Judgement and Wrath jh-2

by Matt Hilton

  Following the edge of the drainage channel, he could gain time and distance on the fleeing Bradley. He took off at a lope, peering back and over his shoulder as he did so. Giving up the cover of the long grass was great for manoeuvrability, but it made him visible to anyone chasing him. The helicopter would be back and he didn't want to find himself in the sights of an FBI sharpshooter. Bradley's crashing flight through the grass was all he needed to tell he was still on his trail. He moved along parallel to the sounds, seeing every now and then a flash of clothing through the thinner stands of reeds.

  Dantalion was aware that he carried injuries. Three bullet wounds were not to be trifled with. The one in his leg was the most troubling, and the most likely to become infected in this environment of clinging roots and decaying vegetable matter. A fall in the mud was only one stumble away.

  He pressed on regardless, keeping pace with Bradley.

  He was so close now that he could hear the rasp of Bradley's breath, and his sobs of sheer terror. Still under the influence of the sodium amatol, Bradley would be in a state of severe confusion. His last lucid memory would be when Dantalion shot the FBI man and jabbed a syringe into Bradley's skin. The rest would seem like a jumble of disjointed images interspersed with black gulfs of nothingness. He would slowly be coming awake in this world of green and brown prison bars, knowing he must escape, but not why or from whom he was running.

  Maybe he should simply put a bullet through Bradley's head and have done, get out of this stinking marsh, and contemplate less muddy alternatives for luring Hunter, Rink and Marianne Dean to him. But he had come this far, so would see out his original plan. A gun was all he needed to ensure that the privileged scion of the Jorgenson Empire would do exactly as he commanded. A harsh word and a nasty promise and Bradley would give up his flight for freedom.

  Dantalion swung round so that he was now facing the young man blindly thrashing his way through the long grass.

  'OK, enough is enough, Bradley. Come on out now.' He lifted the semi-automatic handgun to add emphasis to the implied threat that there would be no second chances.

  Bradley came to a halt. He held his breath, hunched over like a prey animal caught in the sights of an eagle. Dantalion's words would have carried like those God spoke to Moses from the burning bush — only a little wetter.

  'You have three seconds to comply,' Dantalion added. 'One?…'

  Bradley turned and crashed back the way he'd come, yowling something unintelligible.

  Dantalion charged after Bradley, then, as he overtook the fleeing man, he pushed his way through the bamboo-like stalks to intercept him. Bradley saw him coming, and there was recognition in his face that no amount of sodium amatol could conceal. Dantalion brought up the Glock, aiming it directly at Bradley's throat. Bradley skidded to a halt. But even the dark unwinking eye of a handgun couldn't compel him to stop and face his nemesis. He lurched sideways, dodging past Dantalion's left arm that groped in empty space as it tried to snag him. He was sinuous in his attempt at avoiding the clutching fingers with their long, discoloured nails and scaly flesh. And even in his irritation at not catching hold of his quarry, Dantalion felt a pang that people found his touch repulsive. The aversion that most people experienced when Dantalion laid hands upon them had often been a major weapon in his favour, but he'd always longed for that singular encounter when someone would reach out and take his hand, without squirming or averting their gaze. The last person to do so had been his mother. Moments before he'd pushed his grandfather's rifle against her medulla oblongata and sent her to the longed-for reunion with his father with a swift jerk of the trigger.

  Bradley charged deeper into the grass before twisting to the side and racing for the open ground he'd spotted. Dantalion kept pace with him, so that Bradley was mere yards ahead when he burst through the last stand of grass and on to the embankment above the foul-smelling ditch. He lifted the Glock. His finger danced on the trigger, but he did not shoot. He wished to be facing Bradley when the boy died. He wanted to look into his eyes and watch the soul die behind them. He wanted to hear the final exhalation of breath, wanted to taste it on his lips.

  'You are prolonging your death, Bradley. Is that really what you want? Why not take fate head on like an honourable man? Turn around, Bradley, and I will kill you cleanly and painlessly. Should you choose to continue running, there will be a worse alternative.'

