The area ahead of them now cleared by the plasma bolts, they saw nothing dangerous.
"Damn it," the Warden said.
"I think we should go back to the ship, sir."
"Go back? No. We have more numbers. More weapons. Go back?" spat the Warden in disgust.
"I just think--"
Whatever the guard thought mattered not, as a knife erupted from the trees and sunk hilt-deep into his eye socket. He didn't say a word, didn't make a sound. Still staring at the Warden with his one remaining eye, he toppled forward, crashing to the ground. Dead.
52
Run.
That's all he could do for the moment.
Run, duck, weave, bob.
Phoenix wanted to wipe the stinging sweat from his eyes, but he needed to see where he was going. Ducking under the branches that threatened to take his head off. Watching out for the roots of trees that waited to trip him up.
How long could he keep this up?
He had hoped he could outpace Shanks and double back on him. But for all the size and muscle the brute had, he was quick. Quicker than Phoenix had thought possible.
"What's wrong, Mr Jones? You tired? Should Shanks slow down? Should Shanks show mercy?" taunted Shanks from behind him.
Not wasting his breath, Phoenix continued on. This was stupid! He had to stop. Otherwise, when he faced Shanks, he wouldn't have anything left in the tank to fight him.
There!
Phoenix saw his salvation to his left, a hollowed-out tree trunk he could use. Dropping low, he picked up a rock and threw it ahead, creating a distraction. Slotting into the tree trunk, Phoenix brought his gun up and waited. He could hear the footsteps coming. They pounded against the earth like raindrops from a monsoon.
Then they stopped.
Did Shanks see the way he'd gone? Impossible. He had been too quick.
The only thing Phoenix could hear was the sound of his own heart. Slowly bringing the gun in front of him, he stepped forward. He moved inch by inch, placing each foot down carefully. He waited, holding his breath.
A flash of green moved like a blur across his vision and smacked him on the arm, forcing him to drop his weapon. Phoenix jumped back and gritted his teeth to stop himself from crying out in pain. He hoped his arms weren't broken, but he couldn't be sure.
A green hand grabbed him by the shirt. Phoenix was thrown like a doll ten feet forward. With his face skidding against the ground, dirt, twigs and mud filled his mouth. Spitting out what he could, he got to his feet.
Shanks leaned against a tree, slapping the branch he'd used to strike Phoenix against his open palm. "Mr Jones thinks he's so smart. Thinks Shanks stupid. But Shanks asks you, who has dirt on their face?"
Phoenix assessed the situation. The only weapon he had lay between him and Shanks. Any sudden movement for it would only result in a fifty-fifty chance of him getting it. Shanks didn't seem armed, apart from that branch he held.
"Why Mr Jones so quiet? Normally likes to run mouth. Likes to talk. Shanks tell you what, Mr Jones. Shanks will make this game more fun." Reaching behind his back, Shanks lifted a hidden plasma gun and threw it to the side. Shanks looked at the branch in his hands, gave a shrug, and cast that aside, too.
"Why, Shanks? You've just made it easier for me to whip that green ass of yours. Can't you wait to die?" said Phoenix with a smirk.
With a laugh, Shanks began to unclip his combat armour. He took his time, dropping each piece on the ground. It insulted Phoenix to the highest degree--he was not worth rushing for.
Armour off, Shanks started to lift his shirt over his head.
Phoenix rushed him. Dropping low, Phoenix hit Shanks with his shoulder square in his solar plexus. As Shanks doubled over, Phoenix continued his momentum forward and brought him down. With Shanks's shirt still over his face, Phoenix rained down elbow after elbow upon his face.
Shanks swung wild from underneath, catching Phoenix with a blow on his chin. Stunned, Phoenix tried to get his wits about him in time, but it was too late. Shanks only needed a second, and he got it. Thrusting his hips up, he bucked Phoenix off him. Shanks got to his feet first, and delivered a kick to Phoenix's side. Rolling away, Phoenix sprung back to his feet.
Shirt now off his head, Shanks spat out the blood that had pooled in his mouth. Wiggling a tooth free, he threw it away.
