From Oblivion's Ashes

by Nyman, Michael E. A.

  Marshal paused, as if debating with himself over pressing the point on Albert’s situation. Finally, he came to a decision.

  “All right,” he said, his gun sight still locked on the man above. “Let’s start over. My name is Marshal. Who are you? And what have you done with our people? Why did you attack them? They were no threat to you, and they sure as hell weren’t the enemy. You didn’t even wait to see what they had to offer, if Albert’s face is any testimony. Why?”

  The man scowled down at him.

  “My name is Radek Stanislav,” he answered. “My people call me Stan, and I’m in charge here. It’s you who should be answering my questions, but… fine. Since you’ve made your point, I’ll make mine.”

  The man glanced over his shoulder, and it was clear that he was looking for someone. With a look of irritation, he turned back to Marshal and shrugged.

  “We’re trapped in this shithole,” he said, “and that isn’t a good thing for you and your people. We want out, you know how to do that. We tried to be nice, or mostly nice, anyway. This little shit was healthy, except for maybe a black eye and a scratch or two, less than an hour ago. The woman, on the other hand… We had to make an example out of her. But don’t worry. She’s alive. We don’t throw out good-looking women like that, or at least, she used to be good looking. As for the girl, she was caught sneaking around in the back hallways. So far, she’s escaped with only a cut or two, though I expect one of my boys will take a liking to her before long.”

  “You fuckin’ sonovabitch...” Luca said, his eyes smoldering.

  Stan scratched his chin thoughtfully.

  “The real question you should be asking is: Why wouldn’t we attack your people? It was pretty damn obvious just what they had to offer, and we sure as fuck didn’t want any of them getting away. The ability to move around the city without getting eaten? That’s the god damn holy enchilada.”

  He laughed, and his hand stabbed out to smack Albert on the leg.

  “But when I asked the kid here to explain it all to us, do you know what he said? He told me to suck his balls. Didn’t he boys?”

  There was a general rumble of laughter.

  “’Ey ‘urr ‘Ackie!!” Albert shouted, even as his chair wobbled on its perch. “’Ar’vel! ‘Uca! ‘Eeev ah’ohs ‘urr ‘Ackie!”

  A lean, muscular man with sharp features reached up to slap Albert on the cheek. The blow was loud enough to be heard below.

  “Keep your mouth shut, bitch,” the man snarled, “or I’ll make sure that-”

  “Or you lose your fucking hand,” Luca bellowed, looking murderous, “if you lay a finger on my friend again, I will rip that hand off and feed it to you!”

  The man who’d slapped Albert smirked, still holding Albert’s chair and his left leg possessively. He made a face, and blew Luca a kiss.

  “All right,” Marshal said in a voice as cool as ice cream. “Enough is enough, Stan. You’re not saying anything worth hearing, and we’re running out of patience. These are the facts you need to consider: You brought knives, nail guns, and hostages. We brought guns. In case you’re too stupid to figure it out for yourself, that means we’re in charge. Now, just so we’re being clear, if you don’t surrender, we’re going to exterminate you. And Stan. I can absolutely guarantee that you will be the first to die.”

  Marshal gestured with the tip of his gun.

  “Let’s start with you taking our friend down from the railing,” he said. “Remove the noose from his neck, and untie him, or we’ll start the slaughter.”

  Stan stopped grinning. The anger in his face trembled, and he gripped the railing in his big fists as he leaned forward to speak. Even as he did, however, the words seemed to catch in his throat. It was not the first time a gun had been pointed at him, but for some reason, this time, looking down the dark aperture of the gun barrel captured him like the darkness of the grave. Whether it was a spooky intuition or the way the cold blue-gray eyes regarded him from just above the weapon’s rim, there wasn’t any doubt in Stan’s mind that he was close to death.

  Sweat trickled down his forehead, and he pointed over at Albert.

  “You try anything,” he said, “and your man dies.”

  “You’re missing the point,” Marshal said. “Maybe he dies. I might still be able to save his life by shooting that rope or splintering the rafter with my gun. In case you didn’t notice, I’m a crack shot. The important point to remember – from your perspective – is that you’ll die, along with all the vermin who follow you. You now have five more seconds to live.”