  Bradley couldn't possibly have understood the implications of the choices Dantalion offered. He didn't stop running and he didn't turn around.

  Dantalion lifted the Glock so that he was running with his arm extended, legs pumping high to avoid stumbling on the uneven ground. 'OK, then, Bradley. Have it your way!'

  The Glock's report was startlingly loud in this wilderness. Animals shocked by the sudden bang gave voice to their fear, and terrified birds broke from the cover of the long grass and launched themselves heavenward.

  Bradley crumpled to the ground, landing so heavily that his upper body dug a trench in the soft earth. He gave a groan of agony as he half-rolled with his own momentum, then Dantalion was over him and the Glock was pointed directly at the back of Bradley's head. Bradley began to mewl like a cat, and his fingers stretched as the agony shrieking through his body sought outlet.

  'Hurts like hell, doesn't it?' Dantalion shot a second bullet through the back of the same knee he'd just demolished. Bradley screamed. Dantalion kicked him over on to his back. He turtled up, hugging his damaged knee against his chest.

  'You son of a bitch!'

  'Don't,' Dantalion warned. 'Don't say anything about my mother.'

  Then he shot Bradley again, this time through the bones of the foot of his right leg.

  'Do feel free to tell me where Marianne is. Do that and I'll make the next shot count. The pain will end, Bradley.'

  Bradley was in a place beyond comprehension. Dantalion's whispery voice wasn't registering; not when his entire being was screaming out in agony. Dantalion cocked his head, bird-like.

  'I'm afraid you've outlived your usefulness,' he told the unheeding man. Then he aimed the Glock at the centre of Bradley's face. 'Your choice, Bradley. Tell me where Marianne is and I will kill you cleanly.' He lowered his aim so it was below the Kevlar vest. 'If not, I'll gut shoot you and leave you for the alligators.'

  In a moment of clarity, Bradley stared up at him. The young man's face was contorted with pain, but it couldn't hide his revulsion. 'Go to hell,' he spat.

  'No doubt about it,' Dantalion agreed. 'But you'll be there before me.'

  Bradley sneered. 'Yeah? Well I'll say hello to your mother, shall I? Stands to reason that bitch will be there too.'

  'I told you not to speak about my mother.'

  'Tough shit, man!' Bradley yelled. 'If she's anything like you she's an evil, ugly, diseased old bitch.'

  Dantalion's head swung from side to side.

  'My mother was beautiful.'

  'Yeah, right!' Bradley fought himself up to a sitting position. Beads of cold sweat broke along his hairline. 'So it must have been your father who was pig-ugly, then?'

  Dantalion blinked his rheumy eyes.

  'Ha! Thought so. You don't even know your father, do you? You're just another bastard born from a drugged-up whore!'

  Dantalion felt a quiver of rage build in him. Bradley's words went beyond the insults he'd endured all his life. Aimed at himself, other people's insults had fuelled him, built him into the killer that he'd become, but he would not stand by while this pig of a boy cast aspersions on his mother. He loved his mother. He had proven the depths of his love when he'd sent her to be with his father rather than keep her all to himself. He could have been selfish, but, no. He had done her a kindness, even though he wanted his mother to be his for all eternity.

  He pulled the trigger and the Glock barked like an angry dog.

  40

  The bang of a gun happened so close by I could have sworn that I felt the pressure of displaced air in my inner ear. It took less than a
moment for it to register that the gun had been fired many yards to my left and it was an echo effect of the rippling grasses that made it sound so close.

  Dantalion had made an effort at concealing the car, but I'd discovered the abandoned car within minutes of disembarking from the chopper. I checked it for Bradley's corpse, and — thankfully — found it empty. Two separate trails led away through the tall grass and at random I chose the nearest to follow. When I'd dropped from the helicopter I'd sunk almost to my knees into viscous mud. Water had splashed up my body and I had to take out the Ka-bar knife and wipe it clean on some scrub. It made sense to keep hold of it. My SIG was in my other hand. I moved through the green ocean in a crouch with both my weapons poised for killing.

