by J. N. Chaney
“Fucking great. Run ahead and convince Tom of what we need to do. He won’t like it coming from me. I’ll guard our rear until you get back.”
Path sprinted toward Tom and the tagalongs.
Ten minutes later, Path and I switched roles once again. He fell behind, watching the shadows. Bug double-timed it toward Tom’s secret workshop.
I lost patience the moment I could navigate the rest of our trek by myself. Bug looked startled when I passed him.
“Stick to the mission, Reaper. Stay in formation,” Bug said, sounding like the commander he’d become while I was asleep.
“Change of plans. We can’t afford to be late,” I said, then left everyone behind.
The exhilaration of sprinting down dark streets almost made me forget all the crap of the last few days. I wasn’t a clone, or the biologically born Halek Cain, or anything else. I was just me, right here, right now.
The sound of an armored car racing along a side street confirmed I’d made the correct decision. Someone was doing the same thing I was, racing ahead of the main force to secure the objective.
That could work in my favor, as long as I won this encounter. Victory would provide new weapons, and maybe even a new vehicle.
Were the odds great? No, but like Path said, when were they? I was the last Reaper, and I didn’t quit. Impossible situations just pissed me off and made me fight harder.
Enthusiasm didn’t win races by itself. When I arrived at the workshop, the armored car was parked, the Obsidian regulars deployed around the perimeter, and Vaus Cain was standing there in his silver helmet waiting for me.
The parking lot was cluttered with junk vehicles, empty transport containers, and random appliances needing fixed. The locals must have started bringing Tom things to repair. The guy would never lack work if he stayed here.
“You look tired, Hal.” Vaus made my name sound like a swear word. “I should let you rest to make this a fair fight.”
He raised his D3D and fired, but I was already diving sideways and rolling to my feet with my own weapon ready. Gunfire boomed. His perimeter guards took potshots at me each time I moved around one of the disabled, mostly salvaged vehicles.
“Do not expect a fair fight, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.
“Never do.” I slipped away from Vaus, took out one of the guards with a neck crank, then stripped his gear of ammunition, backup weapons, and knives.
“That man never had a chance,” X-37 said.
“He picked the wrong side. Don’t have time for your judgement, X. Keep it to tactical data.”
The man hadn’t seen me coming. X was right about that. But the guy had tried to shoot me in the back moments earlier, so I wasn’t going to feel guilty about it.
Not in the middle of this fight, at least. Without my Reaper blade, I’d been forced to use my hands. Not something I wanted to do again if I could avoid it.
“Where are you, Hal! Stop being a rebel and submit,” Vaus shouted. “Don’t you dare believe Scheid will put you in charge of us. I’m not going to let that happen—and the best way to be sure is to deliver your dead body.”
“He wants my LAI, Vaus. You know he’ll kill you if you ruin that,” I said, then moved to a new position.
“How could you know that? What are you?”
“Wrong question.” I moved again, slipping behind a rusted truck full of old bullet holes. “You should ask who I am, even if you know the answer.”
“Go to hell!” he screamed.
“Hurts, doesn’t it. But it’s not my fault you’re just an inferior copy,” I said.
“You are pushing your luck, Reaper Cain,” X-37 warned.
“Come out and fight, asshole,” Vaus said.
I stepped into the space right behind him. “You’re learning.”
He whipped around, gun ready but too stunned to act before I ripped it out of his hands, tore it free of the sling, and cast it away.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he spat at me, raising his hands to block my next move.
“Sometimes you have to make it personal to win a fight, get mad. Go crazy,” I said.
He flew at me, right fist driving toward my face as I sidestepped his attack and kicked him between the legs.
“You’re… gonna pay… for that.” He gasped the words between breaths.
“I’m standing right here, Vaus. Come take a shot at the title.”
37
Vaus sneered, then retreated a step to draw his pistol. I rushed forward, tackled him to the ground, and stripped him of this weapon, just like I removed the D3D from consideration.
He lost the gun but reversed my takedown, straddling my torso and pinning one of my arms to the ground with a knee. I’d gotten overconfident after taking both guns. He should never have allowed that. It was almost embarrassing. He wasn’t representing the Cain name well.
“Focus, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said, not elaborating why he thought my attention was drifting.
I bucked Vaus off, counter-grabbed his wrists, and looked for a submission hold. He used my momentum to carry me over again, and took the mount position for the second time. The fight was moving so fast it looked like we were just rolling across the pavement—which we were. No one but his perimeter guards were close enough to critique the finer points of our brawl.
Instead of trying the same thing again, I snatched the bottom portion of his helmet with one hand, then his shoulder with my other hand, and crossed my forearms. Scissoring across each other, I constricted his carotid artery and his windpipe.
He fought to break my hold, attempted to drop the chin of his helmet, and then just started thrashing his head when that didn’t work.
I cranked down even harder, then dumped him onto his side, not quite able to take the mount position on him—which would have been ideal. I could have added my weight to the choke and ended this fight in seconds.
The barrel of a rifle pressed against my helmet. “Let go of him now or you’re a dead man.”
