards me. “We’re not enemies.”
“You took us captive,” I snapped. “Stole our weapons, tortured my son and forced me to fight my way across that dam. That doesn’t exactly make us friends.”
Spec-4 and Elliott grabbed fallen weapons from the dead goons. In seconds, we were all armed. We all had our weapons up and aimed at the King. I could tell that he realized the situation he was in and slowly lowered his pistol. He sat it on the table and held his hands up in front of him.
“What now?” he asked, not taking his eyes off of me.
“How about we just fucking shoot you and toss you off into the water?” I replied, venom in my voice.
“We were going to let you go,” he said, shaking his head. “You didn’t have to shoot my men.”
“It damned sure didn’t look that way to me,” I replied. “You just said that you would be enjoying our company for a bit longer. Besides that, if we were free to go then why were your men blocking our exit?”
He didn’t seem to have an answer for that.
“It sure didn’t look like they were bringing us our gear back,” said Spec-4.
“Or showing us to our boat,” added Elliott.
“We’re leaving,” I said. “There’s nothing you can do to stop us, either.”
“Fine,” replied the King. “Take your gear and leave.”
“Why was it so damned important that your men had our gear?” I asked, lowering my pistol.
“Because our weapons are all shit,” he replied. “If we have a chance to survive at all, it will be better if we had better gear. We were hoping you would lead us to some.”
“No, we won’t,” I replied, tucking the pistol in the back of my belt. “But if you had asked, we might have given you some. I’m not in the habit of leaving people to die.”
“Nothing comes for free,” he replied, darkly.
“Maybe not,” I said, “but we could have worked something out. How many of you are there?”
“Well, before you shot them,” he said, gesturing at the men on the deck, “there were twenty one of us. Six men, twelve women and two kids. Now, I guess there's only eighteen left.”
Suddenly, I felt like shit for shooting them. I knew that nothing would change it and I couldn’t undo it. However, they were threatening us and refusing to let us leave. So, like it or not, I was completely justified. I was fighting back and trying to free my son and Spec-4. I felt bad for shooting them, but that didn’t mean I trusted the King.
Spec-4 and Elliott lowered their weapons and glanced down at the dead men on the deck. I turned to say something to Elliott as he bent down to examine one of the bodies. Before I could open my mouth, there was a blur of movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head just in time to catch the King's huge fist right in my left eye. Whatever I thought about him, the fact was he hit like a jackhammer. I was flying over backwards and onto the deck as the world around me spun. In my haze, I could see him coming for me. The fight was on.
He was on top of me in a flash and hit me twice more before I could react. Each blow felt like I was being hit with a baseball bat. The man was extremely strong and very fast. In fact, he was faster than I had expected him to be. As his big right arm went back for another blow, I drove my right hand into his ribs, right where his ribcage meets his stomach. I heard him grunt as I not only hit, but twisted my fist to maximize the damage.
With him still straddling me, I drove my fist into his stomach twice more, each time with enough force to hear the air rush out of him. While he was momentarily distracted, I grabbed his belt and yanked him over the top of my head. He went sprawling, but came to his feet as quickly as I did. I half expected Spec-4 to end the fight with a raised weapon, but she seemed content to let us beat each other's brains in. She was probably still pissed off at me from the night before.
He came at me in a wild rush. I knew right away that he was stronger and faster than me, but my edge was in the training. I locked his arm as he went past me and pulled it down, exposing his face. With a massive blow from my left hand, I drove it right into his exposed ear. With a grunt of surprise, he fell into the legs of a chair and they both fell to the deck.
I didn't wait for Spec-4 or Elliott to intervene. I ran forward to kick him before he could untangle himself from the chair. Have you ever heard the old phrase, "Never kick a man when he's down?" Well, whoever said that was an idiot. If you're in a fight, you fight to win. All that Marquis of Queensbury shit is nice if you're in a ring, but when you're in a real fight, the rules go right out the window.
As my foot connected with his ribcage, he grabbed my leg and locked it against his body with both arms. Then he rolled away from me, taking my legs out from under me. I hit my forehead on the table as I went down, and I could feel the blood begin to run down my face. Maybe there was something to that rule, after all.
As I tried to get back to my feet, he was already there, driving a massive fist into the side of my face. I rolled away, knocking table and chairs everywhere as I went. I could see that more guards had arrived. Spec-4 and Elliott were at a standoff with them, neither side wanting to start the shooting. That explained why they were letting us beat the hell out of each other.
The goons couldn't shoot me for fear of getting shot by my people. They couldn't intervene for the same reason. Damn it. I guess we're going to settle this thing the old schoolyard way. This was going to hurt. The only consolation lay in knowing that he wasn’t going to enjoy it, either. I might not win this fight, but he wasn’t going to be happy about the win. That much I could promise him.
The next thing I knew, he was on me again. We were grappling like wrestlers, each trying to gain the upper hand. He was stronger than me, but I had skill. Pound for pound, I knew he was the better fighter. If he had the same training I had, this would be a one-sided fight. He'd kick my ass.
