by T. C. Edge
“Stay down,” Ragan grunted, before lifting his own rifle and adding it to the chorus.
A moment later, a fourth weapon was singing on their side. Chloe’s eyes changed, losing that fear, narrowing with resolve. She placed her rifle down on the wall, body kept low, and shut her eyes. She didn’t seem to be aiming.
It took Ragan a second to figure out what she was doing - she was using Remus to guide her.
Chloe’s heart was thrashing, adrenaline pumping. She felt alive, a state amped up to the max by such dangerous, ferocious confrontations. Her fear was cast aside, her nanites swarming inside her like bees from a hive, attacking anyone with the temerity to get near.
She stayed low, body out of sight, her rifle placed onto the wall, finger to the trigger. Then she did the last thing anyone else would do when aiming a gun - she shut her eyes.
Returning to Remus’ perception, she worked in tandem with the genius little drone. He drew lower in the skies - though not low enough to be at risk from an errant bullet - and began mapping the positions of the men ahead, hidden in their cover behind car husks and piles of rubble.
The process was intuitive, just as when Ragan tried to capture her outside LA. Then, he’d been chasing her down, trying to take her out with a knock-out dart from his pistol. Though she’d been running away from him, she had a big enough lead for Remus to analyse and predict the trajectory of the darts. He had fed that information right to her, an instinctive process that had her moving out of the path of the incoming bullets before they hit.
It was a function the two had used many times before, though Chloe could take no credit. She didn’t have to think about it at all. Remus did the work, and then fed the intel to her nanites. All she had to do was act.
So it was now. She crouched low and out of sight behind a thick section of wall, and Remus told her exactly where to point. Reaching up to her rifle, she moved it ever-so-slightly, changing its position, aiming where Remus told her. On his command, she pulled the trigger. And from above, through his perception, she saw a man fall.
She’d fired right at a man using an old car for cover. He was hidden as well as he could be, behind its opened door, using the window to rest his rifle and fire. It would take a perfect shot to hit him, an impossible shot in this rain.
But Remus was capable of impossible things.
The bullet ripped right past the window, through the cracked glass, over his rifle, and through his visor. It cracked through the plastic, met his eye, and passed right into his brain. The soldier’s head was knocked back in a whiplash motion, his body slumping immediately to the floor.
One shot from Chloe’s rifle. One kill.
And it felt awful.
Still, she aimed again, guided by Remus, and fired once more. The next missed, the man just moving at the right time, ducking into cover as the shot was made. From above, Chloe saw another fall, though not by her doing. She wouldn’t have known who’d done it were it not for Tanner’s celebratory grunt of, “Got one.”
It seemed odd to celebrate such a thing. These men were part of the Crimson Corps. Whatever had happened back there - whether Slattery had betrayed them or whether he simply thought he’d been betrayed - these soldiers likely had no part in it, nor any say. They were men committed to their cause, just like the group they were firing at. It was heartbreaking that anyone had to die.
That was the world, though. People had a profound gift for finding ways of killing one another, and reasons to justify it.
Chloe fired on, not wantonly, not with any desire or passion. It was through need that she did it, through that most primal of instincts embedded within every human - survival. She shot, one bullet at a time, following Remus’ guidance as the rest bobbed up and down into cover, firing in short bursts in the mist.
The wall, however, wasn’t made for such a battering. Holes started to appear within it as the bricks and concrete got chipped away. The team had to shift their position and move as the gaps grew wider, bullets spraying through and into the apartment behind them. Chloe kept a keen watch on it all, occasionally returning to her own vision to check where the others were, before switching right back to her airborne friend. The transition, given the adrenaline flooding her system and powering up her nanites, happened quicker than normal.
That was good, and might just have saved them. As she returned to her eyes in the sky, alerted by a sudden alarm spreading through her nanites, she saw the shape of a grenade curving through the rain, its trajectory set to take it right over the wall and into the apartment beyond.
“Grenade!” Chloe shouted, warning her friends.
