Homeguard

by Jason Cordova

  “You have a lot of exes,” Andrew observed. “How does this work? Do you pull and toss, like usual?”

  “Yeah. Try to bounce it off that outer wall so it’ll hit whoever has the Ma Deuce,” Jack suggested. “I don’t have that many exes. Most of ’em knew what the deal was beforehand.”

  “Most?” Andrew asked as he yanked the pin out of the first grenade. He leaned out into the main passageway and threw the grenade toward the far wall as hard as he could. “Fire in the hole!” he shouted, in case Sid or someone else in Jack’s crew was in the open. The grenade impacted heavily on the drywall and hung there instead of bouncing off to the right. “Oh, shit.” Andrew muttered as he quickly ducked back inside.

  The grenade tore a hole in the drywall and peppered the immediate area with shrapnel. Safe in their impromptu hiding space, Andrew looked at the remaining four grenades before giving Jack a look.

  “You said they wouldn’t do that,” Andrew complained.

  “You’re stronger than you look,” Jack pointed out. “Most people from Trono del Terra have almost zero muscle mass.”

  “I…spent a lot of time on Belleza Sutil,” Andrew told him. “Growing up.”

  “I can tell,” Jack said in a dry tone. “My guess was either there or Anvil, and you don’t look like the mining type. Or Zulu, if you don’t mind my saying. Try not to throw the next one through the wall this time, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure, whatever,” Andrew muttered and pulled the pin on the next two. Shifting his body, he lobbed them both down the hall toward the spot he’d already blown up. Instead of sticking to the wall this time, both bounced around the corner as he’d originally intended. He listened and heard a faint warning shout before two successive explosions ripped through the hall.

  “Let’s move,” Jack ordered. Andrew popped to his feet as the big man moved past him and out into the open.

  “What about your dad?” Andrew hissed as he looked back at the man still lying against the cabinet.

  “He’s safe there,” Jack said. “Move it!”

  “Damn it,” Andrew growled and picked his gun up off the floor. He turned and hurried to catch up with Jack, who’d already arrived at the next break in the long hallway. It was the office Sid had ducked into. He grimaced and looked away quickly at the sight of the dead rebel on the floor. “Oh…”

  “Crap,” Jack muttered as he knelt and checked the broken body. Andrew wasn’t an expert on the matter, but anyone could have seen poor Sid was dead. Judging by the amount of damage to his body, Andrew guessed at least four of the large-caliber rounds had hit him when the Ma Deuce had opened fire. The exit wounds were extensive—nothing like Andrew had ever seen before. He wanted no part of it. Jack continued mournfully, “His sister is going to cut my nuts off. Watch.”

  “No thanks,” Andrew said as he fished around the body for spare magazines. Finding three more, he shoved them into his crowded pants pocket. “That Ma Deuce is going to open up again at any moment if the grenades missed.”

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Jack said as he patted his dead companion on the chest. Andrew could see the obvious frown through his beard. “Save me a seat at your feasting table in Valhalla, Sid.”

  “What do we do?” Andrew asked. Jack gave him an incredulous look.

  “You don’t seem like an idiot. I guess I was wrong. We use the rest of our fucking grenades.”

  “Oh. Right.” Andrew looked down, embarrassed. Here he’d thought he was an utter badass, and Jack was showing him how to properly be top dog in a nasty fight. Andrew was very happy Gabriel wasn’t around. His little brother would never have let him live this down.

  “On three,” Jack said as he pulled four more grenades out. He left them in their rectangular shape this time and crept closer to the door. Motioning for Andrew to follow suit, he pressed his side against the doorframe.

  Andrew approached the other side and tried to listen. The incessant ringing in his ears remained, but he thought he heard movement down the hall where the earlier shooting had come from. He glanced at Jack and nodded. The big man smirked and stroked his thick beard, suddenly thoughtful.

  “Hey, if this goes to shit, it’s been nice knowing you, Senator,” Jack whispered. Andrew looked at him incredulously.

  “This isn’t going to shit yet?” he asked. “I thought the whole plan had gone to shit already.”

  “Naw,” Jack shook his massive head. “This is only mildly inconveniencing.”

