Crossroads, page 12
part #1 of Hollow Island Series
One arm and one leg burned from the gouges. The other one was all warm too, but he didn’t remember being injured there. Glancing down briefly, he saw that stew container. It was cradled in the crook of his left arm like precious cargo.
At least that added to the inventory he had at his disposal. One bullet, and one jug of soup.
Triple R, Nash’s favorite Ranger on the hollows, would find a way out of this with those two ingredients. He’d say something like, “If only we had some delicious, questionably-safe-for-human-consumption stew.” It would appear in the scene, and he’d find a way out.
Wait, Nash was a Ranger on the hollows. Not for long, unless he got clever quick. He was no Ronan O’Reilly, but even Ronan had had to start somewhere. Nash thought back to whether he’d ever seen anything on the Ranger channel about fighting a pack of dogs.
No, but dogs in general follow an alpha, and from the interactions he’d seen earlier, this group was similar.
The leader, Vallin, was in the center of the half circle. He was the only one not bobbing and weaving. His eyes watched Nash from under heavy eyebrows. A single Barb protruded from the center of one eyeball and a cruel smile showed on his lips. Blood ran down his shirt and Nash noticed a bullet wound in the fabric.
Well, pigsquirmy. These suckers could take bullets and keep on coming. Some of them, anyway, judging by the three who hadn’t reached them. The Barbs were even less effective, even though they were designed for these monsters.
Vallin growled, “Should have walked away.” He reached up and yanked the Barb from his eye and Nash saw something silver glint on his wrist. It was a chain-link bracelet, actually a necklace, double wrapped to fit his wrist. He’d seen that before, and he’d seen Vallin. The day he and John Wayne had taken Gembel to the jail, Vallin had stolen that necklace right in front of Nash, while there was nothing Nash could do.
That jewelry didn’t belong to him, and Nash couldn’t stand the thought of letting the Ware walk away with it tonight. He was going to see it to the rightful owner, no matter what. The sight of it infuriated Nash, representing all the bad decision and lost opportunities of Nash’s days here.
Nash settled the sight of his gun between Vallin’s eyes. “You should walk away now. After you hand over that bracelet.”
Vallin laughed. “You have nothing left, Ranger. Or you would have already shot.”
“I saved one, just for you.”
“Liar. Azura, Roffe, take him.”
From Nash’s left, the female Ware lunged forward, both arms outstretched. Another Ware from the other side reacted half a second later.
He’d been ready for a tactic like that, expecting wolves to attack from a blindside. Nash shoved his gun into his holster as he spun away from the female, avoiding the reaching claws. With both hands, he grabbed the neck of the flask and continued the swing like a baseball player.
The Louisville Slugger caught the fastball of her face square enough to make Mickey Mantle proud. The wood splintered and hot stew splashed over her face and Nash’s hands as her whole body changed directions instantly, feet flying forward as her head and torso flew backward.
Howling and scraping the hot stew away from her face, she landed flat on her back.
Ignoring the burning liquid on his hands and wrists, Nash was already turning toward the other one. He flew forward with a Superman punch. Their combined momentum resulted in multiple cracks, from Nash’s hand and the Ware’s face. Nash brought his uninjured hand up in quick succession, landing a punch to the temple.
The Ware’s legs went rubbery. While he was falling, Nash grabbed him by the back of his head and introduced his face to Nash’s knee.
The knee fared better than the face, now covered with blood.
Nash resisted the instinct to plant more fists. He needed to watch his back.
The rest of the Wares wore stunned expressions. Luckily, none of them was charging him yet. The female was whimpering and crawling away, still wiping with one hand then the other at her face.
“Who’s next?” asked Nash. “I’m out of stew, but I still got some surprises.”
The numbers were back to the original lopsided numbers, six v. one. He flexed his hand. It hurt—on the outside from the burning stew and on the inside from crunched bones or torn ligaments—but he couldn’t tell if it was broken. Until he was sure, he’d keep swinging. Starting with the alpha.
