The Assassin's Prayer

by Mark Allen

  As he imagined Karen screaming as Macklin opened her wrists, Kain’s skin crawled as if covered with a million unseen parasites. A single burning question rose in his mind. Looking into Macklin’s soulless eyes he asked, “Why?”

  “Because she was there,” Macklin said. “I actually came for you that day, but you weren’t home, so I played with your wife instead. I did it to fuck with you, Kain, simple as that. Your wife died to amuse me.”

  In a voice as barren as bleached bone, Kain said, “You’re going to die, Macklin. I’m going to take your life from you.”

  Macklin’s breath plumed in the brisk air as he said, “You can’t kill what is immortal, Kain. I am a force of nature, an act of God, and you are mine. I can take you at will. The only reason you continue to breathe is because I enjoy the game, the hunt. You are the best the Company has ever seen, by far the best prey I have ever had the pleasure of pursuing. You are my trophy, Kain, and in the end, I will take you down. But not until I have broken you, taken from you everything and everyone you hold dear.”

  Kain knew he had just glimpsed the inner mechanisms of Macklin’s obscene mind. “You’re one sick son of a bitch,” he said.

  “And you’re a dead man who will spend the rest of your existence with an itch between your shoulder blades, always wondering when the bullet with your name on it will come calling.”

  Kain tried to rise. He imagined he could hear Karen in the cold grave beneath him, crying out for vengeance. The thought was enough to drive him insane.

  The muzzle of Macklin’s .357 thudded against Kain’s forehead, driving him back down into a sitting position. “Don’t be a fool,” Macklin said. “I could kill you before you even got to your feet.”

  “I’m not afraid to die. Hell, there are some days I think about doing it myself.”

  “Next time you think about it, go ahead and get it done. It will save me a bullet.”

  Kain exploded into motion. It was a suicide play, but he didn’t care. He was too full of fury to sit still any longer. He had to do something, even if that something got him killed. He threw himself to his left, toward where he had tossed his gun. There might not be a magazine in it, but there was still a bullet in the chamber. And one bullet was all he needed.

  He heard the heavy tread of Macklin’s boots behind him. Why didn’t the bastard just shoot him? Kain waited for the roar of the gun. At this range, the .357 would blow his spine right in two. Not a nice way to die.

  Kain’s hand closed around his Colt .45. Knowing he had no chance but determined to try anyway, he rolled onto his back and raised his gun. The black bore of Macklin’s Magnum filled his vision. The hammer was cocked. Less than a pound of pressure and the gun would fire. Kain aimed the .45 at the glistening scar on Macklin’s throat, but there was no way to kill Macklin without dying himself. Even if he put one right through Macklin’s head, the nerves would go spastic, compress the .357's trigger, and turn Kain’s face into so much dog food. He would have his vengeance, but was it worth the price?

  “Before you decide whether or not to pull that trigger,” Macklin said, “there’s something you should know. Right now one of my men is keeping your new lady friend company.”

  Kain’s jaw clenched. God, I want to kill this bastard so bad.

  “So,” Macklin continued, “you can shoot me, but the girl will die. Because if I don’t call my man and tell him I am safe, then his orders are to put two bullets in her head. Normally I would say only one, but since she proved once before that one bullet to her head isn’t enough to kill her, I told my man to use two this time. I hate making the same mistake twice.”

  Kain lowered his gun. There was no other choice. Larissa was an innocent. He couldn’t sacrifice her life on the altar of his own vengeance.

  Macklin smirked. “Ain’t love grand?”

  “Just so we’re clear, Macklin, I’m going to nail your fucking ass to the wall.”

  “Maybe, but not tonight.” Macklin lowered the Magnum. “Tonight we both live to die another day.” The gun disappeared into the folds of his coat. “Wait here for fifteen minutes. Once I’m convinced you’re not following me, I’ll call my man and he’ll leave your girlfriend.”

  “Her name is Larissa.”

  Macklin walked backwards until the darkness swallowed him. His voice floated out of the shadows. “She’s just another blind bitch to me, Kain.”

