by Leo Romero
Dom stepped forward and sent him a right hook. Whip Guy swung back, managing to dodge the punch. Dom caught only air, his momentum leaving him open. Whip Guy’s return punch to Dom’s stomach caused him to double over in pain. Whip Guy sent him a bonus uppercut to the chin. The blow made Dom’s jaws clamp, his teeth crunching together. He staggered back, smashing into the wall. He shook off the blow, propelling himself forward toward Whip Guy. Dom raised his fists once more, his breathing ragged. Trixie bent her legs, ready to launch into an attack; if they could get this guy down, then they could escape.
Whip Guy cracked his whip. And in the next instant, that plan went out of the window. In a matter of seconds, the alley filled with masked men. They appeared at both ends of the alley like they’d been waiting there the whole time. Guys draped in black, their eyes their only distinguishing feature, red scarves wrapped around their foreheads. Three, four, five, six of them, armed with machetes.
Dom grabbed Trixie and pulled her in behind him as he backed up against the alley wall; if they got to her they’d have to take him down first. Trixie stood her ground, no shrinking violet. The jihadis closed in, their stances wary; whoever sent them no doubt knew they had taken down orders and so were to be treated with caution. They sandwiched them left and right, keeping a cautious distance.
“What are we gonna do?” Trixie asked.
“I dunno,” Dom answered truthfully, his fists ready, his eyes attempting to lock onto everyone in the semi-circle that had them trapped. He glanced up briefly; there was nothing, just a sandstone wall leading up to balconies that were well out of reach.
The sound of that whip exploding on the air again made his head snap back down. Whip Guy was attempting to menace them. His dark brown eyes danced with glee.
Dom’s heart hammered in his chest like a kettle drum. Sweat was pouring down his cheeks like tears. He knew all about these guys; they liked nothing more than to cut off heads and leave decapitated corpses to rot in the desert sun. His eyes fell upon a machete in a nearby jihaid’s hand. He threw it from one hand to the other, his eyes glimmering with brainwashed insanity. Dom placed a hand in front of Trixie’s chest, letting them know they’d have to get through him first.
“I thought our boys had control of Baghdad,” Trixie said.
“Looks like they haven’t quite got a handle on it yet,” Dom replied, his top lip curled up in disgust.
Dom’s eyes fell on his dart gun lying on the dusty ground; it was well out of reach. If only he could do some kind of Trixie-esque roll over to it, grab it, spin, then bam bam bam, drop em all in an instant. He realized he wasn’t Trixie and that fantasy crashed and burned.
Whip Guy stepped in toward them. Dom reflexively pushed Trixie back and swung a threatening fist on the air, hoping to ward him off. Whip Guy flinched back and cackled, the sound muffled by his mask. It triggered off laughter from the others too. Nasty, lowlife cackling.
“Enjoying the show, assholes?” Dom asked them, his face contorted in hate.
Then, the laughter stopped dead. The jiahdis became still.
Dom’s heart beat steady and hard. The world was a snapshot. They all stared at one another; Dom and Trixie backed into the wall, the jihadis hemming them in a semi-circle.
Everything became still. Dom gulped.
Whip Guy raised his fist in the air and screeched, “Allahu akbar!”
Dom knew what that meant and it wasn’t good. In an instant, they all stormed in.
Dom’s heart exploded into action, pulsing adrenaline around his body. His eyes popped, just as Whip Guy’s whip cut through the air. A field of raised machetes flooded in toward them. Dom threw up his fists, knowing deep down it was futile against the weapons facing them, but there was nothing else he could do. Behind him, Trixie let out a scream; the noise grated on his ears.
Argh, give me a break!
Jihadis with machetes from the front and Trixie’s screeching from the back. It was torture.
She stopped and another noise filled the air, Dom hearing it somewhere at the back of his mind. He was too busy spinning his head left and right, trying to lock eyes on everything at once. As the machetes drew closer, that engine hum morphed into a roar. Through the throng of bodies, he spotted something streaming toward them like a runaway train. He stopped and stared at it with bulging eyes as it zoomed along the dust. A motorcycle was rocketing through the alley toward them. The guy driving it was bent low, his teeth clenched, a patch over one of his eyes. Clutched in his hand was what looked like a broom handle; it stuck out the side of the bike like a lance.
