by Blou Bryant
Ahmed had returned. “What’s up, Yves,” he asked the one Wyatt was talking to.
Yves put up his hand – wait a second, “Ya, what?” he said, listening to his cell. “Awesome. They’re already through.”
Everything was falling into place. With a grin, Wyatt slapped Vincent on the arm. “Let’s go,” he said and ran back to the car.
“Some allies you got,” said Vincent.
“Don’t I know it,” Wyatt laughed, wondering what he’d started. Drug dealers, street people, a dating website millionaire… the people he depended on weren’t exactly normal. He got in the car and as they pulled away, in his rearview window, he saw the crew roll the other car back in place. Ahmed and Yves started arguing again.
It was a short drive, only fifteen seconds—he counted—and a block and a half later, they arrived at their destination. Vincent rolled to a stop out front of the street number he’d been given. It was a huge house on a small property, and ancient in appearance. It looked just like those in the Reclamation Zone, but this one was well maintained.
Vincent put the car in park behind another vehicle, one that Wyatt recognized from Marylyn’s house. He’d memorized the plates because… well, it’s one of those things that he did. He got out first and walked over, the twins following him.
Inside the car were the rest of the Dogs sitting in the dark. Wyatt knocked on a window and waved them out. Quince was first, Hannah right behind her. He avoided looking at her. She didn’t avoid him. She slapped him. Hard. Now he looked at her.
“What the hell?” asked Ari.
“She knew nothing,” said Wyatt.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing. And I sorta hit her a couple times.”
“Oh wow…”
“… you deserve…”
“… it. And worse.”
Hannah slapped him again. “You lied to me,” she said. “You couldn’t include me? You couldn’t tell me anything?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why not?” she said, and stepped up, right in his face, her eyes flashing.
“Because it made your anger, your disappointment, real to Timo.”
Sandra interjected, “So, it was him after all?”
“What was?” said Hannah.
“Timo was working for Jessica. And if Joe or Jessica, whatever, Joessica, was listening in, they could tell the difference. I couldn’t tell you.”
“I could have faked it,” she said, tossing her head back in anger.
“Not against a machine. Not with a hundred, a thousand, cameras with thermal imaging tech that can read shifts in your body temperature. Not with another thousand phones and other listening devices that sense changes in inflection.”
Rocky and the others had joined them. “That’s why you were an ass?”
Sandra came to his rescue. “I knew someone was crooked. So did he, we needed to do something to expose the traitor.”
Rocky looked at her with surprise. “You lied too?”
“I got some tricks…” Sandra said with a grin.
“Rock, how about we talk later?” said Wyatt. “We’ve got a small window while Jessica is distracted, but it’s likely evaporating right now and we need to be done before she figures things out.”
Hannah leaned forward and—this time—put her hand gently on his cheek. There was a buzzing warmth in the wound as she healed the small bruise she’d caused. “Tell us what we’re doing.”
“If you got cell phones, throw them in the car,” he said, although the area was likely still blanked out by Vincent’s car. Once they were safe in the car, the doors shut and windows closed, he said, “I’ve found—I think I’ve found—where the dealers live. They’re drug dealers working for Jessica.”
“They live here? The house is dark,” said Rocky, pointing his thumb at the address Wyatt had given them.
“This isn’t the house. It’s two up,” Wyatt replied, and pointed at a brightly lit building. There was a flag with Greek symbols across the second floor balcony.
“A frat house? I should have known. Assholes,” said Sandra. “What’s the plan? Four around back, four around front?”
“No. We go in through the front.”
“Who does?”
“We all do. We walk up to the entrance. Then we bust it down. Any questions?” he asked and started walking.
“Nice plan, Sun-Tzu,” chuckled Rocky, following closely behind.
“What about me?” asked Vincent. He hadn’t been introduced but nobody seemed to mind, including him.
Wyatt stopped. “I’ve watched enough cop shows. You can’t go in, that’d taint everything we find. You stay out, call in some officers who you trust, and clean up when we’re done.”
