Zero Hour (Starmen (Space Opera Series) Book 3)

by J. M. Hagan

  Riven kept stomping. His insides felt like they were crunching together.

 

  Vorjool’s leg reached up, as if guided by Zero himself, and kicked the back of Riven’s head. But the ishar didn’t let go. He took the blow. Then stomped his face so hard there was no reason to question whether or not he had intended to kill him.

  Eyes shut, turning his aching cheek into the ground, his mouth filled with the iron of blood. Riven let go of his hands. Holding his cheek in pain, Vorjool battled to remain conscious.

  A hot surge shot through him. It burned through every inch of his nervous system.

  He saw a shape rise in his mind – a man that consisted of electricity.

  His eyes shot open. His clouded head cleared. Lava filled his veins. He saw Riven reach into Kal’s jacket and rob him while the Starman, dipping into an unconscious haze, tried to fight him off weakly.

  He took the Starstone.

  Vorjool got to his feet. Riven sprinted down the alley. Took the back door into the crowded restaurant and it crashed against the alley wall he’d flung it open so urgently. Screams came from within.

 

  Vorjool sprinted at Kal. Threw his knee into his cheek on the way by – the connection sounded a brutal crack – and the Starman slumped to one side.

 

  Vorjool shut his eyes and took a deep breath. Pictured Gwen’s face and let his fury build. Zero continued screaming in his ear. But he was going to do this his way.

  He thought of the first time they made love.

  Then the last time…

  Vorjool’s fists came down like sledgehammers. He battered his face relentlessly. Kal’s eyes, shut and swelling. His arms limp at his sides.

  Blood sprayed from cuts. Tooth shards flew from his mouth. A final hook took his chin and his head whipped to the side with a red spray.

  Seething breaths, Vorjool picked up his gun and pressed it hard into his chest. He bowed his head and pulled the trigger. The round punched through him, and a slight sound of pain escaped the Starman. His next breath was his last, taken as a trail of smoke ascended from the bleeding hole.

  “Gwen…rest easy…”

 

  “Drop it!” he heard someone scream behind him, as he was getting to his feet.

  Vorjool spun, seeing a human female with dark hair and bright green eyes – the young woman he’d seen apprehend Kal the night previous. It gave him pause.

  While he hesitated, she shot him.

  The bullet punched through his left shoulder – Vorjool dropped down on top of Kal.

  She advanced to find the kill-shot. He still had Kal’s gun in his right hand. Vorjool fired a half dozen bullets her way. The woman dashed to cover behind the wall in the street.

  He got up, back-stepped, still aiming the weapon and stumbling in a panic.

  19

  Claudia hurried to switch to her sidewinder pistol. By the time she had switched weapons and taken aim from the safety of her cover, he was already heading through the door down the alley, and she heard screams of panic from within.

  She hurried to fire three rounds that punched through the door, doubting that she’d managed to score a hit.

  “Claudia?!” cried Cane, rushing toward her with Malora matching his pace.

  “I’m fine,” she snapped, grinding her teeth as she appraised them of the situation. “He took a bullet in the shoulder. He went into a door down the alley. Leads into that building on the right.”

  They gave chase immediately. Malora was on point. She took the alley with her gun aimed, quick, but careful. When she passed the door to enter on her good side, he took a shot at her from inside.

  “Give yourself up!” she demanded from the cover of the outside wall.

  “Stay back!” he cried from within. “I will defend myself, if you force me to!”

  Malora reached into a pouch on her belt and extracted a flashbang. She eyed, Claudia, who done the same.

  “Wait,” Claudia said, reaching for the gun in her holster. She set it against Cane’s chest. “Take it.” Cane, after a small moment of reluctance, received the weapon.

  They tossed their flashbangs together.

  Then they covered their ears and shut their eyes. A flash, then a huge bang sounded from the kitchen. Malora raced inside. Claudia went next, adrenaline soaring through her.

