Crossroads, page 11
part #1 of Hollow Island Series
He parted the branches of the tree, and heard someone approach from a dark street behind him.
“Hey,” said a woman, coming closer. “Have you seen a … Ranger?” It was Chiel, the leather merchant, and her voice went starkly flat on the last word. “Oh. It’s you.”
“What’s wrong?” asked Nash.
Her dark eyes changed from worried to suspicious as she glared at him. Under her breath she muttered, “Just my luck.”
“Do you need help?” asked Nash.
“Why?” demanded Chiel. “Do you know a Ranger who’s worth a damn?”
The comment stung, but Nash tried not to show it. “If you don’t want my help, just say so.”
“I just wish you could help. Your helping doesn’t ever seem to help anyone. You’d just make it worse. Again.”
He wanted a chance at redemption, but he could only offer so many times. “Your loss,” said Nash, reaching for the tree branch.
Chiel grunted in frustration. “I think there’s someone watching my house. My husband, Viktor, saw a man in a black cloak and I felt a weird feeling of being watched when I came home. We just … You know what? Never mind. I’ll find someone else.”
“I’ll come take a look,” offered Nash, though what he really wanted to do was get some food in his belly.
“No.” Chiel shook her head. “No, I don’t have a lot of faith in you. We’ll find another Ranger tomorrow.” She started walking away.
“No, really,” said Nash. “Can’t hurt for me to go see.”
She paused and looked him up and down. “Thanks but no thanks. It’s better if you stay away.” With determination this time, Chiel spun and walked away.
Nash’s first thought was for his stomach, which would finally get what it wanted. Almost immediately, the thought fled in favor of his desire to make right a mistake. Chiel couldn’t stop him from walking down the street where she lived and looking around. Yeah, unwanted help had gotten him in trouble with the Wizard and Snake, but he wasn’t going to let that failure keep him from ever trying to help someone again. When Chiel turned a corner half a block away, Nash started after her … and flashing red letters appeared in his lower right field of vision.
BOUNTY ALERT: 50 kilos. Wanted for murder. Old city San Juan. PROCEED WITH ALL HASTE!
It made him jump. He’d never ever heard of a dispatch like that, as impossible to ignore as an incoming call.
PROCEED WITH ALL HASTE!
For half a second, he considered his options. Go where he was needed with haste, or butt into someone else’s problems? There was really no way he could justify tailing Chiel and ignoring the urgent summons.
An arrow appeared next to the flashing word, pointing to the left. It seemed like all intersections led left for him lately, and since he didn’t even know where to start looking for old city San Juan, he tucked the stew under one arm and took off at a run. The arrow shifted so that it pointed straight ahead. For fifty kilos, he’d follow that arrow halfway across the island.
A million questions raced through his mind as he raced through the semi-dark streets of San Juan. How many other Rangers would show up? Would they split the bounty or would it go to a single Ranger? Was Nash even eligible to get a bounty since he hadn’t done his two weeks of training yet? That would be the ultimate kick in the nuts if John Wayne earned a bounty for something Nash did.
Nash doubted he would have gotten the alert if he wasn’t eligible to collect the bounty. And it was fifty kilos! Even with a tenth of that, he could take time off and travel to a new city for a new start. He could take Ranger classes if they had such a thing here. Shoot, he could even hire a Ranger to teach him the job.
The arrow flashed right and he turned at a house where a group was having a late-night party. The smell of roasting pig tempted him to detour from the bounty and crash the party. Fifty kilos, though.
That was the first thing he would do with the money: find out if there were any all you can eat buffets on the island and treat himself. If he couldn’t find one, he’d buy an entire roast pig that smelled as savory as the one he just passed and eat the entire thing himself. With his newfound hunger, probably brought on by his body’s craving for nutrients to replenish what it had used to heal itself, he felt like he could compete with the professional speed eaters in their hot dog eating contests.