I jerked away from the soldier, dragging Vaus between us. This ruined the effectiveness of my choke hold, but I refused to release it, knowing I might be able to convert it into a different attack.
Vaus got his feet under his body and tried to stand. I tripped him with my left leg, but he only fell to one knee. We looked like a pretzel of Obsidian armor. Two soldiers circled us, looking for a shot—which meant I couldn’t stop moving. As long as this remained a fast-paced, ever changing wrestling match they would have a hard time getting a clean shot.
When I eventually defeated Vaus, I’d have two pissed off soldiers with rifles to deal with. Unfair as hell but not surprising. Things could be worse. I could be in a failing submarine base or on the slope of a volcano spilling lava. This bullshit was barely an inconvenience by comparison.
Time was an issue. I had to get control of this ship before Scheid and the rest of his army arrived.
“X, can you talk to Tom’s ship?”
Vaus headbutted me, forcing me to release the choke hold and stagger backward.
“Of course, Reaper Cain. It is the Jellybird, and she is very concerned about you losing this fight,” X-37 said.
Vaus delivered a textbook perfect spinning back kick to my gut, sending me backward into one of the soldiers. I hit the ground hard, bounced to my feet, then stomped on the guard’s knee, shattering it.
One down, two to go.
“That was a cheap shot, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said.
“I’m losing, X. In case you didn’t notice.”
Vaus scrambled for his rifle. I dove for mine as the remaining soldier stitched the ground I’d been standing on with D3D slugs.
“I did notice,” X said. “And so did the Jellybird. She requests that you fight as dirty as you must to survive. I fear she may do something foolish if you don’t win soon.”
My LAI’s words boomed in my head, but I didn’t grasp their meaning. After grabbing my rifle, I turned and exchanged gunfire with the soldier. The man retrea
ted with his finger still on the trigger, sending shots wide as I drilled him with non-lethal shots—two in the arm and one in the shoulder. He could die, but he probably wouldn’t.
“Stay out of this!” I shouted.
Vaus shot me in the side. I staggered in pain, hoping my armor held, returning fire that forced him to duck behind the burned out husk of a vehicle.
“Reaper Cain, I am having a hard time keeping up with the pace of this fight,” X-37 said.
I put one hand to my side as I found my own car to hide behind. Pulling it back, I saw blood on my fingertips. More of the red fluid streamed down my legs.
Vaus ran over the top of his cover and mine, opening fire even before he had a clear shot. Sparks flew from the vehicle frame, followed by direct hits to my chest armor. His rounds had already pierced the Obsidian armor once. I didn’t like my chances now.
Engines roared to life in the shop, melting one of the walls in seconds. Vaus stared in amazement. I stitched him with D3D rounds, fought to my feet, and kicked him as hard as I could.
Everything hurt, and I felt light headed from blood loss.
“Vaus has not died of his wounds,” X-37 said.
“Of course not.” I felt ready to die from mine. “Why can’t anything be easy?”
Vaus stumbled in a circle, rifle held in one hand, and his other hand pressed to a gut wound while blood flowed from his chest and throat. I wanted to shoot him again or punch him until his helmet came off. I reattached my rifle to my armor, then leaned my hands on my knees.
A metallic taste filled my mouth. Stars danced in my vision. Heat from the Jellybird’s engines warmed one side of my body. “Can you just die, Vaus?”
“Go to hell, Reaper.”
I took his rifle and anything else he could turn into a weapon, then pushed him down.
“You’re not going to take my med kit?” he asked weakly.
“No. Looks like you need it. Stay away from me and my friends. Or die, I really don’t care,” I said.
“Drop your weapon!” the surviving soldier shouted from behind a transport container.
I gave him the finger, intentionally not looking at Bug and Path running up behind the man. Either could have killed the Obsidian regular, but they forced him down and disarmed him instead.
“Where are the others?” I asked.
“Right behind me, but so is a large Obsidian convoy,” Bug said.
“Get on the Jellybird and make sure she’s ready to fly. On autopilot unless you or Tom can do it.
“I can fly her,” Bug said.
Path put his shoulder under one of my arms and pressed his free hand against my worst wound. “Let’s get on the ship, Hal. You’re hurt.”
“Mostly my pride.” The last word squeaked but was probably understandable.
I couldn’t see, hear, or feel much by the time the sword saint got me up the ramp. He started first aid, I thought, but didn’t really care. Darkness was everywhere, and I was really tired.
Running through the tunnels of Dreadmax put everything in perspective. I was the last Reaper, marked for death by the Union and completely out of options. This place felt like hell, like I had been here for a thousand years and would never find the end of it. I couldn’t find Elise or Bug.
Was it weird that a grown man, a hardened soldier, would hide in a security tower, eating cheese crackers and talking shit through security camera intercoms? Something wasn’t right with this picture, but I didn’t have the energy to break it apart and get the answer.
The HDK Dominator III Deathlance in my hands was like nothing I’d ever seen—probably some top secret, dark ops toy they weren’t going to give me. How did the weapon get here? How did I get here? Where were the other condemned murderers?
