by Chris Turner
Chapter 11
While Regers patrolled the hostages with his sharp piece of railing, Flip walked to the back of the passenger area, scrutinizing him with a critical eye. Regers gave him a cheery salute. With a surly nod, Flip went to check on the RPG and the disruptor in its cardboard wrapping. Seeing the alien tech missing, he sucked in a breath, his eyes rounding in pools of panic. “Where’d the mind disrupter go?”
Regers shrugged. “Was here when Biggs last used it. Somebody must have got his hands on it, walked off with it.”
Flip gave a roar. “Biggs! We got a real problem here!”
Choko dragged his ass out of the loo, a thickening scowl on his bulldog features. “Pipe down, Flipper. Can’t even take a dump here without your dramatics.”
Biggs strode in from the starboard deck. “What the hell’s wrong?”
“One of these fuckers moved the disruptor,” Flip bawled.
Biggs gazed around the cabin area, his fists clenched. “Where they going to hide it—up their asses?”
“Coulda stashed it somewhere,” said Choko, “in any of the stow bins. If Regers’d been doing his job—”
“Yeah, what about this Regers fuck?” said Flip. “He was the last one near it.”
Biggs inclined his head. “Got something to say, Regers?”
“Nope. I’m in the dark as much as you are. Maybe ask Choko here. Seems he likes to take long shits. Could have been using it as a sex toy in there for all we know.”
Choko glared, his fists knotted, pushing in toward Regers. “You calling me a traitor?”
“Knock it off.” Biggs shoved him back and glared at them. “If we don’t find that tech, we’re dead meat.”
“It’s gotta be here somewhere,” said Flip with frustration. “Let’s all relax.”
“Relax, my ass. Find it.”
* * *
But they didn’t find it and never would. Nobody would.
The next hour passed with tense and embittered arguments. Biggs for all his brains could never imagine that Regers would chuck such a valuable piece of equipment into the ocean, just like that, especially given that it could save their necks if more assault boats and planes came after them. Regers was giving no signs to the contrary. Only then did Biggs point the finger of suspicion at Choko, who he deemed the only one bold and stupid enough to have hidden it with the intent of making an outside deal with a rival gang.
Choko bared teeth in a snarl. “You’re loco, Biggs! Why the fuck would I do that?”
Regers stood in accusatory stance, arms crossed on his chest while things were falling apart. This had been part of his plan, risking his hide to create inner dissension.
Biggs had questioned the hostages and got nothing but tears and whimpers. “We don’t know, we don’t know! We didn’t see anything!” Biggs could write off the teary-eyed freyas who probably hadn’t the nerve or physical strength to pull off such an act. Yet he snarled and took his boots to the wall. Regers’ biggest concern was that Biggs would torture the hostages into admitting that they might have seen him carting it away, but Regers had seen no eyes watching him, at least he thought. So the logical course was to search the ship for the hiding place.
And that’s what they did—for a fruitless hour.
At last, Biggs, circling the deck with a look to tame a wild beast, started to suspect that maybe it could have been tossed overboard.
The next hour passed with no retaliation from planes or coast guard. Choko manned the foredeck, eyeing the hostages through the broken glass, pacing with a bully’s swagger. Though his black, beady eyes scanned the skies with no small anxiety. After a time, he spat out a wad of phlegm. “So we lost the fucking thing, what can we do, Biggs? Good news is, no jets. That’s all these fuckwads got for us here today. Maybe we’ll get out of this yet.”
Biggs leaned against the railing, studying the wind and clouds with a sullen eye. “What do you think, Regers? Choko here thinks that we’re okay now, that we’ll see no more attacks.”
Regers squinted into the sun. “I think that anything could happen, Biggs. We should be on guard. Lucky this tub is even running after the abuse it’s taken. I’d give the engines about—oh, say four hours. And the air cushion?” Regers shook his head. “Not even that.”
Biggs grimaced. “I agree. Let’s hope it gets us to Byarus. But I’m still very conflicted and pissed about the mind disruptor.”
