Backlit by moonlight, Northern could see only the black shape of a man in the doorway. For several moments he assumed that Max had come to his senses and returned. It was Nikkie Hix who first understood who she was looking at: something in the hard squaring of the man’s shoulders, the way he took in the interior of the building with a haughty sweep of his head. Max Haulden would not do that.
“It’s him!” she screamed, and she fired. Light burst from her gun in the dark, and the shots reverberated off the steel surrounding them, but he was too fast. He threw himself against the concrete wall of the bottleneck, and then hopped up and over it into the shadows of the interior.
Outside, the tinny popping sounds of gunfire stopped Christina Stoke in her tracks. She turned around just as Max Haulden rounded the corner, his gun up.
“Shit,” she said, as if she’d done nothing more than step in something unpleasant. She tried to level her pug-nosed revolver and fire, but Max was already there. He fired three quick shots in a single cluster in the middle of her chest and dropped her to the floor like a ragdoll.
Max sniffed. Just like that. How many times? How many times must I carry this team?
He turned about and peered behind him. The firing from inside the building had stopped. He walked back the way he came, staying close to the wall. He pressed the com button in his ear. “Is everyone all right?” he asked.
No answer.
Max heard another quick succession of shots smack into the inside front wall with a dull ringing sound: they were coming from the far side, from Nikkie’s position. Someone had snuck in the door when he’d gone out. Northern wasn’t going to be happy about that. Never mind that Max had already taken care of one of them; never mind that now he was free to come up behind whoever was inside and trap them in the middle. Never mind that it was a good thing. Northern would see only that he had disobeyed a direct order.
Max sighed. He’d take care of this, too. He crouched low and pressed his com button again. “I’m going to get behind him and pin him—”
And in an instant Draden Tate came up behind Max. He moved like a shadow, unnaturally fluid for a man of his bulk. Max only heard him at the very last minute, when the butt of Tate’s gun was smashing down upon him. Max couldn’t bring his arm up; he couldn’t even yelp in surprise. All he had time to do was move his head a fraction of an inch to the left so that instead of braining him, Tate’s improvised bludgeon glanced off of his ear and slammed into the shoulder of his gun arm, separating it instantly.
Tate was ruthless. He hissed is unintelligible English as he beat Max about the head. Max brought his working arm up to protect his face even as he fell to the ground, grunting with every crushing impact. Tate hammered into Max’s exposed forearm and split a toothy grin when he was rewarded with a muffled snap.
It was the pain that made Max squeeze the trigger of his gun. He still held it loosely, flopped flat on the ground like a dead fish. The pain of the break contracted his muscles and he squeezed the trigger. By pure dumb luck, his shot hit Draden Tate in the shin.
Tate sprang away as if he’d stepped on a wasp, bellowing and hopping. For a moment he seemed to forget about Max, and if he wasn’t slowly slipping into unconsciousness Max might have found his bumbling amusing. As it was, Max’s thoughts had become sluggish and his vision blurry. His comprehension of his pain and his surroundings became distant, as if everything was slipping down a tunnel.
When the immediate stinging subsided Draden whipped his head back around to Max, his dreadlocks sweeping a moment later. He limped over to him, grabbed him by his hair, and slammed his head back into the steel wall of the building one time. Max crumpled instantly. Then he spat on him as an afterthought. For Christina.
————
Northern swore under his breath. He heard the distant yelping from outside. He heard the single shot, and then, briefly, a dull smacking. None of it sounded good. He’d wanted to remain silent, what with Auldborne inside somewhere, but he had to know. He pressed his earpiece.
“Max,” he whispered.
Nothing.
“Goddammit Max, answer if you’re there.”
Nothing.
He glanced up at Nikkie, who glanced back down at him for the first time since everything had started. Her face was dark and he couldn’t see her expression. Both Americans looked back out into the expanse of the concrete warehouse. Auldborne was hidden in the shadows somewhere by the far wall. They could feel his gaze, even sense his snarl, but he did nothing to give away his position. Nikkie chanced another three shots into the dark, strafing against the back wall, probing for Auldborne. All three rang uselessly against the metal siding, same as before.