  *

  Vorjool was shielding his eyes as he staggered out from the kitchen through red double doors that led to the restaurant. They swung closed behind him.

  Cane could feel something with his power. It was dark, cold, confused. Nothing seemed right.

  As Malora raced through the doors – his grey hand shot out and took her wrist.

  Vorjool reined her in. Then he kicked Claudia square in the chest. She stumbled a half-dozen steps and flipped over a counter in the kitchen. Pots and pans crashed down with her. Cane felt his blood chill when he saw her nasty fall and realised this man possessed incredible strength. He shot his attention to the danger.

  Malora yanked on Vorjool’s wrist, as he took aim for Cane, and barred his arm over her shoulder. He cried out, dropped his gun. She spun, kicking his gut. So he smashed her in the temple with an elbow, caught her before she could drop. Pulled her up and held her in line with Cane’s weapon. He took his finger off the trigger.

  Defiant, Malora threw back her elbow and caught him in the nose. In a furious daze, Vorjool flung her and she whipped down on her head on the tiled floor, sounding a horrid crack beneath Cane’s feet. Blood had sprayed all over the tiles and his boots.

  He received a charge from their foe while he was lost in terror – a flurry of powerful chops to the head stole his vision and balance as one.

  On his back on the kitchen floor, Cane opened his eyes, feeling a stinging pain before his face numbed, and saw Vorjool heave his boot into Malora’s gut. She rolled in a racking fit, blood raining from the gash on her swollen forehead.

  His weapon was lost to him in the skirmish. Cane shot to his feet with urgency and grabbed on his shoulder, spun him around – a blazing hook sent Vorjool staggering away, holding his cheek and moaning pain.

  Cane felt something he didn’t expect. Now that he was so close to him, and Vorjool was evidently distressed, he became aware of his consciousness. Except…it was unlike any consciousness he ever encountered before. It was many things, but most of all...chaotic.

  He had no time to give it further consideration. The man was vicious, dangerous and he would kill them all unless Cane stopped him.

  He blazed across his cheek with a spinning kick and Vorjool’s head snapped into a window on the double doors, smashing through the glass and cutting his forehead deeply.

  Before he could recover from the blow, Cane straight punched his chest. He fell on top of a cooker that was still hot. Crying out, he got off it in a hurry, came at him swinging kicks as smoke trailed from his back.

  Cane retreated, swaying from the attacks, and used his reach advantage to send one back at him that took him in the gut.

  Claudia got to her feet beside him. She took out her baton and extended it with a flick of the wrist. In a flash, she was hitting him all over.

  Vorjool covered his head and backed himself into a corner while she battered him. She struck high. His left hand chopped at her wrist and his right drove into her cheek. She staggered away and then Cane charged in before he could follow it up with another blow.

  Vorjool took up a frying pan from the counter, swung at Cane’s head and missed. He followed it with a clean hook he couldn’t avoid and Cane dropped.

  Claudia twirled her way between them, striking, and they entered into a frenetic melee. She whirled and whacked, spun and struck – he broke through and cracked her across the head with the pan.

  Claudia fell on her back with blood spraying from her head on the way down. Unconscious in a flash. Malora was still rec
overing from the damage she’d taken. The way she was holding herself, he surmised that Vorjool had broken her ribs.

  This was now a one-on-one battle to the death. I have to kill him!

  Cane got up and charged with a bloody snarl, laying a series of ferocious hooks into his ribs from lefts and rights with terrifying rapidity, pushing him out from the kitchen and all the way into the red walled restaurant.

  *

  Jeriko shot a guy behind the knee who had been terrorising a group of frightened people still hiding in one of the ice-white subway cars. Then they pushed on toward the exit. When they were almost there, Jack noticed a hoverbike in a parking area near to the exit.

  He rushed at a guy who had been trying to steal it for himself, and punched him across the cheek. He grabbed the handle bars and held it securely while the guy dropped. Jeriko raced over and hopped on. Jack got on the back.