  “Okay, okay!” Stan shouted, raising his arms above his head. “Leonard. T-bone. Bring him down. Vito. Brock. I need that ace.”

  Two more men suddenly appeared up on the catwalk, coming out of hiding. One of them, a bulky, buzz-cut Italian man, stepped out of the doorway of an upper office. The second, a towering, angry-faced, bearded man with the look of a biker, seemed to unfold from behind a pillar.

  Each of the two men held assault rifles, black as coal, and they were aiming them directly at Marshal and Luca.

  “Fucking wonderful,” Luca said out loud. “They have guns. Assault rifles, by the look of them.”

  “Drop your weapons!” the biker thundered.

  “Roger that,” Kumar answered through their earphones. “Hang tight, guys. Both teams are entering the animal pens as we speak. Unless there are complications, they should come up behind the bad guys in just a few minutes. Keep them talking.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Stan shouted, looking relieved, though the perspiration still glistened on his forehead. “Where the fuck are Danny and Amber? I wanted them here five minutes ago! Joan! Go and find out what’s taking them!”

  The stocky, shorthaired woman nodded and scurried off.

  “Ready to concede, gunslinger? Turns out this ain’t Butch and Sundance after all. It’s the A-Team, and I got enough firepower to turn you both into human pencils. Now, fucking put down your guns, or we go nuclear.”

  Marshal didn’t so much as twitch. “I don’t think so.”

  “Chugger!” Stan shouted down. “Get their guns. Brock. Vito. If they put up any resistance, I want you to leave nothing but a bloodstain on the floor. Got it?”

  “Got it, boss,” the heavy Italian man answered.

  The gigantic man named Chugger, still grinning, stepped forward again, and Luca swung his left gun around to cover him.

  Like lightning, Chugger lashed out with his machete, knocking the gun from Luca’s hand. Caught by surprise, Luca was unprepared as the huge man closed on him with unexpected speed, grasping out with his free hand to seize Luca’s right wrist as it came around with the other gun.

  “Luca?” Marshal asked, sounding alarmed but still not giving up his clear shot on the leader above.

  “I’m… fine,” Luca grunted with effort, reaching out with his now empty left hand to grab Chugger by the wrist holding the machete. “Motherfucker’s as… strong as a… fucking…”

  Chugger leered down, as Luca’s gun hand began to tremble. He gave Luca’s wrist a squeeze, and with a curse that was more like a yelp of pain, Luca dropped the gun.

  “Give ‘em some space, boys,” Stan called down to the other men below. “And you! Sharpshooter! Let’s you and me come to a personal agreement. You throw your gun on the floor, and I’ll take nancy-boy off his perch. I’ll even take off the noose. If you don’t throw down the gun, I’ll have Brock and Vito here open fire right away and take my chances.”

  Marshal hesitated. “Have them lower their weapons first,” he shouted back. “I don’t like where they’re pointed.”

  The man shrugged. he waved at Brock and Vito, and the two men lowered their weapons. T-bone and Leonard heaved Albert’s chair off the railing and set him down on the catwalk.

  “Are we good?” Stan asked.

  “Luca?”

  “Do it,” the big Italian man muttered through gritted teeth. “You heard… we need… play for time.”

 
Marshal nodded, lowering his gun and tossing it on the floor at his feet.

  “Fuck!” Stan said, sagging against the railing with relief. “Let me tell you something, Sundance! You sure gave me a scare just now. I won’t deny it. Vito. Brock. If he goes for the gun again, kill him. In the meantime, let’s sit back and watch Chugger do his thing.”

  With a brutal head butt, Luca smashed his forehead into Chugger’s face, shattering his nose in an explosion of cartilage and blood. Taking advantage of his opponent’s surprise, he wrenched his left wrist free and stabbed a stiff-fingered blow into the nerve of Chugger’s machete-wielding arm. Then, using two hands, he wrenched it downwards and against his knee.

  The result was a metallic clatter as the machete hit the floor.

  But then to Luca’s surprise, instead of recoiling, fat arms like padded pythons gathered him up into a crushing bear hug, pinning his arms. Grinning at him through the blood, Chugger brought his face up close to Luca’s cheek and kissed it.

  “What the fuuu…. Ohhh Chrisssst!” Luca gasped in pain as the force of Chugger’s attack squeezed the air from him. He heard and felt the sound of his ribs cracking.

