Twelve

by Dustin Stevens

  Rosner slid his to Winston and smirked. “I thought you said she wasn’t your daughter? You didn’t care if she died?”

  Winston blinked. “What?”

  “You look like a child that just found out there’s no Santa Claus.”

  The frown turned to a deep scowl. “I’m not upset. She knew when she came to me that this could happen. Besides, she’s not dead. Just unconscious.”

  “You couldn’t possibly know that.”

  Winston shot a hand towards the screen. “She’s breathing! I can see her moving!”

  “Stop pointing and stop yelling. This is the biggest moment of the night. Sit back and enjoy it for one second.”

  Winston scowled again. He pulled the wager machine over in front of him and checked the standings.

  Kekoa and Maake were now dead even at 3:1 odds. Honeycutt was behind them at 12:1. He changed the view and brought up the betting totals. So far, over one hundred and forty million had been wagered.

  A tidy sum, but still well below the record.

  Winston shoved the machine away from him and rested his eyes on the screen above. A moment later, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and checked the screen. “No news from Chester.”

  Beside him, Rosner sighed. “Eric?”

  “Yes, Mark?”

  “Just watch the damn fight.”

  Winston’s jaw dropped a fraction of an inch and he turned his gaze towards Rosner. For a moment he considered challenging him to their own fight, but let it pass.

  There would be plenty of time for that later.

  “Who do you like in this one?” Winston asked.

  Rosner sipped the last of his tea and pushed his cup and saucer away. “Conventional wisdom tells me the Islanders will kill them and eat them as part of some Pacific tradition.

  “But at the same time, there’s something about the Honeycutt’s. Stubborn fools just refuse to die.”

  Ninety-Four

  McMichaels and Stone set the charges. The other four stood behind them. Two with weapons aimed forward, two looking over the grounds.

  From the front porch, over a dozen bodies could be seen strewn around the lawn. Over a dozen more lay just beyond the inner wall.

  McMichaels set the timed explosives on the bottom two hinges. Stone made a sling with his hands and hoisted him up to set two more on the top. When all four were in place, the Marines each backed away from the doors in a large semi-circle.

  “Fire in three...two...one!”

  Using a handheld detonator, McMichaels pressed the button and all four charges blew at once. Large chunks of black wrought iron blew away from the wall.

  The massive wood door hung in place before beginning to teeter backwards.

  Tyler stepped forward and caught it, lowering it the porch floor with a grunt. Austin used his one good hand to help him.

  As soon as it was down, all six men swept inside.

  The room was deserted.

  A handful of doors were scattered across each side of the room. The center was vast and open, with a massive chandelier hanging from the ceiling. A stairwell ran down from a second floor balcony.

  “Clear!” McMichaels said in a hushed tone.

  “Clear!” each of the others responded in turn.

  The men fanned out in a tight semi-circle as Stone fell in behind them. He pulled a two-way radio from his belt and depressed the receiver button. “Manus, this is Stone.”

  “Are you in?”

  “We are in the foyer right now.”

  “What are you seeing?”

  “Looks exactly like Honeycutt described it. Enormous open room. Series of sealed double doors along the back wall. Can’t see anybody, but we can hear people inside.”

  “Are the grounds clear?” Manus asked.

  “Yes, sir. Would you like us to wait for you before going in?”

  “We’ll be there in three minutes.”

  Ninety-Five

  Kekoa bent down and picked up Kelly’s knife. He held it in his hand and examined the long steel blade for a moment. With a flick of his wrist he flung it far down the hall behind him. "We won’t be needing this anymore.”

  Maake stepped forward and raised his foot. He smashed his heel through the back of Kelly’s neck, crushing it beneath his weight. He bent down and grabbed her by the waist of her pants and tossed her behind them as well. “Won’t be needing this either.”

  Will and Heath both turned to face them.