Vincent lit up a cigarette. “Sounds good,” he said, lifted himself up on the hood of their car and leaned back. “I’ll watch from here.”
As they walked, Rocky joined him at the front. “And he is?”
“Our police backup.”
“Great, he’ll fit right in. So, tell us, what are we heading into?”
“The dating software said around eight people.”
“Dating software?”
“Yup,” said Wyatt, more cheerful than he felt. “That’s how I found them. Dating profiles.”
Rocky laughed out loud. “This is great,” he said. “Totally messed up, I love it.”
Wyatt loved the hard man’s confidence. “It won’t be easy, they’re altered.” He stopped again and looked at his group. “They’re on drugs, or something, I don’t know. Might be a neural implant. It gives them extra strength and makes them near immune to pain.”
“So?” asked Carl.
“We can handle that,” said Emmalyn.
“I know we can,” said Wyatt. “They’re still human. Stop them from getting oxygen—go for the chest, the throat. Choke them if you can. Poke them in the eyes. Break a leg. Don’t go for pain, they’re immune, instead make sure you incapacitate them. They like guns.” He stared at each of them in turn. “Do you understand?”
Ira was the first to reply. She pulled a bag out of her bra and said, “Well, let’s even the score.” She took a pink pill and gave one to her sister. “Anyone else?”
“You two, always the same thing, so dull,” said Emmalyn. She pulled a bag out of her own bra, looked through it and popped three pills. “Speed, strength, and hyper-awareness. That should do.” She offered the bag to Wyatt with a smile, she had a pill for every situation.
Wendy made an approving sound when he refused. Like him, she didn’t use. She was altered in appearance only, all tats, piercings and a few brandings on her face. Despite her lack of enhancements, or because of it, she trained as hard as Wyatt did and he trusted her at his back.
He considered the others. Carl and Emmelyn were bio-altered, like the twins, but more extreme. Wyatt had lost track, but both had implants up and down their bodies. Carl hacked computers by touching them, saw in the dark if he needed to and heard better than a bat. Emmelyn was more secretive about what she’d installed, but he knew there were magnets and computer ports in both hands. Both were also well trained by Rocky, like the rest of the Dogs.
Wyatt took a deep breath. This is what he had. This is what they were. It was time, he thought and continued the march to the house.
“Drug dealing frat brothers?” asked Sandra, “I always hated the type, they’re rich and arrogant little pricks. It’ll be a pleasure to kick their asses.”
“And after, it’ll be a pleasure when Wyatt explains this all to us,” said Hannah quietly.
They turned up the path to the front of the house. The lawn was tightly mowed and clean, the house itself quiet, if brightly lit for the late hour. Wyatt motioned for everyone to stop. “Quiet. Carl, can you hear anything?”
The other man listened for a few seconds. “A couple conversations on the main floor, left side, I think. People upstairs. Someone sleeping, he’s snoring.”
Quince tapped Wyatt on the shoulder. “Th
ere are two on the right side, sitting down. One on the right side, it looks like a kitchen, he’s cooking something. Three upstairs, two in bed, one in a shower.”
He turned to look at her in amazement. “How?”
“Infrared,” she said, leaned up and whispered, “I can see you when you sleep.”
Wyatt ignored that… for now. “Once we’re in, Rocky, Sandra, Ari and Quince go left. The rest of us will go right. Twins, keep your thingamajigs at hand, your job is to disarm anyone with a weapon. Clear the first floor. Then we’ll split, half upstairs and half down. Got it?”
“They’re called chalikars,” said Ira.
“Thingamajig. Little metal thingamajigs,” he whispered and walked forward. There was no point in running, drawing attention. Once they reached the porch, he pointed at the door. “Rocky?”
Rocky walked ahead of the group, held his steel implanted hands in front of the door, pulled one big arm back… and tried the doorknob. It opened. There was a ‘ding’ inside the house. “Well, shit,” he said, threw the door open and ran to the left. Everyone else followed.