“Nikkie, hold up,” Northern said, whispering through his earpiece. “We’re wasting ammunition.”
Nikkie didn’t reply, but she did stop firing and sniff quietly. It occurred to Northern that she might be crying. He was about to ask her as much when the squatty bulk that could only be Draden Tate appeared briefly in silhouette at the door frame and just as quickly he, too, was lost in the shadows inside.
Northern cursed under his breath. Now there were two monsters in the closet.
————
He hadn’t expected the darkness to be so complete inside of the building. Rather than help the situation, the skylight allowed in such a swath of brilliant moonlight that the farther reaches of the building were hidden in deep black contrast.
“I’m almost out,” Nikkie whispered hoarsely.
“Then we need to get out of here,” Northern replied. “Max has a nearly full clip in his gun and another in his jacket. If we can get to him—”
“We have no idea where Tate and Auldborne are,” she whispered. “No way we’re getting across to that doorway alive,” mumbled Nikkie.
Northern knew this was true. He looked around himself for anything that might help them out, but their shelter was now their prison. He saw rotting wood, jagged metal, and shadows, nothing more. He rested his head back upon the cold wall and looked skyward. And then it came to him. Their ticket out was looming over them the entire time.
“Nikkie, I need you to come to me. We can get out of here together.”
“The staircase is too open.”
“Then you’ll have to drop off the back of the catwalk. It’s not that high. I’ll catch you. I promise.”
Nikkie was silent.
“There’s no other way. Any minute they’re going to move on us from God knows where.”
Still she said nothing.
“Nikkie,” Northern said again, pleading.
“Fine.”
“Good. Quickly now, I’m moving back.”
Still under cover of the crates, he backed up until he could see her back. She was facing forward, waiting for any sound or indication that the English were moving, but the silence around was so complete it was almost worse than if they had been shooting at her.
She shuffled back until her leg was extended over the catwalk. Then her knee. Northern shifted his eyes from her back to the warehouse in front of him. He knew how vulnerable they were. He could only pray that Auldborne didn’t.
With painstaking slowness, Nikkie swung both legs down into the air so that she was laying on her stomach on the catwalk with her feet out, perhaps five feet above Northern.
“On three. One. Two...”
Nikkie shifted her weight.
“Three.”
Wordlessly she dropped. Northern caught her true, right around her waist, and slid her safely down to the ground. When he was sure she had her footing, he snapped his gun up once more. Both of them froze, not even daring to breathe. In the silence, with his face close to hers, he saw that she had indeed been crying. She looked unabashedly up at him, her eyes swimming and her cheeks wet.
“Nikkie...”
She shook her head vigorously. “When this is over.”
Northern looked away into the darkness. Somewhere out there, two men crept towards them.
“Cover your head,” he said. “I’m hoping for a big glass reaction. Keep your eye on the door. When I shoot, run, no matter what. I’ll be right next to you.”
Nikkie nodded. She pulled off her jacket and covered her head with it.
Northern stepped away from the cover of the crates and aimed at the skylight. Then, taking no chances, he fired three quick shots at the swollen moon through the glass.
Nikkie had gone two steps when the entirety of the building flashed like lightning, There was a single crack, as if an enormous tree was split down the middle. In that moment she saw Auldborne, alone, halfway up the side wall, pressed flat perhaps fifty yards away. She had no doubt that Draden Tate would be halfway up along the opposite wall. Then the light was gone, replaced by an angry retina burn, and she was running blindly through a shower of glass shards, pouring down upon her like a razor waterfall.