Environment shields failed as soon as I reached the surface. Pieces of metal and hundreds of cannibals floated from the surface. Buildings and bodies accelerated the closer they came to the void. Before long, most of them were gone. I smelled smoke, which I thought was unfair. Only I would get caught in a raging fire after all the oxygen was gone from the environment.
How did that even happen?
“Leave explanations to me, Reaper Cain.”
I faced the man walking next to me. Average height, slim, and dressed in the latest fashion, X-37 wasn’t fazed by the hellish environment.
“Should I be talking to you like this?”
“That is entirely up to you, Reaper Cain. You’re the one who died, after all.”
I shoved Bug backward as I struggled to my feet—armor off and bandages everywhere.
“Fucking knock that off, Cain!” he said, then pointed back to the medical bed. “Damn Reaper prima donna. Heart stops for five minutes and you just lose your shit.”
Sitting down, I held my head with both hands. “What the hell happened?”
“You were shot eleven times during your fight with Vaus Cain and his Obsidian regulars. My interpretation of your biometrics suggests you weren’t aware of this during the fight,” X-37 said. “Your legendary stubbornness saved you, not for the first time.”
Jacob and Roadkill stared at me from the other side of the room. Haunted expressions defined their faces. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t curse, or argue, or tease each other. The sight of a Reaper coming back from the dead had taken the color from their skin.
Tom stood from a chair he’d occupied, hands clasped together, knuckles against his forehead. It was an abrupt movement, like he’d had to work up the courage. His eyes were red, maybe even wet. The man looked like he wanted to say something, shout at me, but he stormed out of the room, dragging Jacob and Roadkill by their arms.
“Lie down,” Path said. “We are not medical professionals, but we can stop the bleeding and give you fluids.”
I reached back with my left arm to lower myself onto the medical bed. Pain flared from my wrist to my eyes the moment I put weight on the limb.
Bug caught me. “Easy. You’ve got some broken bones. Tom is going to attempt surgery.”
“How about a splint,” I said. “Let’s not get fancy.”
“All the breaks were compound. When I say surgery, I mean everything he can do to avoid amputation,” he said. “But that’s probably going to happen so don’t blame us.”
There were so many things I wanted to say, but I couldn’t summon the anger. “Where else am I damaged? I know where I hurt, because that’s everywhere.”
Path turned his hand up and nodded. “Accurate.”
“What do you mean, accurate?” I asked.
“You are injured on every part of your body, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said, his voice broadcast over the intercom. “I will assist Tom and the others in your treatment, as will Jelly.”
“Can Tom put all the bones back together?” I asked.
“With my help, and Jelly’s extensive medical files, he has a three percent chance of returning the arm to its normal functionality,” X-37 said.
“Why bother?” I rested my head on the hard pillow.
“He insisted we try, so long as I could keep him from killing you during the surgery,” X-37 said.
“What are his chances of performing a successful amputation?”
“Ninety-nine percent, Reaper Cain.”
Tom returned. “I heard that, and you can forget about it. We need you whole if we’re going to stay alive. There’s a full scale war raging between Scheid’s forces and the JFT. Maglan has been dangerous since the invasion, but things are really heating up now.”
“Take the arm off,” I said.
“Hal—” he began.
“Jelly, what are the predicted recovery times for the two surgeries?” I asked.
“You will require eight to eighteen months to recover from a full reconstruction. An amputation could take as little as a month, though you would likely experience pain and other side effects for much longer,” she said. “X-37 agrees with me.”
“Take the arm off, Tom. I’ll fight with one arm.”
38
Jacob and Roadkill stared at me as we flew over the city, Jelly showing off her beefed-up engines and X-37 reacquainting himself with ship procedures. Bug was flying, but I thought the ship AI and my LAI could do the job just as well without him.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Jacob finally said. “I’ve seen a lot of people get hurt, but they were always running away.”
“I’m not that smart.” Keeping pain out of my voice wasn’t hard. Sounding like I wasn’t wasted on painkillers was. I couldn’t take them for long, but not even a Reaper walked away from a full amputation without repercussions.
“Can confirm,” X-37 said over the intercom. “He should be confined to the medical bay—resting like a mere mortal.”
“Trust me, X, I will sleep for weeks once we’re clear of Marsi,” I said.
Tom and Bug looked uncomfortable. Path… was Path—though I thought his gaze was a bit more intense than normal. Had I finally broken the legendary calm of the sword saint?
Sure I had, because I’m a winner.
All three of my friends saw me in a new light. Hopefully they accepted me for who I was. Our enemies weren’t going to get smashed unless we were on the same page, trusting each other, striving for the same goals.
“You lost your arm,” Roadkill said, sounding pissed off.
“Not my first time, unfortunately.” I locked my teeth together against a wave of pain that penetrated the drug induced haze keeping me upright. “Probably not my last. I still have one to sacrifice for the cause.” I raised my right arm, but not much. It was attached to my body, after all. Every move had a consequence that involved the need to pass out or vomit, or both.
“I don’t know how you can joke about that,” Roadkill said. “Where I grew up, they killed people like that for their own good. And to keep the collective strong. You’re basically dead.”
“I’m not dead, kid.” Pain eased, probably because adrenaline was the true miracle drug. “Reapers don’t die. We just get meaner.”