Slayground

by Don Pendleton

  David Montgomery III was a realist. He knew when the game was up. He knew when he didn’t want to play anymore.

  Chapter 17

  Bolan threw himself against a tree trunk, feeling the thud all the way along his spine. He was glad of the momentary pain—it brought him back to earth, and he could not afford to start hallucinating again. He had one hell of a temperature, his thigh was burning and his head pounded. He was panting heavily, and consciously tried to control his breaths. He didn’t need to add hyperventilation to his problems.

  He had to focus. He was pretty certain they were down to four enemy gunmen. From the pattern of fire, he was also fairly sure they were all directly ahead of him. So was Elena. They kept firing, so he figured she was pinned down, but that they’d been unable to either score a hit or winkle her out into the open. He needed to zero in on her position and circle around. He dropped to his belly, slithering through the mud and grass. His goal was to see if he could draw their fire and also fire on them, hopefully without Elena taking him down by accident. The thought of such an irony drew a grim smile.

  * * *

  ELENA FELT SECURE enough in her cover, but knew she was also trapped. If she pulled back, moving away from the bushes would leave her exposed. Yet if she stayed here, she’d use up all her ammunition and leave herself a sitting target for Duane and his men. She was regretting not listening to Cooper and staying put, but it was too late for self-recrimination. She pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind and desperately scanned the area around her for anything that might give her hope.

  She heard the rustling in the grasses behind her and whirled round, finger tightening on the trigger of her Uzi. She was sure the cult members had all been in front of her, and now panic gripped her. She swung the SMG in an arc, her trigger finger tensing. It was impossible to see what or who was hidden in the grass, but a swaying motion in the greenery gave its position away. She homed in on the movement....

  * * *

  BOLAN GLANCED UP into the barrel of an SMG. Elena had clearly heard him, and now stood facing him, wild-eyed and scared. She was about to shoot first and ask questions second. He didn’t blame her, but he needed to show himself, even though he risked exposing himself to all parties.

  He rose up out of the bushes for a split second, arms apart and SMG facing the sky, then hit the mud again quickly as a volley of fire sliced through the branches above him, high and wide. The bursts had come from somewhere behind Elena. Bolan crept forward, and as the grasses parted and Elena came into view again he was relieved to see that she no longer had her weapon trained on him.

  “I shouldn’t have moved—” she began, but he cut her short.

  “You had your reasons. Right now, we need to get out of this situation. Listen...”

  Hunkering into the cover of the bushes with her, he outlined his plan for getting them out of this dead end, while hopefully taking out at least some of the opposition left standing.

  “I figure they’re all that’s left between us and the highway. Take them out of the game and we can get the hell away. Follow my lead and we’ll do it.” His tone carried a conviction that his raging head and throbbing leg belied, but it was enough to make her face brighten.

  Leaving Elena to lay down a burst of covering fire that would attract the enemy’s attention, Bolan slithered through the mud in a clockwise direction. As he’d hoped, all four men returned her fire, giving him a clear indication of their positions.

  Edging into better cover, he straightened so he could move in a crouch, and at a greater speed. He could see men shifting in and out of the trees around him, but the foliage didn’t move in response. They were merely shadows, which he ignored. The one thing he knew for certain was that there was a live gunman coming up on his right. Bolan watched the cult member pause in the crook of a tree to steady his aim.

  The situation was in the soldier’s favor. As he broke cover to advance, the gunman saw him from the corner of his eye and tried to turn and face him. Bolan would have stood little chance if not for the fact that the gunman’s makeshift resting spot was his downfall. He wrestled with his weapon to try and free it from the V in the tree. It caught on the branches, forcing him to step back and move to adjust his angle. All this took valuable time, moments in which Bolan was able to close on him, pulling the TEKNA from its sheath as he did so and shouldering his SMG. The gunman made to shout, but the cry was strangled in his throat as Bolan fell on him, pushing the cult member’s weapon back and driving the knife up under his rib cage, twisting and then pulling it out.