In an instant, the bike was on the jihadi at the back of the cluster.
Trixie grabbed hold of Dom’s shoulder and yanked down. “DUCK!” she screamed. She forced Dom down; he went, his heart leaping up into his throat. A machete swung, slicing the air in two. At the same moment, the motorcycle thundered by. The pole the driver held smashed into the back of a jihadi, knocking him over like a bowling pin. The bike raced on like a juggernaut. It crashed into the legs of another masked thug, sending him sprawling.
The jihadi nearest to Dom and Trixie who’d swung his machete, made it halfway through his attack before the pole smacked him in the back, sending him reeling. He smashed face-first into the wall and fell in a harmless heap next to Dom and Trixie, who were safely ducked down out of the pole’s reach.
Dom kept his gaze fixed on that bike on its relentless charge. Without slowing, it continued, mowing down the jihadis as it slipped by. Two more were dropped like skittles, as the bike whizzed by; a black blur.
Both Dom and Trixie’s heads whipped around to follow it like they were at a tennis match. By that moment, Whip Guy and the other thugs who’d been facing the bike saw what was coming. They either ducked or leaped out of the way. Whip Guy jumped aside and unleashed his whip. It slapped the pole in the driver’s hand, coiling around it like a snake. Whip Guy yanked his whip back, trying to pull the pole from the driver’s grip. The driver jerked back in his seat, but managed to hold on, the momentum on his side. The bike steamed past Whip Guy and the whip twanged as it tightened. Whip Guy’s arm was literally pulled from its socket before he was pulled along. His feet stomped through the dust in a rapid motion before he lost his balance and fell. Now, he was dragged along the alley on his stomach, his whip still coiled around the pole. A harsh, dry scrape reverberated through the alley as the bike continued on its pillage, dispersing the remaining jihadis.
In the space of a few seconds, the bike passed everyone and zipped toward the end of the alley, its engine petering out.
Everything went silent.
Dom’s eyes rolled in their sockets, his breathing raw and ragged. He met Trixie’s bewildered stare. “You okay?” he asked.
“What the hell just happened?” Trixie retorted.
Dom gazed at the sprawled bodies around him in disbelief; they twitched and squirmed. Some were still standing, and they were regaining their bearings.
“We better get outta here!” Dom said, staring at those guys in concern. He grabbed Trixie under her arm and pulled her to her feet.
A thug shook off the shock of the bike attack and focused in on them. He marched over to them, machete in hand.
Dom backed up. “Oh crap!” he said, his gaze fixed on those irate eyes peeking out of that masked face.
The jihadi raised his blade, ready to bring it down. Dom was rooted.
The motorcycle engine began dominating the airwaves; it built up a head of steam, its rasp increasing in volume at a rapid pace. The jihadi let out a roar, just as he went to swing his machete.
Dom winced.
The rumble of the engine intensified into a hot growl that reverberated through the alley. From nowhere, the bike collided with the jihadi’s midriff, knocking him over. He smashed into the dust and stayed there.
Before Dom could even breathe a sigh of relief, the bike came to an abrupt stop next to them. Dom was now staring at a guy with a long gray beard, worry lines crisscrossing what was visible of hi
s tanned face. One brown eye stared back at him as the other was covered in a patch. It was the guy from earlier, the one they thought was tailing them.
He put out a shaking hand. “Get on the bike!” he ordered, an air of jittery urgency to his voice.
Dom and Trixie hesitated.
Rapid footsteps echoed through the alley. More armed jihadis were filing in from the opposite end. The one-eyed man stared back at Dom and Trixie, his visible eye now flashing with insistence. “You can either stay here, or come with me,” he told them. “It’s up to you.”
Dom glanced at Trixie, then over his shoulder at the jihadis as they stormed down the alley their way. “All right, all right,” Dom said, pulling Trixie by the arm toward the bike. The one-eyed guy edged forward in his seat, giving them as much room as possible. Trixie took her seat behind the driver and placed her arms on his shoulders.