Money had never been his motivating factor in life, and he had the empty pockets to prove it. Tonight, though, he’d do anything that wasn’t immoral or illegal to snag that bounty. And since he didn’t really know the laws here, he wasn’t too concerned about the illegal half of the equation.
With no way to know how far he still had to go, he didn’t know if he’d be the first Ranger there first or not. He tucked the stew flask under his arm like a football and increased his speed. The buildings flew by, growing taller as he approached the skyscrapers of the abandoned part of town. Old city San Juan, it made sense now. Anything over a few stories high was impractical or undesirable with no elevators. The glass windows with no vents would suffocate you in the heat, as well. So the outskirts of the city attracted settlers.
Nash realized his mind was clear, even though he was pushing his speed. What surprised him more, his lungs weren’t burning.
Faster, faster, a full out sprint, and finally he thought he might have reached the top limit of his body. He wasn’t any faster than he had been before, but instead of keeping this up for maybe a hundred meters, he could probably do a full kilometer like this.
The arrow blinked left, but the turn was too sharp. Nash didn’t even try to make the curve, just slid to a stop on the rough asphalt then looped around, and made the turn. There were no lamps or torches on the walls in this abandoned part of the city, and Nash started to wonder what kind of monsters he could meet on the dark streets of this city.
Ninjas? Wizards and Snake men? Vamps, Titans?
Rangers?
Right about now, Nash would take anyone as a partner, even that scumbag John Wayne. It would even be worth splitting the bounty to have some back up.
What was he talking about? He didn’t want some back up, he wanted some leadership on this mission. Someone who knew what they were doing.
The arrow blinked left again. Nash wasn’t up to full speed, and made the turn without having to stop this time. At the next intersection, the arrow blinked left again and he complied, even though it didn’t make sense.
Two wrongs don’t make a right, Army used to say, but three lefts do.
So why hadn’t they just given him a shorter route to follow? Maybe the perp was on the move. Or a street was blocked the other direction? Or whoever was directing him wanted him to approach from this direction? Or—
The arrow disappeared, someone in the road ahead howled, and Nash slowed to a stop again. In the middle of the street less than 50 meters away was a group of people, and they appeared to be standing around someone on the ground. This was no family barbecue. About six men were there, all in an aggressive posture, standing around a couple of bodies on the ground.
Thanks to his clumsy approach, Nash had drawn the attention of the whole group.
They stared each other down for a few seconds, giving Nash time to scan the closest of the group, a tall, blondish Ware.
Vallin Beardsley, formerly Maoilios Gökhan from Turkey. Ware —
The bio disappeared as Nash startled and his gaze went to the rest of the group. All stocky with sideburns and he thought he saw claws at the ends of their hands.
Half a dozen Wares, and look at that, they were all looking right at him.
Nash pulled his gun.
He had no idea what to do with it. The dispatch hadn’t said who he was after, and from what he’d seen of the first Ware’s bio, there was no bounty on him. But they did seem to be up to something nefarious here.
Nefarious? Really? Cut the vocab lesson and think about something useful, dummy! Better yet, DO SOMETHING!
Nash raised his gun above his head and fired into the air. The street illuminated briefly under the muzzle flash, and the concussion of the shot rolled over the night, covering the beating of the Druids’ drums.
He didn’t really know what he’d been trying to accomplish with the shot, but it did get the Wares’ attention. All of them started walking toward him, rather than away from him as he’d expect sane people to do.
This was Hollow Island after all. Expectations of sanity should qualify someone as insane here.
A couple more Wares came around a corner, and at least one or two stepped out of shadows. He wasn’t facing six Wares; there were at least ten now.
Without realizing what he was doing, Nash took a step back.
What did he think, that this would be an easy bounty for fifty kilos? He’d taken a hell of a beating for much less. Two pinkies lost, with one measly brass mil to show for it.