Wyatt was one of the last in. He went right, heading for the kitchen that Quince had mentioned. Before he turned a corner, he saw Rocky throw one woman across the room into a wall. A chalikar knocked a weapon out of a second target’s hand. Before the guy could bend over to pick it up, Sandra was on him, raining blows down without mercy. Quince joined her. Rocky ran past them both, quickly out of view.
Wyatt turned his attention to his side as he ran through the dining room. Carl was ahead of him and reached the kitchen before the others. There was a loud bang and a sickening crunch as he ran face first into a frying pan. Blood gushed from his nose as he fell to the floor.
The man who’d wielded the pan stepped into view as Wyatt hurdled the dining room table. He landed on the other side, propelled himself forward and slammed into the man at full speed. The other man went flying backwards and a gun rattled to the floor, skidding across the kitchen.
Wyatt caught himself at an island and turned, but his opponent was already on his feet. Wyatt recognized him as one of the men he’d fought when running from—or to—the HUC days before.
The guy sneered. “You again. Didn’t get enough last time?” and picked up the frying pan, waving it back and forth. “Not going to get the gun?” he asked with a nod to where it’d landed in a corner.
“I don’t need a gun for you,” Wyatt said and walked forward, confident. He closed the distance between them in two steps. The other man swung the still smoking pan—the smell of bacon filled the kitchen—but Wyatt leaned back and it missed him by several inches.
Hot grease splattered his face, but his blood and adrenalin were up and it didn’t stop him from lashing out, two knuckles right into the man’s eyes. There was no cry of pain, but instinct won out and the big man closed his eyes, blinded, and raised both hands. It only took a second, but he had opened himself up and Wyatt leveled a straight blow with his right hand, knuckles out, palm flat, at the throat. He connected hard, square, and solid. There. No oxygen going in.
Wyatt pulled his right hand back and used the momentum to land a left-handed blow direct on the chest, using the palm of his hand this time. His opponent staggered against the wall, blind, his throat constricted and his lungs emptied by the last blow.
“Take all the drugs you want. You still need to see. You still need to breathe.”
The man backed up, his hands out, blinking. He was no longer smiling.
Wyatt stepped forward and kicked down on the man’s knee. This forced his opponents leg back in a way it was never intended to go. There was a loud cracking sound, and the man fell to the ground.
Wyatt leaned in and leveled one last blow to the back of the head, rendering the man unconscious.
He looked around the kitchen, took in the surroundings. Ari and Hannah were helping Carl to his feet, there was blood streaming down his face and a nasty burn on his nose and left cheek. “Can you still fight?” Wyatt asked.
Carl grunted through broken teeth, “Try and stop me.”
“Okay, go through, circle around,” he said, “Hannah, with me, we’ll join the others and take the upstairs.”
Wyatt ran back to the living room in time to see Ira roll away from the staircase as a gunshot echoed through the house. A second shot ricocheted off the floor. He glanced up the stairs and saw a beautiful blonde holding a large pistol. She fired a third bullet, this one at him. It missed, but he fell backwards in a frantic attempt to get away. She smiled and aimed directly at him when Wyatt heard a shot ring out from behind him. Blood spurted from her chest as she fell down the stairs and ended up at his feet, her eyes glassy, her body not moving. The gun tumbled down and landed next to him. Wyatt turned and looked back.
Vincent was standing on the other side of a shattered window. “I heard shots, came to check them out. That’s my story,” he said.
Wyatt nodded in thanks and turned away. “Clear left,” he yelled.
“Clear right,” Quince answered as she arrived from the hall, Rocky close behind. Blood flowed down his face from a nasty gash on his forehead.
Rocky shouted back, “Everyone else, hold the main floor,” and followed Wyatt up the stairs, Quince behind him.
Wyatt stopped to look both ways when he reached the top of the stairs. The long hallway was empty but the shots had alerted anyone left in the house. He said, “I’m going to run for it, right to the end. If anyone sticks a gun out, try…”
“To stop them from shooting you? Done,” said Quince. “Relax, there is only one more up here, the rest came down. The last one is in the far left room.”
