Rooster

by Sam Sisavath

  Can’t be. It can’t be this easy.

  No way, no how.

  No way, Jose.

  Can it?

  He picked up his pace and moved on ahead of Winston and Pressley. The weight of the weapon in his hands made him feel a lot better. It was a 12-gauge Remington 870 with five shells. He had two spares in his front pocket, but that only made seven in all. Still, Keo preferred the shotgun over the AR, especially in closed confines where spreading power was a good thing.

  And, of course, there was Pressley behind him with the Glock.

  Assuming she doesn’t put one of those rounds into your back.

  The thought kept him on his toes, listening just as much to what was happening in front of him (Nothing. Nothing’s happening in front of you. So where are they? Where are Winston’s people? It can’t possibly be this easy. Can it?) as he was to the shuffling movements of Winston and Pressley behind him. But the fact that Pressley hadn’t shot him in the back yet, and God only knew she’d had plenty of opportunities by now, was a very good sign.

  See, Lara? I’m trying. I’m trying very, very hard not to be an asshole here.

  He peeked around the corner, but there was nothing to find but another long and dimly lit corridor waiting for him. There were no signs of people and no possibility someone was going to pop out of a door along the hallway, because there were no doors. Whoever had built the place had been pretty stingy about putting in rooms—

  Bang!

  Keo spun around, just as—

  Bang! another shot a split second later, reverberating up and down the hallway.

  Keo had the shotgun up and was ready to squeeze the trigger, but he didn’t because there was just Pressley standing over Winston’s body. The Cordine City man’s eyes were open and staring up at the darkened ceiling while blood seeped through one round in his chest and another in his stomach. He looked just as shocked to be dead as Keo was to finding him that way.

  Well, that was unexpected, Keo thought before focusing on Pressley. “What the fuck did you do?”

  She looked up at him, and she was either just as confused by what had happened or she was a damn good actor. “He went for the gun. I didn’t have any choice. He went for the gun.”

  Keo lowered the Remington—slightly. “Goddammit. Couldn’t you have just winged him?”

  “There was no time. He was so fast.”

  “Why did you shoot him a second time?”

  “Training.” Pressley looked down at the gun in her hand, then at Winston’s lifeless body again. “I guess there goes our human shield—”

  She stopped short, and for good reason, because she could hear the same thing he could.

  Pounding footsteps, coming toward them.

  Fast.

  Keo hurried back to the turn and peeked around the corner. He fully expected it not to be so empty this time, but it still was, even though the noise was getting louder—

  Two figures, rounding the turn, running full speed. They were wearing civilian clothes and gripping weapons in front of them.

  The one in front saw Keo first and tried to put on the brakes. Too late. As Keo fired and buckshot tore into the man’s chest, a bloody splotch spread over his thermal sweater as he collapsed in a pile.

  The second one staggered out of his partner’s path, barely able to maintain his balance. He was simultaneously trying to aim with his rifle and grope at stray buckshot wounds along his right cheek.

  Keo racked the shotgun and put the man out of his misery, the shot booming in the hallway even more so than Pressley’s two gunshots earlier.

  If they didn’t know we’re down here before, they do now!

  “The rifle,” Pressley said. She was crouched next to Keo and leaning around the corner, and had spotted the carbine that one of the dead men had dropped. Keo wasn’t entirely sure when she had moved up the hallway from behind him.

  Tough, and sneaky.

  “Go for it,” Keo said.

  The bodies were exactly halfway up the hallway from them—five meters, give or take. The distance was small enough to make Pressley anxious but just far enough that she didn’t “go for it,” like Keo had suggested right away.

  “Well?” Keo said.

  “Shut up, I’m thinking,” Pressley snapped.

  “Think faster. More of them might be coming—”

  Pressley got up and made a run for it before he could finish his sentence. Though she didn’t really “run.” It was more of a fast hobble.

  Keo grinned. At the rate she was going, it was going to take all day—

  Pressley slid to a stop halfway to her goal at about the same time a third figure turned the corner. The man spotted her and froze, and Keo wasn’t exactly sure how long they both stood there staring across at one another, but it must have been at least two full seconds before the new arrival snapped out of it first, lifted his AR, and fired.

  The shot was too fast and too high, and the round sailed harmlessly over Pressley’s head and pinged! off the wrought iron covering the halogen lamp above Keo’s head.

  Keo ducked, even as Pressley took aim and shot the man twice in the chest. She had done it calmly, without hurrying, not committing the same mistake that had cost Winston’s man his life.

  Well, she’s certainly been well-trained.

  That your doing, Buck? Or was that you, Greengrass?

  Pressley had gone into a crouch in the hallway, the Glock in her hand aimed at the turn up ahead. She waited, like he did, for exactly ten seconds, during which time they didn’t hear anything except their own harried breathing.

  Finally, Pressley glanced back at him and Keo nodded, mouthing, “Go for it.”

  She returned a smirk before getting up and hurrying over to the closest fallen AR and snatching it up.

  Great, Keo thought, now she can shoot me in the back with a rifle instead of just a handgun. Swell.