They were quick to see it, a little black orb rushing through the air towards them. Tanner acted quickest of everyone, lifting his rifle from its perch, aiming it high, and firing. His spray of bullets hit the explosive, causing it to bellow loudly in midair. The resulting boom shook the air, a sharp burst of fire flooding the sky before turning quickly into a cloud of black smoke, dispersing quickly amid the falling rain.
“Great shot!” cried Nadia. “But we can’t stay here!”
Her eyes shot for Ragan, and he nodded. With the cloud of smoke still lingering and covering their retreat, they heaved themselves up from the floor and hurried deeper into the apartment. Ragan and Tanner stopped and fired as they went, offering further cover. The girls were first to reach the rear; a door gave entry into a corridor beyond. Nadia kicked right through it, and they poured out of sight, hurrying as quickly as they could through the building as bullets chased them down, cracking into the plasterboard covering the interior walls.
They could hear shouting behind, Quinn’s unit quick to realise they’d made good their retreat. There must be only eight left now, Chloe thought. They’d killed a couple at the farm, and another two now. Their original dozen or so was being steadily depleted. How long would it take for them to cut their losses and run?
Nadia in the lead, the group rushed straight through the building, searching for a way out. They seemed to be moving without specific intent or direction, turning this way and that as they reached dead ends or blocked exits. Chloe thought back to the chase she’d had through that old tenement block in LA, when Mikel has stalked her through the building…
Mikel. He’s out there still…
The thought gave her pause. This was the nano-vamp’s doing, luring Quinn’s team to their position. He wanted them to engage in a firefight. He wanted to create some chaos, the best state for him to hunt. Was he watching them now? Was he tracking them as they went?
Running behind Nadia, she couldn’t help but glance back, suddenly fearing that Mikel would be there. She saw only Ragan, then Tanner, both tall and strong and layered in black. They hurried on, quickly catching up. Ragan reached Chloe and turned her around, hauling her back to running speed as they fled on.
They reached the edge of the building, a blocked metal door giving access to the alley. Nadia charged it with her shoulder but found herself bumped off, wincing. Ragan lifted his weapon, set to shoot the heavy lock, but Tanner came right past them at a gallop, raising his right leg - his bionic leg - and smashing it right into the metal. The entire thing gave way, frame and all, the thick rectangular sheet of metal crashing out into the lane, smothered immediately by the torrent.
They didn’t stop or delay, or spend any time on thanks and congratulation. That would come later. Instead, they continued on, forced right by a large blockage to the left caused by a crumbling building. Sprinting, they reached the end of the lane and moved out into the street. Remus came flitting through the rain-soaked sky, making his own way towards them after being so hastily abandoned. He buzzed an alarm into Chloe’s nanites, and she stopped and turned immediately right.
Down the street, Quinn’s team was coming again, blurs in the fog materialising into men.
“Cover!” shouted Chloe, dragging the others’ attention down the road.
They saw the enemy too, and quickly hurled themselves behind whatever cover they co
uld see. Chloe flung herself behind a pile of rubble, dragging Ragan with her for company. Nadia, nearer the other side of the street, dropped behind the wall of a building, this one currently intact. Tanner, at the rear, slid right down into a gouge in the earth, a crater made by a grenade during previous fighting here.
The team were quick to lift their weapons again and begin to fire. Down the street, Quinn’s squad had done the same; seeking cover, firing back. Guns chattered and roared, joining the growing rumbles of thunder hunting them down from the north. And in the same direction, the relentless, large-scale fighting at the heart of the city seemed to draw ever closer.
It became quickly clear that they couldn’t stay static for long. More grenades came flying from down the street, tossed high and spotted by Remus each time. Some were shot from the sky before they landed; others reached their marks, ripping at whatever cover the group were hiding behind. The rubble gave Chloe and Ragan good protection, and Nadia was well guarded by the wall. Tanner, however, wasn’t in such a good spot. As another grenade came near, threatening to bounce and bobble down into his crater, Chloe shouted down comms for him to move.
“Cliff! Get out!” she roared.