  Kekoa and Maake laughed in unison, slapping at their thighs and chests. Red welts developed over their skin as they started to chant, each in their native tongue.

  Heath reached behind his back and pulled the k-bar from the waistband of his pants. Without looking, he extended it towards Will.

  “Trade you.”

  Will glanced down at the knife. “That helps.”

  Will took the knife and passed the bat across to Heath. He unsnapped the leather casing and tossed it aside. On one side was a razor sharp blade. On the other, a thick serrated edge.

  “Courtesy of the United States Marine Corp,” Heath said.

  “Semper Fi.”

  Across from them, Kekoa and Maake continued to chant. Each one used different words and rhythms, but their intent was obvious.

  War dance.

  Will and Heath stood stone still and watched them for several long moments. Heath held the bat just north of its handle while Will gripped the knife in his right hand.

  “Where you at right now?” Heath asked.

  “Right now I’m wishing these guys would shut up. I’m trying to listen to Rock You Like a Hurricane. You?”

  “Thunderstruck.”

  As one they began to inch forward.

  “We doing this?” Heath asked.

  “Do we have a choice?”

  Kekoa and Maake were still chanting as the brothers made their move. Holding their weapons in front of them, they charged forward.

  Will got there a moment before Heath and came with a straight heel kick. It caught Maake square in the chest and sent him back a few feet.

  Will followed it up by pivoting on his left foot and sweeping in with the knife. Maake extended his arms in front of him and threw his midsection back. The tip of the blade caught him on its way through, ripping a thin line across his stomach.

  Blood streaked down from it into the waistband of his pants.

  Beside them Heath extended the end of the bat at Kekoa’s head, using it as a poker. The metal end of it connected with Kekoa’s nose, re-opening the gash and sending blood pouring down his chin.

  Kekoa raised his hands to his face for a moment and Heath swung the bat into his ribs. It landed with a dull thud as Kekoa bent at the waist and stumbled forward.

  Maake ran his hand over the blood running from his waist and scowled at Will. He drew his long and pointed tongue from his mouth and made a low, guttural growl.

  Heath held the bat and his hands in front of him and waited for Kekoa to turn around. As Maake growled at Will, Heath pivoted to his left and swung the bat into Maake’s hip.

  The bat connected with Maake’s hip bone, making a loud ping against the aluminum bat.

  Maake's jaw clamped down on his exposed tongue and blood began to pour from his mouth. He doubled over towards his hip and howled, sending a spray of pink spittle into the air.

  Will switched to Kekoa and took an errant swing with his knife. The big man dodged the strike and smacked Will an open palmed strike across the jaw.

  Will spun through with the momentum of the blow and swung hard with the knife. His looping backhanded strike went wide allowing Kekoa to step aside and shoot a palm thrust into his kidneys.

  Beside them Heath circled Maake, holding the bat with both hands in front of him. He feigned like he was going for another shot to the midsection and waited for Maake to react by throwing his hips back.

  As soon as he did, his head shot forward and Heath snapped the end of the bat up under his jaw. Maake’s eyes lost focus and for a
moment he stumbled forward on his feet.

  Just as fast, he blinked away the bleariness and snapped a hard punch into Heath’s sternum. Pain shot down Heath’s chest and through his separated ribs.

  It dazed him just long enough to allow Maake rush in.

  Heath raised the bat to defend himself, but Maake grabbed hold of the barrel before he could get any force behind it. With a quick jerk of his arms he pulled the bat from Heath’s hands and tossed it against the wall behind him.

  Will watched Maake snatch the bat from Heath just before snapping out a right heel kick at Kekoa, followed by a left thrust kick.

  Kekoa backpedaled from each one, then rushed back into Will. Spreading his arms out wide he slammed two massive palms down on the sides of Will’s head.

  The force of the strike thundered through Will’s skull and he stumbled backwards.

  Unable to control himself, he fell to a knee.

