Blood of the Dogs_Book I_Annihilation

by Richard Cosme

  What would I do if this weren’t a trap? I asked myself. If I really planned to trade the key for Sarah? If I wanted them to bring Sarah down here to me, I needed to meet their expectations. So I did what I guessed they would expect me to do.

  “What the fuck you doing, fat man?” I hollered from my hidden position. “I see three men coming down. But there’s no woman with them. Pull them back.”

  “McCall,” he yelled back, “no problem. My men are just coming down to make sure you have the key before I send the woman down.”

  Weasel’s voice came over the comm set. “Bull shit. He’s sending them down to see what else is here. Stand your ground, Mac. He won’t touch Sarah until he’s sure the key is his.”

  I agreed. “Pull them back,” I repeated.

  He tried to make his voice soothing, trusting. Didn’t work. “Just show them the key,” he said. “They won’t harm you, McCall.”

  I pulled the Colt Delta Elite from its holster. It was a huge pistol, designed in the late ’80’s to emulate the appearance of the legendary 1911 model, but improved in fire power and efficiency. Deafeningly loud and awesomely powerful, it fired 10mm rounds from a nine round clip. It would stop a bear. Body armor would pose no problem for it.

  “Stay put, Weasel,” I said. “Just let them think it’s me alone for now.”

  Out of the green background, the three scouts entered our domain from my left, about twenty meters distant. Where the ramp ended, there were threes steps down to the food court. They crouched and surveyed the huge circle where they knew the dog’s bark had come from.

  Before they could take the steps down to us, endangering Weasel and me, possibly placing Stevie in jeopardy, I popped up and took out the one on the left with a head shot, pulverizing his Bears helmet and the skull it protected; quickly turned to the middle man and hit him in the chest because it was a larger target and he was already moving; and put a round in the back of the already retreating third one’s leg.

  He went down hard, clutching at his thigh. I didn’t fire again. I wanted him alive and screaming. It would jangle their raw, drug heightened senses far more than ours. In less than two seconds, all three had gone down. The roar of the three shots reverberated through the darkness of the mall, bouncing off the walls, floors and ceilings, rapid fire echoes of death. I was back in hiding. None of the Messengers above us had seen me.

  Speaking into the microphone, I told everyone I was all right before they started asking. Now The Babe had a decision to make. He had to have the key. Sarah was the only chip he had.

  The wounded man was broadcasting his pain for all to hear. I hadn’t loaded hollow points in the Colt because I wanted penetration, not splatter. But the bullet was huge and had surely shattered his leg if I had hit him square. He was trying to crawl up the winding ramp back toward his compatriots. I let him go, hoping they’d send of couple of men down to assist him. A more likely choice for a clan would have been to roll a piano down the ramp to silence his screams.

  “McCall,” came the voice from the top level, gravelly, deep, excited by the impending action, “I got a present for you.”

  A long, drawn out moan, a scream muffled by tape I realized later, reflective of immense pain, followed shortly.

  “I want that truck, McCall. Cough up the fucking key…You got goggles; take a look at what I got for you.”

  A small sausage-like object came over the ledge two stories above and landed with a small plop in the middle of the circle. Duke whined. It was about ten meters from me, inanimate, dead, green-tinted in the enhanced light of the goggles. A few moments ago it had been attached to someone’s body.

  It was a finger.

  Sarah’s.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  The fat man’s voice floated down from above, full of good humor and joy. “This piece of meat I got a hold of, only got nine now. In another minute, one of her thumbs is comin’ down to you. Woman needs a thumb,” he laughed and continued. “Can’t jack a man off without a thumb. Not much use with just fingers.”

  The pain that Sarah surely experienced, the shock I felt at his defilement sent a physical wave pulsing through my body. It would have hit my brain too, releasing the safeties that protected me from rushing up the ramp into their midst, had it not been for Weasel’s intervention.

  “It’s business, Mac,” he whispered urgently in my ear. “He’s reacting to your capping his men. Hold it together. You have to get Sarah down here with us. It’s the only way we get her free. There’s still a deal to be struck. You lose it now and Sarah’s good as dead.”

