by Jason Brant
She knew the men she’d killed were responsible for countless deaths over the past year, but she wasn’t prepared for the visceral reaction overwhelming her. With a deep breath, she suppressed her emotions as best she could and refocused.
Her eyes popped open, and she looked through the scope again. Regardless of her feelings at the moment, Huxx needed her cover. She would deal with everything else later.
Bree scanned the area, searching for other hostiles. None were visible.
Into her mic, she said, “There is a building by the Ferris wheel with a new-looking door. It’s a possible entrance into the facility.”
Gunfire from the west was the only response she received.
44 – Skewed
Briggs paused beside the saloon and inspected the cracked street before them.
Drew stood behind him, rifle at the ready.
Three bodies of men they’d shot were on the other side of the street, sprawled in front of a building fashioned to look like an old bank. Drew, an avid reader of novels set in the Old West, appreciated the details of the saloon, but not much else.
Most of the set pieces had a cartoonish, child-like quality.
They’d put all three down in a hurry; Drew taking the man on the left, Briggs dropping the other two. More shots had come from deeper in the park, including the boom of Manning’s high-powered rifle.
“Moving.” Briggs crossed the wooden sidewalk and stepped into the street.
Drew followed.
He’d made it three feet when gunfire erupted from the other side of the road.
Briggs broke right, Drew left.
While running, Drew popped several shots down a small alley beside the bank. He’d seen muzzle flare from the shadows back there. The setting sun made it increasingly difficult to see in the dark places of the park. Briggs dropped down in front of the bank. He glanced at Drew and frowned before firing around the corner.
Drew cursed himself as he slid in front of an attraction of some kind. He’d moved the wrong way. Splitting up from Briggs was the opposite of what he should have done. Too many years had passed since he’d retired from the Army.
He stepped toward the big Texan, but jumped back when bullets whizzed between them. The alley running between the attraction and the bank was only a few feet wide, but it might as well have been a mile.
Moving around two rows of rusted railing used to form a line, Drew put his back against the building. He whistled lightly to get Briggs attention and then motioned toward the door beside him.
Briggs nodded.
Drew plunged through a dark door and entered the building. His balance instantly skewed as he took in his surroundings. Everything inside was canted at an aggressive angle, tricking his mind into thinking that he was leaning to the side.
A rocking chair sat in the corner of a dark room, nailed down so it wouldn’t slide across the angled floor. The same applied to a corner cabinet and small table with dishes sitting atop it.
Even the walls were off.
Taking a step forward, Drew had to put his bad arm up against the wall to keep from falling sideways. Of all the buildings he could have taken cover in, he had to pick the one that threw his equilibrium off.
More shots fired from behind the bank.
Keeping his hand on the wall, Drew crossed the room, aiming his rifle at a door at the far end of the hall with his good arm. If he had to fire, the odds of him successfully shooting the weapon with one arm were low, but his compromised balance didn’t leave him with many options. Small reports came from the hard soles of his boots as he walked across the hardwood floor.
A kitchen stretched behind a door on the left side of the hall. Plates, cups, and other kitchenware were all nailed to the countertops. Dust flitted through the air. Drew moved past it and approached the end of the hall.
As he reached out to open the closed door, the handle twisted in front of his hand.
Drew yanked on the trigger of his M4 and put a volley of bullets through the wood. The reverb in the tight hallway pounded against his ears. The stink of charred wood and fired rounds assaulted his nose.
After a momentary pause while he listened for movement, Drew grabbed the handle and yanked the door open. The body of a man in a gray suit was sprawled on the floor in the next room. Blood poured from holes in his stomach and chest.
The man glared at him, though his eyes had a glassy, distant sheen.
Drew stepped through the door and entered a bedroom, his rifle trained on the man’s head. “Where’s Smith?”
“Go to... hell.” Bloody spittle flew from the man’s lips.
With his toe, Drew kicked away the man’s gun and knelt beside him. “Where is he? Tell me and I’ll call for help.”
The man grinned at him.
Footfalls clomped on the hardwood floor from another room off to the right. Drew spun in that direction and brought his rifle up. He left the man lying on the floor and skirted over to another door as quickly as the canted room would allow.
The entire house made him dizzy, a sensation that his body had never appreciated. Any kind of spinning ride had made him sick as a child. Being in a sideways house was a real kick to the gut.
Drew paused at the doorway. He needed to get outside and flank the man behind the bank. Briggs hadn't returned fire since Drew had entered the balance-skewing attraction and he hoped the big man hadn’t been hit.
He zipped through the door.
A hand snaked out, grabbed hold of the barrel of his rifle.
Drew instinctively squeezed off a shot that splintered the floor.
A pistol flashed toward Drew’s face. He ducked down as it barked fire beside his ear. His hearing exploded, followed by a high-pitched ringing filling his head. The hand holding his gun yanked back, pulling Drew into the next room.
One of his Smith’s men stood beside the door, holding Drew’s rifle with one hand and a pistol in the other. He stood three inches taller than Drew and had at least forty pounds of weight in his favor.
He sneered at Drew.