It wasn’t worth a million kilos if these Wares killed him. After the warning shot, he had nine bullets left in his gun, plus six rounds of Holy Barbs. Without any other weapon, he didn’t think he could fight these things hand-to-hand. It would take some fast, accurate shooting to win this one. John Wayne could probably pull it off, but Nash had very little experience shooting in conditions like that.
He took another step backward.
The Wares took two steps forward.
Was there even anything he could do here? Not for those dead bodies on the ground. He took a step backward, and finally the Wares stopped. Nash let out a long breath of relief. It appeared they didn’t want any trouble with him.
There were two bodies on the ground, no three. Two were dressed in shorts and tank tops like the other Wares, but one was in all black. He let his eyes rest on that body.
Livi Barbosa, BOUNTY 50 kilos. Formerly Bianna Lopes, a mortgage broker from Brasília, Brazil. Vamp. 5 years on Hollow Island.
“Fig me,” muttered Nash. Facing ten Wares to save a Vamp? Nash knew who she was, the most famous Vamp on Hollow Island. At least he knew now that she was the bounty, and he knew exactly what he had to do to get to her.
Unfortunately, he also knew she wasn’t dead yet or the bio would have told him. Did it really change things? If there was a bounty out on her, that meant she was a criminal of some sort, and according to the original dispatch, wanted for murder. That made sense for a Vamp, and she was not the type of person, or creature, he wanted to risk his life for, no matter how much money was in it for him.
Nash took another step backward.
“That’s right, Ranger,” said Vallin. “Walk away.”
Nash didn’t like being pushed around. He hated the idea of being torn limb from limb even more.
Another Ware spoke from behind Vallin. “She’s ours. We own her now.” It sounded like a woman, and glancing more closely, Nash saw that the shape of breasts and hips under her clothes and hair. Like the other Wares, she had porkchop sideburns, which were partially obscured by her longer hair.
Vallin snapped in her direction and she cringed from him. To Nash, he said, “To the victor go the spoils.”
“Victor?” Something about what the Wares had said had brought his spine straighter than when they’d told him to leave. “Was this some kind of fight?”
“What it is doesn’t concern you.” Vallin growled in his Turkish accent.
Nash was back in the street with the Wizard and the Snake. This time, the bribe was his life. All he had to do was walk away. Just let them go on about their business and he could live.
“What was it, ten on one?” asked Nash. “That doesn’t sound like a fair fight.” Fear pulled on his flatpack like a parent trying to back a kid away from standing too close to the street. Nash leaned against it, still not sure if he dared take a step forward or not.
“It was thirteen,” Vallin said, stepping toward Nash. “She killed two of us. Now walk away, unless you’d like to see how you do one versus eleven.”
Eleven genetically enhanced killing machines with more years on the island than Nash had days probably. This was a fight he couldn’t win. If he went and got some help, or even waited for more Rangers to show up …
The Vamp, Livi Barbosa, started shaking, her limbs twitching in jerky spasms. Either she was epileptic, or she’s been exposed to Holy Water. Nash had the antidote on his back, just no way to get close enough to administer it.
If Nash left now, he would come back to find the Wares chewing on her bones. She needed help, right now, and Nash was the only one who could give it.
It was the same as Jed and his stun gun. Nash had faced it plenty of times, had felt it plenty of times. Seeing Jed pull it out was terrifying. Even worse was seeing Jed point the gun in Karolina’s face. Every time Nash saw that, he would intervene, standing in front of Karolina and usually getting two or three jolts instead of the one Karolina would have gotten. Two was usually enough to make him pee himself, and three did it every time.
But once in a while, not very often, Jed would go to town on Nash and forget about Karolina. And that made it worth intervening.
That’s what Nash had told himself he’d do here on Hollow Island, and even though he’d tried, it hadn’t paid off for a single person. Nash couldn’t let another Gembel happen here, even if this chick was a Vamp and a criminal.
No one else was coming. Either he was the only one who got the bounty alert, or the only one stupid enough to take it.