  “Might wanna hold on,” suggested Jeriko, reeving it up.

  “Ugh.” Jack reluctantly wrapped arms around him. “Well, this feels wrong.”

  “Feels better than falling off and cracking your skull.”

  “Shit. I just remembered. Where’s the helm— “

  Jeriko took off and Jack felt his heart stop. He squeezed him so tight the fernode yelled at him for it. They sped through the station, dodging rioters along the way. Most saw they weren’t wearing New-Wave uniforms and dodged them without incident. While a few others tossed projectiles at them.

  Jack lifted his head and peered over Jeriko’s shoulder, air cutting his cheek, and saw the exit was fast approaching.

  “Hold on!”

  Jeriko pulled back, rising the front of the bike so it took the brunt of the impact as they smashed through a large window pane. Glass pelted his head and hands. They were in the street then and Jeriko pulled back again, this time elevating them and they soared off the ground, flying high above the rioters who were destroying everything around the checkpoint. An explosion went off the other side of the water, over in Virtra City.

  *

 

  But he wasn’t ready to release his control. Cane kicked for his face, and Vorjool back-stepped to safety.

  They fell into a rapid-fire exchange – Cane’s head swaying and dipping from every blow. He smashed his ribs with a hook. Grabbed the side of his head and flung it into his striking knee. Vorjool’s entire brain shook in his skull.

  Cane leapt and delivered a blindingly powerful kick to his head.

  Vorjool flipped over a table, smashing plates and glasses. He rolled along the ground, then saw a carving knife next to him and plucked it up.

 

  Cane came leaping over the table after him. He slashed at his throat, and the tall human shot back. He retreated, swaying, strafing, as Vorjool slashed the air around him, until he finally succeeded in cutting him across the forearm. Blood sprayed. Cane laid into his face with a rapid-fire succession of blows. He slashed across his shoulder, a spray of blood took the wall.

  Furious, Cane snapped up a bottle from the table next to them and smashed it over Vorjool’s face. He dropped away with blood pissing out his cheek.

  He came back at him, slashing the blade relentlessly – his target, bobbed, weaved, and retreated.

 

  Cane swept under his tiring arm when Vorjool tried for his throat. His fists buried into his gut – a dozen times in a blink. Winded and reeling, Vorjool dropped his knife.

  Cane took his head in hands and smashed it off a table. Flung him spinning away. Then speared him to the ground with his shoulder.

  With a bloody snarl, he rose up and smashed him in the face.

  I submit!

  20

  Cane knew at once – this man was a dangerous foe.

  As they went at it fully, he endured the ultimate test of his fighting skills.

  What Vorjool lacked in training, he made up for with his substantial striking power and blinding speed. Each time Cane deflected a blow, no matter how competently, his forearms, wrists, and hands, ached. Everything came at him like hammer-strikes.

  Cane kicked for his head and Vorjool swept under his leg. He came up with a staggering combination of hooks. Three in a flash, the last one moving up to rock his head. He dropped through a table.

  Vorjool fell on him. He rose his fist to strike.

  Malora grabbed his shoulders from behind suddenly and pulled him back. She dropped down with him and locked in a choke hold that had him gasping. She strengthened her hold and cut out his airway.

  Cane got to his feet with effort. Vorjool’s legs shot up. He quickly forced a hand between her arm and his neck to break the pressure.

  He yanked Malora’s hair. Her head twisted as she grimaced. He forced her arm off his throat and punched her in the face. She fell off and then rolled away enduring a stinging pain, eyes shut as she squeezed her red nose between fingertips.

  Cane charged. An overhand chop was blocked. Then he took one in the gut, another to the face. He spiralled – crashing down. Vorjool swept down with him and grabbed hold of his long hair. He wrapped it in his fist and dug a knee into his back.

  “Why are you hunting me, Starman?”

  Cane bit down and grit his teeth.

  “Answer me,” he snapped.

