by Jake Bible
The dying man reached for Beau, his fingers trying to find the Chief Steward’s throat. Beau wrenched at the cleaver and the man screamed, his hands instinctively going to his belly. The man was tossed to the right as Beau wrenched again then to the left as Beau kept struggling to get the cleaver free. Finally, he stood up and shoved the man back against the counter, lifted his leg, and kicked the handle of the cleaver as hard as he could.
The snap of the man’s spine echoed in the lab, and his torso started to bob and weave like a child’s spring animal toy. Beau reached into the man’s guts and pulled the meat cleaver loose, wiped the gore on the man’s shirt, then buried it between his eyes.
He tried pulling back, but it was stuck again.
“Motherfucker!” Beau yelled.
“Here,” Gunnar said as he smacked the handle down with the flat of his hand. The cleaver fell and Gunnar caught it easily.
“Thanks,” Beau said then turned and hurled the cleaver as a man came running at them.
The cleaver slammed into the man’s chest, but handle first, and only knocked the man down. As Beau ran towards the man, Gunnar spun about and grabbed what was in the small compartment in the wall.
He pulled out the two 7” carbon steel, fixed blade combat knives and smiled. Then saw a piece of paper and picked it up, stuffing it in his pocket. Spinning the knife in his right hand so it was blade down while he kept the one in his left hand blade up, Gunnar turned his attention quickly back to the fight. He closed on a man that was about to open fire on Mike and stabbed him in the side of the neck. Blood spurted everywhere as the artery the man’s body of blood across the room like a fountain. Gunnar slammed his right hand into the man’s chest, burying the second blade deeply into the bleeding man’s heart.
The body fell and Gunnar kicked the dead man’s rifle over to Mike just as the Desert Eagle clicked empty. Mike nodded his thanks, picked up the rifle, and kept firing as Diego jumped over a table and turned to run towards the hatch.
Beau hacked a man’s arm off then turned the cleaver about and cracked open the man’s skull. He shoved him aside and stepped towards the hatch, changing Diego’s mind. El Serpiente switched directions again, this time going straight for the pallet of cocaine.
Bullets ripped up the ceiling above Diego as Mike tried to get a bead on the man, but his position was too low and he couldn’t get a good angle. Diego dove behind the pallet and Mike swore.
“You can’t stay back there forever, dipshit!” Mike yelled.
There were more gunshots and Beau jumped away from the hatch as six more men came through. He turned in the air and slashed with the cleaver, but found only open air as the man he was going for rocked back on his heels, keeping his chest from being slashed open. More gunfire and Beau dove then rolled over and over, keeping himself from being shot up, before stopping behind the same table Mike was hiding behind.
“Hey,” Beau said.
“Hey, what’s up?” Mike replied.
Gunnar tossed one blade and it hit a man between the eyes then he sprinted to the others, his left hand slashing back and forth. A rifle barked and Gunnar felt a searing pain in his side, but he ignored it and kept attacking. He was able to push the men back, his attack so frenzied that they were stunned and confused by the constant movement of the knife.
That gave Mike and Beau time to regroup. Beau stood up and threw his cleaver. This time it didn’t bounce off the target, but landed firmly in a man’s shoulder as the guy was about to shoot Gunnar. Mike rolled to the side and came out from behind the table, the rifle in his hands firing non-stop.
Two men, then a third fell as their heads were ripped apart by hot slugs. Gunnar ducked down, turned and gave Mike a reproachful look, then turned back and hamstringed the man in front of him. The man tumbled on top of Gunnar, and he started to shove him off, then pulled the man back on top as another man opened fire. The man on top of Gunnar shuddered as the bullets ripped into him.
The gunfire stopped and Gunnar looked out from under the fresh corpse that covered him. Beau had regained one of his cleavers and had embedded it in the firing man’s crotch. He let go and the cleaver just bobbed there, a poor substitute for what it had just severed. Beau grimaced and wiped the blood off his hand.
“Come on out, asshole!” Mike shouted as Gunnar got up and helped him into the wheel chair.
All about them men were dead, dying, or begging not to die. Beau demonstrated his lack of mercy and silenced the beggars while leaving the silent to suffer.