When she faltered, shocked by the sheer weight of the glass raining upon her, Northern was there behind her pushing her forward, his arm around her waist. Then they were outside, and all they could hear was the tinkling of rebounding glass and a roar of anger behind them. Northern pulled her towards the stacked concrete tubing off to their right. Once there he swung Nikkie deeper under the cover and leveled his gun at the door. Blood was seeping to the surface of his hands and dripping down in small rivulets. His grip twitched. He was dismayed to see his clip was spent.
Nikkie whispered his name and pointed down the concrete sidewalk that ran along the outside of the warehouse. There, in a heap, lay Max’s body.
“Get his ammunition. Quickly. I’ll watch the door,” Northern said, and she hopped out into the open, her gun always facing the door, until it was out of sight and she was to the side of the building. She ran up to Max.
“God in heaven,” she whispered, leaning down to feel for a pulse. She turned back to Northern and nodded that he was alive. She shook her jacket free of glass and balled it up to place behind his head, then she tore open Max’s jacket and fished around inside of it for a clip, which she pocketed. She took Max’s gun from where it lay in his limp hand, popped the clip, and loaded into her own gun.
Then she heard shuffling from the front of the building, just around the corner. She pressed herself flat against the wall and looked back for any sign from Northern, but Northern was gone.
The shuffling stopped. Nikkie could hear heavy breathing coming from just around the corner. She held her breath and angled her gun up.
Seconds later, a dreadlock appeared from around the wall, and then another. Like the waning of some dread moon, first the tip of Tate’s nose, then his nostril, and then his upper lip appeared from around the corner, a mere foot from Nikkie’s gun. His right eye appeared just in time to look down her barrel, and then Nikkie fired directly up and into his face.
Tate’s neck popped back like a hanged man’s and his body staggered beyond the corner and onto the ground where he lay splayed like a marionette, motionless. Nikkie wasn’t looking at him, though. Northern suddenly stepped back into view, beaming at her and nodding. He motioned vehemently for a clip. She tossed one his way.
From his spot just inside, Alex Auldborne had seen his striker stumble back and topple to the ground. His last comrade down, he took off into the dark as if pursued by demons. And perhaps he was, because Northern didn’t even think—in a split second he had shoved himself off the wall after him. Nikkie yelled for him, but if her captain even heard her over the wind roaring past him as he shot along the wooden dock, he didn’t respond.
Auldborne ran for hundreds of yards, his feet pounding on the warped wood with a sound like the rapid hammering of nails. The moon cast a flat light on the rotted slats that disguised how deteriorated they were. Northern knew about this and Auldborne did not. Northern ran off of the wood, in the dark dirt to the right, while Auldborne ran right next to the water.
Several times Northern saw Auldborne stumble ahead of him as he stepped badly, kicking up dust and flecks of wood as the slat strained to bear his weight. But Auldborne was fast and had the jump on Northern, so he stayed ahead until, at last, one plank gave completely.
The empty space caught his foot for a half second and threw the rest of his body forward just enough to tip him off balance. He stuck his hands out in front of him as he fell and lost his grip on his gun. He watched as his weapon jumped from his hand and bounced about in front of him. It skittered to the edge, half hanging off of the wood over the water.
Northern skidded to a stop and for a moment both men froze, waiting to see what gravity would dictate, but the gun held fast to the rotting wood and did not drop. Auldborne turned around and very casually took in Johnnie Northern and the gun Northern was pointing at him.
Nikkie Hix appeared from out of the dark behind him, slowing as she came upon the scene, wheezing hard, but Auldborne never stopped watching Northern. The moonlight seemed to reflect from Auldborne’s eyes as if repelled by the very nature hidden behind them. He was winded, but he breathed only through his nose. His mouth was fixed in a disdaining curl.
“It’s over, Alex,” Northern said.
“What a ridiculous way to win. Dumb luck,” Auldborne spat, repulsed. “But typical, coming from you.”
“Call it in. Call in a surrender and I won’t shoot you.”
“Call it in? Who do you take me for?”
Nikkie moved directly behind Northern and watched Auldborne warily. “Shoot him,” she whispered.