Dom stared at the small space for him at the back of the seat. It was a tight squeeze and didn’t look safe. “Oh boy,” he said as he hooked a leg over. He wedged himself in and Trixie was sandwiched between them. Dom planted his feet over Trixie’s, which were already on the footpegs.
“Hold on!” Trixie told him.
Dom clapped his hands on her tight waist.
Trixie yelped.
“Gotcha at last!”
“Cute.” Trixie patted the driver’s shoulders. “Let’s go!” she shouted.
The driver revved the engine, and set off. The momentum pulled Dom back; he tightened his grip on Trixie’s waist and threw himself in toward her. He yanked his neck around. The thugs came to a halt. Dom breathed a sigh of relief as they grew smaller in his view. But it was short lived. Gunshots began to ring out. He instinctively ducked.
“Hold on!” the driver shouted, just as he revved the engine some more. It screamed in Dom’s ears, the wind now rushing past his face.
There was more gunfire, echoing through the tiny shaft of space.
Dom gripped Trixie’s waist for dear life, his body juddering. He ducked his head down. Christ, what the hell’s going on now? How did I get into this? he asked himself.
They raced by Whip Guy’s prone body. He was on his back; his whole front had been scraped clean, his chest and stomach now just a streak of blood. By his side was the pole, his whip still wrapped around one end. Dom grimaced. Something caught his attention at the mouth of the alley. From nowhere, more jihadis had suddenly gathered, blocking their way.
“Oh, crap!” he yelled.
“Hold on!” the driver reiterated.
Dom tightened his grip on Trixie’s waist even more; she yelped. Dom poked his head up to check the front end of the alley. The thugs were congregated there, blocking their exit. Dom rolled his eyes toward the driver; the maniac was smiling. Dom couldn’t tell if it was ’cause Trixie was squeezed up against him or if he was getting an insane joy from going toe-to-toe with jihadis. Either way, the guy was loving it.
He pushed down the throttle some more, and they went even faster. The wind now bulleted past Dom’s face, the alley walls encasing them a sandstone blur. A bunch of bodies now blocked the alley exit. Dom stared at them with trepidation. The bike’s engine buzzed in his mind like an insane giant wasp.
The gap between both parties shortened and neither was backing down; this was a game of chicken that was going all the way. No matter what. Dom saw guns raise their way, just as the driver zoomed in toward them.
Dom squinted his eyes; he didn’t wanna watch. The driver grinded the throttle, his teeth still clenched in that hideous grin, the wind threatening to pull all their faces clean off. The jihadis had their guns raised. Their eyes glimmered with a staunch fearlessness. It was them or us. Their trigger fingers curled back.
Dom let out a roar. At the same time, the driver’s mouth opened up and a loud cackle blasted out of his throat. It was the wild cackle of a man who was past the point of no return, a man who was away with the frickin’ fairies for real. A man with a suicide mission, with nothing left to lose. A man enjoying the thrill of near death.
He ground down the throttle with everything he had; the bike went into overdrive, the engine pushed beyond its capabilities.
The gap between them was eaten up and there was no turning back. The triggers had been pressed, the moves made.
The throng of bodies grew massive in Dom’s view. He got a glimpse of the whites of their eyes, his heart turning to lead, just as the bike smashed into the heart of the mob of thugs. There was a massive jolt; Dom jumped in his seat. The force and speed of the bike scattered them like balls in a pool breakoff shot. They flew left and right, slamming into the dusty street beyond the alley.
Dom continued his wailing as the driver burst out of the alley and whipped away to the right without slowing, his cackling unrelenting. Dom whirled his head around; a disorganized mass of bodies lay on the street behind them. Some jihadis were already chasing on foot. The driver downed the throttle, and they left them behind. Dom swayed in his seat as the driver twisted left and right through the dirt streets. They soon joined the highway once more, and the driver was still cackling heartily.
Dom grabbed his head. Man, who the hell’s this guy now?