  From the catwalk above, Marshal heard laughter.

  “The thing is,” Stan explained, still laughing as T-bone punched his shoulder. “Chugger’s the prisoner you least want to be locked up with. As you can see, he’s practically a freak of nature, right? Strong as a gorilla, big as a house, and pain only turns him on, as your friend - and probably you, Sundance - are about to find out.”

  “’Et ‘ih, ‘Uca!” Albert cried out from above.

  “Don’t worry, Albert,” Stan said, patting his cheek with an amused glance. “You’ll get your turn. I’m sure Chugger will have enough left over to suck your balls for you too.”

  There was more laughter at this comment.

  Marshal eyed him with distaste, and glanced down at his gun, measuring the distance.

  “Don’t even think about it, Sundance,” Stan said in a deadly voice. “You’re not that fast.”

  Marshal hesitated, and then deliberately let his arms fall to his sides.

  In the struggle, Chugger managed to summon up another tremendous squeeze, lifting Luca up off the floor so that the toes of his feet dragged the ground. The effort drove the wind from the chest of the big Italian, and there was the sound of more bones cracking. Groaning under the onslaught, Luca’s hand’s flailed about helplessly, trying without success to break Chugger’s hold. Chugger shifted suddenly, and Luca was unable to prevent him from adjusting to a stronger grip.

  His face smeared red with blood, Chugger’s grin broadened, as Luca’s breathing now came in shallow, weakening gasps.

  The friendly tone in Stan’s voice returned.

  “Now, Chugger and me, we came to an understanding some time ago, but everyone else… hah! Let’s just say that Chugger was one of the most… uh… reliable lovers on the cellblock. Old, young, fat, thin, ugly, or pretty, it don’t matter to Chugger. Fear of his… his ‘consistency’ is one of the main reasons I ran the cellblock. Nobody ever wanted to wind up on Chugger’s dance card, if you know what I mean.”

  More laughter.

  The struggle between the two men below became a standing wrestling match as the bigger man now tried to topple his victim to the ground. For his part, his face slowly turning purple, Luca had so far managed to resist, his feet planted wide, preventing his being pulled to the floor. His fine, polished leather shoes skidded and scuffed the concrete floor as Chugger tried to overcome this by lifting him up and slamming him back down again, but somehow Luca kept his balance. The huffing and puffing of their struggle filled the empty room.

  “Tell them to hurry, Kumar,” Marshal muttered, under his breath.

  “Roger that, Marshal,” Kumar answered. “There’s a slight hitch, though.”

  “What is it?”

  “There are people guarding the back. It looks like the enemy was waiting for us.”

  At the same time that Marshal and Luca were making their appearance at the front entrance, Angie was trying to sneak a dazed and disoriented Jackie out of the animal holding area. It was proving to be a difficult task. Confused, weak from loss of blood and dressed in nothing but a bra and panties, Jackie tried to follow as best as she could, but kept falling down every four or five steps.

  Angie was beginning to wonder if Jackie was going to die. Twice, when she was on the ground, Jackie hissed and spluttered at Angie to run for her own life. The words were barely intelligible through her broken teeth and swollen, tattered skin, but Angie knew what she was saying. She knew this just as surely as she knew that she would never, ever leave a friend in this place.

  Marshal had risked his life to save Angie more than once. Now, it was her turn, and she wasn’t going to let him down. Or Uncle Luca, who she knew would want the same thing.

  But it started to look like her principles were going to cost them both their freedom.

  “Come on, Jackie,” she whispered, peeking up over the lip of the aisle to try and see. It was Chugger’s job to watch over all the people in the animal pens and escape meant sneaking past him. Other than the woman with the knife, nobody had ever frightened Angie like Chugger did. Bigger even than Uncle Luca, he poked at the prisoners with an eight-foot long fork, as if he was just checking to see if people were still alive.

  And then there was late last night, as Angie was still fighting to wriggle out of her ropes, when Chugger had set aside the fork and entered one of the pens. The sounds that Angie had overheard from the person inside would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  “NNnnNgh,” Jackie said.