  He had been talking to me and Sarah for years, training us, giving advice, teaching—preparing us for this very moment, I suddenly realized. He said the beasts would come. Try to take everything away. Just because they could.

  Everything Weasel had ever said to us seemed important, and I was conditioned to listen when he spoke. That was why his words broke through my rage, kept me from charging up the ramp into oblivion.

  “The key, Mac,” Weasel said. “Make him think you’ve got the fucking key.”

  I snapped back in, realizing abruptly that if I didn’t do something quick, the beast above us was going to snip little pieces off Sarah until there was nothing left.

  “Send more men down with the woman,” I said, “and you’ll get the key. I won’t fire on them.”

  “Give me a show of faith,” he said.

  “We’re even,” I yelled up into the darkness. “Her finger for your three men. I told you to call them back before I shot. We’re right back at the starting point.”

  “Not the way I look at it,” he said, showing off now for his men, feeling in control. He knew he was close to the key, my death certificate. “The woman’s still got both thumbs. That’s what I’m giving you. Show me something nice, McCall.”

  “Give him something,” Weasel commanded. “Anything.”

  Beside me were two assault rifles, Duke and the HK belt fed machine gun. Duke looked up at me. Was he volunteering? I wondered. I slid the belt fed HK 21A1 machine gun into the center of the food service courtyard. It would be visible from above.

  “Look below you,” I said. Looking up, I saw a dozen red dots appear over the railing as Messengers inspected the goodies. “That’s the gun that goes on the truck. Got an output that surpasses five assault rifles. Bring the woman down and you can take the machine gun and the key back. Then we leave.”

  No reply from above. No screams either. The only sounds were the moans of the wounded man on the ramp.

  “What’s going on up there?” I asked Roberto.

  “He’s conferring with some of his men,” he said. “Six guys just broke off the main group. I think they’re looking for another way down to get at you. I don’t think your business arrangement is gonna be long lived.”

  “Nice lookin’ weapon, McCall,” The Babe shouted from above. “Where’s the key?”

  “When I get the woman, you’ll get it,” I lied.

  “Everybody listen up,” I said into my mouthpiece. “Stevie, when I signal you, crank it up, and everyone remember to take off the goggles.”

  “Roberto, two of you go after as many of the six scouts as you can get. Use silencers or knives. When Stevie turns it on, whoever’s left will spray the remaining guys on top. James, have your men ready. They’re gonna be coming your way.”

  “Weasel, leave that position and come around behind me and get Duke. You two wait in the halls in case any of the Messengers find our back door.”

  “Roberto. Talk to me.”

  “Two of my men are going after the scouts,” he replied. “I’ll handle the Messengers up here when it goes down. It looks like The Babe is preparing to send more soldiers down. This time with your woman. I don’t know how you’re playin’ this, McCall, but these guys are lining up around the railing like they’re looking at a shooting gallery.”

  “That’s what I figured,” I responded. “If he gets what he wants, I’m dead meat. Then he takes the tr
uck, keeps Sarah for himself and hunts the rest of you down. But until he sees that key, he’s not going full tilt. Without the truck his empire stagnates. We’ve got a few more minutes until he moves. Just remember, everyone, take those glasses off when I give the signal. First thing is to get Sarah out in one piece. Then we pull back and wait for their move.”

  “What James?” Roberto asked. “You want his team up here with us?”

  “Where are you?” I asked James.

  “I got two groups split,” he replied. “Watching Messengers over by Sears and another group waiting in a bookstore in the northwest quadrant.” He was far removed from our location.

  “Stay where you are,” I told him. “When the shooting starts here, open up on the Messengers in your areas. Remember…tell your men without NVGs to fire at the red lights. You two take out the Messengers that don’t have goggles on. Then head back into hiding. Don’t take any chances.”

  Beside me, Duke perked up his ears and swung around toward the door to the hallway behind me. A minute later Weasel slipped in behind me and retrieved Duke. “Be careful in there,” I told him.