Wyatt moved to go left down the hall.
“No,” she said, and pointed down the hallway, to the right. “The far left room on the right.”
“Gotta be clear,” he said.
“He’s moving,” Quince said, and her comment was confirmed at the sound of an opening door.
Wyatt peeked around the corner, “Okay, I’m going to…”
Rocky pushed past with a brusque, “You talk too much,” and raced down the hall. The man was naked, wet from a shower. He had a ridiculously large gun out, but didn’t get to fire it before Rocky ploughed into him.
Wyatt had managed to round the corner in time to see the guy go flying backwards. He smashed into the back wall and fell to the floor. Rocky grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, lifted him off the ground and dragged him back down the hall. The man fought back, but while he was altered—his face had the telltale red dots—he was no match for Rocky and his metal implants.
Halfway down the stairs, Rocky threw him the rest of the way and leapt the last stairs himself, landing on top of the naked dealer. “Where are my friends?” Rocky shouted, his face inches from the younger man. When no reply was forthcoming, he pulled a big arm back and drove his fist into the man’s face.
Wyatt grimaced at the crunching sound of bones breaking and quickly joined them. “Tell him, before he kills you,” he said. The man’s nose and jaw looked broken and he gurgled something that wasn’t understandable.
“What?”
He gurgled again and pointed down the hall to a door. Wyatt had ignored it at first, assuming, if anything at all, that it was a closet. I’m an Idiot, he thought.
“Basement?” asked Wyatt. The kid nodded.
“How many of you are down there?” The kid held up two fingers… then three… then four, and shook his head.
“You don’t know?” was answered by a slight nod.
That was enough information. The Dogs were in the house and only a few people stood between him and then. “Let’s go,” said Wyatt.
Chapter 31
On the main floor, Rocky hefted the broken man to his feet and handed him off to Vincent, who was hanging by the entrance, watching.
That done, Wyatt and Rocky huddled by the door to the basement. “I’m ready, lets go.” Rocky said.
Wyatt glanced at him in surprise at being sent
down first—at being trusted to go down first. Rocky returned the glance and grumbled, “Oh, shut up and get your ass down there.”
With an internal smile at the response, Wyatt whispered, “Ira, Ari,” and both were by his side as if they’d read his mind. They probably had, he thought. “Follow Rocky and me down. We might need your speed.”
“Got…”
“…it”
Wyatt opened the door and ran down the stairs. He took them three at a time and then jumped the last five when he saw two armed men directly in front of him. He dropped and rolled, knocking the left one to the ground.
He jumped to his feet over his opponent, and delivered quick blows to the throat and chest. He turned to see Rocky was already on the other man. In one swift move, the big man snapped his opponent’s wrist, broke a finger and had taken a gun.
With the immediate threat clear, Wyatt took a moment to look around. The basement was large, and long. He noticed movement at the far end and—at the same moment— heard Ira yell out from behind him. A chalikar spun across the room and buried itself in the wall next to a figure that moved in the darkness of an exit. A face appeared and then disappeared. Criggs!
Wyatt raced across the room. He vaulted a pool table and had reached the door before it closed. Abandoning caution, he hit it at full pace and crashed through. On the other side were broad stairs leading up to a garage. He took them in two quick bounds, and found himself alone. There were three cars parked in the otherwise empty room, and another door leading out the back.
Wyatt considered looking under and around the vehicles, but decided that Criggs wasn’t the hiding type. Ari came through the door and joined him. “Where?” she asked.
“Back, I think,” Wyatt answered.
With a slap on his bottom, she ran ahead. “Race you,” she said. There was a chalikar in each hand as she went through the back door. He quickly followed but not quickly enough as he entered the yard in time to hear a shot and see her crumple to the ground, blood spurting from her shoulder.
Wyatt kneeled next to her and pressed down on the wound, attempting to staunch the flow of blood. “Ari!” he said. He pressed down with his right hand and started to rip the bandages off of his left hand with his teeth. “Hold on, I’ll heal you.”