Twisted City

by Jeremy Mac

  Mongoose glances up at the guard on the top planks and sees that he remains clueless. He will need to take care of him differently. It will be tactless but effective. That’s the idea, anyway.

  The shoes he wears are soft sole, he doesn’t make a sound climbing the ladder or when he crosses the wooden planks, heading swiftly toward the guard. About fifteen feet away, almost there, he plants his foot on a board that creaks so loudly when it takes his weight it sounds like an old wooden door opening into the hollow of an abandoned house.

  The guard stirs. Mongoose doesn’t hesitate for a second, he rushes ahead, wielding the pipe in both hands over his head.

  The guard doesn’t know what hit him.

  Mongoose leaves their rifles, thinking that when the poop hits the fan the guards may just be rousing from la la land and he will want them to be able to defend themselves.

  He goes to the gate office, it is locked, but it won’t be for long.

  67

  The early morning slate gray sky foretells of an ominous beginning.

  Those far beyond the high walls of The Pinnacle, the dregs of what was once known as the City of Cities, are yanked from their sleeping dreams and those who are already of the woken world, although far from their visual ability to actual see it so they visualize it in their minds eye, take their attention northward. For once again, and barely over a month later, the siren wails throughout the city.

  In a matter of seconds swarms of men and women pull on their clothes and make their way to the arsenal. Lathan and Taya meet James in the hall.

  “Maddick’s,” James says. “They’ve invaded. Came right through the front gate as if someone let them in. We’ve got to stop them from penetrating any deeper.”

  In the arsenal higher ranks bark their orders at lines of battle-men who are given their weapons and are exiting the building.

  Lathan takes a pistol and turns to Taya. “Take this. Go back and find a good place to hide and stay there until I come for you.”

  “No. I’m going with you.”

  “Taya, don’t argue with me. You’re going to get hurt or worse if you go out there. Please, just do what I say. Now go.”

  Taya grabs hold of him and kisses him hard. Holding him tight she says in his ear, “Please be careful. I love you.”

  Down in the parking garage Lathan dresses for the occasion with guns, knives, and his sword. He punches the gas and the Battle Durango roars out of the entrance. The Pinnacle’s guards are everywhere, shooting their rifles and making their way toward the gate. Everyone quickly moves out of the vehicles way as it speeds down the street. Three more vehicles with heavy artillery machine guns mounted on them follow Lathan.

  Coming from the opposite direction is an army of half-mad Maddick’s shouting and shooting blindly into the buildings, their own war machines entering through the gate. The vehicles behind Lathan fire off rounds from the big guns mounted on them, tearing apart several men up ahead and spraying red mist on the Durango as it passes by them. Someone gets his head blown off and blood and brains splatter across the windshield and Lathan turns on the wipers and wiper fluid to clear it away. The Maddick’s bullets do nothing to the new and improved SUV, he runs through many of them who foolishly stand their ground to shoot directly at him but their bullets ricochet off the glass. The outside body is riddled with holes but nothing pierces the armor within it.

  The Maddick’s war machines come up fast, heading straight for Lathan. The gunmen on the vehicles flanking Lathan take aim and one of the Maddick driver’s is hit and swerves over into a building, crashing into the building wall, sending it’s gunman soaring over the truck’s cab his head bursts against the wall like a watermelon upon impact. Lathan hits the gas and sails through the gap this creates, leaving the remaining vehicles to a jousting-like match, only with big guns for lances and automobiles for horses.

  Holding his fast pace Lathan quickly scans the gate and those among it. He steers right, knocking a half dozen Maddick’s out of the way, and turns the SUV with the driver’s side facing the perimeter wall, providing him with cover. Lathan comes out blazing hand-cannons, instantly taking down another half dozen. He grabs a grenade, waits for the right moment, pulls the pin, and throws it. It lands in the cab of a truck pulling through the gate. The driver and passenger look down at the floorboard, then at each other, and scramble to get out but the grenade explodes before they are able to open the doors, blowing them to bits. This creates a road block. Another vehicle behind the truck rams into its tail end and tries to push it out of the way. Lathan throws two more grenades and the blast tears the vehicles entire front end apart.