“Bullshit,” spat Choko. “What’s wrong with you, Biggs? You a fucking pussy now? This guy’s got you bedazzled. Boat’s running fine. The authorities don’t give a damn, or are running scared. Got an itch in my pants something awful. Cock’s not getting any action. Think I’m going to take one of these hot chiquitas out for a test drive.”
Biggs shrugged. Choko swallowed two hits of bam and stomped across the deck into the passenger galley. He came out, dragging Marise by an arm. She struggled, a hoarse wail in her throat.
Regers saw the look of terror in her tear-stained face and his heart gave a sickening lurch.
“You got any objection, Regers?” Biggs asked coldly.
Regers looked away in disinterest. Every cell in his body wanted to take his length of metal and start slicing and dicing. Not easy to fake such an emotion. “Don’t matter to me. If she doesn’t wear Choko out, that is.”
“You pig!” Marise cried. She batted her fists on Choko’s barrel chest. “You’re all pigs!” She spat at his feet.
“Hey, none of that.” Choko slapped her in the mouth and dragged her kicking and screaming to one of the baggage rooms.
“Dame’s got a sassy lip on her,” quipped Flip.
“As she should,” said Biggs. “How’d you like to have Chok’s cock up your ass?”
Flip laughed. “Point taken.”
Could have been Regers’ imagination but he thought he could hear Marise’s thrashings and cries through the steel door. After a time, he rumbled, “You boys go in for the rough.”
Biggs gave a diminutive twitch of shoulder. “Chok needs to vent some excess energy. I give him a bit of latitude from time to time. After a bit of fresh meat now and then, he’s good to go. Loyal to a T.”
“Yeah, loyal as an alley cat,” griped Regers.
Biggs shrugged and yawned.
Chok was a mean, bullying wiseass of a scum egging for a take down in the most shitkicking ugly way by someone a little bit meaner, faster and more ruthless than he. It was all Regers could do to keep his head about him. He saw the interested scrutiny in Biggs’s hollowed-out face behind that placid, sleepy gaze and mocking, sardonic grin and a tense moment passed. He weighed Regers for the tiniest sign of cracking.
He nodded, satisfied. “Regers, don’t like the sound of those engines down there. Squealing like rusted-out transport brakes. Frankly, think you need some exercise, get your mind off that pretty bitch in there getting her virginity stripped. Why don’t you take Flip, do one more round looking for that disruptor in the engine room. He mentioned something about you being a mechanic, right?”
Regers shrugged. “Dabbled in this and that.”
“Good. We may not have four hours like you suggest. With no disruptor and one RPG, we’re up shit creek.”
Regers gave a cool nod. “As you like.” Teeth gnashing, he headed down the foredeck to the companionway. Flip came in tow, gun cocked. On a whim, he stopped by Chok’s ‘love room’ before Flip could object. Regers kicked open the door.
“Everything okay in here?” Poking his head in, he saw Choko in the act of undoing his belt buckle, his round, half-naked torso showing too much body hair. Marise cowered, stripped bare, nursing a black eye and bruised arms. “Mind your own business, merc boy. Close that fucking door. Cold in here. Flip’s turn is next, not yours.” He snatched up his gun and aimed it at Regers’ groin, one way of saying back the fuck off or get your nuts blown off.
Regers complied. He faked a smirking nod and salute, but before shutting the door, he intoned, “Need rough foreplay to get it up?” His fist cle
nched as he slammed the door shut, with the wish to choke the life out of Choko’s bull neck. But little he could do with only a strip of metal against two heavily-armed men.
Should he focus on saving Marise? Trying to take down these lowlife hijackers was fraught with risk. Yet Flip’s end was near. On determined feet, Regers turned and made for the engine room, the machinery making more grinding and squealing noises. Flip brought up the rear, all the time Regers imagined Marise’s whimpers and moans as she was borne to the floor. He forced out his anger, all the helpless rage. All were useless energies at this moment. Damn it, Regers! You’re becoming a fucking milksop. A sentimental fool. It’ll get you killed.
He and Flip descended a narrow companionway that led to the engine room, boots clicking on the metal grate. The place reeked of old oil and diesel fumes. Two lamps hung from the ceiling, casting a sallow glow over the machinery, the dust and cobwebs. Two sets of massive diesel engines ran the hovercraft, each positioned at either end. One ran the air cushion, the other powered the rear propellers. The air cushion was the one making the raspiest noises. Flip winced and covered his ears.