  Kain crawled around in the dark for the next five minutes, searching for his magazine. When he finally found it, there was a slight ding in the metal where the magazine had struck the stone. But it was just cosmetic damage, nothing that would prevent it from working. Kain slammed the magazine up the well of the .45. He wished he could empty every last round into Macklin’s body. He had learned secrets tonight, secrets that demanded a reckoning, and the knowledge weighed heavy on him.

  He walked over and put his hand on his wife’s marker. The stone felt cold, but not as cold as the rage seething inside him. One day, he vowed. One day I’ll settle all debts with that son of a bitch.

  He waited in the cemetery another ten minutes, alone with the ghosts and his own personal demons, then ran to the Jeep. It was twenty minutes back to the motel. As his headlights carved through the night, Kain knew they were going to be the longest twenty minutes of his life.

  ******

  When Kain opened the door to the motel room, he found the gaping bore of a shotgun shoved in his face, close enough to kiss. He instantly froze. “Larissa,” he said quietly, “it’s me.”

  With a look of relief, she lowered the SPAS-12. “Better safe than sorry,” she said. Her apologetic smile softened her features and amplified her beauty.

  “When did he leave?”

  Larissa laid the shotgun on the bed. “Who?”

  “The guy who was here.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He told her what had happened.

  “There was nobody here,” she said.

  Kain cursed, realizing he had fallen for a bluff. Macklin must be laughing his ass off. He took off his duster and hurled it angrily across the room. He sat down on the edge of the bed and clasped his head in his hands. He didn’t think it was possible to hate someone more than he hated Macklin right now. This hatred eclipsed even the hate he felt toward Silas.

  Kain suddenly realized some of his hatred toward his former best friend was misplaced. Kain had spent five long years believing Silas had not only slept with Karen, but had also caused her to take her own life. But that sin did not belong to Silas, it belonged to Macklin.

  He felt some distant part of his heart tugging at him to forgive Silas, to lay the past to rest. But he had hated Silas so long he didn’t know how to not hate him. Besides, Macklin might have killed Karen, but Silas had bedded her, and that was a hatred Kain could still cling to.

  Lost in his thoughts, Kain didn’t realize Larissa was standing in front of him until she soothingly touched his face. He winced when her fingers touched the gash above his eye where he had fallen against Karen’s gravestone. She pulled her hand back. “You’re hurt,” she said.

  “Just a scalp wound. No big deal.”

  “Well, come into the bathroom and let me clean you up.”

  Kain followed her into the bathroom, lowered the toilet lid, and sat down while she ran a washcloth under some warm water. She wrung it out and turned to him. “Hold still,” she said, leaning forward and, with remarkable accuracy for a blind woman, finding the cut. She gently scrubbed away the crusted blood.

  Her closeness made Kain uncomfortable. She was close enough for him to feel the heat of her body, smell the scent of her skin, and both were leading him down a road of thoughts best left untraveled. The bathroom suddenly seemed stifling hot.

  He abruptly stood up and pushed her aside, rougher than intended. Larissa stumbled and grabbed the towel rack to keep from falling. Kain instantly felt lower than snail shit. He reached for her. “Larissa, I’m sorry.”

  She looked shocked and angry
but more than anything else she looked hurt. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she snapped.

  Kain looked away. “Nothing,” he said. “I just … you and I …” He shook his head. “We just need to get out of here.”

  “I haven’t finished cleaning your cut.”

  “It’ll have to be good enough.” Kain exited the bathroom. “We need to hit the road. Talon knows where we are.”

  “Sometimes I think Talon will always know where we are.” Larissa followed him out of the bathroom. “So where are we going now?”

  Kain shrugged on his duster, slung the duffel bag over his shoulder, and picked up the shotgun. “We’ll figure it out.”

  “Did you get a new vehicle?”

  “No, the Jeep will have to do for now.” Kain felt fresh blood welling up in the gash over his eye and wiped it away. Once they found someplace to hole up he would have Larissa put a couple stitches in it. Another scar to add to his collection. He reached for the door knob, then froze.

  He telegraphed his tension to Larissa. “What is it?” she asked.