  Fourteen

  Keo moved up the corridor, the shotgun leading the way. The carbine thumped against his back (Just in case) while the heft of the gun belt and spares around his waist was reassuring. It would have been nice to have a proper pouch or ammo carrier instead of magazines stuffed into his front and back pockets, but he made do.

  Pressley, still crouched over one of the dead men, glanced over her shoulder at him. “They definitely know we’re on the loose now.”

  “Gee, you think so?”

  She pocketed a spare magazine, shoving it into her back pocket. She had already unclasped a gun belt and slipped it on, and found a few spares for the Glock. Keo didn’t doubt that if Pressley could carry more weight, she would take everything from the dead guys she had found. And he wouldn’t have blamed her. There was no downside to loading up on bullets and guns when you were stuck in an underground bunker full of guys who wanted to kill you. Especially now, after they had murdered their boss.

  But it wasn’t they who had done it, just Pressley. For some reason, Keo didn’t think Winston’s men would care about that little fact.

  He looked back again to make sure Winston really was dead, but of course he couldn’t see the man around the bend in the hallway. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about Winston’s death. He hadn’t known the guy long enough to decide if he liked him or not; he did seem pretty affable, the fact that he was forcing Keo to kill Pressley notwithstanding. And he didn’t have any love for Fenton, which was another major plus.

  I’ve met worse guys.

  He turned back to Pressley as she was fishing something out of a pouch along the dead man’s waist. She turned it over in her hand before holding it up for Keo to see. It was a sheet of pills, with four white round shapes still left in the bottom row.

  “Pills,” Keo said.

  “I can see that,” Pressley said. “What is it?”

  “Is there anything written on them?”

  Pressley gave the sheet a closer look before answering. “319.”

  “That’s Tramadol,” Keo said. “Give me half of that.”


  “Tramadol? Are you sure?”

  “If you’ve been shot as many times as I have, you would be, too.”

  Pressley stood up and broke off two of the round pills and handed them to him. Keo didn’t bother looking for water; he tossed them into his mouth and crunched them into powder before letting his saliva do the rest.

  He noticed Pressley watching him closely.

  “What?” Keo said.

  “You downed those pretty fast.”

  “Desperate times, blah blah blah.” Keo nodded at the remaining two pills. “You want those?”

  “If they’re what you say they are, then yeah.”

  “I could always be wrong. It’s been known to happen once or twice.”

  “Whatever,” Pressley said, before turning and walking on ahead. She had one rifle in her hands and another slung over her back. The sight made him a little hesitant (A fully armed Bucky is never a good thing), but there wasn’t exactly a lot he could do about it now.

  Then again, Pressley’s back was turned to him…

  Not yet. Not while there’s probably still a city full of people that’ll be trying to kill us.

  Damn, another fine mess you got yourself into, pal!

  Keo took Pressley’s place next to the dead Cordine City man. A quick glance at the boots told him it was good enough, and he began pulling the man’s shoes off.

  “What are you doing?” Pressley asked. She had stopped to look back and had already punched the pills into her palm.

  “What does it look like?”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “So is taking his stuff, but you didn’t seem to mind that part.”

  Pressley narrowed her eyes back at him but didn’t say anything. Instead, she popped the pills into her mouth and crunched them between her teeth.

  “You still planning on not dying?” Keo asked as he sat down and slipped the first boot on. The dead man had an inch on him, but Keo had learned a long time ago that too-big shoes were way preferable to too-small ones.

  “I’ll let you know in a few minutes,” Pressley said. “What about you?”

  “Already feeling better.”

  “So it’s working?”

  Keo tapped his temple. “It is if I tell myself it is.”

  She gave him a “Was that a joke?” look.

  Keo grinned. “Besides, I’m not the one covered in bandages and bruises.”

  “Have you seen your face lately?”

  “Oh yeah. Forgot about that.”

  “Sure you did,” Pressley said. She went up the hallway, stepping over another dead Cordine City man.

  Keo paused briefly and reached up to touch his cheek. He flinched at the brief sensation of pain. It wasn’t a total lie; he had forgotten all about the bruises around his face. They had gone mostly numb (Thanks for the whiskey, Winston), but he was still reminded of the ones over his body, under his clothes, whenever he moved. Surprisingly, he had felt just fine when he was killing the Skinny Brothers, but that probably had a lot more to do with the adrenaline than anything.

  Pressley had stopped in front of him to peek around the corner, and Keo approached her. He stepped around a couple of fresh drops of blood that were dripping from Pressley, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  New shoes. Let’s not get them bloodied so fast!

  He stopped next to her and leaned around the corner to get a good look. The adjoining hallway was empty, and when Keo slowed down his breathing and listened for telltale signs of enemy incoming, the only thing he could pick up was his own heartbeat and Pressley’s next to him.

  “Where are they?” Pressley whispered.

  He didn’t know why she was whispering, but he found himself mimicking her anyway. “No idea. Any more of your bright guesses?”

  “Not a one.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand this. What’s keeping the rest of them? They definitely heard those gunshots.” Then, adding more to herself than to him, “There should be more of them out there.”

  “How many more?”

  “I don’t know, but more than what we’ve seen so far. Enough that they were able to overwhelm us back in the lobby.”