The engine clunked away…as if it were about to grind up its metal bearings and chew the place apart. Black smoke trailed from the rear cowling, most of the foul air sucked out by a high-speed air fan and tube. The engine misfired, rattling its housing something fierce.
Flip grimaced. “Doesn’t sound too good, Regers. I hope you got some ideas here because I know jack shit about mechanics.”
Useful information, Flip, thanks for the tip.
Regers set down his piece of metal and toyed with the front cowling, a scowl on his lips. His hands, already smeared in oil, lifted in a wry gesture. His eyes caught sight of a two-foot-long metal rod stuck in a side pocket of the engine housing, along with a grease gun and cobwebs. As he lifted the manifold and poked around under the cowl, he frowned and shook his head, scratched at his cheek, leaving another smear of black grease.
Flip wrinkled his nose.
“What we got here is a burnt solenoid,” explained Regers patiently. “Look for yourself.”
“Solenoid? What the fuck’s that?”
It’s a starter engine, dumbass. You don’t know that though, do you?
Grunting a disparagement, Flip stuck his nose in. Faster than a snake, Regers snatched up the rod and struck the scum killer in the head with its steel end. A most wicked club crunch. A knee came up into Flip’s nose, breaking it and smashing something delicate in the brain. Flip toppled in a limp heap.
“Dumb fuck.” Regers stomped on the fingers of his gun hand, breaking them, kicked the gun away. He dragged the motionless bulk into the utility room, pulled the lock bar down. He scooped up the machine gun. Now he had a proper weapon. But he still had to figure out how to even the odds in a gunfight. In a game of three against one, he’d likely lose.
Regers retraced his steps back out of the engine room and slunk down the hall.
He poked his head around the corner of the passenger area, stuffed the gun in his belt behind his back, gripping the blood-dripping rod. A proven instrument of death. Gila’s and Biggs’s voices drifted to his ears.
“Where’re Flip and Regers?” came Biggs’s snarl. “Go see what’s taking them so long.” Gila left with a grunt.
The thug stopped in the hall. “Regers, there you are, what—” Regers smacked him in the side of the head with the rod when he came around the corner. Gila slumped lifeless. Regers crouched, his muscles rigid.
Two down, two to go.
Biggs must have heard the soft, fleshy sound because he rushed out into the hall, just as Regers ducked back, pulling out his gun. Biggs was unprepared for the bloody, slumped corpse of Gila and gave a gobbling cry.
“You fucking rat bastard, Regers. You’re dead!”
He fired off a burst, turning the galley wall into a honeycombed mess. The passengers bolted from their seats, frightened out of their minds. Amidst a fury of pounding feet and wild yells, Regers remained deathly quiet. He backtracked toward the starboard deck. Let the dumb fuck shout and scream all he wanted, give himself away. Though he doubted Biggs was that stupid.
He wasn’t. Biggs was creeping around the fringes of the starboard deck somewhere, like a shitweasel.
Regers was momentarily confused as to where the fucker was. Last he’d spotted him, he’d ducked under the railing somewhere below the line of the windows.
Regers rushed by the rows of seats of scattered, frightened passengers, his machine gun ready to ream human flesh. A movement to his left. Metal hit glass amidst a volley of gunshots. Biggs, the bastard, was trying to distract him, lure him into an ambush.
A flick of motion at the edge of his vision. In instinctive self-preservation, Regers fell nose to the floor as a rifle pulled up through the broken glass of the starboard deck and unleashed a red line of fire where he’d last been standing. A dark figure flashed out of the companionway.
Fucking Biggs. Forget him. Impossible to take him down in his rat-in-a-maze position. He had to come up with another plan.
Regers’ head swam, zoning out to la-la land in a sudden comfy daze. A dangerous place to go. He shook off the glassy film from his eyes and concentrated on the task at hand by sheer force of will. What was that crud Choko had given him? Probably the only way these lowlifes had the nerve to keep up their mass butchery was to chug bam capsules.
