Sacremon (Harmony War Series Book 1)

by Michael Chatfield

  Tyler hummed as his rifle chugged again, sending projectile after projectile through rival gang members.

  The W3C chattered off rounds, the rival gang members that could make it to cover were returning fire; the marketplace had erupted into a warzone.

  Mark ducked behind the stall the man he had killed was standing in front of; he raised his hand, letting the blade slip back up his sleeve, twitching his triceps for the smart cloth to hold it in place. He checked his pistol making sure the well-used gun was charged and loaded.

  Once his blade was back in place he fingered the pistol with his right hand.

  “Alright Brother, you've got two coming up on your left, shotguns,” Tyler reported.

  Mark held the pistol close to his chest, coming around the side of the stall, pushing the gun out from him and firing into the two shotgun wielding thugs.

  The first went down; the second was so close behind the first that they only got grazed by the rounds coming out of the first. Their first shot slammed into the side of the stall Mark was hiding behind. Mark ducked back as the shotgun went off, hitting the red dirt where he had just been crouched.

  Mark saw the W3C crew spreading out, Wes was coordinating getting the boss to safety and letting the forward guys keep the enemy gang at bay.

  So no support coming from that side. Mark came back around the side of the stall, firing at the attackers, trying to keep the bastards heads down more than anything.

  He caught the second shotgunner trying to get up, they’d tripped on the first shotgunner’s corpse and went sprawling.

  Mark didn’t give them time to get up, putting two rounds in them; it looked like two fist blew out of their back as they slumped in the dirt. Blood pooled underneath them.

  Mark ducked back into cover; death wasn’t enough to faze him now.

  “Dimi give me some cover; I'm going to make a run for the alleyway to my left,” he said, holstering his pistol and pulling out his rifle.

  “Got you covered man,” Dimi said back, her rifle firing more frequently as Mark ducked and ran, putting his big legs to work as a few rounds chattered around him adding to the red dust swirls behind him.

  “Oli, how is the alleyway on the left?” Mark asked as he made it to an alley way just ten meters behind it.

  “Umm, it's clear Mark, yeah.” Oli said, sounding as if his stomach was about to rebel against him.

  Mark peered out from his cover, his rifle leading first. The way boss and Wes had drilled weapon handling and how to fight in urban areas time and time again, it was why W3C was one of the hardest gangs in all of Westerly Sector.

  Mark sent a stream of rounds at a stall made from discarded electronics and what looked like broken a piano.

  The bursts ripped through the piano, catching whoever was on the other side.

  Mark fired some more bursts at the more adventurous enemy gang members before running for the alley way where he had spotted a group of the attackers.

  “Mother fucker!” He yelled as he slipped on the gore in the alleyway.

  He got up shaking the red dust encrusted blood from his duster.

  “Fuck Mark,” Oli said, letting out a sigh as he lowered his shotgun.

  Mark saw the boy’s hands were shaking as he put the butt of the shotgun into the dirt and leaned his head against the barrel.

  Mark didn't have to ask what happened Exinie was looking up at the sky with glassy eyes, a hole the size of Mark's fist through her chest.

  The enemy gang members must have been turned to shredded mince from Oli's shotgun; the alley way had channelled the deadly cone of its fire.

  Mark moved to Exinie, she was fourteen years old, a shy girl but hard. Mark had seen something familiar in her, but now he pushed those memories away.

  “You did good kid.” Mark said, putting one hand on Oli's shoulder in reassurance.

  Oli shuddered but looked up at Mark, his eyes covered by the dusty goggles all Slum-dwellers used.

  “Thanks,” he said, his voice weak and so very young.

  You're saying he's young, but you're only seventeen yourself!

  Mark patted his shoulder again and moved past the corpses of the toughs. People grew up fast in Earth's slums.

  “I've got one holding out behind that stall you raked and three more in the stall across from them. If you can get the first guy then you'll have a clear line of sight onto the other three, or you can cover Dimi and Lez up to it.” Tyler said.