With his weak hand, Drew reached up and grabbed the man’s wrist, trying to force the pistol away from his head. Panic streaked through him as the bigger man outmuscled him, slowly inching the muzzle toward Drew’s face.
Even before he’d nearly degloved himself, Drew didn’t think he would have had the strength to fight against someone so much larger than he was. He grunted through clenched teeth as he pushed with all of his power against the man’s wrist.
It wasn’t enough.
The muzzle continued to lower until it was nearly in line with the top of his head.
Knowing he didn’t have a choice, Drew let go of his rifle and swung a haymaker punch at the man’s temple. His knuckles connected perfectly.
The man staggered back, the pistol falling from his grip.
Drew didn’t give him time to recover. He lowered his shoulder and rammed it into the man’s chest, driving him backward like a linebacker tackling a running back. They tumbled over an end table nailed to the floor and slammed into the hard, angled floor.
A gunshot cracked from the alley on the other side of the wall.
Neither of them acknowledged it.
The big man got his arm under Drew and heaved him into the corner. He drove a fist into Drew’s chest, knocking the air from his lungs. A grin spread across the man’s face.
“Let’s see who we have under that mask. You aren’t Benson’s little butt buddy, are you? The detective?” The man pushed his way from the floor and towered over Drew. “I heard you were tough. Color me disappointed.”
Drew kicked him in the side of the knee.
The man bellowed and collapsed to his side, his hands reaching for the damaged joint.
Drew scrambled to his knees and lunged on top of the man. He threw a leg over the man’s torso and sat on his chest. As fast as he could throw them, Drew dropped punches on the guy’s chest and face.
His knuckles split.
The ma
n’s teeth lacerated his lips.
Blood splattered both of their faces, their clothes, the floor.
Drew cocked his good hand back to throw a power punch.
A sharp pain stabbed him in the side.
The man bucked his hips and tossed Drew aside. He rolled to his knees as Drew fell to the floor, one hand groping at the intense pain above his right hip. The man held a bloody knife as he struggled to stand up.
“Good punches,” the man slurred. He coughed, hacking blood and phlegm to the floor. “That’s more like it.”
Drew’s fingers explored his side. A small, inch-long gash sat just above his hipbone. Blood ran from the wound, but its position gave him hope that no vital organs had been nicked. His right side burned from the cut all the way down to his toes.
He staggered to his feet with a groan as the man spat out the shards of a broken tooth. They glared at each other as they recovered from their trauma. Drew considered giving him an Asher Benson-styled quip, but decided to lob another punch at the side of his attacker’s face instead.
The blow lacked any significant strength or speed, and the man dodged it with ease. He counter-attacked with the knife, slicing the underside of Drew’s arm.
An icy sting lit his nerve endings, followed by the warmth of fresh blood.
Drew hissed as he pulled back from the man. His right foot felt clumsy, disconnected, as he backpedaled toward the door. He was losing limb functionality by the second. He realized he’d stumbled into quicksand and would soon be pulled under if he didn’t get out of there fast.
The man’s grin widened as he sensed Drew’s weakness.
The big bastard stepped closer, a lion stalking a wounded gazelle.
“That was a good warm up.” He spit out another glob of blood. “Got me all excited. Maybe I’ll go find that ex of yours. What was her name? Melissa? We’ve been watching her, you know? Hot little number. Nice tits.”
Drew knew that the man was trying to goad him into attacking out of anger. If he rushed forward, the blade would undoubtedly find its home, and that would be a wrap for Drew. Even still, knowing the man was aware of Melissa at all made him furious.
She’d left him several weeks ago. Even though their split had stomped on Drew emotionally when he was at a low point, he knew her leaving would keep her safe. He’d never tried to win her back or convince her that everything would go back to normal soon. If she got away from him, her life would be simpler and safer, and that was what he truly wanted for her.
If the human piece of filth across from him knew all about her, then his assumptions had been wrong.
Drew spotted his rifle in the corner of the room. His foe’s pistol was near the door.
The man followed Drew’s eyes to the rifle. “Let’s race for it. See who makes it first. Winner gets to live.”
“You talk too much.” Drew feigned to his left for the rifle, and then dove for the pistol.
It didn’t work.
His evil grin never leaving his face, the man lunged at the pistol, swiping the knife out in a wide arc. The tip of the blade sliced into the side of Drew’s tactical vest, barely missing his ribs.
Drew fell to the floor, his nerve-damaged hand fumbling for the pistol. Just as his fingers wrapped around the handle, steel-toed boots slammed into his bad wrist, sending the gun spinning across the room.
The blow to his ruined joint locked Drew’s body in agony. His muscles refused to respond even as his attacker loomed over him. He tried to get to his knees, but collapsed fully to the floor instead. Turning his head, he saw the tip of the blade pointed at his eyes
“Guess I brought a knife to a gunfight and won. How about that?” The man moved closer, bringing the blade within inches of Drew’s face. “Maybe I’ll blind you before—”
Two shots boomed inside the small room.
The man tumbled sideways, the knife slipping from his grasp. The floor shook as he collapsed to the dusty hardwood. He slowly rolled to his back, his face twisted in bewilderment.