  Vorjool dragged his cheek across broken glass on the ground. Fine cuts opened with red sprays. He turned with it and used the momentum to turn his shoulder that was in the ground to a better angle. Then he placed his palm firmly into the ground. Cane pushed up, remembering all the hours he’d spent in the gym and the dojo preparing for this moment, hoping it would never arrive.

  He grabbed Vorjool’s wrist and pulled himself up, striking him in the chest. Then he dug in close and smashed him with a fierce combination. Breathless, Vorjool let go of his hair and Cane straight-kicked him, using his powerful thigh muscles to send him reeling.

  Again, they fell into a series of blows. Vorjool retreated as Cane harried after him. He forced him to the stairway. Soon enough, they had made it all the way to the second floor. Their blood dotted the walls and the rail.

  He grabbed his throat and pushed him against a rail overlooking the ground floor. Vorjool gasped. Then chopped down on his wrist and Cane backed away feeling an awful pain surge into his hand. It got numb in an instant.

  He was backed into a corner, and he knew that was the last place where he wanted to be. Mindful of this, hard breathing, his swollen face beaming red, Cane went on the offensive again.

  Something had changed. Cane could feel it. His enemy’s consciousness seemed to evaporate some moments ago. All the fear and angst vanished. As soon as it happened, he seemed to ascend to an entirely different level of skill. Enough to match Cane’s skill in every respect.

  His heart pounded as Vorjool narrowly missed his jaw with a hook he knew would’ve sent him into the ground.

  Every instinct was telling Cane to kill. Nothing was being held back.

  For the first time in his life, his thought processes were on hold, commanded entirely by his baser instincts. Blood dripped from his nose. His face was red and black with a rash of fresh bruises. Mounds of swelling were appearing all over his body.

  This was no longer a contest. This was a ripping battle for survival.

  If he faltered, he would die. His training came back to him. He trapped Vorjool’s hands amid an exchange, and used his own momentum against him.

  Vorjool flipped into a chair and the legs split under his weight. Cane delivered an axe-kick to his forehead when he was down. Blood sprayed from a gash that opened across it like a knife slit. The nefarious alien rolled away.

  Cane chased him. His enemy took up a plate and smashed it ov
er his forehead for his eagerness. The shock defeated his defences momentarily. He grabbed his hair and ran Cane’s face into the wall.

  His left eye took the brunt of the impact and he tumbled onto the ground, gasping in pain as his eye shut and swelled up.

  Gunfire cracked – a bullet tore through his chest and Vorjool fell on his back.

  Malora, her face a crimson mask, had pulled the strength from somewhere to come and save him.

  She advanced with her gun aimed in a shaking hand. Stood over him as he lay on his back, eyes shut.

  “No!” cried Cane.

  Malora snapped her head his way in surprise.

  Vorjool kicked her legs away and her back crashed into the rail that overlooked the ground floor. He got up, yanked on her ponytail.

  Vorjool chopped Malora in the nose – a wet, revolting crack accompanied the impact – blood sprayed from a deep gash along the bridge. She stumbled, flipped over the rail, and fell to the ground floor.

  Cane, holding his broken ribs, fighting to catch his breath, reached deep down inside. He roared as he charged at him.

  Vorjool spun his way – swept him to the ground. He struck him across the jaw and Cane’s head whipped with a crack.

  Darkness…

  His head swirling, he saw his friends, the crew of Europa, all sat together at a table eating dinner and sharing drinks. A day with his father when he was a child. The first time he ever made it off world…

  Cane fell weightless into an abyss. A darkness which removed all sense of time, being, feeling.

  Light sparked.

  A single flame burst into existence. He saw Vorjool sat before it, expressionless as flames grew beneath his chin. His eyes vacant, save for the glow they reflected.

  Cane stepped forth, frightened yet intrigued. He didn’t know where they were, how they got here, or if this place was even real. Lightning flashed…he saw a God of thunder.

  His eyes shot open. Disorientated, he came back to the moment as Vorjool grabbed his throat with both hands and squeezed.