He saw it just in time, though too late to shoot at. With the group so intrinsically linked, they laid down a thick barrage of covering fire as Tanner jumped to his feet and darted further back, seeking better protection up the street. Chloe saw Ragan draw out a sensory grenade of his own.
“Eyes tight!” he called down comms. “Shield your eyes from the flash.”
He stood, hurling the little device down into the mist. A few moments later, the world lit up with a burst of pure light, and a deafening ringing spread through the air. It was nothing like before, when Mikel tricked them. They were further from it, shielded from its full force. The ringing was unpleasant, but would fade quickly. More importantly, their vision, this time, remained entirely unaffected.
They took their chance, not knowing how many - if any at all - of Quinn’s unit had been struck by the blinding light. Ragan grabbed Chloe and continued the retreat, forced to move further north. Nadia was already on the move, hurrying quickly towards Tanner.
Chloe’s ears rang, the residue of the piercing sound lingering. And through the light tone of ringing, she heard something else, muffled noises down comms.
The sound of a struggle.
Her eyes flared, and she sent her gaze up the street. She could see Nadia rushing now, lifting her rifle to fire at something behind them…
Then she saw it - Tanner, on the ground; Mikel, a blur of ferocious black, on top of him. Through the rain she saw red, blood pouring and joining the clear water. It was on Tanner’s face, streaming from deep gashes, his hands held up and trying to shield from Mikel’s ripping fingers, his slashing nails.
His helmet had been torn off…and his face had been torn up.
Nadia fired, roaring, and Chloe and Ragan rushed on after her, all three of them hurrying to their friend. They saw Mikel, crouching low like a predator over its prey, lift suddenly into a standing position, wide, manic grin on his face, fangs sharp but bloodless.
He moved suddenly to one side, avoiding Nadia’s gunfire; so calm and cool, so savage and cruel.
And as the Southern Queen drew nearer, with the other two right behind, Mikel sank back into the storm, and zipped away in a flash.
80
Mikel hurried off into the gloom, hearing the shouts of panic and rage behind him. Gunshots whistled, filling the air, chasing him down. One might hit - it wasn’t impossible - but he had little fear of it. Within moments he was out of sight, sneaking off back into the recesses of some shadowy building.
He turned to look back, peering through the mist. He could just about make out the bundle of black figures, one huddled low over another, knocked out on the floor, the two others looking in his direction, weapons raised…still firing aimlessly.
Come on, he thought. Come after me. You know you want to…
He lifted his hands, his fingers dripping with blood, skin and fragments of ragged flesh caught beneath his long, razor sharp nails. Like his fangs, they could be extended and retracted, a nice little embellishment of his creators.
He lifted those fingers, tasting the blood. Tanner’s blood. Oh, he’d got what he deserved. He got what I promised him.
A feeling of joy and triumph spread through Mikel’s body; not quite a match for that of a kill and feeding, but certainly close. He hadn’t wanted to feast on Tanner; no, his nanites weren’t to his liking. His wishes for that brute were to mangle him, maim him, destroy that handsome face. Oh, how good it had felt.
He’d stalked the group as they’d retreated, waiting for the right time to strike. With Tanner retreating alone, Mikel had decided to take it. Flashing from the shadows, they’d engaged in a brief fight. It hadn’t lasted too long, not with the element of surprise to Mikel’s advantage. He sprung out, battered Tanner down, dragged off his helmet, and tore up that face. Slash after slash, gash after gash. Some of those were deep; deep enough to scratch bone. He doubted even Tanner’s nanites could fix that.
But now he stood, waiting, wanting the rest to react. Tanner had served a purpose, and given him some pleasure, but he wasn’t the real goal here. He’d hope to draw the rest out, for them to come surging at him, enraged. He thought he’d done enough.
But no…they weren’t moving. He could see them through the fog, still where they were. One appeared keen to follow, struggling to break free of another’s grip. The thrashing figure looked smaller - Chloe, or that Southern Queen - caught in a grip that must be Hunt’s.