  Kain listened to the whap-whap-whap of approaching rotor blades. Their numbers had just run down to zero. “Chopper,” he said.

  “Talon?”

  “Who else?” Kain felt the hot rush of pre-combat adrenalin surge through him in sharp contrast to the coldness of self-rage. He’d played right into Macklin’s hands like a fool, allowing himself to be herded back to Larissa so that Macklin could take them both out together. The bastard could have easily killed him at the cemetery and then offed Larissa at his leisure, but that wasn’t good enough for a fucked-in-the-head psychopath like Macklin. He wanted Kain to hold another dead woman in his arms. That was Macklin’s sick, twisted little game and Kain had played along like a puppet blind to who was jerking his strings. The thought enraged him and drove him into explosive action.

  He dragged Larissa down between the beds. The chopper was right outside, the rotor blades concussing the air, the sound deafening. The window suddenly exploded, blown apart by machine-gunfire. A .50 caliber, judging from its sound. Bullets chewed into the beds, shredding the sheets and pillows.

  Kain pressed his hand against Larissa’s back, keeping her down on the floor. He could feel her trembling. “Keep your head down!” he barked, drawing his Colt .45 and raising his own head just enough to see the chopper, an unmarked UH-1 Huey similar to the gunships used in Vietnam, hovering just outside the shattered window. The rotor-wash whipped up clouds of churning dust from the parking lot, forcing Kain to squint through the grit.

  A spotlight mounted on a swivel under the chopper’s nose suddenly powered on and probed the room with a lance of harsh white light. Kain immediately double-tapped two rounds straight up the beam. The light went out in a burst of glass and sparks. Right now darkness was their ally and Kain wanted all of it he could get.

  He dropped back down between the two bullet-riddled beds as the machine-gunner strafed the room again. Huge holes appeared in the walls. The room’s flimsy furniture exploded like matchsticks. Kain knew the .50 would destroy the room in no time. They could not stay here. Larissa’s terrified sobs reached his ears despite the chaotic roar of combat.

  The instant the machine-gun stopped hammering, Kain rose and fired six shots at the black shape behind the .50. He saw the target jerk to the side as a slug clipped his shoulder. The machine-gun swung wildly on its mount as Kain emptied the rest of the clip into the guy’s head, punching him backward with his skull spewing blood.

  Kain quickly ejected the spent magazine. Grabbed a fresh one out of the duffel bag. Slammed it up the well. Jacked a round into the chamber. They had only a few seconds before another gunner would take the dead man’s place at the .50. He had to get Larissa out of here right now. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go!”

  When he opened the door, a dust-storm whipped into the room. Squinting against the stinging spray, he saw that the chopper was hovering directly over the Jeep, the vehicle’s outline just barely visible through the haze of dust from the rotor-wash. If they could make it to the Jeep, the chopper’s own belly would shield them for a few seconds, giving them a chance to escape. A slim chance, sure, but Kain would take it. There were no other options.

  He glanced up through the dust and debris. Someone else now manned the .50, because its muzzle swung toward him, seeking target acquisition. They had to move. Now.

  He grabbed Larissa’s hand and dashed for the Jeep. The night exploded with noise as the machine-gunner opened fire. A torrent of .50 caliber slugs nipped at their heels, gouging holes in the parking lot. Kain felt pieces of pulverized pavement pluck at his legs like shrapnel.

  Then they were under the chopper, out of the line of fire. They scrambled into the Jeep as the chopper crabbed to the right, trying to give the gunner a clear shot. The Jeep would provide little protection from the .50; the massive rounds would tear the vehicle apart. They had to get the hell out of here and fast.

  Kain turned the key, knowing they were dead if the engine didn’t start on the first try, but it did. He dropped it into Reverse. The tires smoked as he whipped the Jeep around in a tight arc. He then shifted into Drive and punched the gas. He took a left out of the motel parking lot and sped up the hill past the local high school, heading towards Hudson Falls, the next town over. He needed to find some open road where he could maneuver.