As Nash took a breath, ready to strike at Vallin and reclaim the bracelet, one of the Wares to his right lunged … no, it wasn’t a lunge. He’d tripped on nothing and was swaying like he was drunk. “Barbs,” he coughed out.
That was enough for Nash. He flew at Vallin, fist cocked back.
Vallin had seen what had happened to his packmates, and brought his hands up to block the punch.
The punch had been a feint. Nash slid under his hands, grabbed him around the waist, and lifted him off his feet.
No hesitation, thought Nash. His opponent was already on his way down toward the street. With all the strength in him, Nash drove harder. He hadn’t left a Wizard-shaped pothole that day, but there would be a Ware-shaped pothole in old city San Juan tonight.
Vallin hit the ground hard, with Nash’s shoulder in his gut adding as much weight as possible. Before anyone could react, Nash had his gun in his hand, the barrel boring in to the thick skin of the Ware’s forehead.
“Do I or don’t I have one more?” He took a quick glance over his shoulder. The remaining five were uncertain, and keeping their distance.
Vallin’s eyes were foggy. Nash pressed harder with the pistol to clear them up.
“Tell them to walk away,” said Nash. “Take your wounded and get the hell out of here.”
Vallin grunted something unintelligible, then cleared his throat and said, “Let me go first.”
“No,” said Nash. “I’m in charge here. They walk or I shoot.” He checked again. No one was moving. Scratch that. One of the Wares stumbled, even though he was standing still. The Barbs were working.
“How do I know—?”
“If I’ll let you live?” finished Nash. He leaned closer. “You don’t. I hate bullies, and I might just paint the street with your brains for the fun of it.” Another check of the Wares. More doubt on the faces. “They walk in two seconds, or I shoot you then pummel them until blood flows here like tomato juice at La Tomatina.”
Oh man, where did that one come from? Hopefully Hollow Island Projections would cut that line before they aired the hollows. “One,” said Nash, ready to pull the trigger.
“Go!” ordered Vallin. “Retreat.”
Nash kept his finger on trigger. If one of them so much as sneezed, they’d be looking for a new alpha. “Slowly,” said Nash.
Looking beaten and scared, they picked up the two Nash had just knocked out and made their way down the street, stopping at each Ware they passed.
The Vamp was still doing her salmon impression. Nash couldn’t waste much more time. As soon as the Wares reached her and continued retreating, Nash grabbed the bracelet and yanked it off of Vallin’s wrist. It felt like a victory medal, small but worth winning.
“You go that way.” He signaled the other direction with his gun. “Take one step toward me and it’ll be the last step you ever take.”
The Ware obeyed, slowly. Nash backtracked, keeping his gun on Vallin. He passed three Wares that hadn’t survived the encounter.
It had worked! Somehow he’d scared off a whole pack of Wares. Nash wanted to pump his fists in the air and hoot for a minute, but the Vamp still needed saving.
At twenty meters, he swung his flatpack around, dug out more ammo, and a vial of antidote. Still walking, and watching both directions, he loaded a handful of bullets and Barbs, then ran to the Vamp. The seizure had slowed down. That couldn’t be a good sign.
No hesitation.
“Here goes nothing.” He knelt on her forearm to keep it still, located a vein, and jammed in the needle.
The antidote went in easily. Immediately she went limp.
Oh no. Had he done something wrong? Was she dead? He had no idea if the bounty was dead or alive, or alive only?
Nash checked for a pulse, not even sure if Vamps had one. As he did, he noticed her face for the first time. It was covered with blood, but if he looked past that, she was stunning. As graceful as a swan and beautiful as a sculpture from the masters.
Her pulse bounded in her neck. Two barbs protruded from the side of face.
Nash released her arm, pulled the two Barbs out, and settled onto his knees. There was a lot of blood here; she’d put a fight, and judging by the two dead Wares, wasn’t doing too bad for a while.
If she was bad enough to take down two Wares in a fight against thirteen, she might be more than Nash could handle. He was flying high from the rescue so far, and had to take a breath and come back down to earth.
As the antidote ran through her system, Nash reached into his flatpack again. His gun was dry on Barbs, and there was a lot of night left.