  His goggled head turned my way. I saw a smile crease his mouth. He reached out a hand and clasped the back of my neck, squeezing it firmly, affectionately.

  “I feel like Dr. Frankenstein,” he said. Then added, “Don’t worry, Mac. We’re getting her out of here. It ain’t right for it to fall any other way.”

  He and Duke eased silently into the hallway behind me.

  The Babe’s voice broke the stalemate.

  “McCall, I’m sending your little nine fingered cunt down with some of my men. You best have that key ready for me or we’re gonna play doctor with her.”

  They came down the Z ramp slowly, three more jittery soldiers and Sarah. All I could see was their legs, but it was easy to pick out Sarah’s—hers were the ones that kept moving in one direction. The others were boogeying to the beat of the drugs, spinning and prancing in response to imaginary enemies.

  They crossed out of my vision and then reappeared heading the other way, close now to the entrance to our domain. They disappeared from my line of sight and I heard a single shot. The moans from the wounded soldier abruptly ceased.

  Down three steps and there they were, same area as the first three, but more alert, having just stepped over their companions’ bodies. Two of them cautiously ducked behind Sarah, trying to use her ample frame as a barrier against my bullets. The third had her clasped tightly to his body.

  A grey slab of tape covered her mouth. She was shoeless and shirtless, no body armor, no protection against the shots they feared I might throw their way. There was no sex in her nakedness. It was a warning. An attempt to intimidate me. Shoot at us McCall. Tear up the woman’s flesh with your bullets. She is our shield.

  Her hands were tied in front of her. She held them up, across her bare breasts, squeezing the left hand with the right to staunch the flow of blood, a black wetness that covered her hands and torso, flowing slowly now from the stump that used to be her little finger.

  She was still strong. I could see it in her stance. Her eyes were alert, darting back and forth, hoping to discover some sign of me in the dark. As she moved her head, I saw the earring/receiver in the inner part of her right ear. She was receiving. Just couldn’t send with the tape across her mouth. Nor could I see the derm/mike on her throat.

  “Sarah,” I said. “Move your hands if you’re receiving.”

  Her hands flicked right to left.

  “It’s happening in a few seconds. Just hang in there. When it starts, hit the ground and start crawling. I’ll be there.”

  One of her thumbs went up. Nothing else moved.

  • • • •

  Weasel and Stevie had worked on the generator for hours, fine tuning it so it started on the first pull every time. Pull and start; wait two seconds; then hit the switch for the lights.

  The two of them had encircled the entire food serving area with stage lights—the kind they used for concerts and plays in the 20th. They found them in a special events storage area in the depths of the mall basement. It had taken them two days to mount them so that they didn’t appear out of sync with the environment. On the second day, they were assisted by the Cobras and Disciples. I wasn’t much help. Half the time I was unconscious. The other half I was forced to rest and familiarize myself with Merlin’s map of the maze of stores and escape hatches that filled the mall.

  Hanging from the ceiling, twenty sets of stage lights, each with three spotlights—the sixty bulbs created a perfect circle of blinding light when we tested them.

  • • • •

  Twenty meters from me a man large enough to be The Babe’s brother had his right arm around Sarah’s chest. In his left hand was a sawed off shotgun pressed to my best friend’s temple. Behind them the two soldiers duck squatted, using Sarah and their large companion for cover as they peeked out with their red light NVG’s to scan the area for signs of problems, hoping to pick out my location.

  “McCall,” The Babe’s raspy voice came from above. “Step out and walk the key over to my men.”

  When the moon outshines the sun, I thought.

  Speaking through the headset, I prepared everyone. “I’m counting down from three. Sight on a target on ‘three.’ Remove your NVG’s on ‘two’. Close your eyes and prepare to fire on ‘one’. Stevie, at ‘zero,’ start the generator. Everyone keep your eyes closed. Two seconds after that, hit the lights. Out.”