  One man down, three to go. Bolan stood up and used the crook of the tree to get his bearings on Elena’s position and the other Seven Stars’ hiding spots.

  The second gunman was only a hundred yards away, and from where the solider was standing he could clearly see the man hunkered down and sighting the bushes where Elena was concealed. His attention had not wavered. Evidently, Bolan’s assault had been as quick and clean as he’d hoped.

  The time for subtlety had passed. He could feel the fever raging in his head, and knew his leg wouldn’t hold out much longer. To move around and take the other three gunmen down with the TEKNA would take too long. He needed something that would eliminate one and flush the other two out of hiding and into the open, giving Elena a crack at taking one of them down.

  This was what he had discussed with her. She would be ready.

  Bolan still had a duffel bag with him. In it he carried the last of his grenades. He took one out and primed it, stepping back from the tree to give his arm the necessary space to arc, before throwing himself flat.

  He counted off and braced for the explosion. Splinters of wood, clods of mud and grass and a shower of dirt rained around him. Before the debris even began to settle, he was up on his feet and making the ground as quickly as his nearly useless leg would allow. He could hear the remaining two gunmen yelling, abruptly breaking the eerie silence that follows any blast. They were firing wildly—he wasn’t even sure if they were firing at him or just in the general direction of the explosion—and he could hear Elena’s answering fire driving them back.

  The area where the second gunman had been located was now not much more than a crater. That, and the fact that he could make out only two shooters up ahead, told the Executioner his plan had succeeded so far. Bolan headed for the remaining two gunmen.

  The man farthest away was Duane. How he had managed to survive the blast back at the park was astounding, but the bastard obviously had nine lives, evidenced again by the way he managed to slip into the cover of the swampland while the other gunman was caught in a crossfire from Elena and Bolan. The cult member stayed upright for what seemed like an eternity as his body was cut to ribbons of blood and flesh by their bullets.

  By the time he hit the dirt, Bolan was already hobbling past him, diving to take cover as Duane turned and loosed a hail of fire in his direction before finally vanishing into the undergrowth.

  The soldier debated chasing him down. As long as Duane was running free, he was a threat. But he appeared to be fleeing them, and hopefully wouldn’t stop and turn back. Right now, it was a gamble Bolan was willing to take. He returned to Elena’s side.

  “Should we go after him?” she asked.

  Bolan shook his head. “We only worry about him if he comes back our way. We need to move.”

  * * *

  NEITHER THE GIRL nor the intruder seemed to notice that Duane had stopped running and taken position to keep them in sight. Even if he was the last of the Seven Stars left standing, Elena was his only ticket out. Judging by the way she seemed to be helping the outsider along, that asshole was about to take himself out of the game, leaving a clear path for Duane to make a move.

  * * *

  THE FEW REMAINING cultists had gathered at their living quarters in Eveland, the women using tarps to create makeshift stre
tchers for their injured comrades. They had used what medical supplies they had to try and dress wounds and splint breaks. They knew they would have to move, and one of the minivans they had garaged was brought out. They were loading the injured into the vehicle when Ricke returned. Winkler and two of Ricke’s wives went straight to him, their voices a babble of questions that he silenced only by yelling over them.

  “Where is everyone? Where’s the girl?” Winkler reiterated, her toneless voice underlining the implicit threat in her words.

  Ricke made a calming gesture. “The men are after them. Duane will sort it out and bring her back. And leave that bastard for dead, I hope,” he added. “Until then, we need to continue these preparations to leave, as there will be more to follow the intruder. I’ll take one of the other vehicles once Duane returns with the girl and the others. Fear not, children, I have a plan, but there is no time to explain. Just continue caring for the hurt, and be ready to follow.”

