Dead4u

by H E Johnson

The sky was dark. Rain dripped down my forehead and over my mouth. Just noon but it was already a hot motherfucker of a day. And I was wearing latex. Fuck. I stuck out my tongue and let the rain hit my tongue.

  Federov led the way. We walked down a dirt path into the woods. Birds flew out of the trees. A squirrel, sitting on its haunches, watched us tramp over the ground. Before long we came upon another clearing, larger and much wider than the first. A circle of yellow posts were stuck in the ground at regular intervals of approximately a metre. A couple metres past these was a tall metal fence—about three metres high—with razor wire looped at ground level. This fence surrounded the entire clearing. We walked through a narrow gate into the clearing.

  All of us except Helga, that is. Two men, whom I’d never seen before, shunted her off on a side path. Leading where? Helga looked back at me, saw me watching. and stuck out her tongue.

  I got seriously bad vibes from this setup.

  Four men were waiting for us. They stood behind large video cameras supported on tripods. These cameras pointed toward the clearing’s centre.

  In keeping with Griffin’s request, I did a full three-sixty sweep with my eyes so he could pass the layout to Novak and Wolseley. Sweet hadn’t lied. For the most part it was grass. Tall grass at that. But there was a small hill too, crowned by three tall oaks, in the middle of the clearing. The sides of this hill had been worn away into dirt. Which was now getting a good soaking.

  Oh goody. We were playing King of the Castle. Not hard to see where this was going.

  Federov told us to line up. So we did. I stood on the left with Emily beside me and Shaun to her right. Big Boy stood in front of us. He held a stun gun which he kept pointed at me. I heard a sharp clink and turned in the direction of the sound. Shaun Wexford now wore a metal collar. Federov, moving to Emily, snapped an identical collar around her neck. I was next. I didn’t say anything. Didn’t move an inch. I could see Bog Boy’s trigger finger itching to jolt me into outer space.

  Federov walked around to face us. “All right,” he barked. “Ground rules first. See that fence? Once you’re locked inside, it’ll be electrified. Yellow markers form a warning line. Step past them, you get a friendly jolt from those collars around your necks. Don’t worry. It’ll sting but it sure beats getting fried on that fence. And you’ll know how close you are to the juice without having to turn your back on your opponent.” He paused, hands on hips. “Questions?”

  Emily said, “Yeah. Where’s my weapon?”

  Federov clucked his tongue and wagged a finger. “Look at Miss Eager Beaver here! Getting down to business!” He pointed at a red flag flying from a tall pole on the far left of the clearing. Then his hand swung to a blue flag on the right. “Blue flag is for the challengers. Red flag is the champion’s corner. You’ll find the weapons there. When we close the gate, you go to the flags and grab your stuff. Stay there till I yell for you to start.”

  “We’ve got money,” said Shaun. His quavery voice broke. “You can have it. Anything you want.”

  Federov turned to Big Boy and rolled his eyes. “Lawyers.”

  Big Boy giggled.

  “Keep your money, Mr. Wexford.” Federov told him. “You don’t got enough. Just remember: you win, you leave. Lose?” He made a slashing motion across his throat. “You leave this place in a bag. Got it?”

  Shaun nodded stiffly but said nothing. Rain poured down his face. His eyes were big and wet.

  Emily sighed. “Try to be a man,” she murmured. “For me. Just this once.”

  Waving goodbye, Federov and Big Boy left for the gate. We three turned to watch them.

  “If you’ve got a plan,” Emily whispered, “this would be a good time to share it.”

  “Okay,” I replied. “I’ll come at you screaming. You two fall down and beg for mercy. I pretend to faint and fall on top of you.” I met Emily’s eyes. “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re going to die, you fucking bitch.” Her eyes glinted. “That’s what I think.”

  ◆◆◆

  When the gate closed, I headed for the red flag. Wet grass brushed against my thighs. As I walked, I took deep breaths in time with my steps. And considered possible strategies.

  Taking the hill was an obvious objective. Fighting from high ground to low was about as basic as it gets. Although I didn’t love the ballet slippers, my footwear was infinitely preferable to Shaun’s sandals or Emily’s high-heeled boots.