The shoreline was a mile away. Through the shattered passenger windows, he could see long beaches and low boulders that the waves had rolled up and eroded for millennia.
Regers raced to the pilot cabin. He pointed the gun into the cockpit, glimpsed the navigator hunched over the controls, mumbling to himself, blood caked on the back of his head where Biggs had smacked him with the rifle. The captain lay sprawled in an inglorious heap on the floor, long dead.
“Head to the shore!” Regers ordered the navigator. “Beach this bus!” He wrenched at the wheel in spite of the groggy man who gazed at him with glassy eyes of despair. Eyes that now blinked with purpose. “W-What happened back there? I heard shots.”
“Salvation is what, Chief. Don’t talk. Just do what I tell you.”
The navigator nodded and swung the wheel the other way. Hard to the right while Regers ran off, careening down the hall, grumbling under his breath.
More gunshots echoed through the ruin of the ship and the sounds of passengers screaming and dying to Bigg’s half mad rampage of staccato gunshots. Regers cursed. Biggs would kill everybody on this ship before this was all over. Maybe a blessing that Marise was isolated in that room.
Regers ducked back in the littered hall, hoping to waylay Biggs. Choko stumbled out of his love nest, zipping up his pants. Regers felt a blind rage seize him. He aimed his gun. The gangster caught a glimpse of Regers with his machine gun. “You damn fucker!” His hand seized his gun, lifted, black trigger firing.
Too late. Regers peppered the bastard’s chest and gut full of holes. Choko gasped, sagged. He gurgled monosyllables as he fell forward, like a sack of wheat.
Regers ran over and knocked the gun out of the lowlife’s fingers. He smashed his head with the heel of his boot, stomped on the neck, crushing every bone and artery to make sure there was no margin of error.
Regers grinned in triumph. Choko would never bully and rape again. He licked his lips. Three down, one more to go…
He moved on swift feet, wrenched open the door to the baggage room.
Marise hunched naked in the grey shadows trembling like a wind-tossed leaf. She rocked, defeated, her sleek, perfect sun-browned body seeming very doll-like in the watery light streaming through the window. The cumulative horror of the past hours was too much for her to bear.
Regers scrambled over to her side, his mouth dry. “Get dressed, Marise.” He lifted her to her feet, feeling her cringe under his touch. He winced as she struggled feebly in his grip. Snatching up her tattered clothes, he pushed them into her hands. She stood almost comatose, her mouth gaping open at
him like a shucked clam, her lipstick smeared, hair tangled, unable to say a word.
Regers grimaced. He bit his lip. A fierce wave of anger swam in his chest. Nothing he could do. Choko had paid the price…but had left behind another innocent casualty of war.
A sour regret ran through Regers’ drugged consciousness. His mind flashed on that split second decision that had led him to the engine room bashing in Flip’s skull. He’d made the move to take out Flip first, then Choko. Could he have saved her from this trauma?
Marise fumbled in a blank daze to put on grime-smeared white cotton pants and black blouse. Regers wrapped his jacket tightly around her quivering shoulders. Stumbling out of the room, he knelt over Choko’s bullet-ridden body. He snatched up the satchel of Devirol caps off his bloody torso, tucked it in his own pocket. The touch and sight of them triggered a fierce craving deep in his body, of hunger, unfulfilled need. Succumbing to the sudden urge, he popped a pellet in his mouth then another, broke them with his teeth, sucking the tart chalky substance with relish, letting the synthetic narcotic glide down his throat and tingle the nerve centers on the way. Addiction was a long and deadly road…
More gunshots. Regers instinctively ducked back. Biggs was still on the rampage. Regers swore. One last fucker to take down.
He left Marise there, gazing in blankness at the blood-smeared body of her abuser. Over his shoulder, Regers caught a glimpse of her crouching at Choko’s side, carving his eyes out with a piece of broken glass—glass that quickly descended to his groin.
Feet racing down the deck, he felt the blood pounding in his ears. The surge of adrenalin pushed him on. His body had taken a beating over the last few days. Three-day-old memories flitted in his mind of the ravaged bodies and the bombs mincing human flesh. Drug-induced flashbacks of the most violent nature…