  Ricke left them and rushed back to his own apartment. Muttering to himself, he gathered a few clothes and a gun, throwing them into a case along with his laptop and cell. Then he uncovered the safe that he kept secreted in the room, and opened it, taking out the cash and securities he had carefully amassed for such a flight. He was counting them out and placing them in the case when Susan Winkler entered.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” she asked. Even in her usual monotone, there was no mistaking the accusatory note.

  Ricke turned to face her and forced a smile. “Susan, we live in a world where mammon is king, and we are forced to use their means to survive. That’s why I sent you and Duane and the others to gather this money, so we could use it if a situation like this arose.”

  “But you’re taking a separate car. And you haven’t told us where we’re going.”

  “Of course not. There hasn’t been time,” he said desperately. “I need to prepare, and when we’re ready to depart, I’ll give you the destination.”

  “What about Duane and the others? Doesn’t sound like we’re waiting for them.”

  “You won’t be. You have the injured. For you, a head start is best. I’ll take the risk and wait for them.”

  “Then you’ll be here alone and we’ll be gone. So what if you don’t follow?”

  Ricke feigned shock. “Susan, how could you even think such a thing? I can only believe that it’s panic that has made you have such terrible thoughts. Of course I’ll follow. We may even leave together, depending on how long Duane’s mission takes. You must have faith, my child.”

  “But why should I?” she asked, moving so that she stood across the doorway.

  “Because it could keep you alive at least a little while longer,” Ricke said sadly. While he’d been trying to convince her, he had continued loading the suitcase. She had come in after he’d placed the gun in there, and didn’t notice him reaching underneath his stack of cash as they spoke. He pulled out the small Walther that he kept for personal security.

  The expression on her face was just as stony in the moment of death as it had been a second before. It seemed as though nothing affected her frozen muscles, not even the impact of a slug in her chest cavity, shattering bone and flooding her lungs with blood.

  Ricke sighed as he stepped over her body, slipping the Walther into his pants pocket so he could draw it easily if there was any further dissent. Once he was outside, he noted that his wives were busy with the wounded, and seemed not to notice or care that Winkler was not with him.

  “I’ve asked Susan to stay and wait for Duane and the others,” he began quickly. “I’ll take another car. You follow me.”

  Hoping that, in the heat of the moment, this had headed off any suspicions they might have, he hurried to get a sedan from the garage, firing it up and flinging his suitcase in back. He pulled up alongside the minivan and got out to open the gates.

  “Follow me and don’t wait to close them—Susan will see to that,” he gabbled breathlessly. He was confident he could lose the people carrier once he was out on the highway. It was worth the risk of keeping them close to him on the access road. If they grew suspicious and decided to go back and check on Winkler, it would only cause a further delay.

  Ricke accelerated along the road with the minivan on his tail. He had no idea where he would go once he shook them off. The only thing he knew for sure was that the government and Yates would both be on his ass, so it was time for Ricke to retire his identity and try on another. It was just as well that he had kept papers for several years with his securities.

  Michael Warricker had a nice, old-world ring to it. He would enjoy being Mr. Warricker.

  Ricke took a corner and slammed on the brakes as he came up against a half-dozen sheriff’s vehicles. The sedan slewed sideways, and the people carrier crashed into the rear fin, turning him a hundred and eighty degrees as the minivan tipped into the ditch.

  Before he had a chance to recover, he was surrounded by five of the sheriff’s men, all armed and aiming at him. One of the deputies hauled open the door and dragged him out.

  “What the—what’s going on?” he yelled.

  “Sheriff’s orders,” returned the man who had hold of him.

  Ricke turned, confused, as he heard a volley of gunfire directly behind him, and saw that some of the sheriff’s men were assassinating his wives and the injured cultists in the people carrier as they lay stunned from the crash.

  “Montgomery will hear about this,” Ricke said, more from desperation for his own skin than from outrage at the murders.

  The sheriff’s man shook his head. “Way I heard it, Montgomery told Ramirez what to do. We’ve come to clean you up.”