  “Thanks for the voluntold,” Dimi growled. She wasn't actually pissed at Tyler, just trying to blow steam off with some banter.

  “More than welcome my love.” Tyler's voice was light, understanding the need to let off steam as his rifle cracked, hitting the cover that the three remaining gang members were hiding behind.

  Porxha was being tended to by Heller while Jinn covered them.

  “Alright,” Mark exhaled, rocking on his legs. “Moving!” He said, turning and sprinting for the piano stall. He was nearly at the stall when he dropped into a slide.

  Dimi, Lez and Tyler were laying covering fire over the enemies’ heads.

  He used the stall's wall to pop him up to his knees.

  He didn't pause as the turned the corner he couldn't see, finding the remaining gang toughs huddled behind their cover.

  His finger tightened on the trigger before he released the pressure and edged up behind the person.

  “Don't fucking move,” Mark said, pressing his barrel to the person's neck, they stiffened with fear.

  “Drop your gun and walk backwards,” Mark said, grabbing the back of the person's duster with his left hand, his barrel still in the back of their neck.

  He pulled and they followed his directions until they were back behind the stall, “lay down and put your hands behind your head.” They did so as Mark pulled ties out of his jacket with his left hand, his right keeping his weapon trained on them.

  He slapped the tie onto one arm and then the other.

  He let his gun fall on its sling as he patted down the person for knives and weapons, after a few moments he had a decent collection out in the dust.

  “You making friends again Bro?”

  “Thought the boss might want to know just where in the hell these assholes came from.”

  “Gotcha. I've got them in my sights,” Tyler replied.

  “Good stuff.” Mark leaned down next to the person. “You move and my brother will put you down.” Mark flashed his hand out from his cover. He was rewarded with a round landing a meter away from him.

  “Got it?” He asked, the gang member nodded viciously into the dirt.

  Mark turned and raised his rifle.

  “Alright, let's see about these last three assholes.”

  “Bout damned time, you having a picnic over there?” Dimi said, her usual happy self.

  “Sandwiches and all,” Mark said, used to Dimi's banter.

  He got a scoff in return.

  “Fucker's got grenades!” Lez said, his voice hard with exertion, his words punctuated with an explosion.

  Mark knew that Dimi and Lez would be thoroughly fucked if the rival gang got a few grenades in the right place.

  He pushed out of his cover entirely, seeing the three fuckers that were throwing grenades at his people. He didn’t think, just fired single rounds as he walked towards them.

  They panicked and started falling over themselves.

  Mark saw a grenade drop, he jumped away.

  It went off in a fountain of blood and gore.

  He got up and walked towards the stall they’d been hiding behind, there wasn’t much left of it, and even less left of the attackers.

  “Clear,” Mark said, a shudder going through him, as he turned away from the vaguely human leftovers.

  “Heller, Jinn, I'm moving up Lee to get Porxha stabilized. Das, Flo, help Oli get Exinie back here and gather up the guns and gear from the other gang members. Dimi help Mark with the gang member he's got. Lez, Tyler cover our people as they move back
,” Wes said in clipped tones. Mark moved to his secured gang-member.

  “Didn't think I'd forget you now did you?” Mark asked, dropping his rifle and grabbing his pistol. “Up you get,” Mark half-hauled them to their feet, using his pistol to guide them as he held onto their wrist ties.

  “Thanks Mark,” Dimi said, coming up beside him as he walked back to where they had come from. Already store vendors were coming out of their hidey holes now that the fighting had died down.

  Just another day in Earth's slums.

  “No worries Dimi,” Mark said back to her, she was about a one-point-seven meters tall, about normal height for everyone in the slums. Those that lived in the mega towers were usually taller because of enhancements and their ability to get real food, it had led to more than one jab at Tyler and Mark expense who were both damned tall. Her duster and leather looking clothes hid her athletic and curvy body, at nineteen she was harder than most of the EMF rejects that drank their sorrows away in Earth's slums.