“Please,” Mikel whispered. “Let her go.”
All of you…come to me.
He stepped back out, moving slowly forward. He knew they could see him now, standing there, waiting. He knew how much Hunt wanted this. He knew they were here for him.
So come…come to me.
Get your revenge.
Ragan held tight as Nadia struggled in his grasp. He could feel her every sinew trembling, every fibre of her body pulsing with rage. That was so unlike her. So unlike the calm, cool, collected girl from Texas, always smiling, always calming others down.
Not now. She’d been consumed by hate at what she’d seen, forcing Ragan to be the one to keep a level head; to stop her from chasing after that faithless creature, lingering out there in the storm, when all he wanted to do was go rushing after him too.
“It’s what he wants, Nadia,” Ragan was saying, pleading. “Don’t give him what he wants. He’s just trying to lure us away…”
Nadia still thrashed, a clotted, desperate roar flooding from her throat. She writhed and wriggled for a few more moments, as if expelling her rage, before suddenly calming and falling still. Ragan didn’t loosen his grip for fear that she’d bolt.
“I’m calm,” she said, voice simmering as she continued staring out. “It’s OK, I’m calm.”
She turned her head down to Tanner, unconscious on the ground. Chloe was tentatively checking his cuts; many of them looked severe. One laceration crossed his right eye, slicing deep, blood still trickling freely from many wounds. His face had been utterly shredded.
Ragan looked at him, properly, for the first time, and felt a devastating punch to his gut. His own rage swarmed and boiled, surging from somewhere deep. He tore his eyes away and sent them back out into the storm, to the murky black shadow still lurking out there. Memories of his past flooded his mind: of Mikel, feasting on his Panther brothers, almost doing the same with him. Of those fangs creeping into his neck, of that knife surging into his chest, moving inexorably for his heart.
And now this, now Tanner. He looked again at his friend, face a pulp of red, and saw the tears begin to stream down Nadia’s face as she escaped Ragan’s grip and knelt down beside him, taken by shock and grief. Chloe looked up from her knees, eyes haunted but firm.
“We need to get him back to the falcon, Ragan,” she said. “We can’t stay here.”
&nb
sp; Ragan looked down the street once more, back the way they’d come. Quinn’s men would soon be following. Some, if not all, had clearly been affected by the sensory grenade. That wouldn’t last forever.
“Ragan!” said Chloe sharply, drawing his eyes. “If we stay here, we’ll all going to die.”
Ragan felt his anger drain as he looked at her, those bright blue eyes a tonic. He began nodding, glancing back the other way. At Mikel, shadow still skulking.
“You’re right,” he breathed. “You’re right. Keep watch.”
He dropped right to his knees, pulling a thin device from his pocket. He slammed its pointed tip straight into Tanner’s neck, pumping him with drugs to wake him up. They needed him conscious. They needed him on his feet.
Tanner was quick to stir, the dosage high. His good eye opened wide, teeth immediately bared in pain. An expression of utter agony, of anguish, visible through the blood and torn flesh, engulfed him. He began mumbling incoherently, shivering hands reaching for his face.
Nadia reached out and gripped his hands, holding tight. She leaned in close, whispering softly through her tears.
“It’s OK, sweetheart. It’s fine, you’re going to be fine.”
Tanner’s remaining eye met hers, calming at the sight of her. She smiled as best she could.
“We need to get out of here, Cliff,” she said slowly. “Can you get to your feet?”
Tanner shut his left eye a moment, the other a bloodied mess, then nodded, looking dazed and confused. With Nadia at one arm, and Ragan at another, they lifted him up. He was unsteady, but kept himself together. Ragan gently stepped away, leaving him with only Nadia by his side.
Down the street, Quinn’s men were stirring, voices floating across on the air. Ragan looked again in the direction of Mikel, his ghostly shape still lingering. He stared a moment, fists balling, knuckles whitening. He wanted more than anything to kill the vamp, hurt him like he had his friend. He wanted to unleash the full force of his vengeance upon him, end his pitiful existence. He wanted…