11
Blood and Bodies
<< Where there is a monster, there is a miracle.
Ogden Nash >>
“You with me?” Nash patted the Vamp’s face. It had been a couple of minutes since he’d administered the antidote and he hadn’t seen any signs of life except snoring.
She blinked her eyes a few times—vivid blue, even in the limited light.
Livi Barbosa, his eye reminded him. The Livi. As he wiped the splattered blood from her face, he tried to scan the rest of her bio, but was too antsy looking up and down the street to get any further than her age. 26. For an older woman she was stunning. Nash couldn’t tell if the sexy dishevel made her more or less so. The black hair didn’t hurt, even drenched in blood as it was. He’d seen her before, but without even thinking about it, he assumed she wouldn’t be so flawless in person. Black leather covered everything except her shoulders, which bore the same wounds the Wares had given him.
With a grimace confined to her eyes, she slurred, “Who’re you?”
“My name’s Nash. I’m a Ranger.”
After blinking some more and working her jaw, Livi said slowly, “A master of the obvious game, I see. Point for you.”
“Obvious game?” Nash asked. “What?”
“I should give you two points. One for the gun, one for the eye.”
Her speech was improving, but it seemed like she was hallucinating. It was impossible to know how much Holy Water she’d taken. A couple of his Holy Barbs had lodged in her, but he suspected she’d been exposed by the Wares before he showed up. So he prepared another dose of antidote. “You’re not making sense.”
Rolling her eyes, she forced out a slurred tone of voice that somehow still sounded like a first grade teacher, “In the obvious game you get a point for saying something painfully obvious. The greenest piker on Hollow Island can see you’re a Ranger from a mile away.”
If she could be this scorching with only her eyes and mouth, Nash would have his hands full when she regained the use of the rest of her body. “You’re not gonna bite me if I give you more antidote, are you?” She was the first Vamp he’d seen and he had no idea what to expect.
“Your righteous blood would probably burn my evil mouth like Holy Water.”
“For a quadriplegic alone in the middle of San Juan, who’s all full of holes, you’re awfully smarmy.” He couldn’t turn her over to the bounty office fast enough.
“It’s good to smarm, whatever that means. Keeps me young.”
“Along with biting would-be rescuers?” asked Nash.
“Nah,” she said with a sneer. “I don’t kill children.” It had been a few days since Nash had heard comments about his age, only because no one had talked to him in that time.
Nash didn’t reply, hoping the dark night would hide the blush in his cheeks.
Enough muscle control returned for Livi to lift her head and look at her arm, where Nash was pushing more antidote into a vein. His flatpack lay next to him on the ground, a few medical supplies spilling out.
“Some Mayhew Brew or painkillers would be nice,” she said as her head thumped back to the street.
“Not as nice as a thank you.”
That shut her up for the moment. Smart comments weren’t his style with strangers, but it seemed like the only way to talk to her.
The Vamp’s body control returned by degrees. She flexed her hands and arms one at a time. With a nervous tremor in his hands, Nash wrapped her wounded shoulders with linen. It was obvious she had merciless curves, but the black leather was the perfect imitator of the darkness and without staring, he couldn’t tell where her body ended and the night began.
It wasn’t that he didn’t have any experience with girls, it was that he had no experience with women.
As he wrapped around her torso, his hand brushed her chest and she jumped at the chance to tell him about it. “Oh, the innocent hero ploy is just an act so you can take advantage of a defenseless girl.”
“No, I didn’t mean … sorry.”
Livi giggled.
If Nash didn’t stand his ground, she’d back him up until he sat like a puppy and licked her hand. He said, “You’re anything but defenseless.”
The linen wrap bumped her shoulder on the next pass.
“Ouch! I liked it better when you were taking liberties.”
Nash didn’t bite.
When the bandaging was done, he helped her sit up and tried to examine her scalp. Half-clotted blood glopped from her hair, but the limited light made it impossible to know if the violent head-banging seizures had split her skin, and if so, if the bleeding had stopped. If she needed stitches, Nash would leave it to someone with more experience.