  “Holy…” Andrew’s voice trailed off as Jack held up three fingers. He dropped to two, then one. Andrew quickly yanked the pins out of his last two grenades as Jack followed suit. Ducking low while Jack went high, six grenades were flung down the hall and bounced around the corner. The round ones Andrew threw rolled further, but the rectangular grenades bounced erratically.

  “Look out!” an unseen voice screamed. Jack and Andrew both dove for the ground as six concussive blasts ripped through the hall. The ringing came back in Andrew’s ears, louder than before, but he could definitely hear someone shouting and swearing.

  “Stay down!” Jack warned just as the Ma Deuce opened fire again, more holes tearing the drywall apart. Large chunks of insulation and wood flew across the room. A particularly large block of chewed-up wood landed on top of Jack, who howled in anguish. Andrew winced as he realized the afflicted area was the location the giant had already been shot. Jack roared, “That’s it!”

  Pushing himself to his feet and ignoring the gunfire, Jack charged through the drywall and wood construction. Andrew popped his head up and watched as Jack, leaving a massive hole in the next wall as well, barreled into the two men working the massive automatic weapon.

  Picking up the smoking barrel with his bare hands, Jack wrenched the massive weapon out of their hands and pivoted on his heel. He swung the huge machinegun around and crushed the head of the loader with a single blow. Gore exploded out from the pure force of the impact, and the man’s face simply disappeared. Howling, Jack used the momentum of the swing and pushed into the gunner, who was dumbfounded at the sight of Jack’s berserk charge.

  Jack somehow flipped the weapon over so the tripod, which had remained attached in spite of the force he’d applied in removing it from the floor, was pointed toward the last survivor. Using it as a weapon, he drove one of the steel points of the tripod into the man’s chest. Roaring with exertion, Jack hoisted the wounded man off the ground with the tripod. He shifted his feet slightly and impaled half the steel tripod leg through the solid concrete outer wall where the gate was.

  Hands smoking from the heat of the barrel, Jack released it and staggered back a step. He nearly stumbled over the body of the man whose brains he’d bashed in and looked back at Andrew, who was staring at him.

  “Go get my dad,” Jack ordered. Andrew, unsure the giant was aware of the damage to his hands, scrambled to his feet and hurried back down the hall. He found the middle-aged man alive, for which he’d remain eternally grateful after seeing Jack’s display of raw power. He had no desire to end up on Jack’s bad side, now or ever. He moved to holster his pistol before remembering he didn’t have a holster. In one swift motion, he cleared the chamber and slipped the pistol into his belt before kneeling down.

  Ever so gently, Andrew picked up the beaten old man. For the first time he got a decent look at his face, and was surprised to see little resemblance to the giant. Granted, the upper half of Jack’s face was covered with goggles and his tactical helmet, and the other half by the massive beard, but something in the facial structure told Andrew that this man wasn’t really Jack’s father or the big man’s mother was far hairier than normal women. He was betting on the former. If he was wrong and it was the latter, well, he definitely wasn’t about to tell him that.

  Moving as quickly and cautiously as he could, Andrew met back up with Jack near the main gate lock. The giant was rubbing his hands on his pant legs and scowling.

  “That was stupid as hell,” Andrew heard him mutter. Seeing his father, Jack
perked up immensely. “Thanks. I found my other two guys…dead. They tried to hide but got chewed up. I guess we were lucky we were in the back.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” Andrew replied. “Now what do we do? There are guard towers out there once we go through this door.”

  “Not anymore,” Jack stated. “Our shuttle took them out on the way in. Ash is about to pop this door, and then we have two minutes to move our butts up the ramp and get into the shuttle before we pass out from lack of oxygen. This little rock is a great place for a prison…not enough oxygen to live on the outside, but just enough to tempt anyone willing to risk an escape attempt.”

  “Nasty,” Andrew grumbled. He shifted Jack’s father in his arms. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

  “I’d take my dad, but my hands are a little melted right now,” Jack said as he raised his palms for Andrew to see. The intelligence officer winced as he saw the damage done to Jack’s hands.

