He tried to smile, the grim scar on his face tightening.
“I only wish we had more time.” he whispered and gripped the knife tighter, her hand wrapped around his. “But we’ll be together again in a few minutes, as soon as we finish this.”
Her eyes got wide and one cleared a little, a hint of green coloring it one last time.
“We do, Jessie. The time machine. Bring me back.”
Gunfire erupted as the guards lay down suppressing fire and men scrambled to new positions. Scarlet tightened her grip on his and plunged the knife under her ribs, aiming for her barely beating heart. He held her, felt the cool blood ooze over his hands, felt her go limp. She’d come back in another moment and he couldn’t see it. He couldn’t kill her again. Jessie laid her aside and released the hasp on the coffin. He shoved at the cover and the thing inside erupted into movement at the first hint of light, sending the lid flying off. The long-imprisoned mother sprang to her feet with a snarl and a keen of hunger then leaped from the prison she’d been in for nearly a year. Gunfire rang out and someone yelled a warning. She sprang towards the men, claws outstretched and ignored the bullets. She felt nothing except hunger as the rounds tore through her.
Jessie started crawling for the stairs in the confusion. Every gun turned toward the day one zombie as she leapt from one victim to the next with inhuman speed and ferocity. Arms were slashed, necks ripped open, faces bit as she grew more frenzied with every new taste of blood. Gunfire filled the room and bullets were sprayed in panic. The soldiers blindly shot everything that moved and at every sound they heard. Thick black smoke from the plastic columns and palm trees hung in the air making it hard to breathe and impossible to see. The curtains hung from the ceiling were engulfed in flames and dropped burning materials into the room below. Automatic gunfire filled the casino all around him as men tried to kill the screaming and leaping thing. It moved so fast it could have been two or three of them, it was impossible to tell with the fire and smoke filling the room. Panicked shots punched through other black clad bodies, sent gouts of blood and bone splinters sizzling in the flames. The leaping wraith tore out chunks of fresh meat and sprang for the next one, hands extended, broken bones ignored. The red frenzy was in her, the black eyes were merciless, her speed unmatched and her strength was savage grace. Smoke from the fires was thick as they spread and small flames found fuel then blazed into infernos. There was no ventilation, no open windows, nowhere for it to escape. In the booming of gunfire and screams of pain, during the snarling and tearing of flesh, amid the cries of terror and panic, he slipped away from the carnage. Chaotic gunfire continued behind him as Jessie crawled under the smoke haze for the stairs. It became more sporadic and random as more of them died and came back as monsters. Some tried to run. Some fired blindly. Some tried to fight. All of them died.
Jessie stayed low until he made it to a tumbled statue blocking the exit. Coughing and choking, he squeezed into the stairwell. His eyes burned and watered and the tears didn’t stop even when he was out of the smoke and struggling up the stairs.
131
Jessie
The men darting from the lavish conference room, the ones with the flowing robes and bejeweled fingers, had ran for the stairs and Jessie followed. He coughed as he pulled himself up, trying to get the smoke out of his lungs. He had one last job to do. One last promise to keep.
They had fled in panic. There were no fire escapes on the casino. No ladders leaning against the building for an emergency way out. They were running to their rooms to wait for someone to save them. Cowards going to hide while their servants and soldiers cleaned up the mess. Except the servants had fled, the few still alive. The religion that demanded obedience, even with the daily doses of devil’s breath, wasn’t as strong as their fear and desire to live. The soldiers were dead or dying, felled by bullets or steel or ripped open by rampaging undead.
Someone was running up the stairs above him, he heard the boots slapping and knew it was a soldier. One who had escaped the carnage below. He should try to hurry but didn’t have the strength. They’d be there when he got there. Below him the stairwell was glowing orange as the fire spread and licked at the drapes and banners decorating it. He heard a door burst open above him. The man on the run had made it to the top floor as Jessie plodded onward and upward. Scarlets last words kept spinning through his head. Bring me back. She’d said. The time machine.