“What your thug Draden Tate did to my striker... that’s not what I did to you last time around. I never went at you with the intention of humiliating you. It just happened that way. You didn’t deserve to win then, and you don’t now, so call it in and we’re more than even. This bloodlust of yours needs to stop. You’re beaten, Alex. I’m better than you.”
“John, just shoot him. Please—”
“—Are you really?” Auldborne snapped. “That’s easy to say behind a gun.”
“Shut up, Alex!” Nikkie screamed as she raised her own gun to take aim at him, but Northern pushed it down and Auldborne laughed.
Northern then handed his own gun over to her. “Hold this,” he said, his voice dead flat and as cold as steel.
“This is what he wants! This is exactly what he wants!” Nikkie said, pleading with him, tears running again.
“Shut up, you stupid bitch,” Auldborne said smiling, dismissing her with a flick of his hand.
Northern launched himself at him.
Auldborne was still smiling as Northern hit him and they rolled back onto the old wood. Northern came up on top of Auldborne and went immediately for his face, holding the man’s head in place with his left hand while he slammed at him with his right, the wet smacks mingling with the slap of the waves on the concrete below. But Auldborne managed to turn his head and bit hard into the pad of Northern’s left hand, just below his thumb. He tore a chunk of it out and spit it as Northern grunted and reeled back a fraction. Auldborne writhed his way around, bucking the lower half of his body to throw Northern off balance. He swung at Northern’s neck and landed a blow to his already bruised windpipe that sent him sprawling closer to the edge of the dock. Northern threw himself aside just as Auldborne launched at him in follow up, and he’d have thrown himself into the water had Northern not grabbed him by the buttons of his shirt just as he was about to fall in. With both hands full of fabric, he pulled as hard as he could and whipped Auldborne back around, releasing him like a discus in the opposite direction. Auldborne landed hard on his shoulder and Northern was there. In one swift motion he yanked him up by his hair and slammed his face down into the dusty concrete just off of the dock. He slammed again, and then Auldborne lay still.
Wheezing, Northern kicked himself away from where Auldborne lay. He put his bleeding hand to his mottled neck and struggled to push himself standing. When he faltered, Nikkie was there. She pulled him up and to her, and Northern realized that she was sobbing but making no sound. She shook with the effort.
“Nikk
ie,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”
She grabbed the back of his head and leaned up and kissed him, and as they kissed everything seemed to go out of the both of them and into the night. Their bodies sagged into one another and each stood only because of the other. The pain they both felt, their mingled blood and sweat, all was blown away. Forgotten.
Then the crack of a single shot echoed out across the ocean. Northern opened his eyes in time to see hers become unfocused. With an unasked question on her lips, Nikkie went limp and slid down him onto the splintered wood at their feet.
Northern turned and saw just as a second shot rang out and a diode slammed into his face. He crumpled where he stood and his body came to rest at Nikkie’s feet.
For several seconds they lay unmolested as their shooter watched silently, but even now the thumping helicopters could be heard in the distance. And so the shooter approached.
Very slowly, methodically, they rolled Northern backover-chest to the edge of the dock. The shooter paused for a moment, and then pushed Northern off into the ocean.
Then they turned to Hix and rolled her to the edge of the dock. They seemed to ponder something, or perhaps studied Northern as he floated face down in the water, slowly sucking the filthy ocean into his lungs, dying by degrees.
Then they pushed Hix over and into the water as well, turned around, and walked off into the darkness.
————
Johnnie Northern and Nikkie Hix were found by a Tournament medical crew five minutes later, floating face down against the concrete dock, bobbing along with the trash. Both were pulled from the water and administered CPR to no effect. They were pronounced dead at the scene.
Max Haulden was lifted via a back brace from where he lay by the external stairway of the abandoned shipping building. He was revived in the ambulance, en route to UCSD Medical
Christina Stoke and Draden Tate, still in diode comas, were transported to the tournament wing at UCSD Medical and revived under armed guard.
The Tournament Trilogy Page 37