Well, he’d never been accused of being a genius, and if there was still any doubt in anyone’s mind, he was about to eliminate it.
“Stand up,” he muttered under his breath, and took a step forward, knowing it might cost him more than a couple of pinkies.
What now? The Wares had hunkered slightly in defensive postures when Nash moved toward them.
He couldn’t just start shooting. Nothing they’d done in training had prepared him for this. The first weeks on the island with a trainer were supposed to do that. All he knew was that he had to win this fight, and give that woman the antidote.
Hell, he’d figured out how to eat a mango, and while he still suspected he wasn’t doing it right, he had done it. Whether he did this Ranger thing right or wrong, he’d do it his way.
“Not another step,” said Nash, aiming the gun at Vallin’s center mass.
The Wares took a step toward him.
No hesitation. Nash pulled the trigger.
The muzzle flash blinded him, and he could barely make out the pack of Wares bolting for him. Trying to maintain the distance between them, Nash stepped back slowly as he continued to fire, counting his shots. Eight, seven, six, five.
He was mostly blind and the cloud of spent gunpowder in the air wasn’t helping.
The Wares still rushed him. With his thumb, he switched over to Barbs.
Six, five, four, three, he shot at vague dark shapes. The Barbs were much quieter than Lead, and he heard the sound of pins pinging off of buildings on both sides of the street.
Two, one. No more Barbs. He hoped and prayed they were half as effective as he’d been told.
Ten meters still separated Nash from the charging monsters, and he had no idea how many were still coming.
“Four, three, two,” he said under his breath as he pulled off all of his Lead shots but one.
At least one Ware fell and slid in the street and didn’t get up. As they had advanced, they had spread out and come up on both sides of him. One tore past him, raking his claws along Nash’s leg. He could feel the skin of his thigh being torn away, along with some tissue under the skin.
As Nash turned to aim at that one, another one kicked him in the back, sending him sprawling forward a few steps. He barely caught himself and as he was windmilling his gun arm he saw a glimpse of another Ware approaching from behind.
Nash spun away and barely missed an upswing of claws that was headed straight for his face. He brought up his gun, ready to drop the next one to charge. His vision had cleared enough to see them spread into a circle around him.
Eight of them, he thought, but the way they circled, darting in and out, made it hard to get a count. Most of them had tiny needles sticking out of their clothes, hair, and in a couple of places, skin. The Barbs didn’t seem to be slowing them down.
One of them caught him from behind with a punch or kick. When he spun to face that direction, someone clawed him from another angle, this time on the forearm. The claws were sharp and rough at the same time and pain instantly flared across three deep gashes on his arm.
A couple of the Wares started howling into the night. They had him and they knew it.
Eight versus one, and Nash with only one bullet.
Briefly, he wondered if this was a situation when the last bullet was a mercy you were glad to save for yourself.
But that wasn’t Nash’s way. He’d go down fighting, and take as many others with him as he could.
As he spun, trying to keep all the Wares in his sight at the same time, he took one desperate look down the street. If the Vamp somehow recovered, Nash would have an ally.
That wouldn’t happen. She was flopping like a fish.
They were both going to die tonight.
And Nash was okay with that.
Triple R said it best: Better to die in honor than live in cowardice.
10
Blood Flows like Tomato Juice
<< Acute Strength Enhancement in Altered Humans, Triggered by Gamma Radiation
Title of US Patent # 23,179,921,101 >>
Nash could tell the Wares were savoring the hunt. They howled into the air, feinted at him, and circled like a pack of wolves.
He’d lasted here less than a week and while he was ready to die with pride, he was still disappointed that he hadn’t found out what had happened to Karolina. His only chance now was to drag out this fight long enough for … for something to happen.
One of the rules of fighting groups was to keep all of your opponents on one side of you. That plan was already shot, but he might be able to regain the tactic.
He darted forward toward the closest building, pointing his gun at a Ware in his way. The pack split and Nash made it through, then put his back to the wall. Nowhere to run now, but at least they couldn’t come at him from behind.