  Advantage: me. If I made the hill first. Otherwise: not so much.

  I thought of the darts hidden in Emily’s war fan. Five darts. With three oak trees on the hill providing the only cover. So. Keeping that clump of trees between me and Emily’s arsenal seemed like a good idea.

  The red flag was a couple metres away. At its foot lay the hammer. My palms felt moist. They itched to grip the shaft and feel the weight of that heavy sledge.

  I stepped into a puddle. Then another. Ground was soggy here. Maneuvering in this muck would be a challenge for someone my size.

  Advantage: assholes.

  I checked the perimeter. The camera on my left swivelled toward me. The one on the right turned in the Wexfords’ direction—not that I could see them with the hill between us. The one facing me panned slowly across the field.

  Where was Sweet in all this? He’d be watching. And close by, no doubt.

  Rain was getting heavier. I pictured sloshing through the tall grass with mud sucking at my feet. This was going to be a shit show.

  An image of Shaun’s katana cutting off my head flashed through my mind. Then Emily’s war fan slicing my belly open. I shut down these random thoughts by concentrating on the hammer. I bent down. Picked it up with both hands. Squatted low on my haunches before rising. In the distance, I saw Federov. He looked at me. Then at my invisible opponents.

  Big Boy was on his phone. Federov turned to him. The ex-Spetsnaz raised a megaphone to his mouth. Waiting. Then Big Boy gave a thumbs up.

  We were live now. Going out to unseen millions of eyes.

  Life & Death

  When that amplified voice hollered, “Start!”, I ran for the hill. My legs churned through tall wet grass. I pictured the Wexfords doing exactly the same thing. Only neither of them would be carting around a sledgehammer.

  Griffin whispered, “I’m watching the fight on livestream. Shaun’s headed to the hill. But Emily’s circling left. She’s trying to flank you.”

  Good to know.

  I didn’t waste breath answering him. I was sprinting over a muddy field with a sledge in my hands, through grass so high I couldn’t see the ground. It was hot and humid, and the rain wasn’t improving my mood. Ahead was a man wanting to remove my head. To my left: his wife planning to bushwhack me.

  Happy hour at the Fuck Me Bar & Grill.

  I reached the base of the hill and looked up. No Shaun. I ran up the slope and slipped backward. Used the sledge to halt my slide. Digging in with my toes, I scrambled back up. The trees were only a few steps away.

  “He’s reached the hill,” Griffin said. “She’s running past it now.”

  Great. Having Emily Wexford sniffing up my ass was just what I needed. Now I had to choose. Which one to fight first? Emily was the more dangerous of the two. Killing Shaun quickly—if I could—would allow me to concentrate on her.

  I ran between the trees. I saw Shaun below me. He was trying to climb the hill with the katana in one hand. His head was down. I closed the distance in two bounds. Raised the sledge high with both hands. And jumped.

  Shaun looked up just in time to see the hammer that cracked his skull with a heavy thud. I lost my footing and rammed into him with enough force to send us both tumbling down the hill, coming to a stop at the bottom with me on top.

  I got to my feet and looked down. Shaun was still breathing. Oh well. I swung the hammer skyward. Gulped air. Brought it down hard. Wet pulp splashed my chemise and dripped down my thighs.

  For the first time, the sheer practicality of latex clothi
ng struck me.

  “Behind you!” screamed Griffin.

  I ducked but not quickly enough. A needle slammed into the back of my right shoulder. Right butt cheek took a hit too. And the others? I looked around. Saw three feathered flights clumped together like a bouquet in the grass.

  Still squatting, I pivoted and swung the sledge in a crosscutting arc. Emily, charging downhill, hurdled the hammer’s shaft and barrelled into me. The impact pushed me back but I managed to keep my feet. Emily wasn’t so lucky though. She fell back against the slope and watched the war fan sail from her hand.

  We watched it land together. Two metres and well out of reach.

  I got to my feet and rushed her. Emily rolled left. Swerving to follow, I took aim at a kneecap and narrowly missed. Emily did a kip-up to standing and threw a side kick at my ribs. I caught the blow on my left elbow and felt the arm go dead. With one hand, I twisted and used the torque to hurl the sledge at her midsection. Caught her in the solar plexus. Emily fell to her knees and opened her mouth for breath that wouldn’t come.