Briggs stood in the doorway, his M4 trained on the dying man. A wisp of smoke trailed from the muzzle of the gun. He stepped into the room and circled around until he was by the man’s chest.
Drew managed to get an elbow underneath him and pushed himself to a seated position. His entire body ached. The stab and slice wounds pulsed in agony with every heartbeat. He looked at the big man in the middle of the floor, watched as the tension eased from his muscles.
“What an asshole.” Drew grabbed the end table and used it to stand.
He leaned against the wall, inspected his bad wrist. The scarred skin was an angry red, but he could wriggle all the fingers and rotate his wrist. His other arm worked, though the incision on his triceps hurt like a son of a bitch. A numbness wormed down his leg from the stab wound. That concerned him the most.
“He’s KIA.” Briggs looked at Drew. “Can you walk?”
“I think so.” Drew tested his leg. It held his weight. Barely. “Good enough to keep going.”
“I got the other guy behind the bank, but I don’t know how many others are around.” Briggs bent down and picked up Drew’s rifle. “We need to move.”
“I can make it.”
Briggs let his M4 hang from the clip on his vest and opened a pocket over his chest. He pulled out a small, white package and tore it open. “Lift your shirt up.”
Drew hissed as he opened his vest and pushed it aside. The bottom of his shirt was tucked into his pants. He slowly pulled it out and inspected the stab wound. Blood seeped from the nasty gash.
“Hopefully this will hold until we get out of here.” Briggs placed the bandage over the cut, carefully pressing the adhesive edges to Drew’s skin. “Hard to tell how bad that is.”
“I’m okay.”
“It’s getting hot up here,” Manning said in their earpieces.
Briggs gave Drew a nod. “Let’s get your friend.”
45 – Jamie
All the strength ebbed from my body as the final screw twisted free from my skull. I slumped against the wall, fighting against sobs. They would have been the manliest sobs ever uttered, of course, but I swallowed them down all the same.
With palsied hands, I reached up and carefully slid the helmet off.
Blood gushed from the bottom as it cleared the crown of my head. Scalp wounds bled like hell, but usually weren’t life-threatening. As the blood poured down my shoulders and chest, streaking along the floor, I was more than a little concerned. I didn’t think I’d lost enough to die, but my ability to fight and think could be seriously compromised.
Between the bodies by the door, the torture chair in the middle of the room, and the blood covering every surface, it looked like I’d stepped onto the set of a horror film. And not one of those classy horror flicks, but one of those terrible torture-porn movies.
I tossed the helmet to the floor and forced myself to get up.
Judging by the blaring alarm, something big must have been going on. Only one other guard had come during the beginning of my escape. If the alarm had been for me, I would have expected a bit more action. I could only hope that Drew had found where I was.
I bent down and picked up the pistol before staggering over to the bodies. Another gun was holstered on the waist of the guy who liked to burn my ass. I took it, checked the mag and chamber, and moved to the door.
Dual-wielding pistols was the kind of nonsense you saw in bad action flicks and video games, but I didn’t have a waistband to jam the second pistol in, so I had to carry both. There was a dick joke in there somewhere about having three guns.
I wiped blood from my eyes with the back of my hand before sticking my head out the door. A hallway stretched in either direction, dim overhead lights showing a few doors and little else.
Most of Smith’s men were above me somewhere. A few scampered around off to my right. If I was going to find out where I was and how to get out, I needed to get my hands around the throat of one of them and do a little negot
iating.
Then I had to find Smith and ventilate his head.
Breaking into a painful jog, my blistered and raw legs protesting every step, I headed for the blank minds on my floor. There were three of them, all close together. I passed a handful of closed doors, but I didn’t bother to check them. I didn’t sense anyone behind them and didn’t have time to search every nook and cranny of the place.
Bloody footprints trailed behind me. If anyone came looking, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out which way I’d gone.
The hall turned left.
I followed it to a closed door at the end.
The light above it dimmed, then regained its brightness.
No sound emanated from the other side of the door as I paused in front of it.
It felt like Tommy Lee was pounding on his drums inside my head. I expected him to Shout at the Devil soon.
The three men inside weren’t moving. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell what they were thinking or what they were doing. For all I knew, they were aiming at the door, waiting for me to burst through it like the Kool-Aid Man.
Just as I stepped back to kick the door in, The Bridge reformed in my mind.
I paused, foot cocked back, and tried to clear my thoughts. It was difficult to stay focused when your mind was connected to someone else like that.
...I... need...
Yeah, I know. You need me to kill you. If you don’t stop breaking my concentration, I might take you up on the offer.
...please...
I booted the door in and burst inside the next room.
A man in a suit stood in front of a desk, hunched over a keyboard, his fingers dancing across the keys. His head snapped around at the crash of the door.
“Oh, yeaahhh!” I yelled.
I shot him in the back.
Two more men stood on either side of a large metal and glass rectangle of some kind. One of them manipulated a touchscreen on the side of the box. He tried to duck down behind the weird object, but I put two rounds in his chest before he could.