  She walked with a confidence that only the stupid or deadly had. Being cocky was a sure way to get your face down in the red dirt.

  Mark thought it was damn sexy.

  “Let me know if you want to get rid of some tension later,” she purred.

  “I’d love to,” Mark said, looking her over and winking.

  She laughed, moving to cover Mark and the prisoner with her gun.

  They brought the gang member back to the security detail which had holed up in a building.

  They checked the person in ties before ushering them onwards. Dimi stayed with them.

  Mark nodded in greeting to those he saw on his way to the building's back room. They gave tight nods in reply, not wanting to look relaxed around his prisoner.

  Two of the security detail were waiting with the boss, their rifles out and ready, Mark could feel their eyes on the prisoner.

  The boss had his goggles and face mask off; he looked perfectly calm despite there being an attempt on his life not five minutes ago.

  “Why am I not surprised you somehow found a prisoner,” The Boss, or less formally known as Quentin Richter said with a slight grin and crooked eyebrow.

  Mark just shrugged.

  “Eloquent as ever, well if you could let us see eye to eye,” Quentin waved at the prisoner's headscarf and goggles.

  Mark pushed them to their knees, grabbing the scarf which was tucked into their shirt and pulling up, their face coming free of the scarf and goggles.

  Dirty blonde hair cascaded down her back. Cold blue eyes stared at Mark as he walked past her, standing off to the side of the room.

  “Well hello miss, it seems that you've met my good friend Mark,” Quentin gestured to Mark who stood straighter with the praise.

  Her eyes turned to face Quentin; they were full of fight and anger.

  Her shapely cheekbones and pretty face naturally had Mark's teenage brain wandering.

  Time and place you idiot.

  “I want to know one thing; what gang do you come from?” Quentin asked, his voice conversational, like he was asking a vendor how much they wanted for water.

  The room was quiet, the noises from the street, drifted in with the sand and wind, vendors sorting out their wares and complaining about the damage, a window banging against something in the wind’s push and pull. All attention was focused on the nervous girl.

  Quentin continued to stare at her, assessing rather than confrontational.

  “The shippers? Dog band? Hell's own...” Quentin's face transformed into a smile. “Hells own eh? Interesting,” Quentin held his chin, his fingers tapping on his jaw in thought.

  The girl was still angry as hell, but Mark thought he saw a glint of anxiety in those eyes. The boss had read her tells like she was open book, it was one of his specialities.

  There was a reason Mark never played poker with the man.

  “Mark, take her back to the compound, see if you can find out anything else from her. Take Dimi, Tyler, and Oli.” Quentin put emphasis on the young boy’s name, his eyes telling him to keep an eye on the kid and help him get past what he'd done and seen.

  “Yes boss,” Mark nodded, hoping that Quentin saw his understanding in his own eyes.

  Mark put the goggles on, pulled the girl backwards and wrapped the scarf over her face rapidly. She wouldn't be able to see, but he didn't need her getting any ideas and screwing him over.

  Mark tapped links open with Dimi, Tyler and Oli.

  “Get your butts to my position; we're going back to the compound.”

  Getting back to the 'compound' was easy enough. Not many people wanted to mess with a gang that had just been in a fight. Rumours passed faster than diseases in the slums.

  The compound was a group of six four story-buildings with one ten floor building in the middle of them.

  W3C controlled all of the buildings, the gang lived here and maintained out post towers that looked outward protecting their territory. It allowed them react to any gang trying to come into W3C's area.

  The compound was linked together with sheet metal, a large gate allowed people in and out from the front of the main building. It was hard to squeeze three people through the gate.

  “I heard it was Hell's own,” Zing who was on watch asked.

  “Seems that way,” Mark said, knowing that the information would be out soon enough.

  “Fucking assholes,” Zing said, shaking his head and continuing his walk along the walls.

  Oli looked nervous as they got to the main tower, not many people were allowed the privilege of coming into the actual tower.

  “Come on lad,” Mark said, his voice already getting a deeper tone.