  A ringing noise filled his ears and his vision blurred in front of him. He went to both knees and looked up at Kekoa standing above him.

  Will waited for another heavy blow that didn’t come. Above him, Kekoa stood swaying in place, a look of shock on his face.

  The k-bar was buried in his stomach. The blade was stuck at an angle extending upward into his chest. The handle was the only part visible.

  Will remained on his knees as his vision cleared and the ringing began to subside. In front of him, Kekoa crumpled to his knees. Blood seeped between his teeth and began to run over his lips and down his chin.

  Will reached out and grabbed the knife handle, forced it a half inch deeper and twisted it as hard as he could.

  Kekoa’s eyes rolled back into his head. His massive weight fell to the side.

  Maake watched Kekoa’s death with a crazed look in his eyes. He waited until Kekoa’s body hit the floor and turned his gaze upon Heath. In a flash he brought his right hand up in a wide arc.

  Heath just dodged the uppercut. He wasn’t as lucky on the following left hook.

  Already a bit off balance from dodging the uppercut, the force of the hook hit him full on the cheekbone. A deafening crunch filled his ears as the blow lifted him from his feet and tossed him onto the floor by the wall.

  “You son of a bitch!” Will called from across the room and charged at Maake. He buried his shoulder into the man’s kidneys, knocking him forward several feet.

  Will waited for Maake to turn back to him and unleashed a high thrust kick straight at his head. Maake raised his head to avoid the kick and instead of catching him on the nose, it slammed into his throat.

  Maake stood rooted in place, eyes wide as he tried to breathe through a cracked trachea. He pawed at his throat, gasping to suck in air.

  On the floor, a groggy Heath picked up the bat and slammed it into the back of his left knee.

  Maake’s knee buckled under him, his right leg out at an angle away from his body. Will stepped forward, swung his leg high in the air and brought it straight down with vicious force.

  His heel snapped through Maake’s bone, mashing the shin flat into the ground.

  Maake screamed a muted cry of pain as he looked down at the remains of his leg. His face became a mask of pain and anger and he began to spit mumbled words at Will in his native tongue.

  From the ground, Heath tossed Will the bat.

  Will paused for a moment as Maake continued to make threats in a foreign language. In one fluid motion, he smashed the bat across his Maake face.

  Blood sprayed away from his body in a violent arc as he fell backwards and didn’t move again.

  Dawn

  Ninety-Six

  Will stood over Maake for several seconds. He gripped the bat with both hands, holding it at attention in front of him. Veins bulged in his arms and sweat ran down his face.

  After a moment his breathing evened out and the venomous gleam in his eye receded. Changing the bat to his left hand he walked over to Heath and hooked his right around Heath’s. He tugged him up to his feet and together they looked from one body to the other.

  “Did that just happen?” Heath asked.

  Will looked at the two inert figures. “Yeah.”

  “Yippee Kay Ay,” Heath said.

  “Die Hard. Decent choice, given the situation.”

  “Was trying to think of a baseball reference, but I’ve already used Major League tonight.”

  “The Natural. Eight Men Out. Heck, even Bull Durham.”

  “I kept coming back to The Fan.”

  “Yeah, good call holding off on that one.”

  Heath snorted and his eyes fell on Kelly’s lifeless form. “Guess she got what was coming to her too.”

  Will walked down the hall and picked up the long curved knife Kekoa had tossed aside just minutes before. He walked back up the hall and extended both hands towards Heath. “Pick your poison.”

  Heath reached for the bat. “I think a more apt metaphor would be ‘choose your weapon’ here don’t you?”

  Together they rounded the corner and made their way towards the enormous oak doors. Apprehension mounted in each of them as they held their weapons at the ready.

  “Any idea what lies behind that door?” Will asked.

  “It would have to be the banquet hall right?”

  “Even if it’s not, we’ve either taken out or come across eight of the eleven other fighters. There can’t be anyone still left can there?”