Even if it was real, not some weird experiment the kids were totally wrong about, it didn’t work. Everything that went through it, whatever it was, came back dead or misshapen or just a little different looking. Like they got beamed up and reassembled wrong. It was a last grasp of a dying girl, he told himself. She wanted him to survive, not die with her. She’d tossed the crazy idea out to give him a reason to live. To give him hope but he knew it was false hope. Just a dream. A fantasy. This was the real world and a piece of him had already died when he felt the cold blood oozing out of her body. A piece of his soul left with her and he’d catch up to it as soon as he finished what they came here to do. Just a few more minutes, he told himself. Told her. I’ll be there soon. Just a few more minutes.
Jessie rested on the landing of the top floor. He had no ammo, he hurt all over from the impact of the bullets and his heart ached with each thud in his chest. Maybe he’d walk through the door and catch a round in the face. That wouldn’t be so bad. The building was burning, the entire bottom floor was engulfed and no one was going to escape. He would try to finish what they started, though. He’d made a promise and he’d keep it if he could. He’d bury his blade in the cult leader, rip him wide open. He closed his eyes, gathered his strength and lunged. He slammed the door open, caught movement and a flash of light at the same time he felt the air displaced from the bullet streaking past his head. He didn’t slow down, didn’t even try to dodge when he saw the guard firing in panic, sending more rounds his way. They went wild, hitting the walls, the ceiling or the door behind him as Jessie lowered his head and pumped his arms. The lights in the hallway were pulsing, growing dim then bright then back to dim. The generator was cycling up and down, maybe shorting out and resetting or maybe starving for fuel. Rickets turned and ran, tried to get through his door, tried to get to his arsenal before Jessie caught up but barely turned the handle when he was hit from the side.
Jessie didn’t slow. He slammed him like a linebacker, wrapped his arms around his waist, lifted him off his feet then tried to run him all the way to the end of the hall and out of the heavily curtained window. Rickets finger tightened on the trigger, fired once more sending a bullet grazing down Jessies back and the slide locked to the rear. He slammed the .45 into the side of his attacker’s head and kicked out with his heavy boots. Blood spurted from Jessies scalp, his feet tangled with the guards and they both went down hard with Jessie on top. Rickets used his gun as a club, smashed his head again, lightning fast and viciously hard. Jessie rocked with the blow, bounced off the wall and slashed at Ricketts face, a trench knife curled in his fist. Ricketts reacted, flinched faster than the eye could see and clubbed out with the pistol again. Jessie blocked, the armor on his leather taking the blow then countered with an uppercut into the meaty part of the guard’s arm, bouncing the blade off bone, punching out the other side. Ricketts pushed and rolled away, sprang to his feet and ignored the spurting wound. He dropped the empty magazine, wrapped his fist around it and gripped the gun around the slide, ignoring the heat. He shoved a finger through the trigger guard and smiled. He had steel in both hands now. Bludgeoning, cutting steel and he would pound this pup down. He’d bash his brains out himself. He’d end this little problem once and for all.
Jessie was on his feet as fast as Ricketts, blades in each hand, staring at the black clad man with ribbons adorning his chest. His vision cleared and he wiped at the gash on his head, smearing the blood away from his eye.
“You.” the man said, getting a good look at Jessie for the first time in the pulsing light.
�
�She was supposed to kill you.” he growled. “Never should have sent a girl to do a man’s job.”
Jessie snarled and sprang at him, sharpened steel plunging for his neck, he was going to sink them both all the way to the hilt. Steel met steel when Ricketts deflected with the pistol and magazine. Jessie swung again, both arms, blindingly fast. Ricketts met each, deflected each in a blur of clanging metal and grunts and curses. An elbow caught a jaw, knees thrust for groins. Foreheads became weapons as the men fought, circled, bounced off walls and attacked again and again with raw ferocity and visceral strength. Ricketts was faster and stronger. Hyper in his movements, like flashes of lightning. Jessie was experienced and armored, his leather saved him from brutal bone breaking blows. A plinth with a millennia old vase crashed to the carpet and pottery shards were crushed underfoot. A boot went through a wall. Priceless paintings were torn and trampled. A door smashed open and they tumbled into a suite of rooms and a bevy of screams. Fearful people watched in horror as the two bloodied men punched and counter punched, kicked and blocked, cursed and spat. It was a flurry of movement they couldn’t follow with their eyes and when the punching, clawing, stabbing men crashed over the coffee table, when the TV shattered, they ran from the room.