“Hey,” said a woman, coming closer. “Have you seen a … Ranger?” It was Chiel, the leather merchant, and her voice went starkly flat on the last word. “Oh. It’s you.”
“What’s wrong?” asked Nash.
Her dark eyes changed from worried to suspicious as she glared at him. Under her breath she muttered, “Just my luck.”
“Do you need help?” asked Nash.
“Why?” demanded Chiel. “Do you know a Ranger who’s worth a damn?”
The comment stung, but Nash tried not to show it. “If you don’t want my help, just say so.”
“I just wish you could help. Your helping doesn’t ever seem to help anyone. You’d just make it worse. Again.”
He wanted a chance at redemption, but he could only offer so many times. “Your loss,” said Nash, reaching for the tree branch.
Chiel grunted in frustration. “I think there’s someone watching my house. My husband, Viktor, saw a man in a black cloak and I felt a weird feeling of being watched when I came home. We just … You know what? Never mind. I’ll find someone else.”
“I’ll come take a look,” offered Nash, though what he really wanted to do was get some food in his belly.
“No.” Chiel shook her head. “No, I don’t have a lot of faith in you. We’ll find another Ranger tomorrow.” She started walking away.
“No, really,” said Nash. “Can’t hurt for me to go see.”
She paused and looked him up and down. “Thanks but no thanks. It’s better if you stay away.” With determination this time, Chiel spun and walked away.
Nash’s first thought was for his stomach, which would finally get what it wanted. Almost immediately, the thought fled in favor of his desire to make right a mistake. Chiel couldn’t stop him from walking down the street where she lived and looking around. Yeah, unwanted help had gotten him in trouble with the Wizard and Snake, but he wasn’t going to let that failure keep him from ever trying to help someone again. When Chiel turned a corner half a block away, Nash started after her … and flashing red letters appeared in his lower right field of vision.
BOUNTY ALERT: 50 kilos. Wanted for murder. Old city San Juan. PROCEED WITH ALL HASTE!
It made him jump. He’d never ever heard of a dispatch like that, as impossible to ignore as an incoming call.
PROCEED WITH ALL HASTE!
For half a second, he considered his options. Go where he was needed with haste, or butt into someone else’s problems? There was really no way he could justify tailing Chiel and ignoring the urgent summons.
An arrow appeared next to the flashing word, pointing to the left. It seemed like all intersections led left for him lately, and since he didn’t even know where to start looking for old city San Juan, he tucked the stew under one arm and took off at a run. The arrow shifted so that it pointed straight ahead. For fifty kilos, he’d follow that arrow halfway across the island.
A million questions raced through his mind as he raced through the semi-dark streets of San Juan. How many other Rangers would show up? Would they split the bounty or would it go to a single Ranger? Was Nash even eligible to get a bounty since he hadn’t done his two weeks of training yet? That would be the ultimate kick in the nuts if John Wayne earned a bounty for something Nash did.
Nash doubted he would have gotten the alert if he wasn’t eligible to collect the bounty. And it was fifty kilos! Even with a tenth of that, he could take time off and travel to a new city for a new start. He could take Ranger classes if they had such a thing here. Shoot, he could even hire a Ranger to teach him the job.
The arrow flashed right and he turned at a house where a group was having a late-night party. The smell of roasting pig tempted him to detour from the bounty and crash the party. Fifty kilos, though.
That was the first thing he would do with the money: find out if there were any all you can eat buffets on the island and treat himself. If he couldn’t find one, he’d buy an entire roast pig that smelled as savory as the one he just passed and eat the entire thing himself. With his newfound hunger, probably brought on by his body’s craving for nutrients to replenish what it had used to heal itself, he felt like he could compete with the professional speed eaters in their hot dog eating contests.