  Heath kept the bat at the ready. “I don’t see how, but then again I’m not real sure about anything that’s happened the last twelve hours.”

  “I heard that,” Will muttered in agreement.

  The wooden doors stood dark and silent until the brothers were just a few feet away.

  The sound of a metal lock sliding open stopped them in their tracks.

  Ninety-Seven

  The Marines had been thorough.

  The front gate was void of life as Briggs climbed from the backseat and into the guard booth. With just the press of a button, the front gate parted open welcoming them in.

  Manus stared at the emblem of Mjollnir on the gate with a digusted face as it slid to the side and out of view.

  Nixon gunned the SUV straight for the house. He ignored the winding driveway and plowed across the smooth clipped grass of the front lawn.

  The first streaks of light were beginning to stripe the sky. Around the grounds, the inert black shapes of guards could be spotted in the faint light.

  “How far out is your team?” Manus asked.

  “Ten minutes and closing.”

  Manus nodded.

  Nixon pulled the SUV to a skidding stop alongside the front porch. Manus and Heller both leapt straight from the car onto the first step. Nixon and Briggs looped around the car and were right behind them.

  They entered into the large foyer where the Marines still stood in a perfect arc. All faced away from the door with weapons trained on every corner of the room.

  Behind them, Stone walked forward to meet Manus. “Room is secure, sir. Based on our intel, everybody is behind those three sets of doors.”

  “Intel?”

  “Dr. Honeycutt’s observations from earlier sir.”

  Manus nodded. “How many exits are there on the other side of those doors?”

  Stone shook his head. “We have no way of knowing.”

  “So they could be filing out of there the minute we bust in, or even as we speak.”

  Stone said nothing.

  Manus looked past Stone to the three double doors across the room. “How long will it take you to breach those doors?”

  “McMichaels?” Stone snapped.

  “One and one half minutes to place the charges, one half minute for detonation.”

  “Two minutes total,” Manus said. He turned to Nixon. “That gives us eight minutes before your team gets here to plug the gate and make sure they don’t slip out the back.”

  “Go now or wait, sir?” Stone asked.

  Manus paused a moment.

 
“Shit,” he muttered and made a snap decision. “We’re going now. I don’t want any of these bastards getting away.”

  Stone nodded and turned to his men.

  “Tyler! Austin! Loop around to the car garage. Make sure nobody gets out. Backup will be here soon.”

  The two men peeled off the left side of the semi-circle. They moved at a full sprint without a word.

  “McMichaels, set the charges," Manus said. "We move in two minutes!”

  Ninety-Eight

  Sweat lined Winston’s brow. His mouth grew dry and his throat constricted.

  Around him, the room was raucous. They cheered wildly as they watched the Honeycutt’s finish off Maake. Everyone was on their feet. Many slapped high-fives with one another, yelled and whistled.

  Winston didn’t see any of the fight though. Instead, his eyes were glued to the tiny motionless figure lying on the edge of the screen.

  “Still not your daughter, huh?”

  Winston shifted his head to Rosner. “What?”

  “You still claim she’s not your daughter.”

  “I...I don’t know.”

  Rosner smirked. “You should feel guilty. There are better ways to test someone than dropping them into a snake pit. Especially when that someone is as vulnerable as your daughter was.”

  Winston blinked several times. “Vulnerable?”

  “Yes, vulnerable. The fact that she lasted as long as she did is rather amazing.”

  Winston watched the replay as Will delivered the final blow to Maake. Pandemonium erupted again as the room cheered.

  “You’re on.”

  Winston ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth several times in an attempt to moisten it. “What?”

  Rosner nodded towards the podium. “You’re on. We’ve made it this far, it’s time to finish it. Get up there and do your job.”

  Winston rose from his seat and walked to the podium. He stared at the body of his daughter and the numb feeling subsided, giving way to anger.

  Just before he reached the podium, Chester burst through the kitchen doors waving a stack of papers.