  I didn’t waste time going for the hammer. I got up and stomped hard on the back of her neck. Emily went down face first. Using all my weight, I dropped a knee on her neck. There was a sharp crack, and Emily went still.

  I’d won. Hurrah for me.

  I took a moment to pull the darts out of my body. Fortunately, the tips weren’t barbed like arrows. Still hurt like a motherfucker though.

  Picking up the hammer, I raised it in victory. Then, resting it on my uninjured shoulder, I limped toward the gate where Federov and Big Boy huddled with their phones.

  Griffin told me, “Novak and Wolseley are close. Stall as long as you can, Nikita. The feed’s still running.”

  I laughed. “Are you stupid?” I hissed. “The fight’s over. They don’t need me now.”

  “Um,” said Griffin. “I think they do.”

  ◆◆◆

  “What now?” I whispered.

  “They’re announcing a special event,” Griffin said. I heard him clear his throat. “It’s a battle royal. With . . . twenty-one entrants.”

  “So?”

  “You’ve been entered in this match. Shit. I don’t know where they found these guys. We haven’t heard of any new kidnappings. Um, they must be . . . volunteers, I guess?”

  So that was it. Sweet planned to maximize his return on my traitorous ass by putting me into a contest with twenty random psychos out for my blood. Wonderful. I was wounded. I was fatigued. And now I’d be fighting against overwhelming odds.

  They’d gang up on me first, of course. Twenty-to-one odds? Might as well be a thousand-to-one. Basically, I had the same chance as a snowball playing with matches in Hell.

  Federov waved me over as I neared the gate. He opened it and entered the arena with Big Boy. Still no sign of Sweet. I walked up to Federov and said:

  “So can I go home now?”

  Federov laughed. “Not yet, Crystal.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “We found you some fresh competition.” He nodded at the sledge I carried on my shoulder. “You won’t be needing that.”

  Big Boy aimed his stun gun at my chest to emphasize the request. Not being stupid, I dropped the hammer. Gently.

  I heard voices coming from the trail. Then I saw them. It was a conga line of brawny types. The men wore plain white boxers and nothing else, not even shoes. The women—four in total—wore kilts. All had that hardbitten look of death-row inmates. One of whom was Helga. And leading this group of killers into the arena was Darlene.

  She went to Federov. “They’re ready to go,” she said. Glancing at me, she added, “Did you give Crystal the good news?”

  Big Boy gurgled a hideous half-laugh.

  Federov said, “DEAD4U is staging its first ever battle royal. Now.”

  “Let me guess,” I said dryly. “I’ve been invited to participate.”

  Darlene grinned. “See, Feliks? I told you she wasn’t stupid. Even those big dinosaurs had two brains.”

  I ignored this pointed allusion to extinct reptiles. I pictured Darlene’s head decorating my personal trophy wall. Mouth frozen into that same grin. But there’d be terror in those dark eyes.

  Before she died Darlene would learn what fear felt like.

  Federov explained this was a barehanded tournament. No holds barred. No rules at all, in fact. Last one breathing would be declared the winner. Prize: ten million dollars. Cash.

  That none of us would ever collect. Aloud I asked: “Where did you find these upstanding citizens?”

  Federov made a face. “It wasn’t hard. You got any idea how many jokers would kill for this kind of money? We got a real mixed bag here. Mercs. Bikers. Wannabe gangsters and ninjas. In other words, a bunch of lowlife scumbags willing to risk their lives for a fast buck. Recruited from bars mostly.” He smiled and waved at the group.

  None of them waved back.

  “What now?” The fatigue in my voice frightened me. I was perilously close to giving up. “Do we choose up sides or what?”

  “You’re the champ,” Federov said. “You pick a spot. I’ll keep the others here by the gate until you stop somewhere. I’ll yell start . . .” He finished with a shrug.

  I held up a hand. “Got it,” I told him.

  Turning, I walked back to the hill. It was the logical choice. If I could withstand the initial onslaught . . . if those in the rear attacked the easier targets in front of them . . . if, if, if and fucking if.

  In my head, Griffin whispered, “Novak and Wolseley are on site. They’re preparing to extract you. But first they need to find Sweet.”