"Well, Shanks. How do you like me now?" Phoenix laughed.
"Those blows you landed were so soft, I thought I was being attacked by an insect."
"That may be so, but I must say I have greatly improved your looks."
Shanks shook his head and approached Phoenix, hands down.
Idiot.
Phoenix feinted a low kick, then brought it up high. His shin slammed against the side of Shanks's head. It should have dropped him where he stood, but he caught the leg as it was coming back down and spun Phoenix around.
Phoenix flew through the air, not knowing which way was up or down. As his back slammed into something solid, the air from his lungs vanished and blood filled his mouth. Sliding down to the ground, he rested on his hands and knees.
His body screamed in pain. His very soul hurt. Droplets of blood splattered onto the ground in front of him.
Where is that coming from? Oh. That's right. Me.
"Mr Jones! Mr Jones! Mr Jones!"
"Say it...too...many times...and...you'll wear that name...out, baby," Phoenix said between coughing fits.
"You still don't know place!"
"I know my place well enough, Shanks. My place is looking down on you! My place is keeping your dirty, scum-ridden hands off my planet!" Phoenix got to his feet and wiped the blood dribbling out the side of his mouth.
Phoenix stared at his opponent, his legs shaky, shoulder throbbing, head dizzy.
The silence radiating between the two was filled only with the sounds of the jungle.
Both yelled a battle cry that any warrior would be proud of, then charged at each other.
All technique went out the window--all thought for that matter, too. The fight had turned into something animalistic and primal. Fists swung with no concern whether they landed or not. Legs kicked whatever they could find. Heads butted any soft flesh they found.
Shanks was stronger, faster and bigger. Phoenix knew this before the fight had even began, knew the odds of his winning were low. But he had to try. There was no other choice.
As Shanks's fist sunk into Phoenix's kidney, he tried to stop himself from collapsing. He would have managed it, but the knee that followed was too much for his body to take. He collapsed in a heap on the ground.
Phoenix tried to move, but his body wouldn't obey.
"Mr Jones, seems the fight, it over. Aw, Shanks had fun." Shanks walked over towards his plasma gun like he was taking a stroll on the beach. Bringing it up, he pointed it at Phoenix. "Any last words, Mr Jones?"
53
Any last words?
Phoenix had more than a few, but what did it matter? He had failed again. The promises he'd made to his aunt, to the twins, would be broken. He'd tried his best, dammit! Wasn't that good enough? Was his aunt right? Did he always let down the people he cared most about when things got too hard, seemed too impossible? What was he to do now?
Some fucking alien had a plasma gun pointed at him with murder in his eyes. How was he supposed to win?
Feeling the hard earth beneath his back, Phoenix closed his eyes. Images of his little brother and sister grew sharp and clear in his mind's eye. They looked so small, so pale, so frightened. Wires and tubes hooked up to their tiny bodies gave them as much peace as could be expected.
Cancer.
It wasn't terminal, not yet. But the drugs keeping it at bay were too expensive. The National Health Service had done a lot. But private healthcare was where it was at, if they wanted to make a quicker recovery. If they wanted to make sure the disease wouldn't get any worse.
With money low, Phoenix had promised he would take care of it. He had given his word.
Now on his back in some godforsaken jungle, all those hopes were about to be extinguished like birthday candles.
He could at least die on his feet, goddammit! He could at least take defeat like a man.
Phoenix rose from where he lay, his body trembling uncontrollably. He had to take a breather on one knee before he could stand. With a smile on his face, he looked Shanks in the eye. Everything would be all right.
"Why Mr Jones smiles? Don't he know how this will end?"
"Shanks, it has been a pleasure. But before we say goodbye, I would look behind you," said Phoenix.
"Look behind me?"
"Yes, look behind you."
"Do you think Shanks is stupid? Do you think Shanks will fall for that same trick again? Do you think--"
The python hanging from the tree behind Shanks's head was the biggest Phoenix had ever seen. He knew they grew big, but this one was at least twenty feet long. He hadn't spotted it at first, thinking it was just another thick tree branch. But as it leapt from the tree and landed on Shanks, the snake wrapped itself around him faster than you could blink.