“I said come on out!” Mike yelled at the pallet of cocaine. “Or I just start shooting!”
Gunnar leaned down and whispered in Mike’s ear. “You don’t want to do that. We breathe that shit in and it’s not going to be a fun party.”
A poof of white powder lifted up from behind the pallet and Gunnar gasped.
“Oh, shit, not good,” he said just before Diego leapt from his refuge, a maniacal war cry coming from his throat.
***
“We can’t see anything in here!” Kinsey shouted, frustrated by the lack of portholes in the cargo hold. “I don’t know what’s happening to my father!”
“I see him,” Moshi’s voice said from a tiny speaker set into the wall of the hold. “The shark is fast, but so is this sub now. I fixed it. Made it better. I’ll catch him.”
“Then what?” Max asked. “We don’t have rebreathers or scuba tanks. How will we get him in here without drowning?”
“You hold your breath,” Moshi said. “Your suits will keep you from being crushed. You get him and put him in the hold. Then I pump out the water and we go.”
“Whatever works,” Shane said. “We can’t let Uncle Vinny die.”
“I can hold my breath forever!” Darren yelled. “FOREVER! LIKE A KITE!”
The brothers looked at Darren then at Kinsey.
“What do we do?” Shane asked.
“What do you mean?” Kinsey said.
“With Ditcher,” Max said. “He’s obviously on some bad shit. What did you do when that happened to you? When you took some bad shit?”
“I usually fucked some people up,” Kinsey said. “Most of the time I blacked out and when I came to I had some cleaning to do if it was my place or I just got the fuck out of there if it wasn’t.”
“Cleaning? What the hell did you clean?” Shane asked.
“Blood,” Kinsey said. “Bodies. Whatever I had to.”
“Jesus, Sis,” Max whispered. “There’s a lot of shit you haven’t told us, isn’t there?”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Kinsey frowned.
Her arm was grabbed and she found herself yanked close to Darren’s face.
“Are we going to kill another shark?” Darren asked. “That was some sweet, sweet shit. I could kill sharks all day.”
His pupils dilated, closed, dilated. It was like nothing Kinsey had ever seen before.
“Let go of me or I toss you out the hatch,” Kinsey snarled.
“You’ll kill us all!” Darren shouted then winked.
“How about this?” Shane asked then hammered blow to Darren’s temple.
Darren turned his head slowly to look at Shane and he grinned wide.
“You think you can take me?” Darren asked as he tried to get to his feet. “Is that what you think, you little hippie fucker? You don’t have the kite balls to do it.”
“Is he calling me a hippie or a guy that fucks hippies?” Shane asked, scrambling away from Darren until his back was up against the cargo hold wall. “Because one is kinda an insult and one I don’t mind at all.”
“You’re dead,” Darren said, pointing at Shane.
He lunged, but was knocked to the side as Max slammed a foot into his ribs. Kinsey grabbed Darren by the collar and pulled him close, sticking her face in his.
“Calm the fuck down or I calm you down, ‘Ren,” Kinsey said, her voice hard and even. “Are you listening to me? I will hurt you if I have to.”
“You won’t hurt me, ‘Sey,” Darr
en said. “You love me too much. The question is whether I love you?”
“Let me help you with the answer to that question,” Kinsey said just before she slammed her forehead into Darren’s face.
The captain’s eyes rolled up and Kinsey let him drop away, unconscious and finally out of everyone’s hair.
“Whatever that shit is, it’s worse than coke and meth combined,” Kinsey said. “There’s a lot more chemistry going on in there than coca.” Kinsey tapped Darren’s forehead. “I just hope the shit doesn’t do permanent damage.”
“How will he know to hold his breath if he’s out cold, Sis?” Shane asked. “Didn’t think about that, did ya?”
“Oh, I did,” Kinsey said, placing her hand on Darren’s crotch. “A hard squeeze will bring any guy awake like that.” She snapped her fingers.
“Except he’s wearing a suit,” Max said. “He may not feel it.”
“We’ll deal with that when we need to,” Kinsey said. “But if the time comes, I’m picking my dad over Darren, got it?”