  The dust isn’t even settled when the Maddick’s take to their feet and pour in around the exploded vehicles, charging in like an army of ants.

  No more grenades.

  Here you are smart guy, right smack-dab in the middle of it all. What’s next?

  68

  Dozens upon dozens of Maddick’s rush in and scatter like water through a broken dam. Many invade by way over the perimeter’s wall, overwhelming the guards there with rapid fire and throwing up their grappling hooks and scaling the walls. Some come through the alleys for sneak attacks. They go deeper into The Pinnacle, destroying the markets, breaking into buildings and homes, shooting down civilians like dogs, terrorizing women and children. Stabbings and mutilations are incessant. The siren stops its wail only to be replaced by the screams and lamentations of hundreds of wounded and war cries of those who fight.

  The Maddick’s surprise attack is working in their favor but The Pinnacle’s fight is strong with the advantage of more fire power. It never should have come to this, a battle of this magnitude, these people should have been doomed, but the siren went off and forewarned them at the last minute. That siren should have never sounded off, but somehow it did.

  Vincent halts after coming through the gate, a cold yet pleased gleam in his eyes as he takes in the chaos, his creation. The Pinnacle’s armament is remarkably sufficient in their readiness for havoc. No matter, because so are they.

  Vincent draws his pistol and shoots the first person he sees in the head. The masked man appears behind him, the twin short swords strapped to his back, a pistol in his belt and a rifle in his hands, his left forearm in a cast. He searches for only one man, and as if the gods answered him, he hears a roaring engine and a powerful vehicle comes soaring by. He sees the driver clearly - the dark swordsman.

  The masked man takes a step forward, then halts, regarding Vincent who then gives his loyal comrade a simple nod, and the masked man is gone. The masked man’s personal team follows; seven of the deadliest and most feared of all the Maddick’s personally trained by the masked man himself. They tear through anyone in their way, blowing them away with their guns or knifing them down. One of the seven is shot twice, once in the chest and once in the neck and falls dead to the ground. Another is shot in the thick muscle of the leg but keeps going as if it is a mere flesh wound. Others follow, pushing onward to reach The Pinnacle’s center and beyond, to wrench its heart from its soul and tear it apart.

  Baring yellow teeth and eyes wide Vincent yells out into the battle.

  69

  “Get out, you twit! Can’t you see it’s blocked up there? Nothing’s moving!”

  “Why is it blocked?” Bruno asks.

  Pan regards him as if the question really annoys him.

  “Well, gee, I don’t know, let me think. Maybe it’s got something to do with the explosion that happened a minute ago!”

  Bruno’s brow furrows as he glares at Pan. “Why you always got to talk to me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I’m stupid or something.”

  Pan rolls his eyes and sighs.

  “See. That’s what I’m talking about right there. You act like everything I say or do is so stupid.”

  “Well, maybe, that is just how you do act. Ya ever think of that?”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah!”
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  “That’s how it is?”

  “That’s exactly how it –”

  Pan’s words are cut short by Bruno’s huge hands as they wrap around his neck, choking off his air. Bruno pushes him back into the corner of his seat, knocking him back and forth as he squeezes the hell out of his throat. Pan’s eyes bulge from his sockets while making little squeaking, hacking sounds, all the while trying to worm his fingers into his lunatic buddy’s death grip to free himself but it is no use, Bruno is too strong. Having to resort to something else, Pan reaches out for anything that may help and grabs the first thing his hand finds on the dashboard. He starts hitting Bruno in the head and face with it over and over but Bruno is unfazed and if anything it causes him to tighten his grip.

  “What the hell is wrong with you two?” A voice hollers through the passenger side window. It’s one of their henchman on his way into The Pinnacle who happened to notice the two at each other’s throats. Well, Bruno is at Pan’s throat and all Pan seems to be doing is pissing Bruno off even more by slapping him in the face with a flyswatter. “You’re wasting all this time and energy on each other when you could be in there, taking it out on them! Let’s go!”