  Of course. Arresting Sweet and breaking up DEAD4U took priority over saving my wide ass. The department’s rep had taken a serious hit with all the kidnappings. And needed a high profile bust to even things out. Badly.

  When I didn’t reply, Griffin said, “Any idea where we can find him?”

  We?

  “Saw him before the match,” I muttered. “Not since.”

  Griffin was silent. I could hear his breathing though. It sounded calm. Perfectly regular. He didn’t feel adrenaline’s icy kick or hot blood flowing to limbs. He was safe in his comfy safe house. Hiding behind cameras and microphones where none of this could touch him.

  “Hang in there,” said Griffin. “Help’s on the way.”

  ◆◆◆

  I climbed the hill, turned toward the gate and stood still. Federov was talking to my opponents. Several of them saw me stop. Someone shouted. Twenty arms rose. A hundred fingers. All pointing at me.

  Federov turned slowly. Distance was too great to read his expression. I imagined a smirk as he lifted megaphone to lips. His voice rang out cold and clear. Then I watched the horde run at me.

  As they closed on my position it took every ounce of willpower to stand my ground. I’d considered a run-and-fight strategy but discarded the idea. Against one or two opponents such a strategy might’ve worked. With twenty, there was no chance. A handful could chase me to exhaustion. Then the others, fresh and rested, would fall on me like slavering wolves.

  So I waited in front of the oaks on the crest of the hill. Five peeled left, another five turned right. I smiled. Their plan was obvious. First they’d encircle and close off all avenues of escape. Then they’d come at me from all sides.

  When the frontal wave raced uphill, I turned and jumped for the lowest limb on the tree nearest me. The bark felt slick from the wet. So I tightened my grip. Pulling myself up, I stood on the branch and leaped across to an even higher branch on a neighbouring oak. I could’ve continued to climb but my current position seemed more defensible than any other.

  “She’s in the trees!” one of them yelled.

  It was a brutish lump of a man with the fat belly of a biker. His body was covered with a mat of thick wet hair. He held a hand over his eyes to shield them from the rain. I watched him scan the three oaks for likely footholds. His eyes narrowed.

  I smiled and waved at him. I’d selected this p
articular branch for both thickness and height from the ground. It had looked sturdy enough to support my weight. And maybe another’s. Or maybe not. Falling from it shouldn’t be fatal but definitely carried the risk of injury. Enough to discourage heavier types from attempting to join me. Leaving me to fend off (and hopefully damage) the lightweights.

  Tactically sound. Strategically: hopeless.

  A crowd gathered around the trees. Discussions ensued about bringing me down. The debate turned into a fight between two female competitors. Several men stopped to cheer them on. When one of the women fell, the crowd swarmed her.

  One down. Nineteen to go.

  Meantime one of the men decided to try his luck with me. This one looked fit and then some. He was smaller than me but not much. Say 85 kilos to my 90. Definitely shorter and more compact. Reach advantage: mine. Leverage: his.

  I watched this guy clamber up the same oak I’d used. There was a military look about him. He sported the usual buzzcut hairdo, square jaw and clean-shaven mug. Shoulder tattoo. Smelled like military to me.

  Soldier Boy mounted the first tree with surprising speed and agility. Now that he was closer, I checked out the tattoo. It was a winged skull attached to a parachute. Airborne then.

  Airborne’s body language was confident. Maybe too confident? That he’d decided to take me on alone said a lot. First: he had a plan. Second: he figured killing me would psych out the others. And third: he wasn’t afraid.

  I watched him prepare to launch himself at me. I noted the placement of his hands and feet. Watched his eyes as he judged the distance to my branch and then to me. He’d want to land outside my reach and then attack with a single strike to dislodge me from the tree.

  Crystal McCord could’ve handled this guy easily. But I wasn’t her, not really anyhow. Inhabiting McCord’s body hadn’t given me her fighting skill. I was on my own.

  Airborne’s eyes settled on a point where the main branch forked. I waited for him to commit. When he jumped, so did I. A short hop put me in position. Landing first, I struck at him before he got his feet set. Airborne’s mouth formed a large O. He fell to the ground and crashed into the crowd below.