“Got it,” Max said.
“Got it,” Shane replied, giving a thumbs up as he looked at Darren. “Nice knowing ya, kite boy.”
***
Thorne’s lungs were ready to burst and he knew he was only seconds away from drowning when the shark suddenly let him go. He slammed into the whale sub that appeared before him on the ocean bottom and almost lost his lungful of air, but he was able to fight the urge to breathe and looked about.
He quickly saw he was right next to the cockpit hatch of the sub and he pulled himself down inside. His arms were heavy from the lack of oxygen, but he forced them to work as he searched the inside of the cramped cockpit for something, anything that may have had air trapped in it.
Then he saw the bright red cross of an emergency kit and he yanked it open, slamming his elbow into one of the control panels. Thorne almost cried when he saw the small canister of oxygen with a plastic mask already attached. He twisted the nozzle and bubbles spewed from the mask. Thorne pressed the mask against his mouth and nose and breathed deep.
It was like the first time he’d had a drink, the first time he’d had sex, the first time he’d killed a man, the first time for everything all rolled into one.
The oxygen went straight to his brain and the world clarified around him. He rocked back and forth and put out a hand to steady himself as he took another deep breath then twisted the oxygen tank closed. He knew he had to conserve the air.
He rocked some more despite the fact he was in a space that could barely hold his bulk and realized that he wasn’t the one moving, it was the sub. He debated whether to climb up and look or not. He knew the shark couldn’t get him in the cockpit, since he barely fit himself. But then the shark wasn’t exactly a problem solver. If it wanted a square peg to go in the round hole then it would damn well slam that peg through.
Thorne shook his head and cleared the lousy toddler metaphors from his oxygen addled brain and went on instinct.
Decision made, Thorne took a short pull off the tank then yanked himself up so his head and shoulders were out of the hatch, but the rest of him was still inside. He almost lost the precious breath he was holding.
The shark was ripping into the cargo hold and cocaine plumes filled the water.
He would have said, “Holy shit, are you kidding me?”, but without the rebreather that would have been a bad idea. Instead, he slowly lowered himself into the cockpit and turned to the controls, hoping maybe he could get the com system working. Otherwise he was going to be out of oxygen and dead very soon.
***
Beau, with both cleavers back in hand, swiped at the madman coming towards him, but Diego dodged then blocked and grabbed Beau’s arm, slamming it down on his knee. Beau cried out as he lost his grip on one cleaver and the knife went skittering across the floor. Diego didn’t stop there, his elbow came up and obliterated Beau’s nose.
Beau stumbled away and swiped with the other cleaver, but Diego bent backwards, letting the blade slice the empty air he just occupied. When he came back up, he sent two jabs into Beau’s shattered nose and down went the Chief Steward. Beau’s head slammed into the edge of the lab counter and his eyes rolled up as conscious thought took a vacation.
Gunnar came in fast with his knives, but Diego was faster, expertly blocking every stab, swipe, slash, and hook. Gunnar’s forearms were nothing but bruised flesh after the defensive moves Diego pulled off. Then his gut joined in the pain as Diego dropped and smashed both fists into Gunnar’s stomach. He stood quickly and jammed an open palm into Gunnar’s sternum, sending the doctor flying backwards over a table.
Diego, barely breathing hard, twisted his head and looked across the room to where Mike had wheeled himself. The double amputee grinned as he pulled the trigger on the AK-47 he held. Diego ran as fast as he could, keeping just ahead of the bullets that ripped apart the lab even more than it already was. He dove back behind the pallet of coke again as Mike’s rifle clicked dead.
Wheeling forward as fast as possible, Mike reached down to grab another rifle that lay in the dead hands of one of Diego’s men, but the bullet to his shoulder changed that plan.
Mike dove from the chair just before it was torn apart by gunfire. He rolled behind a table and searched for a weapon, but all he saw was a beaten Gunnar sitting there, eyes wide, nose pouring blood, shirt stained with more blood, and hands gripping knives that weren’t very effective against sub-machine gun fire.
“You okay?” Mike asked.
“Yeah! You?” Then Gunnar saw the shoulder wound. “Shit!”