As they disappeared into the heavy Baghdad traffic, the one-eyed driver still laughed like a wildman.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The one-eyed guy first pulled into a side street, then into an apartment block. He parked the motorbike next to a row of similar bikes, finally killing the engine’s noise. Before either Dom or Trixie could fire any questions at him, he jumped off the bike. “Hurry!” he said in a jittery voice. “We have to get inside. The Claw Order have minions all over Baghdad.”
Dom stepped off the bike. “Who are you?” he asked.
“And how do you know about the Claw Order?” Trixie added.
The one-eyed guy showed them his trembling palms. “I’ll tell you everything once we’re inside. Please hurry.” He helped Trixie off the bike and took a paranoid look around the parking area. There was no one in sight. “Follow me,” he said, before setting off for a stairwell.
Trixie followed first. She turned back and glanced at Dom. Dom shrugged in return. The guy seemed all right, and he did just save their lives. And he somehow knew about the Claw Order. But, boy was he jittery.
The guy pressed himself up against the wall of the stairwell and appeared to be listening for something. Dom frowned. “What are you—”
“Shh!” the one-eyed guy rasped, cutting him off. He waited for another second, and moved up the steps one at a time, his head spinning left and right.
Dom glanced at Trixie and shrugged again. “Maybe he’s got a fear of stairs,” he suggested to her in a whisper.
They made it to the next flight and he was up to the same thing again; listening, rolling his one wide eye around in its socket. Man, if this is what this guy has to go through every time he comes back home, he should think about moving.
They finally reached the third floor where he poked his head out into the landing and looked around. Something popped out of the landing. The guy gasped. The black cat hissed at him. The guy growled and shooed it away. The cat bolted down the steps past them all.
The guy turned to face them. “I hate those things!” he said with a shiver. He had another look out into the landing. When satisfied the coast was clear, he stepped into the landing and ushered them both inside with him. “Keep your heads down,” he said, before storming off at a fast pace, his head bowed.
They followed in the same manner, Dom feeling like it was the best thing to do for some reason, even though there was no real discernable danger. Further up, the guy stopped at a door and listened, while he fished a key out from his pocket. He threw the door open and dived inside.
Dom and Trixie found him pressed up against the wall of the hallway, his hands splayed on the walls, listening intently to... something. On spotting them standing in the doorway, he threw his hand across the air. “Come in! Shut the door!” he ordered in a hoarse w
hisper.
Dom and Trixie glanced at one another. “Ladies first,” said Dom.
“The first time you display a modicum of chivalry, and I wish you hadn’t bothered.”
“Hey, come on, this guy’s harmless, I mean look at him.”
The guy was still pressed up against the wall, his eye rolling.
“Harmless.”
Trixie gave him a sideways look. “Yeah right,” she said as she reluctantly stepped past Dom and into the guy’s home. Dom grinned to himself as he followed up and shut the door behind them.
The guy finally relieved himself of the corridor wall. “Come through. We need to talk.” He led them through into his living room, which was more of a study room. Running along two walls were different sized and colored bookcases stuffed with books. An untidy desk sat in the center of the room, open books strewn across it.
The guy raced over to the window and grabbed hold of the blind. “I knew Clement would one day send someone new in.” He checked outside before pulling the blind down. He turned to face them. “I didn’t realize he’d send in two.”
“Who’s Clement?” asked Dom.
“More importantly, who are you?” Trixie followed up.
The guy sighed, the sound akin to a stop valve being released. He showed them his palms. “Please accept my apologies. It’s rude of me not to introduce myself. My name is Faisal Malik.”
“I’m Trixie. This is Dom.”
Dom raised his hand. “Hi.”
“Thanks for saving our asses back there,” Trixie said.
“It was my pleasure.”
“But, how did you know—”
“There is much to explain,” Faisal interjected. “But first, a warning. I too was young and enthusiastic about the crusade you have been sent on.”
“Crusade?” Dom echoed.
“Indeed. You seek Rah, don’t you? The head of the Claw Order.”
Dom and Trixie glanced at one another, but said nothing.
Faisal nodded knowingly. “I know, because Clement once sent me to eliminate Rah. Much to my naivety.”