  The last time I'd stalked an enemy through grasses like these was on an island in the Indian Ocean. Sinhala villagers had been butchered by a faction of terrorists and my team was sent in to punish those responsible. The terrorists were a particularly devout group of fanatics prepared to die for their beliefs. They were known to carry cyanide capsules, preferring suicide to capture. It was a good compromise. We caught the murdering pigs and made them chew on their own capsules, but still shot them in their final seconds. Sounds brutal, but the sight of headless women and children is enough to make you forget your humanity.

  So does an old lady sprawled across her own table with a bullet through her heart.

  Moving through the whispering grasses, I thought back to how Rink and I, and half-a-dozen of our comrades, had used the cover of the elephant grass to get so close to the men we hunted that we could've reached out and snatched them one by one. It was the same now. I'd moved to within a couple of yards of Dantalion and the white-faced freak wasn't even aware of my presence.

  He was pointing his gun down at the floor, and it took me a moment to realise that Bradley was there, concealed from my view by a dip in the ground. Dantalion leaned over him, and for the briefest time I saw one of Bradley's arms waving him back. He was still alive then. Dantalion fired his gun again. Bradley began screaming. I lifted my own SIG, only for the damn thing to jam on me. Bradley was still shouting, even after Dantalion shot him a third time, and I guessed that the man was torturing Bradley by shooting his extremities. I had moments to save Bradley, the seconds ticking down. However, with my gun jammed I had no other weapon than the Ka-bar. I could throw the knife, but there was always the chance that I'd miss. Then it would be my bare hands against Dantalion's gun, and bullets would always be faster than my fists.

  It was a risk, but I didn't think that Dantalion was ready to kill Bradley yet. I slipped backwards into the longer grass, giving me the cover I needed while I disengaged the slide on my gun. I'm a fan of my modified SIG-Sauer because it has no safety to snag on clothing, and the sights are removed for the same reason. Normally it serves me well. I could fire a thousand rounds in quick succession and it would never jam. It was pure bad luck that the gun had failed me this time at the very moment I needed it most. Typically, I found that it was the bullet and not the gun that had let me down. I quickly ejected the jammed round, then racked the slide a second time, ejecting a second. Happy that the gun was good to go, I moved back towards Dantalion.

  Both their voices were raised. Bradley was more angered than terrified and he was goading Dantalion with insults about his heritage. Dantalion was rising to the bait. His face looked like molten wax as he stepped over the top of Bradley. It was now or never.

  I fired.

  So did Dantalion.

  But I had fired first and my bullet hit him in the meat of his right shoulder. Blood puffed into the air. Dantalion was knocked sidelong and his finger tightened reflexively on the trigger, firing off round after round. He made a high-pitched howl and toppled out of sight. I heard a splash and saw a gout of dirty water erupt into the air. The stench of rotting vegetation filled my senses.

  Immediately I came out of hiding. My bullet had hit the killer, but it wasn't a mortal wound. Only once I had put a wad of lead through his skull or his heart would I relax. I moved from the grass on to an embankment over a drainage ditch where I saw Bradley had survived. He was sorely wounded through his right leg, but he'd live.

  'Did you get him?' he asked hopefully.

  'Not as clean as I wanted to.'

  I stepped towards the ditch.

  The water was putrid, murky and full of weeds. Scum on the surface had been broken and an undulating circle showed where Dantalion had gone under. There was no sign of him. Part of me hoped that he'd been entangled in the weeds and drowned, his lungs filling with the rancid water, but then a greater part wanted to kill him outright. Things had become personal between us.

  Three times I fired into the water. Maybe it was a waste of ammunition, but if he was down there I didn't want him coming back uninjured. I waited for blood to find its way to the surface, but I saw no sign of it. Dantalion had used the dirty water for cover. He'd have to come up soon, and close by, but it was awkward to cover two directions at once.