  He barreled into Hudson Falls at 85 mph, weaving in and out of traffic. As he whipped past the town park, the screech of his tires reverberated off the clustered storefronts lining the street. Pedestrians tossed annoyed glances at him. Annoyance turned to shock when they were nearly bowled off their feet by the chopper flashing just above the roofs in hot pursuit.

  Kain couldn’t actually see the chopper, but he could hear it, clinging to his wake like the shadow of some aerial dragon. His mind raced, sifting through options, discarding them all until there was only one choice left. Since there was no way to lose the chopper, he had to find a way to bring it down.

  At the edge of town, the road he was currently on turned into Route 4, a long stretch of country road that wove through a series of tiny hamlets. Little occupied this stretch save for farms and fields. Here he could make his play with minimal risk of innocents getting caught in the crossfire.

  He hit the town limits in less than ninety seconds, whipped across a four-way intersection onto Route 4 and barely avoided being broadsided by a semi. The trucker blasted his air-horn in irritation but it was drowned out by the roar of the chopper overhead.

  The .50 rattled to life, punching holes in the roof of the Jeep. More bullets blew out the back window, spraying glass shards into the night.

  Larissa flinched as the slugs slammed through metal and glass. She gripped the dashboard. Her face was white. Her knuckles were even whiter. “That was close, wasn’t it?”

  “Too close,” Kain said. He fought to control the Jeep as it raced around a curve. The rear end wanted to slide. The steering wheel shuddered in his hands. The Jeep fishtailed as it came out of the curve. The tires howled in protest as Kain brought it back under control. Cold sweat trickled down his face, stung his eyes.

  He wrenched the wheel to the left as another salvo shot from the chopper’s gun. The slugs missed, slicing into the road. The machine-gunner corrected his aim and tracked a line of fire across the Jeep’s roof again. Bullets pounded into the rear compartment. The leather seats exploded as if Semtex had been buried in the cushions. Larissa screamed and Kain didn’t blame her. He felt like screaming himself.

  They barreled into the hamlet of Kingsbury at 80 mph, little more than a handful of houses clustered around a country deli and a little white church. On the other side, the road straightened, unfolding before the Jeep’s headlights like a long black ribbon. He glanced in the rearview mirror. The chopper was still behind him, a deadly black mass in the sky. But it had dropped lower, now skimming above the road just slightly higher than the Jeep’s roof.

  Which gav
e Kain an idea.

  He held out his right hand to Larissa. “Grenade,” he said.

  “What?”

  “A grenade. Give me a grenade.”

  Larissa leaned forward and dug around in the duffel bag at her feet. After a few moments she pulled out a fragmentation grenade and slapped it into Kain’s waiting palm. He transferred the grenade to his left hand and lowered the driver’s side window. Cool night air rushed into the cab along with the roar of the chopper.

  He glanced in the rearview mirror again. The chopper was still in position. Good. Kain knew he would only get one shot at this. He could see the reflection of stars scattered across the Plexiglass canopy and just make out the shadow-shape of the pilot inside, doing his best to get Kain killed. Okay, asshole, let’s see how you like this.

  He braced his left knee against the bottom of the steering wheel to keep the Jeep straight long enough for him to pull the pin on the grenade. The arming spoon sprang out, triggering the timer. Five seconds to detonation. Kain held it for three, then thrust his arm out the window and tossed the grenade backwards and up. He doubted the pilot even saw it coming.

  It exploded directly in front of the chopper.

  Hot shrapnel shredded the canopy. Sliced through the console. Tore into the pilot’s neck and head. In the hands of a dead man, the chopper lurched like a drunken bird, the rotor blades beating the air like impotent wings as smoke poured from the crippled cockpit.

  Kain glanced at Larissa. He had seen mimes with better skin color. He reached out and touched her hand. “It’s over,” he said. “I got ‘em.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  In the rearview mirror, Kain watched the chopper weaving erratically, spinning first left, then right, inexorably losing what little altitude it had, dipping closer and closer to the ground. C’mon, Kain thought. Eat asphalt. All he wanted to see was the chopper smash into the ground and erupt into a fireball that would signal the end of Black Talon. He just hoped Macklin lived long enough to smell the scent of his own burning flesh.