  Bruno releases Pan and Pan takes a huge gasp of air, rubbing his neck and throat. Both sit silently, facing forward, expecting the other to say something but not wanting to be the one to say it first.

  Finally Pan says, “I’m ready to kill something now.”

  “Me too.”

  They jump out of the truck and a pleased smile curves Pan’s cracked lips for two reasons when he steps through the gate: One, it’s his first step inside The Pinnacle, and two, to see it fall.

  Pan is about to join in the carnage when he sees someone familiar. He grabs Bruno and points in the distance. “Look familiar?”

  Bruno squints. “That little bastard.”

  Pan tells him what the plan is and Bruno growls his approval.

  70

  “Bra-vo!” Pan says, clapping his hands halfheartedly. “Bravo on a job well done, eh.”

  Mongoose stops cold in his tracks, giving Pan the once over and then scanning the area around him, not so much surprised to see the brute but surprised to see him without his sidekick in tow. Normally when you see one, you see the other.

  “Yeah. Piece of cake. So where’s your minion?”

  “Who? Bruno? Oh, he’s around,” Pan responds a little too casually. Pan’s smile is also a little too broad, he ambles toward him a little too slowly, swaying arms to and fro, acting a little too disinterested in all that’s happening around him and being a little too friendly. And then he makes a huge mistake, it only takes a fraction of a second but Mongoose catches it; Pan averts his eyes from Mongoose to something behind him and then back to him again.

  Mongoose reacts on pure instinct; in one complete motion he snatches a knife from his belt, turns and launches it behind him with a hard overhand throw. The blade plants itself perfectly into Bruno’s solar plexus, which is the height for the average man’s neck, where Mongoose was actually aiming for but this works out as well. It instantly takes Bruno’s breath away. He looks at Pan as if to say, This wasn’t in the plan. The big man’s face contorts with rage. He lifts his club skyward and charges ahead. Pan grabs his knives and goes for the boy. With no time to snug the crossbow into his shoulder and take aim Mongoose pulls the trigger from his side. The arrow sinks into Pan’s leg. He drops the crossbow and grabs his lead pipe and swings it around, deflecting Bruno’s club which would have smashed his head in had it found its mark. Mongoose follows through by thrusting his palm into the butt of the knife’s handle still stuck in the big man, driving it through to the blades hilt. Bruno’s mouth gapes wide, closes shut, and then he coughs a fountain of blood that sprays on Mongoose. Bruno drops to his knees, clinches his hands into tight fists, acts as if he is going to roar something aloud but the effort is too much for him, and falls over dead. Pan is trying to pull the arrow from his leg when Mongoose walks up. Pan smiles weakly and says, “Come on, now, we were just foolin’ with ya.” The smile disappears along with any aspirations of conquering the city when he sees what the kid means to do. “To hell with you then, you miserable little bastard! To hell with y –” the last word is lost as the short pudgy man’s eyes cross up into their sockets, the ax blade dividing his forehead into two halves.

  Mongoose calls for Max and the dog comes running out of the siren room’s doorway where he told him to stay put until he was sure that the coast was clear.

  Time now for redemption.

  71

  A half a dozen men who act as Vincent’s personal escorts advance into the city. Every group of Maddick has specific orders but a few certain groups have one primary target: The arsenal.

  The masked man trails behind the dark swordsman like a heat seeking missile, running through flocks of men teeming in the street, avoiding those he can and easily taking down the fools who get in his way. His own team of men, who now number five, stay with him in a protective force-fieldlike circle as they progress.

  In the distance Lathan plows through Maddick’s like bowling pins before stopping to get out, guns blazing. Maddick’s roll in from all sides, through alley ways of livestock, through the back ways of buildings, slashing their way out into the street. The Pinnacle fights them relentlessly but the Maddick’s are a breed that borders insanity and their ruthlessness makes them an almost unstoppable force, fighting like only crazed men fight, without fear of death or pain, beasts who know of only one thing – to spill blood.