  “Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth,” Keo said, and stepped out and into the hallway.

  Pressley followed, sticking to his right side and just a few steps behind. “Why not? Sometimes the horse has a bomb inside its mouth.”

  “You came up with that yourself?”

  “Something someone I know used to say.”

  Keo didn’t respond, but he wondered if that someone was named Greengrass.

  You still alive in that cell, Greengrass?

  He shoved that question aside and concentrated on getting out of here. As long as Greengrass was still locked away, he wasn’t a problem for Keo to concern himself with. It was maybe a tad harsh, but Keo couldn’t care less if the man ever saw daylight again.

  Speaking of which…

  How the hell was he going to get out of this place? Keo didn’t know where he and Pressley were or if he’d even been in this part of the building before. He assumed he had because there really weren’t that many intersections to force him to make a choice when it came to which directions to take. It was either left or right, and had been since they left the room where Pressley was being kept.

  So why did every hallway so far look so different?

  Man, I’m lost. I’m pretty sure I’m lost.

  Or it could have just been the lights. Or lack thereof. The monotonous gray walls only added to that problem. Couldn’t the guy who built this place have put some kind of markers to let people know where they were? A nice You are here on a map like in any second-rate mall would have been ideal.

  You know what would be even more ideal? Not being here, in this situation right now.

  He sneaked a look over at Pressley, who had moved forward to walk beside him. Keo had purposefully slowed down enough that she didn’t have any choice but to catch up. If his present traveling companion was still feeling the effects of her wounds (and those tiny drops of blood she was still leaving in her wake, but appeared to be oblivious to), she was doing a very good job of hiding it. Either that, or her pills were working faster than his were.

  “Greengrass,” Pressley said after a while.

  “What about him?”

  “You sure he’s dead?”

  Sure? No. Hoping? Very much yes, Keo thought, but he said, “Yeah.”

  “Why are you so sure?”

  “I checked his vitals after they took you.”

  Pressley didn’t respond right away.

  Then, finally, “But are you sure.”

  “I’ve been doing this long enough to know when a man is dead.”

  “‘This?’ What is ‘this?’”

  “Death, Pressley. I’ve been dealing in death even before you picked up your first carbine. Trust me, I know when someone’s dead, and Greengrass was dead when I last saw him.”

  Pressley stared at him, clearly trying to read his face.

  He looked right back at her. “But you’re free to go make sure, if you want. Don’t ask me to waste my time going with you, though. I’m not even sure I know where the hell I’m going right now.”

  “If you’re sure he’s dead…” She let the rest trail off as she looked away. “Are you lost?”

  “Can’t be lost if I don’t know where I’m going in the first place.”

  “There has to be a way in and out of this place. There always is. Did you see one while they were walking you through it?”

  Keo shook his head. “Every hallway they led me through was as dark as this one, but I don’t remember seeing a way in or out. Nothing obvious, anyway.”

  “A door? A room?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  “Well, you’re useless.”

  “I saved your life, didn’t I?”

  “Except for that—”

  Keo reached over and grabbed Pressley’s arm.

  She glared at him. “What t
he hell are you doing?”

  Keo nodded forward. “That’s new.”

  “What?”

  “The intersection.”

  He let go of her arm, and Pressley looked up the hallway at the intersection—two hallways extending left and right.

  “I don’t remember seeing that before,” Keo said. “But then it was dark—just like it is now—and I might have missed it the first time.”

  “So which way?”

  “Which part of ‘I don’t remember seeing that before’ didn’t you understand?”

  Pressley grunted. He wasn’t quite sure if that was annoyance or pain. Maybe a little of both? “Just choose a direction.”

  “That’s your big plan? Choose a random direction?”

  “What’s yours?”

  “I don’t know, maybe think about it first—”

  The echoing pop-pop-pop of automatic rifle fire coming from somewhere in the left hallway made the decision for them. It was faded, distant, and not something that was immediate and dangerous.

  They both quickly slid against the wall—Keo taking the right side while Pressley took the left—and aimed their weapons forward, waiting to blast the first body that appeared in front of them from either adjoined hallway.

  Except no one emerged from around the turns even though the faint crackles of gunfire continued.

  Pressley shot him a quick look. “Doesn’t sound close.”

  Keo shook his head. “They’re not.”

  “Outside?”

  “Maybe we’re close to that exit.”

  “But who are they shooting at?”

  “Who cares? As long as it’s not at us.”

  The pop-pop-pop of more small arms, still sounding like a world away.

  “Maybe we should wait it out,” Keo said. “I’m not excited about running into the middle of a gun battle.”

  “You want to just sit here and do nothing?” Pressley asked.

  “Don’t you?”

  “No,” Pressley said, and hurried forward, then around the corner.

  Keo sighed, thought, Goddamned Buckies, and followed her around the turn with the shotgun—

  —and almost bumped into Pressley.

  She had stopped suddenly and was aiming her weapon at two figures (Civilian clothes. Armed. Cordine City locals.) trying desperately to close a heavy metal door. The two had no idea Pressley was there as they drove their entire bodies into the door, their boots fighting for leverage against the floor underneath them.