  The pads on each finger were gone, a brown, fleshy mess that resembled burnt pancakes more than fingers. Jack’s nails had fallen off due to the excessive trauma, but because of the heat of the barrel of the Ma Deuce, there was almost no bleeding. Andrew wasn’t certain, but he guessed Jack wouldn’t regain full use of his hands anytime soon, if at all. If there was a bright side to any of this, Andrew guessed it would be that Jack getting fingerprinted would no longer be an issue.

  “You okay?” Andrew asked. Jack shook his head, paused, then shrugged.

  “I don’t know,” Jack admitted. “This is shock, right? I’m tough, but nobody’s this tough.”

  “It’s probably shock, yeah. Let’s get out to the shuttle before you pass out from the pain,” Andrew declared. “Get Ash on the comms and let’s blow this lemonade stand.”

  “Now I definitely know I’m hurt,” Jack wheezed, trying to laugh, as he tapped his helmet. “That was actually a little funny. Ash, Jack. Open inner doors, tell extraction shuttle to warm up the engines.”

  The doors slid open, and Andrew saw a second set of doors beyond it. Quickly realizing it was an airlock, he looked at Jack. The giant had managed to get inside the doors quickly and was resting his formidable bulk against the concrete support wall next to the outer doors. Andrew quickly slipped inside with him. His arms began to shake from the weight of Jack’s father, but he refused to complain. After watching Jack use a two-hundred-pound tripod and machine gun as a blunt force object, Andrew would definitely have felt like less of a man for complaining about the relatively light weight of the broken and battered former prisoner.

  “Close inner doors, then open outer,” Jack said in a tired voice. The doors behind them hissed shut, and a moment later the outer doors opened.

  Andrew, caught off guard, inhaled sharply and felt immediately woozy. The air of the glorified asteroid was definitely thin enough that nobody ever came to the planet without some sort of oxygen breathing apparatus. Everything on David’s Rock was in biodomes, sealed against the outer elements by multiple safeguards. Except for prisoners at Puerta Rocas, that was. Nobody really cared too much about the niceties for those living in the high-profile maximum-security prison.

  I bet they’d change their minds in a hurry if they knew about Special Projects, Andrew thought as he began to walk as fast as he could toward the end of the tunnel. He could hear Jack right behind him, huffing and gasping from the pain and oxygen deprivation. Fifty meters to the end of the tunnel and then safety. That was all he needed to manage.

  Forty meters. He’d never felt so exhausted in his life. Andrew had put his body through the ringer over the years, including nearly dying twice from wounds received while on active duty in both Jericho and the DIB. The difference between then and now, however, was he could breathe.

  One foot in front of the other. Steady pace. Refusing to look down and focusing instead on his destination. His vision was beginning to blur around the edges. He could see the end of the tunnel and, true to Jack’s word, a transport shuttle was waiting. Andrew focused on each step. His arms were burning, his lungs felt as if they were on fire, and his head was beginning to hurt.

  Strong hands took Jack’s father from his arms and an oxygen mask was slapped onto his face. He sucked in cool, sweet air, and his vision instantly cleared. He’d made it. Somehow, despite everything, they’d gotten to the safety of the transport. He turned to give Jack a thumb’s up.

  Only Jack wasn’t there. Looking around, Andrew spotted the giant lying on the concrete floor of the prison tunnel. He hurriedly took one more deep breath from the oxygen mask and pushed it aside. The men inside the shuttle squawked in protest, but he ignored them. Unburdened by the extra weight, Andrew was able to get to Jack quickly.

  Unfortunately, he quickly discovered Jack outweighed him by almost double. In addition, the giant was also head and shoulders taller, which made getting the oxygen-deprived, wounded rebel to his feet problematic. Andrew expedited this by simply kicking him in the ribs.

  “Owww…” Jack moaned as his eyes fluttered open.

  “Get your fat ass up!” Andrew barked as he struggled to pull Jack to his feet.

  “Ungh,” Jack grunted as he managed to get up. Staggering, Jack collapsed against the last bit of concrete wall before the end of the tunnel. He pushed off with his palms and screeched in pain. Nearly falling, Andrew grabbed his armor and struggled to keep the giant on his feet.

  “Quit…being a…baby,” Andrew panted as his vision swam. Jack reached out and flung an arm across Andrew’s shoulders.