Shanks dropped the gun and tried to pull at the snake, but it was no use. Muscles thicker than Phoenix's waist bulged and squeezed.
Phoenix walked towards the dropped gun, taking his time. He was in no rush. Bending over and picking it up, he pointed it at Shanks.
The struggle of the snake and alien was not quick. It wasn't clean. As each bit and rolled, neither wanted to give up.
Phoenix watched the whole thing in silence, his expression blank and demeanour casual.
Shanks stared up at Phoenix, eyes red and veiny. His hands dug into the snake's flesh for dear life, and he mouthed a single word: "Help."
As a slight breeze swept through the jungle, Phoenix said nothing as he stared at Shanks.
He heard the bones snapping one by one like twigs. He heard Shanks's breathing become more and more shallow. Phoenix looked down his nose at the scene before him, and still he didn't move a muscle.
"Help? Why? I wouldn't dream of keeping an animal from its meal."
Walking away, Phoenix didn't look back. He didn't need to.
The job was already done.
54
The Warden looked at the body, dumbfounded. It wasn't meant to end like this. Ducking low to the ground, he looked around him. As his head darted back and forth like a nervous bird, he tried to remain calm.
Something crashed to his right. That was all his nerves could take. Running back the way he came, the Warden didn't look behind him. He fired his gun and cane with abandon, looking to shoot at any sound that he heard.
It wasn't meant to end like this! The universe had yet to see his true brilliance.
Fools!
They would pay. They thought they were smarter than him? But he could play this game well.
Noise from his left made him halt and change direction.
Which way was the ship?
Had he already passed that tree before?
The Warden shook his head as he came to an ungainly stop. Lungs burning, breath short, he rested his hand against a tree.
This heat. How can one concentrate?
Wiping the sweat from his brow, he licked his dry lips.
"It can't be much--" A knife embedded itself an inch above his resting hand and wobbled. Staring at it wide-eyed, all thought of rest vanished from his mind. Breaking into a wild run, he moved from left to right, hoping to make himself as hard as possible a target to hit.
Which way?
His leg caught on a tree root, which brought him crashing down to his knees. Yelling in pain, he rolled over onto his back. Clutching his knees, he held them to his chest.
A plasma bolt scorched the earth between his legs, making him roll backwards. Another bolt left the hairs on his hands smoking as it landed inches from it. He held his hand to his chest as he made another mad dash for freedom.
Running over tree roots, ducking under branches, his face got scratched as thorns grabbed at him like obsessed fans. Still he kept on pushing until his legs felt like lead and his heart threatened to explode in his chest.
His thoughts were so preoccupied with escape, he didn't see the kick until it was to late. It connected with his chest like a steel rod and sent him flying backwards. Landing on his back, the Warden brought his weapons into reach, but they were kicked from his grip. Rolling onto all fours, he was met with another kick to the side.
Blood filled his mouth. He tried to spit it out, but the supply felt endless.
Another kick to the side lifted him off his feet and pushed him down a slope. Over and over he rolled. Mud, sticks, bugs, rocks. All of these found their way in or on him.
He came to a stop at the bottom of the slope. Sprawled out on his back, his vision was blurry. He tried to lift his head up as he heard footsteps coming his way.
They crunched the leaves and twigs underfoot with force. As each step grew closer, he knew his days were numbered. Coming into view stood the blue female. Her jaw was set, hair aflame, eyes focused.
"Do you remember Eli?" she asked.
Saoirse stood over the Warden and looked down at him with disgust.
"Who?" stuttered the Warden.
"Eli," said Saoirse in a low voice.
The Warden looked confused. He seemed not to know what to say. Holding his hands up in front of him, he shook his head. "I don't know who Elio is."
"Eli!" Saoirse roared, spittle flying from her mouth.
"I do not know this name."
"You do not remember? You do not remember what you stole from me? When you tore my heart from my chest? I guess you wouldn't, would you? How many lives have you ruined? How many people have you killed?"