Livi eventually pushed herself up to a squat.
On a field trip to the Central Park Zoo years ago, Nash and his classmates had been lucky enough to see a newborn giraffe just hours after being born. Right now, Livi looked exactly like that giraffe trying to find its legs.
For some time she breathed and blinked then asked, “You going to try to arrest me?”
“Uh huh.”
“Why? I was obviously acting in self-defense.”
“There’s a bounty out. Wanted for murder. Sounds like it goes way beyond these … men.” He looked at the torn throats of the two dead Wares and felt like he might be sick. If he had to guess, he’d say she’d done it with her teeth.
“They’re all self-defense.”
“Not for me to decide.” He’d scared off her attackers, saved her life, and it was time to reap the benefits.
If he brought in fifty kilos, he wouldn’t have to do actual work for months. After filling his belly, then filling it again, that kind of money was enough of a cushion to spend some time looking for his sister without being obvious that he was trying to find her. After the bad impression he’d made his first twenty-four hours, he didn’t want to smear Karolina’s reputation by association. The last thing he wanted was for people to try to get to him by hurting his sister.
“It always seemed so strange,” said Livi. “Create monsters and expect them to not act like monsters.”
“I think they know you’ll act like monsters. It’s the premise of this place, and the basis of H.I.P.’s profit strategy.” Nash gave the Vamp some space, not sure how incapacitated she was at this point. If it came to a fight, some distance would let him use his gun. With the effects of Holy Water and Holy Barbs circulating in her system, he didn’t need to cuff her. The antidote didn’t last long, and she’d need more soon to stay alive. “I still can’t figure out why anyone would want to be a monster. Or come live with people like you. If you want to be a farmer or baker why not just stay on the outside and do it.”
“People like me, huh?” Livi seemed to have mastered the basic art of balance again. “You have something against Brazilians?”
“What? No. I meant …” Nash trailed off, realizing she’d caught him.
Livi said, “With ten billion people in the world, it’s not hard to find half a million lunatics.”
What had John Wayne called them? Misguided imbeciles?
When Livi twisted to stretch, Nash noticed a couple barbs in her calf that he hadn’t seen when he pulled the ones from her face.
“Stand still,” he said. When she did so, and nodded acknowledgement, he came forward and yanked them out one at a time. He held the silver slivers up for Livi to see.
“Holy Barbs,” Livi said. “Here I thought you were my rescuer, but you shot me.”
“Point for you,” said Nash.
“My hero.” She rolled her eyes. “Are those Barbs what you wanted me to thank you for?”
“When you wallow with pigs, you can’t complain about the flies.”
“Perfect,” grumbled Livi. “You’re one of those guys who loves one-liners. That’s not obnoxious at all. And I’d rather spend a year with pigs than a minute with Wares. Or an hour with Rangers—oh wait. Pigs and Rangers are the same thing.”
“That’s original,” said Nash. “About as original as your tired Vamp outfit.”
Her gaze got sharp. Apparently the skin-tight black leather was a touchy point for her. That might come in useful later if he was serious about verbal sparring, because the irritation he saw in her was not an act. In fact, considering what she’d been through, the Vamp looked strong. Ready to run, ready to fight. She peered past him into the depths of the alley.
Like an idiot he followed her gaze. “Are the Wares—” He barely saw the elbow she swung at his nose. But he’d been wary that she might try something so he was ready. The elbow was as graceless as a cat wearing boxing gloves. He deflected the blow. Gloating over his quick reflexes, he didn’t see her black-clad leg until her foot connected with his temple, sending him flying face first to the street.
What a kick! What flexibility. At his best, Nash had never been able to kick like that.
As she started to run, Nash reflexively reached out a hand and grabbed her ankle. Karma was with Livi and she ended up on her face, spitting out gravel. She rolled over and he found himself looming over her, fist cocked to hammer her face. He hesitated. Her flawless face. Nash had sparred with women before but with the exception of the lunging Ware, he had never full on punched any girl or woman in the face without gloves and headgear in play.