  Lathan reloads his hand-cannons three times before running out of ammunition and then reaches for his sawed-off pump. He blows a hole through someone’s mid-section, guts fly out behind him like wet ribbons in the wind. He shoots another’s arm smooth off at the shoulder and then blows away his head in bits of bone and gray brain matter. Lathan takes cover around the SUV, deftly working around it, cutting down Maddick’s as fast as he can pump a new round into the sawed-off. Soldiers of The Pinnacle come to his aide when they notice that he is in a growing cluster of Maddick’s.

  The arsenal is a hundred yards away; the Maddick’s come out in swarms, pushing toward it. Pinnacle soldiers pull together in battle formation and attack as one. A rocket soars by and hits an oncoming truck, blowing it up into a fireball.

  Vincent whistles and motions for one of his vehicles to come pick him up. He hops on the vehicles side step and as it moves ahead he gets hit by an arrow in the back of the shoulder. He turns to see Mongoose reloading his crossbow. Max in hot pursuit.

  Vincent knows he’s a sitting duck, too close for the boy to miss yet too far for him to do anything about it, so he waits until the last second and jumps off of the moving vehicle, the arrow misses him by inches.

  Mongoose notices a shiny flash in Vincent’s hand but it is already too late.

  Max makes a sickening yelp like all dogs are apt to do when seriously injured and he crumbles to the ground. Vincent stands menacingly over the dog lying helpless at his feet, malice written all over his face, the knife in his hand streaked red with Max’s blood, wielding it as if ready to strike again.

  Mongoose yells out in agony and anger and madness. In all of his fights up until now he’s always kept a clear head and balance, never losing his cool and knowing what to do before acting on it. But not this time, all he sees is a sheet of red pulled across his eyes and he lashes out on it blindly, swinging his crossbow wildly about and never really coming close to striking Vincent. Vincent capitalizes and slashes Mongoose across the face with his knife, cutting him from cheek to chin. Mongoose seems not to feel this and comes at him again but only to receive the same results, this time he is cut on the other side of the face across the cheek to the nose. Vincent catches the crossbow, snatches it away, and smashes him in the nose with a fist, putting him to the ground. Mongoose lays splayed on the ground as if he’s about to make a snow angel. He lifts his head up, feeling so heavy, his face is a bloody mess, to see Vincent’s smiling face.
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  “Well, boy, you gave it your best shot, but you are no match for me. I’m going to shoot you down like the filthy dog you are. And no need to worry about that sweet little bitch of yours. I left her all hot and bothered, and when I’m finished here, I’m going to celebrate first by chopping her up into little pieces.” Vincent bends backward and laughs uproariously.

  Mongoose takes advantage of Vincent’s averted attention and acts quickly; he yanks his hand ax from his belt and chops it down onto one of Vincent’s feet. The laugh turns into a stunned inhalation of breath. Mongoose lunges upward, seizing Vincent’s hand and with all his might drives Vincent’s own knife up into his chest. The pain racks Vincent’s body, his eyes, full of shocked surprise at the turn of events, bore into those of the boy’s standing before him. A slight grin of triumph touches Mongoose’s lips, and with several quick hard shoves of his hand the knife severs the ventricle of Vincent’s heart. The Maddick leader collapses into the street.

  Max lays on his side, his mouth hanging open, tongue lolled out, his midsection rising and falling in slow, strained breaths. There is no more time for fighting, he scoops up Max and runs for the gate. Finding a vacant vehicle at the back of a long line of others he gently puts Max in the back seat and peels out, hoping he will make it back to Jizell in time.

  72

  The rockets clear out dozens of men. Some of them are The Pinnacle’s own but many are Maddick’s. None of it fazes the masked man and his men. They come through billows of smoke on the street like wicked entities from hell. They spread out on the street as they approach the SUV, taking on those among Lathan. Lathan recognizes the one in the black mask and stands at his full height, drawing the masked man’s attention to only him.