"You mistake me for some sort of villain or monster. But I only wished to create art. I only wished to give people what they always wanted, what they always needed. Do you know what that is, my dear?"
Saoirse's hands trembled, her jaw set firm.
"Dreams! Dreams they could never have if not for me. Dreams that would take them away from their pathetic lives. You think it was easy? You think I wanted to do what I did? I couldn't help myself. I am like a god to these people. The poor that want to forget their troubles. Forget their hunger, forget their lost goals and dreams, live in a world where they have everything they dreamed or hoped. Everything they wanted to be when they were small, I can finally make come true. I am the person that gives them those dreams back! Me! No one else," the Warden said, stabbing himself in the chest with his finger.
"So the poor meant nothing to you? The poor could be preyed on however you saw fit?"
The Warden tilted his head back, laughter spewing from his mouth. "Of course not, silly girl. The rich are just as desperate as the poor. Even more so. You would think with all their wealth and toys that they would be happy. But alas, it wasn't meant to be. The rich like to take my goods while they party, while they work, while they fuck, while they sleep. It's a never-ending cycle that I am happy to prolong. They need my goods just to get through the day. They need me just as much as the poor--even more!"
"Goods," said Saoirse, shaking her head with a laugh.
"Drugs is such a..." Waving his hands, the Warden closed his eyes. "...negative term." He snapped his fingers.
"Why did you do it? Was it for credits, power, status?"
"Because I could."
Saoirse's hands shook at the thought of all the pain he had caused. All the sleepless nights she had gone through. All the tears she had shed until she could shed no more.
"Because you could," Saoirse muttered quietly.
"Drugs will always be with us, my dear. If it weren't me, then it would have been someone else. Things didn't turn out how they should have. The wrong people took doses I didn't prescribe for them. They didn't heed my advice. Like everyone rich and powerful, they thought they knew better. So when they died, the family looked for someone to blame. It just happened to be me. If it weren't for the Portendorfer famil
y offering me a way out, then..." The Warden gave Saoirse a small shrug. Looking at the jungle around him, he took its beauty in.
"Without their wealth I wouldn't have been able to get this surgery. Bah! They have made me look so old. I used to be beautiful. Now look at me! A weathered, old-looking husk. You think you have suffered? What about me? This didn't come pain free."
"Pain," Saoirse said, nodding her head. "I shall show you pain. I shall show you what it means to endure."
Throwing a blade at the Warden's feet, Saoirse backed up and motioned for him to rise.
"We shall do this the old way," she said.
55
Saoirse walked backwards, keeping her eyes on the Warden the whole time. She watched him like a jungle cat. The Warden had yet to move. Looking at the blade down on the ground, he licked his lips nervously. His eyes twitched from side to side; his hands began to inch towards the blade, but then stopped.
"Rise, Smit. That old-age act will not fool me," said Saoirse.
"Smit, Smit, Smit. How strange that name now sounds. Alien. Bitter on my tongue. Smit is long dead, my dear. Only the Warden remains."
"Rise," said Saoirse, kicking dirt in his face.
The Warden let out a small sigh and picked up the blade with caution. Making his way to his feet, he opened his arms out wide, palms up. "You Noctis are all the same. Honour, respect, loyalty...bah! How has that worked out for you, my little princess?"
As confusion crossed Saoirse's face, the Warden took that opportunity to slash in her direction. He didn't get a direct hit, but still managed to cut her on the hand. Saoirse brought her hand up to her mouth to try and stem the bleeding.
It was nothing. She would live. She had experienced worse.
"I bet you're wondering how I know?"
"I don't know what you speak of," Saoirse said making her way towards him.
"Don't you now?"
Saoirse kept herself low as she pulled a knife from behind her back. Matte black in colour, it seemed to draw light in. It was made from a special ore only found on her home planet-one of the strongest metals in the known universe. She remembered when she had to mine for it herself, making the bond to the blade an even stronger one. That was one of the many tests of her youth.
Breakout: (Space Outlaw 1) Page 19