  “Kill…you…” Jack wheezed, “later.”

  “Fine!”

  “Promise…bastard.”

  “Gotta…be alive…to kill…me.”

  Somehow, Andrew managed to remain upright as the duo moved slowly out of the tunnel and to the shuttle. The men inside desperately grabbed Jack and, using all of their strength, managed to get him inside. Andrew collapsed just inside the bay and felt a pair of hands grab him. He was dragged further inside, and then the shuttle door sealed. Oxygen flooded the compartment as the transport’s engines began to howl. Thrumming with excess power, the shuttle lifted straight up, banking hard as soon as it was clear of the ground.

  Andrew rolled over and looked at Jack, who was lying on the steel deck of the transport, unconscious. The shuttle passengers were stealing confused looks at him as they worked on Jack and his father. It was obvious both men desperately needed medical attention. Andrew, despite the beatings he’d taken from the prison guards a few days before, was physically in decent shape. Mentally and emotionally, on the other hand, were other things entirely.

  A woman approached him and knelt down, checking him for any sign of injury. Recognizing the confusion in her face, he struggled to explain.

  “My name is…Darius Hastings,” he said, unintentionally drawing out the pause as he tried to remember who he was supposed to be. “I request sanctuary.”

  “That’s up to the captain, sweetheart,” the woman said gently as she began checking him for injuries. She pulled out a hypodermic needed and removed the plastic safety cover.

  “Wha—”

  “For your own protection,” she said and jabbed it into his thigh. Andrew opened his mouth to complain, but a strange warming sensation ran through his leg. He felt more relaxed than he had in a very long time. Actual rest beckoned. The woman smiled down at him. He thought it was surprisingly non-threatening, which was odd. “Go ahead and take a nap. We’ll wake you up when we’re back on the Iroquois.”

  Andrew had something else to say, but he forgot as darkness reached out with loving tendrils and dragged him off into a dreamless sleep.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eight

  Christine

  After a fourteen-hour ordeal and a long nap, Christine awoke to find herself in a medical bed, holding her newborn baby to her breast. The baby was asleep, and her gown was fastened, which told her feeding time was over for now. She looked around the room, confused by the visitors. It took her a few moments to recall w
hy they were in the room.

  “Congratulations,” Joel Espinoza said, a smile on his face. “Doctors said, all things considered, it was a fairly routine labor.”

  “Routine?” Christine asked in a quiet voice as she looked down in amazement at the sleeping pink ball of humanity on her chest. She gingerly traced a finger over her baby’s ear, then along his cheek. Fascinated, she stared at the soft lips and listened to the baby’s steady breathing. The baby’s heartbeat was strong, his skin warm. With Andrew’s help, she’d made this miraculous being.

  A mother’s love was undeniable, and the bond formed during pregnancy and birth was something Christine had thought she’d never understand. However, now that she was looking down at the child in her arms, her precious baby boy, she understood at last. A tiny little yawn emerged from the baby, and Christine nearly broke down in happy tears as she watched. He fell back asleep, and she looked up at the men, her eyes shining and wide.

  “There was nothing routine about it,” she murmured. Slowing her breathing so she could simply listen to her child, Christine closed her eyes and focused.

  “What’s his name?” Malachi asked as he approached the bed. He looked down at the baby. “We have suggestions, if you want…”

  “I’ll wait to be reunited with his father before deciding,” she said, though this wasn’t entirely truthful. Andrew had given her some wiggle room on the name, so long as it wasn’t something stupid, like Tobias or John. It was still a toss-up which was first, Maxwell or Joel, and which would be the middle. While she’d teased Andrew about giving the child both of their last names, she had no intention of naming the baby Dai. He would be an Espinoza. Andrew would never admit it, but she knew him well enough to know just how much it would mean to him.

  “Well, there’s no law saying you have to name the child immediately,” Joel said with a shrug. “You have until the genetic test at three before you have to give him a name.”

  “I know,” Christine said. She looked around the room, inspecting it. It was brightly decorated and festive, but the colors were eye-searing. They weren’t anything Christine would recommend for anyone’s home, except perhaps for the blind. “Are we at MITC?”