Money had never been his motivating factor in life, and he had the empty pockets to prove it. Tonight, though, he’d do anything that wasn’t immoral or illegal to snag that bounty. And since he didn’t really know the laws here, he wasn’t too concerned about the illegal half of the equation.
With no way to know how far he still had to go, he didn’t know if he’d be the first Ranger there first or not. He tucked the stew flask under his arm like a football and increased his speed. The buildings flew by, growing taller as he approached the skyscrapers of the abandoned part of town. Old city San Juan, it made sense now. Anything over a few stories high was impractical or undesirable with no elevators. The glass windows with no vents would suffocate you in the heat, as well. So the outskirts of the city attracted settlers.
Nash realized his mind was clear, even though he was pushing his speed. What surprised him more, his lungs weren’t burning.
Faster, faster, a full out sprint, and finally he thought he might have reached the top limit of his body. He wasn’t any faster than he had been before, but instead of keeping this up for maybe a hundred meters, he could probably do a full kilometer like this.
The arrow blinked left, but the turn was too sharp. Nash didn’t even try to make the curve, just slid to a stop on the rough asphalt then looped around, and made the turn. There were no lamps or torches on the walls in this abandoned part of the city, and Nash started to wonder what kind of monsters he could meet on the dark streets of this city.
Ninjas? Wizards and Snake men? Vamps, Titans?
Rangers?
Right about now, Nash would take anyone as a partner, even that scumbag John Wayne. It would even be worth splitting the bounty to have some back up.
What was he talking about? He didn’t want some back up, he wanted some leadership on this mission. Someone who knew what they were doing.
The arrow blinked left again. Nash wasn’t up to full speed, and made the turn without having to stop this time. At the next intersection, the arrow blinked left again and he complied, even though it didn’t make sense.
Two wrongs don’t make a right, Army used to say, but three lefts do.
So why hadn’t they just given him a shorter route to follow? Maybe the perp was on the move. Or a street was blocked the other direction? Or whoever was directing him wanted him to approach from this direction? Or—
The arrow disappeared, someone in the road ahead howled, and Nash slowed to a stop again. In the middle of the street less than 50 meters away was a group of people, and they appeared to be standing around someone on the ground. This was no family barbecue. About six men were there, all in an aggressive posture, standing around a couple of bodies on the ground.
Thanks to his clumsy approach, Nash had drawn the attention of the whole group.
They stared each other down for a few seconds, giving Nash time to scan the closest of the group, a tall, blondish Ware.
Vallin Beardsley, formerly Maoilios Gökhan from Turkey. Ware —
The bio disappeared as Nash startled and his gaze went to the rest of the group. All stocky with sideburns and he thought he saw claws at the ends of their hands.
Half a dozen Wares, and look at that, they were all looking right at him.
Nash pulled his gun.
He had no idea what to do with it. The dispatch hadn’t said who he was after, and from what he’d seen of the first Ware’s bio, there was no bounty on him. But they did seem to be up to something nefarious here.
Nefarious? Really? Cut the vocab lesson and think about something useful, dummy! Better yet, DO SOMETHING!
Nash raised his gun above his head and fired into the air. The street illuminated briefly under the muzzle flash, and the concussion of the shot rolled over the night, covering the beating of the Druids’ drums.
He didn’t really know what he’d been trying to accomplish with the shot, but it did get the Wares’ attention. All of them started walking toward him, rather than away from him as he’d expect sane people to do.
This was Hollow Island after all. Expectations of sanity should qualify someone as insane here.
A couple more Wares came around a corner, and at least one or two stepped out of shadows. He wasn’t facing six Wares; there were at least ten now.
Without realizing what he was doing, Nash took a step back.
What did he think, that this would be an easy bounty for fifty kilos? He’d taken a hell of a beating for much less. Two pinkies lost, with one measly brass mil to show for it.
It wasn’t worth a million kilos if these Wares killed him. After the warning shot, he had nine bullets left in his gun, plus six rounds of Holy Barbs. Without any other weapon, he didn’t think he could fight these things hand-to-hand. It would take some fast, accurate shooting to win this one. John Wayne could probably pull it off, but Nash had very little experience shooting in conditions like that.