Ricketts barely avoided another slash aimed at his calf, spun away and ripped open a refrigerator door, blocking two double quick thrusts from the dancing blades. He jerked on the handle, sent jars and cans of food flying as it tipped over. He stood there panting, a small barrier between them. A small respite in the violence. He bled from a dozen or more cuts, waiting for the boy to spring at him again but he’d stopped his relentless attack. He was just as winded, just as bloody with criss-crossing gashes from the metal in his fists. The kid had stopped trying to gut him like a fish, to make a killing blow. He’d started working on bleeding him. Shallow or deep, it didn’t matter. Every time they clashed, he came away with another gash. The kid was wearing him down, slicing him to ribbons and it seemed like all he was doing was adding a few more knots to the boy’s head. He was missing his little finger, it had been sliced off when he wasn’t quick enough to turn the metal of the magazine against the blade. For the first time, he started to be afraid. This kid, this Road Angel, was going to win. There wasn’t any backup coming, downstairs was already roaring in flames, the servants all fled and his guards were dead.
“I can help you.” he said between pants. “We don’t have to kill each other.”
“You’re not killing me.” Jessie said. “I’m killing you.”
“Listen, dammit! I have knowledge. It can help. I’ll join you.” he managed to spit out between gasps. “We don’t have to be enemies.”
“Yes, we do.” Jessie said and leapt over the tumbled fridge, blades flying, looking for flesh.
Steel rung on steel, more punishing fists and knee kicks and smashed furniture. More blood loss, more torn skin, more overworked muscles. Ricketts felt the burn of a deeply sliced bicep, Jessie felt more blunt force from steel and elbows punishing him.
Breaking him.
Wearing him down.
The fight in both of them was waning, both were exhausted and coughing on smoke drifting down the corridor. Jessie had a gash on his forehead that kept dumping blood in his eyes making it hard to see. Ricketts own eyes were watering, tears from a smashed nose and the smoke curling in and gathering near the ceiling. Daylight streamed in from the glass doors leading to the balcony and outside the world looked peaceful. Beautiful. The sky was that impossible blue again and the clouds hung full and fluffy. Jessie saw it and smiled, felt the old scar pull at his face.
They stood apart again. Circled. Looked for an opening. Another small respite. A little calm between two warriors who knew this was a battle to the death. Only one would be walking out of the room. It could come at any second, that killing blow. A razor-sharp blade would get past the blocks and feints, finally slicing a jugular. A steel-wrapped fist would make a solid connection, not a glancing blow, and splatter brains all over the wall. Both men breathed deeply and coughed, the air heavy with burnt electrical smells. Jessie’s hair was a matted mess, crusted with blood from the hammer blows of the gun frame. He balanced on one leg and tried to hide the damage to his knee from a snap kick that had connected. Ricketts noticed and smiled. He saw weakness. He saw victory. He saw himself triumphant.
“Should have joined with me when you were winning.” he said and repositioned his hand around the gun.
“I’m still winning.” Jessie gasped through broken lips, an eye nearly blinded from a brutal jab and flexed his fingers on his knives. He pushed himself off the wall and swayed a little.
“I see why she liked you, kid. You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that.”
Jessie hobbled back a step when the black clad man took one towards him.
“You can’t walk, you can barely see and from the way your holding your arm, I’d say it’s busted.” Ricketts said and his smile grew even wider.
He was going to be the one to defeat the Road Angel. In hand to hand combat, man versus man, he was the one who would do it. All those tales he’d heard, all those stories everyone repeated over and over again were going to have a new ending. The boy was a legend and he’d be the one to stop him. Maybe he’d join up with Casey’s outfit, those raiders everyone was so afraid of. He was faster and stronger than any of them. He’d be the legend now. They’d talk about him, tell stories and maybe write songs. He could envision it, he could see a new future. The Movement was over, they’d never be able to rebuild it and he was glad. He was going to be the only super soldier left standing. He would do mighty deeds and great exploits. Him. Captain Ricketts. From lowly underpaid security guard to the greatest warrior on earth. He watched the boy struggling to remain standing. He looked like he was about ready to pass out.