  Ricke felt his bowels sink. So much for the new identity. It had been a decent ride, but he was screwed.

  He had accepted that death was inevitable, which made the sudden hope of salvation—as unlikely as it seemed—astounding. As he stood waiting for the sheriff’s man to end his life, he heard the roar of engines approaching, making all the law enforcement officers stop and turn. Before Ricke had a chance to figure out what was happening, men in blacksuits were surrounding them, yelling for the local law enforcement to drop their weapons and hit the ground. Those who were too slow, either from a desire to fight or from a stunned reaction, were drilled with one careful shot that took them out of the game. The man holding Ricke dropped his weapon and hit the dirt so fast he was almost there before his gun.

  Ricke, assuming he wasn’t included in the order, held out his arms and started to welcome the men. He was ecstatic in his relief.

  Ecstasy was the last sensation he felt as a shot penetrated his forehead.

  Chapter 18

  Bolan allowed Elena to support him as he hobbled through the undergrowth. They were making quicker time than he could have hoped, now. Elena was strong in spirit, and this was buoying her physical strength. She muttered encouragingly to him as she half dragged him through the swamp.

  “Are we alone out here?” he interrupted at one point. She looked at him strangely. His eyes flickered around. “I can hear things, see things. It’s the toxin, maybe the fever, too. I can’t tell if some of them are real....”

  “I can’t see or hear anything,” she assured him. “We’re alone.”

  Bolan nodded, reassured, and they limped onward. He wanted to believe her, and had to take her on trust. The phantoms and shadows that flickered across his consciousness were starting to build up. When they reached the highway, he would have to ride shotgun and get her to drive. He couldn’t trust himself behind a wheel.

  If the soldier had been 100 percent, he would have picked up noises that Elena was not experienced enough to detect. In the distance, there were sounds of men combing the swamps, and another sound much closer...

  * * *

  DUANE SHADOWED THE GIRL and the intruder, waiting for his chance. H
e was so close, he could hear their muttered exchanges. He didn’t notice the distant sounds, as he was too focused on his own objective. At first he couldn’t make out why they were headed farther into the swamps and away from the highway. Then he realized how out of it the intruder was. His sense of direction was shot to shit, and Elena had no idea where they were going. Duane grinned. He’d pick off the intruder and lose the body in the mud, then drag the bitch back to the compound. Simple.

  He stayed as a shadow, to their left and about ten yards behind them. The intruder was stumbling and limping badly, leaning more and more of his weight on Elena. It was only a matter of time before the asshole passed out. As soon as he did, Duane intended to step forward, take him out and knock out Elena.

  Even as this plan formed, fate decided to hand him the chance on a plate. The land they were trekking through was treacherous, and as Duane watched, the intruder put his good foot into a puddle of mud that sucked his combat boot down and caused him to lurch unexpectedly. He dragged the girl off balance and she tumbled over him, landing awkwardly and cracking her shoulder against a rock. She screamed, a high-pitched yelp that told him she was hurt in a way that would make her not much of a threat. The intruder was down, thrashing as he tried to turn on his bad thigh to get some purchase and pull his good foot free.

  He was oblivious to anything that might be happening around him. Good. Duane’s grin became more vulpine as he slipped his SMG off his shoulder and stepped from cover, crossing the yards between them in a few long strides until he was standing over the intruder. Duane leveled his weapon at the man’s head while Elena yelled a warning through her pain....

  * * *

  BOLAN TRIED TO put his weight on his bad leg to pull himself out of the muck, but it didn’t work. A searing agony went up his thigh and into his gut. He tried to free his foot again, both hands on his good leg, pulling at the calf. He had to get free. Elena was hurt—he’d heard the crack as she tumbled against the rock, and he knew she’d broken something. He could hear noises, see moving shapes. If any of them were real, then the two of them were screwed. He could only hope it was his delirium.