He took another step backward.
The Wares took two steps forward.
Was there even anything he could do here? Not for those dead bodies on the ground. He took a step backward, and finally the Wares stopped. Nash let out a long breath of relief. It appeared they didn’t want any trouble with him.
There were two bodies on the ground, no three. Two were dressed in shorts and tank tops like the other Wares, but one was in all black. He let his eyes rest on that body.
Livi Barbosa, BOUNTY 50 kilos. Formerly Bianna Lopes, a mortgage broker from Brasília, Brazil. Vamp. 5 years on Hollow Island.
“Fig me,” muttered Nash. Facing ten Wares to save a Vamp? Nash knew who she was, the most famous Vamp on Hollow Island. At least he knew now that she was the bounty, and he knew exactly what he had to do to get to her.
Unfortunately, he also knew she wasn’t dead yet or the bio would have told him. Did it really change things? If there was a bounty out on her, that meant she was a criminal of some sort, and according to the original dispatch, wanted for murder. That made sense for a Vamp, and she was not the type of person, or creature, he wanted to risk his life for, no matter how much money was in it for him.
Nash took another step backward.
“That’s right, Ranger,” said Vallin. “Walk away.”
Nash didn’t like being pushed around. He hated the idea of being torn limb from limb even more.
Another Ware spoke from behind Vallin. “She’s ours. We own her now.” It sounded like a woman, and glancing more closely, Nash saw that the shape of breasts and hips under her clothes and hair. Like the other Wares, she had porkchop sideburns, which were partially obscured by her longer hair.
Vallin snapped in her direction and she cringed from him. To Nash, he said, “To the victor go the spoils.”
“Victor?” Something about what the Wares had said had brought his spine straighter than when they’d told him to leave. “Was this some kind of fight?”
“What it is doesn’t concern you.” Vallin growled in his Turkish accent.
Nash was back in the street with the Wizard and the Snake. This time, the bribe was his life. All he had to do was walk away. Just let them go on about their business and he could live.
“What was it, ten on one?” asked Nash. “That doesn’t sound like a fair fight.” Fear pulled on his flatpack like a parent trying to back a kid away from standing too close to the street. Nash leaned against it, still not sure if he dared take a step forward or not.
“It was thirteen,” Vallin said, stepping toward Nash. “She killed two of us. Now walk away, unless you’d like to see how you do one versus eleven.”
Eleven genetically enhanced killing machines with more years on the island than Nash had days probably. This was a fight he couldn’t win. If he went and got some help, or even waited for more Rangers to show up …
The Vamp, Livi Barbosa, started shaking, her limbs twitching in jerky spasms. Either she was epileptic, or she’s been exposed to Holy Water. Nash had the antidote on his back, just no way to get close enough to administer it.
If Nash left now, he would come back to find the Wares chewing on her bones. She needed help, right now, and Nash was the only one who could give it.
It was the same as Jed and his stun gun. Nash had faced it plenty of times, had felt it plenty of times. Seeing Jed pull it out was terrifying. Even worse was seeing Jed point the gun in Karolina’s face. Every time Nash saw that, he would intervene, standing in front of Karolina and usually getting two or three jolts instead of the one Karolina would have gotten. Two was usually enough to make him pee himself, and three did it every time.
But once in a while, not very often, Jed would go to town on Nash and forget about Karolina. And that made it worth intervening.
That’s what Nash had told himself he’d do here on Hollow Island, and even though he’d tried, it hadn’t paid off for a single person. Nash couldn’t let another Gembel happen here, even if this chick was a Vamp and a criminal.
No one else was coming. Either he was the only one who got the bounty alert, or the only one stupid enough to take it.
Well, he’d never been accused of being a genius, and if there was still any doubt in anyone’s mind, he was about to eliminate it.