  The swellings had transformed Jackie’s face into something barely human. Her eyes, and hence her ability to see, had now swollen completely shut. Filth from the floor of the pen had gotten into the wounds, and while Angie had done her best to clean them, it was clear that something had gone horribly wrong. Jackie didn’t even look like herself anymore. Her face looked like a tangle of overblown, purple balloons, and was flamingly hot to the touch.

  “Shh. I think…” Angie’s eyes widened. “Quick! In here!”

  She flung open the gate to a cow pen and tugged an unresisting Jackie inside. Though she was trying her best, Jackie lost her footing again, bounced off a nearby cow, rolled off and into the wall of the pen face first. She gave out a stunted wail of anguish, slid to the ground, and with a meaty smack and a splatter of blood, hit her face against a large, blue salt lick.

  “Mmyeeww,” she cried out.

  “Sorry,” Angie said, crouching down beside her as the offended cow lowed its complaint. “I’m so sorry! But you have to be quiet. They’re coming!”

  “Hey Chugger!” shouted a voice approaching down the aisle less than twenty feet away. “Stan says for you to get your ass up to the front of the warehouse! We got guests, and he wants you on the ground with a machete!”

  “Got it! What about you?”

  The voice sounded like it belonged to the man who beat up Jackie. Danny, or something like that. She held her breath and huddled close to Jackie.

  “We’ll join you guys in a couple of minutes,” the voice shouted back as it passed the pen they were hiding in. “We just gotta grab some things first!”

  “Yeah, okay! Don’t keep us waiting!”

  Angie wrapped her arms around Jackie and held her tight as footsteps trudged right past the gate they had just entered. In the embrace, she could feel the older woman trembling with agony as fresh blood poured from her face. The impact of hitting the salt lick had burst some of the swellings like water balloons, causing the fluids to streak down the ragged flesh and shredded tissue that once had been Jackie’s face. The pain, Angie realized, must have been incredible.

  It was only a few more seconds to wait before the anticipated reaction echoed through the pens.

  “FUCK!” The shout came from Danny.

  “Aw Shit!” Angie tensed as she recognized the voice of the woman who’d held
a knife to her eye. “Can’t you tie a damn knot, asshole?”

  “I tied them down, Amber,” Danny shouted back. “What? You think I just decided not too? And what the fuck does it matter now? If we don’t find them, Stan’s gonna feed us both to Chugger!”

  “Why? He’s the one who was supposed to be on guard. If they escaped, it’s because that fat bastard wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Who cares? We’ll still be in the shit if we can’t find them. And if you think Stan’s going to turn on Chugger, than you’re an idiot! So think! Where could they have run to?”

  “The girl,” Amber said. “She knows the back way in. She’d probably try to lead them out that way. The other one was unconscious when-”

  “Got it,” Danny interrupted, already moving away. “One of Jerome’s people should be watching. I’ll go check if he’s seen anybody. You keep looking around down here.”

  The sounds of running feet disappeared into silence.

  “Asshole,” Amber muttered, and Angie could tell she was standing just outside the pen. There was some rustling, as of someone peeking over the fence, and Angie thanked her lucky stars that the cow that Jackie had hit was standing beside them, obscuring them from view.

  There followed a long silence, or what seemed to Angie to be a long silence. Finally, the sound of careful, stealthy footsteps moving away reached her ears.

  Angie let out the breath she’d been holding. In her arms, Jackie lay, unmoving and inert. Like a boxer whose trainer had cut open a swelling, the burst swellings had temporary freed up Jackie’s eyes again, but they remained closed and lifeless.

  Lifeless? Angie poked the woman gently, and receive no response.

  “Jackie?” she whispered, poking her again. Realization hit like a thunderbolt, and the tears exploded in Angie’s eyes. She tried shaking her. “Jackie! Please, wake up!”

  But Jackie didn’t move. Instead, her body slipped from Angie’s grip, as if boneless, and slumped to the ground. It was all that Angie could manage to keep her head from cracking against the floor again.

  For a second, Angie just gazed at Jackie, her ravaged face, her stillness, with a feeling of helpless shock. An inner conflict held her frozen, uncertain what to do. The belief that Jackie had to be alive, that she couldn’t be dead, collided with an absolute certainty, bordering on hysteria, that the woman had just died in her arms. The warm stickiness of Jackie’s blood still covered Angie’s hands, even as fresh, warm trickling, tears bled down her cheeks.