  I lined up the Glock 17L on Sarah’s captor and counted “three.” On “two” I removed the NVG’s and closed my eyes. From one to zero I steadied the Glock and heard the dull vibrations of the generator starting up in Stevie’s section of the hallway. Two seconds later I heard the distinctive hum as the bulbs sucked up the energy from the generator and flared to their maximum output. I felt the sensation of the bright lights through my eyelids…

  …and the Messengers started screaming.

  A second after that, I squinted my eyes open, allowing a trickle of the glare to stimulate my pupils.

  To pull a trigger, the brain has to tell a group of muscles in the trigger finger to contract. Sarah’s captor must have wanted very badly to pull on the double barrel, unleashing two 12 gage shells into her shaved head, punish me for my treachery. But when the sixty bulbs flashed on, magnified in intensity ten fold by his infrared goggles, a primitive little message center at the base of his skull took over function of his body, screaming a microsecond’s message that his eyes were in danger of sensory overload. You’re going blind, his brain told him.

  The pupils of the Messengers wearing the NVG’s couldn’t close down fast enough to shield the optic nerves from the intense burst of light. Sarah’s captor’s reflexes took over. The hand holding the shotgun, as well as the arm holding Sarah in check, flew to his face. Spastic fingers ripped off the goggles and clawed at his eyes.

  I opened my eyes a bit more and saw Sarah on the ground at the soldier’s feet. Three shots from the Glock sped in the direction of his head. The first took out the trigger housing of the shotgun and half of his left hand. The other two found his skull.

  His buddies heard my shots and began scrambling back, hoping to find cover. Neither of them could see. I put them both down with three shots each, reloaded, and crawled toward Sarah, hollering her name, instructing her to move toward me.

  Above me, The Babe and his soldiers were still shrieking from the pain. Most of them had been looking down into my area, attempting to pick up movement, when the lights had gone on, and they found themselves suddenly staring into a blazing sun that had materialized in an instant from the dark. Shots—a blind reflex reaction on their part—began raining down on me from their position above as I crawled to Sarah. I ducked under a round, formica-topped table, pushed the center support forward, using the table as an umbrella against the hail of bullets, and relentlessly moved toward Sarah.

  Hundreds of rounds chewed up tables and chairs and gouged holes
in the carpets before suddenly stopping a few seconds later as Roberto’s HK 81 began chewing them up from behind their position. Ten seconds after the lights had turned the mall into a winter white out, the Messengers that remained up top with The Babe found themselves blind and helpless under Roberto’s and his team’s automatic fire. They turned in his direction and returned fire at the sound of the Cobra leader’s weapon, momentarily halting Roberto’s efforts; and as their sight began to return, they retreated to the safety of surrounding stores. But not before many of them had been killed, including one who had been blown over the railing and landed with a sickening thud in my area, three meters from where I crawled to Sarah under the now shredded formica table.

  Except for the groans of the wounded and the mechanical clicks of new clips being rammed home, the mall returned to silence. No more shots, no more surprises.

  The Messengers were in hiding. And they knew they had been had.

  • • • •

  Ripping off the tape covering her mouth, Sarah crawled awkwardly in my direction, happy as an orphaned puppy to see me as I sprinted across the ten meters between us and fell beside her, wrapping her in my arms, asking if she could walk. She sat up and pulled back, reaching both hands to me, which I took by the wrists to avoid contact with her wounded hand. I pulled my clip knife and cut the bonds from her hands.

  In the unforgiving glare of the sixty spotlights, the stump where her finger used to be was an ugly lump of pink flesh with white bone in the middle. There was blood all over her head and breasts. Her fatigues were streaked with rust where the blood had soaked in. Her wound wept weakly.

  I stood up, pulling her with me. She leapt into my arms and we plastered ourselves together, clinging tightly. It felt like she wanted to crawl inside my body. I wanted to let her in.

  As the echo of the firefight faded from my mind, I began to hear the hum of the stage lights and the throbbing of the generator from behind the walls thirty meters distant. It seemed for a moment that Sarah and I were on a stage, alone stage left under the bright lights, our embrace the culmination of a dramatic scene, the audience stunned to silence by our public intimacy.