“Fucking punta bitches!” Diego screamed as he kept firing. “I will do this all day until I have your heads on my dick!”
“Interesting choice of words!” Mike shouted.
“Fuck yourselves!” Diego replied. “Faggot ass fuckers!”
“So much hate,” Gunnar grinned then winced at the severe pain the smile caused.
“What now?” Mike asked.
The gunfire stopped and they both heard some very loud snorting.
“Jesus, he’s really going for it,” Mike said.
“Time to die, little maricónes!” Diego screeched.
“Why he gotta be gay hating?” Mike said as he held out a hand.
Gunnar gave him one of the knives, nodded then stood. Gunnar jumped and slid across the table.
Diego was waiting for him. He fired off round after round, hitting Gunnar in the left arm, but it didn’t slow the doctor as he hit the ground and pushed up, coming at El Serpiente in full fury.
Behind Gunnar, Mike pulled up onto the table and steadied himself. He watched as Gunnar dove at the Mexican madman, tackling the killer around the legs. But it only shoved the man back against the pallet and not onto the floor. Diego’s rifle clicked empty and he flipped it about using the butt to batter Gunnar between the shoulder blades again and again. Mike heard Gunnar cry out then took aim and threw his knife. But Diego saw it coming and batted it away like it was an insect, not 7 inches of deadly steel. The man stared at Mike as he hammered down on Gunnar over and over until the doctor collapsed in a heap at his feet.
“You think you can take me, cripple?” Diego asked. Half his face was coated in white powder and his eyes gleamed with manic evil. “You want to try? How about I come over there since you can’t come to me?”
Diego kicked Gunnar aside and casually strolled to the table Mike sat upon.
“Look at us!” Diego laughed. “With you up there we are the same height! Now it is a fair fight!”
The two men faced off, eyes studying each other, waiting for who would make the first move.
Then fists flew.
Diego hooked with his right and Mike brought up a forearm to block the blow, countering with his own right hook which Diego blocked also. They twisted their arms about, each trying to get an advantage, but their skills were too matched. Even with Diego’s drug fueled drive, he couldn’t get in at Mike since the man had been using only his arms for
a long while. Likewise, because Mike didn’t have the stability of his lower legs, he couldn’t get the leverage he needed to take advantage of Diego’s mistakes.
Mike grabbed Diego’s wrist and twisted, causing the man to tilt to the left, but Diego jabbed two fingers in Mike’s armpit and he lost his grip. Diego then boxed Mike’s ears, but the ex-SEAL shook it off in time to counter the jabs that came at his face. He blocked and swiped one arm to the side then blocked the other as he brought his head forward, trying to head butt Diego, but the man used the momentum of Mike’s blocks to duck down and Mike only hit the top of Diego’s head, not the target between the eyes he’d been going for. Diego lunged up, slamming the top of his head into Mike’s chin. His jaws snapped shut and Mike tasted blood as he was pretty sure he just lost the tip of his tongue.
Rocked back by the blow, Mike was barely able to fend off Diego’s next attack as a powerful roundhouse kick came up over the table, aimed for Mike’s head. He got both arms up in time, but he was sent rolling down the table. He skidded to a halt just before falling off and tucked his shoulder, rolling back the way he came. Mike knew Diego would use that as an opportunity and he was ready when the fists came down at him.
On his back, Mike brought his forearms up again to block the blows Diego hammered down at him. If he’d had legs he would have been able to twist and kick the man. He just fended off the attacks, not quite as helpless as a turtle on its shell, but not as agile as he wished he was.
A fist got through and Mike gasped as his solar plexus exploded in pain and the air left his lungs. He tried to breathe, but the blow stunned his diaphragm and the wide muscle only spasmed, refusing to do its job and draw in breath.
“Little fishy can’t breathe?” Diego laughed. “Maybe I can help with that.”
Mike started to move, but Diego hit him in the same spot again and again, keeping him in place.
El Serpiente looked about then smiled. He reached down and picked up one of Beau’s meat cleavers. Looking Mike up and down he finally settled on grabbing him by the wrist, immobilizing the stunned man’s left arm.