  They walked into the tower, the darkness making everyone's eyes blink in an attempt to adjust.

  Everyone let their guns fall on their slings, hiding them under their dusters, or in Mark's case tucking his pistol back into its holster.

  “I'll take her to a cell, Tyler see that Oli has a drink.” And see that he's okay, Mark added with his eyes.

  “Gotcha bro,” Tyler pulled his headscarf, goggles and mask off. His long dark curls framed his carefree young face, he flashed those pearly white teeth that he polished clean every day and they made girls swoon under his twinkling smile.

  “Is this your first time being in the tower?” Tyler asked, putting an arm around Oli.

  “You got her?” Dimi asked, nodding to Mark’s captive.

  “Yeah, I'll get her locked down,” Mark answered.

  “Alright, find me when you're done. I owe you a beer,” she said pulling her goggles up to reveal her deep brown eyes.

  “I'll take you up on that,” Mark replied, watching her leave, and maybe admiring her umm assets.

  Can't be blamed for hoping that a beer turns into something more, I've only got a week until Tyler and I are old enough to apply to the EMF.

  He pushed the prisoner ahead of him; she bumped into a few walls and items on her way here and there. The red dust made a kind of carpet, even in the tower.

  Mark finally got her into a cell, and closed the door, locking her in.

  “You got bum shift eh?” Mark asked Lucy who was sitting at the prison's desk with her feet up on the table with a shotgun resting in her lap.

  He pulled off his head scarf, goggles and mask, running his hand through his short hair to clear it of any dirt and grit. He had deep brown hair and green eyes. He looked older than his seventeen years, his eyes had seen more than most.

  He was tall and had strong scars that ran through his hair where his skin had been cut open. He looked well suited to being a bar guard, though there was a spark of intelligence in his eyes.

  Mark wasn't deadly because he was a good shot, he was deadly because he sucked up all the information he could find that might keep him alive and practiced religiously. He reacted when he needed to, but if you gave him time to think, well there was a reason no one wanted to fight him one-on-one anymore.

  “Just looking forward to racking o
ut, was training last night. I swear time disappears down in the pit,” she said shaking her head.

  “Yeah, agreed,” Mark said, in the process of removing his firearms and blades, well all of them except the ones underneath his arms.

  Lucy quirked an eyebrow at his weapons.

  “The boss told me to question her,” Mark said, Lucy nodded in understanding, pulling out a tablet to relieve some of her boredom.

  Mark took off his duster, it was a sign of his position and he usually only took it off when showering and sleeping. It was part of him. He laid it over his weaponry.

  “Best get this crap over with,” he sighed turning to the cell.

  The noise of the door opening and closing again made the Hell's own girl turn to face him, she'd been trying to get the wrapping off of her face but failed.

  Mark turned her, his knee between her legs as she fell backwards onto it.

  He pulled off the covering and goggles quickly, pushing her away and moving to the other side of the cell.

  She looked like she was going to spit at him as he grabbed a bucket, using it as a seat.

  “Do you have a name?” He asked, already getting the feeling that he wasn't going to get many answers out of this girl.

  “I'll take that as a, 'I do but I ain't gonna tell you' So I'm going to call you icy.” As soon as those words were out he regretted it, his mind turning to Exinie who would be having a small ceremony before being processed into the growing gardens of Westerly Sector.

  Can't change it now.

  “Okay Icy, I want to know who authorized the hit on my boss, and why?”

  This is going to be a long day. More questions followed, but not a whole lot of answers.

  ***

  It was sometime later when he heard someone enter the corridor filled with cells.

  “Mark?”

  “In here Tyler. What are you doing down here?” Mark asked as he made his way down the cells, his eyes never leaving Icy.

  “Thought I might as well get you some damned food, even though it's our last week out here. I don't think the Earth's Military Forces are going to want you half-starved on their doorstep,” Tyler said, coming to the cells door. Mark noticed that Icy looked away, sudden nervousness making her look at the floor.