  'Where is he?' Bradley hissed.

  'Quiet,' I snapped. I took a step backwards so that I didn't offer a target from below the water, then stood poised with my SIG, waiting for the tell-tale eruption of water as Dantalion would make his play.

  But then something intervened to take away all hope of hearing Dantalion resurface. The shriek of turbines and the whop, whop, whop of rotor blades were suddenly horrendously loud above me. My first thought was that Kaufman had returned to give support from the air. But that summation lasted only as long as it took for the pilot on a loud hailer to shout orders at me.

  'This is the FBI. Lower your weapon or we will be forced to shoot.'

  It was a sleek black craft. One of the McDonnell Douglas 530s that SAC Kaufman had brought in for back up. The 'Little Bird' hung in the air and an FBI sharpshooter sat in the doorway with his scope aimed directly at my chest.

  'Drop your weapon!'

  Bad luck was coming my way in spades that day.

  To the chopper crew I was the one standing over a severely wounded man and it must have looked like my gun that was responsible for shooting him. Fair enough under the circumstances, but no way was I about to give up my weapon; not when I knew that Dantalion was close by and would be seeking revenge.

  It left me only one recourse. I rushed headlong into the long grass. The sharpshooter immediately fired and high velocity rounds peppered the earth behind me and cut fronds from the grass so that they sifted around me. I ran harder. The chopper had the advantage of a hawk's-eye view, not to mention a heat-seeking FLIR scope that would pick me out in seconds, but to stand still meant giving up my weapon and leaving me vulnerable to the killer under the water. I ran full sprint, slashing at the tough grass with my Ka-bar, trying to get out of the line of sight of the chopper pilot. It would take him the best part of thirty seconds to bring the chopper about, realise I was out of sight, then decide to switch to the heat-seeking camera on the nose of the cockpit. In that time I would be in a more opportune position to protect myself from the over-eager sharpshooter.

  The loud hailer sounded again and the McDonnell Douglas swooped overhead, the downwash of the rotors knitting the grass over my head. As soon as it was beyond me I turned on my heel and sprinted back to Bradley.

  Bradley had heaved himself up on to his elbows in the few seconds I'd been gone. I crashed out of the long grass and skidded to a halt at his side. His face was full of pain, and not a little bewilderment.

  'What are they doing?'

  'They think I'm the fuckin' bad guy,' I told him. And I was going to have to put them right. The problem being I still had a wounded man to protect from his would-be killer. 'Sorry, Bradley, but this might hurt.'

  I grasped him under his armpits, pulled him bodily on top of me so that he was sitting in my lap like an overgrown child. Then I jammed the Ka-bar into the earth beside me, and held my right arm high, so that the sharpshooter could see I had my finger through the trigger guard, but that my SIG was suspende
d upside down and no immediate threat.

  'Holy shit!' Bradley said, with the realisation that I was going to use him as a shield. 'What if they shoot me?'

  'They won't do that,' I told him, confidently. 'And anyway, you're wearing a Kevlar vest.'

  'They could hit my head!'

  'Nah, they'll fire for centre mass. Only sure way of hitting the target.'

  'What about the killer? He won't think twice about shooting me in the head.'

  'Then you'll just have to count on me getting him first.'

  'Goddamn?…'

  'Yeah,' I agreed. 'Not good odds, Bradley, but it's all we've got at the minute.'

  Then I told him what I wanted him to do.

  We sat like that until the gunship did a loop and returned to its starting position. The chopper hovered over us and once again I was in the sights of the sniper scopes. My head was the only visible target, but my emphatic gesturing with the upside-down gun meant that I wasn't going to experience my last moments with the smell of Bradley's fear in my nostrils.

  A second 'Little Bird' screamed into view. This one was about two hundred yards out, and it swept over the open field from the west. Passing over the top of the first chopper, it tilted and raced off over the long grass behind me. The combined roar of both choppers drowned out both Bradley's and my exhortations for them to back off.