“Stand up,” he muttered under his breath, and took a step forward, knowing it might cost him more than a couple of pinkies.
What now? The Wares had hunkered slightly in defensive postures when Nash moved toward them.
He couldn’t just start shooting. Nothing they’d done in training had prepared him for this. The first weeks on the island with a trainer were supposed to do that. All he knew was that he had to win this fight, and give that woman the antidote.
Hell, he’d figured out how to eat a mango, and while he still suspected he wasn’t doing it right, he had done it. Whether he did this Ranger thing right or wrong, he’d do it his way.
“Not another step,” said Nash, aiming the gun at Vallin’s center mass.
The Wares took a step toward him.
No hesitation. Nash pulled the trigger.
The muzzle flash blinded him, and he could barely make out the pack of Wares bolting for him. Trying to maintain the distance between them, Nash stepped back slowly as he continued to fire, counting his shots. Eight, seven, six, five.
He was mostly blind and the cloud of spent gunpowder in the air wasn’t helping.
The Wares still rushed him. With his thumb, he switched over to Barbs.
Six, five, four, three, he shot at vague dark shapes. The Barbs were much quieter than Lead, and he heard the sound of pins pinging off of buildings on both sides of the street.
Two, one. No more Barbs. He hoped and prayed they were half as effective as he’d been told.
Ten meters still separated Nash from the charging monsters, and he had no idea how many were still coming.
“Four, three, two,” he said under his breath as he pulled off all of his Lead shots but one.
At least one Ware fell and slid in the street and didn’t get up. As they had advanced, they had spread out and come up on both sides of him. One tore past him, raking his claws along Nash’s leg. He could feel the skin of his thigh being torn away, along with some tissue under the skin.
As Nash turned to aim at that one, another one kicked him in the back, sending him sprawling forward a few steps. He barely caught himself and as he was windmilling his gun arm he saw a glimpse of another Ware approaching from behind.
Nash spun away and barely missed an upswing of claws that was headed straight for his face. He brought up his gun, ready to drop the next one to charge. His vision had cleared enough to see them spread into a circle around him.
Eight of them, he thought, but the way they circled, darting in and out, made it hard to get a count. Most of them had tiny needles sticking out of their clothes, hair, and in a couple of places, skin. The Barbs didn’t seem to be slowing them down.
One of them caught him from behind with a punch or kick. When he spun to face that direction, someone clawed him from another angle, this time on the forearm. The claws were sharp and rough at the same time and pain instantly flared across three deep gashes on his arm.
A couple of the Wares started howling into the night. They had him and they knew it.
Eight versus one, and Nash with only one bullet.
Briefly, he wondered if this was a situation when the last bullet was a mercy you were glad to save for yourself.
But that wasn’t Nash’s way. He’d go down fighting, and take as many others with him as he could.
As he spun, trying to keep all the Wares in his sight at the same time, he took one desperate look down the street. If the Vamp somehow recovered, Nash would have an ally.
That wouldn’t happen. She was flopping like a fish.
They were both going to die tonight.
And Nash was okay with that.
Triple R said it best: Better to die in honor than live in cowardice.
10
Blood Flows like Tomato Juice
<< Acute Strength Enhancement in Altered Humans, Triggered by Gamma Radiation
Title of US Patent # 23,179,921,101 >>
Nash could tell the Wares were savoring the hunt. They howled into the air, feinted at him, and circled like a pack of wolves.
He’d lasted here less than a week and while he was ready to die with pride, he was still disappointed that he hadn’t found out what had happened to Karolina. His only chance now was to drag out this fight long enough for … for something to happen.
One of the rules of fighting groups was to keep all of your opponents on one side of you. That plan was already shot, but he might be able to regain the tactic.
He darted forward toward the closest building, pointing his gun at a Ware in his way. The pack split and Nash made it through, then put his back to the wall. Nowhere to run now, but at least they couldn’t come at him from behind.