We rolled, each vying for the upper hand, when I slid my hand up to his neck. I knew that trying to choke him would take too long and probably wouldn't work all that well. So, I did the next best thing. I jammed my thumb into his mandibular pressure point. The mandibular was a compliance point, used to subdue an aggressive opponent. While it didn't make him comply, it did make him cry out and forced him away from me. Point for me.
With a moment of breathing room, I shook my head to clear it and launched myself at him, again. We locked up and went over the rail of the boat, landing on one of the makeshift walkways that connected the boats together. The wooden section of a dock was plenty wide enough for us to fight on without sliding off into the water. Although, it shook like it was in a hurricane as we fought. He forced himself to his feet, but was still bent over at the waist. We were both bleeding from various scratches, cuts and wounds. He turned his head and spat a wad of bloody phlegm into the water.
Blood flowed down my forehead and onto my face and was trickling from the corner of my mouth. As he stood, I could see the gleam in his eyes. The son-of-a-bitch was enjoying this. He started laughing deep and loud, rocking back on his heels.
"You're a hell of a fighter, boy," he said, through the mirth. "I'll give you that. I haven't been in a fight this good in a long, long time. I'm gonna enjoy this!"
"Then you're going to fucking love this one," I said.
Before he could move, I rushed forward and drove a series of blows into his face and abdomen. I drove him back far enough to make him fall backwards over the railing and onto the deck of a pontoon boat. He quickly got back to his feet and shook his head. I didn't wait for him to re
cover. I took two running steps, placed my hand on the railing and vaulted over it. Using the momentum, I drove both feet into his chest with enough force to knock him flailing into the back of the boat. He landed on one of the couches and seemed to lose focus.
I sensed that he was on the proverbial ropes, so I rushed forward, eager to finish the fight. This time, I straddled him and jack-hammered several blows into his face, as fast as I could punch. His head rocked back with each blow and I drew my right arm back as far as I could, lining him up for what I hoped would be a finishing blow.
With a bellow of rage, he grabbed me around the waist and stood up. The pontoon boat was open topped or I would have been shoved into the roof. He took two steps forward and flipped me onto the deck. I recognized the move from television. It was a professional wrestling move called a belly-to-belly suplex. I never thought I'd have one used on me, but they fucking hurt. I felt the air come out of me in a rush.
Pressing his advantage, he rolled on top of me and punched me twice in the face. My vision was beginning to narrow and lose focus. I threw a punch at his face, but it had lost most of its force. I was losing and getting close to blacking out. As my head lolled to the side, my vision swam in and out of focus. Through the haze, I began to focus on something completely out of place.
There was a figure emerging from the water. It was a goddamned Stalker. I knew that the water didn't kill them, but I didn't expect to see them out here in the middle of the lake. They were climbing the anchoring lines that kept the island from drifting. I turned my head and saw that there were more of them climbing up other ropes onto the island. Then the screaming began.
As the first Stalker that emerged close to us started to snarl, the King looked up. He had heard the screaming, too. We also heard gunfire coming from another part of the island. They were everywhere.
"How the hell did they get out here!" he bellowed as he stood up.
The Stalker was coming closer to us and snarling. It crouched as it walked and I could see that the fingers were more claw-like than I had noticed, before. The King was frantically searching for a weapon as the creature dove on him and took him to the deck. He grabbed it by the head to keep it from biting him, but the thing was phenomenally strong. He didn't have long before it would take him.
I climbed unsteadily to my feet and thought about finding a weapon to help him. Before I moved, I remembered that I had a pistol in my waistband. I only hoped that I hadn't lost it in the fight. I had shot four times, so I knew that I only had eleven rounds left. Too bad I didn't have any extra magazines in my pocket.
I slipped my hand to the small of my back and found the Glock where I had left it. I drew it and blew the back of the skull out of the Stalker that had the King pinned to the ground. Then I turned and shot two more that were emerging from the water. The King stood and tossed the lifeless thing back into the water and looked around for another target. When one didn't immediately appear, he turned to me and we locked eyes.
"Thanks," he said. "You could have let that thing kill me."
"No, I couldn't," I replied, shaking my head.
"Hmmph," he snorted. "We've got to help the others."
“Looks like we finally agree on something,” I muttered.
I turned and headed for the connecting walkway that led back to the other boats. The big man was right on my heels. I could already see that Spec-4 and Elliott were engaging targets all around them. For every one they shot, two more emerged from the water. I didn't know where they were all coming from, but we didn't stand a chance if we stood and fought here. We had to abandon the island.
"We've got to get everyone onto one of the boats and get the fuck out of here," I yelled at the King.
"We can't hold this," he replied, nodding. "Can you buy me some time to get my people out?"
"I'm down to less than ten rounds," I replied. "I need my weapons."
There was too much action going on, cutting us off from Spec-4 and Elliott. They had moved off to another boat to help repel the dead. My gear was with them. Just as one of the beasts was about to drag down one of the women that had been sitting with the King, I saw the guy I dubbed the Shotgun-Shithead emerge from the boathouse. He leveled his shotgun and blew the beast back into the water, saving the woman in the process.