“Say goodnight, boy.” he said, spotted Jessies weakness and moved in for the killing blow. He was liquid fast, wicked quick and brutal, his big fists wrapped around the steel that would bash the kids brains out once and for all. Jessie saw it coming, saw the bunching of muscles in his shoulder and leg, knew when the spring would come and twitched. Something crashed outside in the hall but he couldn’t worry about it, couldn’t consider reinforcements coming. Rattlesnake fast he dropped his shoulders, barely avoided having his head split open from the pistol, spun the blades and slid them across the inside of Ricketts thigh as he rushed by. The captain of the guard cursed his speed, turned and faced him again. He crouched, waiting for a counter attack, ready to deflect the flying blades one more time but it didn’t come. He was nearly choking on the smoke now and by God he was tired. He needed to end this. He was hurt and cut and nearly finished but the kid was worse. The kid was way worse than him. He’d conked him pretty good that time, the boy had gotten distracted. His face was bloody and swollen and bruised and one eye was nearly shut. He’d beaten the snot out of him and he was almost finished. He’d get him with the next rush. He’d bash him so hard he’d have to pull his fist out of the hole in his head.
Jessie hopped on one leg, regained his balance and waited. The world was closing in and he fought to stay upright. The lights flickered and he heard the roar of the flames in the stairwell, working their way up. He leaned his shoulder against the wall and through the swimming darkness he looked at the man in the shredded black uniform: slashes and cuts across his chest and arms. Blood dripped from a slice on his cheek, spilled from his missing finger.
“It’s over, kid.” Ricketts said and readied himself to wade in again. This time for sure. This time to finish it.
Jessie said nothing and lowered his eyes to the guard’s legs and the huge puddle of red already forming on the carpet. The femoral arteries on both pumped blood, some spurted out, most poured down his pants legs, filled his boots and flowed onto the floor. Ricketts shook his head to clear it and nearly fell. He was getting light headed and the kid just stood there, staring at him.
“Time’s up.” he panted then lost the grip on the .45. His
fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. They weren’t doing what he told them to do.
It dropped and made a splashing sound. To his surprise, he was standing in a spreading puddle of crimson. The room was starting to spin and everything was getting dark around the edges.
“Oh, you bastard.” he said, when he realized what had happened and dropped to his knees. His legs didn’t want to support him anymore.
Jessie watched him die. Watched him fall to his side, close his eyes and drift away. The pumping heart slowed then stopped. He took one last breath, let it out and it was over. He almost looked peaceful. It had been an easy death and Jessie felt cheated. The man hadn’t suffered enough. Hadn’t hurt enough. Hadn’t paid for what he’d done enough.
He waited for whoever was in the hall to rush in but it remained quiet. It had been someone running away. His breathing slowed and he took a tentative step forward, limping a little but nowhere near as bad as he’d pretended for Ricketts. Appear weak when you are strong had been one of lessons that stuck in his head for some reason. Maybe because it had been a last resort gambit. He’d been losing badly to the Captain, he couldn’t have taken many more hits to the head, that last one had been solid. Or the leg. His broken arm had been all fakery, though. That had been what it took for Ricketts to be a little over confident. Let him think he could easily avoid that flashing blade. Jessie coughed, stepped around the body and limped to the door. There was one more bit of killing he had to do. One more promise to keep. Then he could rest. Then he could decide where to join her and hopefully he could find a gun. He didn’t trust sliding the blades across his wrists, they might heal up faster than he bled out.
The electric lights had finally fizzled and darkened but the orange flames from the stairwell showed him a smoky corridor with rows of closed doors. Casino suites for the high rollers. Top floor views and garden tubs with massaging jets. Balconies with tables and chairs. Small city Minnesota luxuries.
Zombie Road: The Second Omnibus | Books 4-6 | Jessie+Scarlet Page 91