My esteem for Shithead just went up several notches. I nodded at him and gave him a quick wave. He smiled and nodded at me, even though his mouth and nose were still swollen from where I had punched him. He opened his mouth to say something when one of the Stalkers grabbed him from the top of the boathouse. I saw its claw-like fingers dig into his face and eyes, blood began pouring from the vicious wounds.
Then, just like that, it dragged him screaming up and over the top of the boat. I lost sight of him as his legs were kicking in the air and disappearing out of sight. I could hear the thud of something heavy hitting the deck on the far side of the boat. Then the real screaming began. It was more horrifying than any zombie attack I had ever seen before.
I ran around the boathouse, only to find that two of the Stalkers were tearing into his flesh. They had torn most of his face away and were tearing into the soft skin of his abdomen. It struck me that they didn't seem to be in any hurry to kill him. He just kept screaming in agony as they feasted on his soft tissues.
I raised the pistol and shot them all, ending his misery. There was nothing we could have done for him, anyway. He was finished. I turned and shot one more that was climbing onto the boat as I headed back to the King. I found him beating a zombie with a leg from the table. I could hear the wood splintering with the force of each impact. Unlike me, the zombie seemed to be taking the blows without any effect. I could see wounds appearing on its face, but otherwise it seemed unfazed.
"Duck!" I yelled.
The King did so without hesitation, and I shot the zombie in the face. It flipped over the rail and off into the water. My ammo supply was dwindling rapidly. By my count, I had four or five rounds left before I was empty. When that happened, we were screwed. Nothing short of a headshot seemed to even slow them down.
"How good are you with a rifle?" the King demanded.
"Better than I am with a pistol," I replied. "Why?"
"I'm not a great shot," he admitted. "But I do have a weapon that might help you even the odds."
"Show me," I said, nodding.
I quickly followed him back into the boat. He led me down the hallway to the master suite at the end. It was as opulent as the rest of the boat. Reaching into the closet, he pulled out a familiar looking black canvas rifle bag. It looked like a range bag that many in Law Enforcement used to take their weapon to the range. My eyes widened as they fell on the weapon that emerged as he unzipped the bag.
It was sleek and beautiful. It had been custom painted in a camouflage pattern and had all the bells and whistles. Red dot sighting, tactical light, green laser sight mounted under the barrel, extended suppressor, and a tactical fore grip under the barrel. This baby had it all. The barrel looked bigger than I thought it should be, though.
"I stole this thing from an enforcer for the Angels," he said. "He owed me money. I've had it a long time. I never shoot it, because the ammo is too fucking expensive. I only have a couple hundred rounds for it. You'll have to make them count."
"What is it?" I asked, reaching out for the beautiful weapon like a kid reaching for candy.
"It's called a Beowulf," he said, smiling.
"Holy shit," I whispered. "That's a .50 caliber. I've read about those."
"Yeah," he said. "Standard AR frame with a .50 caliber upper receiver. They take standard AR magazines, but they only hold ten rounds in a regular 30 round mag."
"I'll have to make them count," I said, taking the weapon and checking the chamber.
It had a loaded magazine, but nothing in the chamber. I rapidly chambered a round and took the safety off. There were four other loaded magazines, so I stuck them in my cargo pocket. The rest of the ammo was in the range bag. I zipped it
back up and slipped it over my shoulder.
"If you can get us the fuck out of here," he said, "she's all yours, man."
"Thanks," I said, grinning, "your highness."
"The name is Janos Viridian," he said. "My friends call me Snake."
"Is there a story there?" I asked, headed for the door.
"It's because of my tat," he replied, following me. "I have a full back-piece of Thor fighting the Midgard Serpent. It wraps all the way around my waist and runs down my leg."
"Damn," I muttered, heading down the hallway.
"Hurt like a motherfucker," he said.
"Alright, Snake," I said. "It's good to finally meet you."
"Let's kick some zombie ass, little brother," he said, smiling.
I noticed that he was carrying my Halligan bar. Firefighters refer to it as a "Hooligan" bar because they like to run in and smash things with it, like a little hooligan. He looked like a big hooligan holding the bar in his thick, knobby hands. He was definitely ready to fight.
I stepped out onto the deck and brought the Beowulf to my shoulder. I could hear the ping, ping, ping of more than one M-4. I could also hear the occasional boom of a shotgun and the sharper crack of a deer rifle. At least someone was fighting back. At least someone was left to fight back. We didn't have long to get into this fight before there wouldn't be, anymore.
The first Stalker that I saw was emerging from the water near where Spec-4 and Elliott were set up, defending a small group of survivors. I lined up my shot and gently squeezed the trigger. I had never fired a Beowulf before, so I wasn't really expecting the level of boom that it produced. I was well accustomed to the light report of the M-4 and even the loud shot from my shotgun. This thing roared like its namesake.
The massive BOOM echoed in every direction and rolled out across the lake like thunder. The head of the Stalker that I shot simply disappeared in a shower of gore. The headless body fell twitching back into the water. The kick was much harder than any AR I'd ever fired, too. It shook my shoulder and I almost staggered back. That was going to leave a bruise.
Ragnarok Rising: The Crossing (The Ragnarok Rising Saga) Page 18