by N. P. Martin
“A girl can’t look good when she’s killing people?” she said.
“There’s no law against it, I guess.”
“Actually, it was my grandmother’s thing. She would wear red for luck while she hunted.”
“Your grandmother was a hunter?”
“Yes, before a pack of werewolves attacked the cottage. One of them almost killed her, which is why she now resides in a coma.” She smiled sadly. “My grandmother taught me everything I know about hunting and killing.”
“She sounds awesome. I’m guessing that’s also why you have a thing for hunting werewolves?”
“Yes. I haven’t forgotten your dog soldier either. I’ll find him for you, once we get Charlotte back. It’s the least I can do, after everything you’ve done for me.”
“I appreciate that,” I said, looking deep into her green eyes for a moment as something passed between us; a connection, perhaps even a longing on her part. I sensed she felt alone in the world, especially without her sister. Nor was she used to being so open with someone else, which appeared to make her uncomfortable as she moved to a shelf and lifted a quiver full of arrows, which she slung onto her back. She then added two pistols to the holsters on her thighs before finally selecting one of the black, compound bows from the rack.
“You any good with that thing?” I asked.
In a flash, she drew an arrow from her quiver and had the bow loaded and pointed at me before I could even blink. “What do you think?”
16
It was after four a.m. by the time we drove past the city limits on our way to Jonas Webb’s secret mountain lair. As the view changed from industrial to agricultural, the road bent and turned up a small hill until it ended in a quaint little hamlet known as Redditch Village, which was hidden in a labyrinth of greenery. Stone cottages stood few and far between and gradually huddled together as we neared the main square. Each of their windows boasted a colorful and well-tended flower box, but still the place looked wild. To add to the strangeness of the place, we even spotted some people standing around outside their cottages, their faces glistening with sweat as if they had just finished toiling to some mysterious end. “What the hell are they doing out at this time?” Scarlet asked.
“They’re a mysterious bunch in this village,” I said. “They do their own thing.”
The nocturnal villagers stared at us as we drove by, their faces full of suspicion as we invaded their quiet little hamlet, shattering the silence with the roar of the Dodge’s engine.
“And I thought the city folk were weird,” Scarlet said as we finally drove out of the village, the residents still watching us from far behind.
“Rural folk, especially Redditch villagers, are a whole other kind of weird,” I said. “It’s like The Wicker Man out here.”
“The what?”
“Jeez, haven’t you watched any movies?”
“Not in a long time. The last movie I saw was Evil Dead II. My friends and I watched it on a sleepover, the night before my parents were killed.”
“At least you’ve seen one classic.”
As per Robert Webb’s instructions, we followed the road outside the village for roughly two miles until we came across the gated access road. I pulled the car up near the gates, and we both got out. “We should walk from here,” I said.
Scarlet nodded as she went to the trunk and took out her bow before handing me the Rogue Hunter submachine gun. “You know how to pick a lock?” she said, nodding toward the large padlocked gates.
“Of course,” I said. “Don’t you?”
“Obviously. I’m an assassin.”
“Oh, I see. You just want to feel superior when it takes me longer to pick it, is that it?”
She smiled. “Something like that.”
“Well,” I said, reaching inside my trench for the leather pouch containing my lock picks. “You might be pleasantly surprised.” I walked over to the steel gates and began to work on the padlock holding the thick chain together. A minute later, I was still at it.
“You were saying?” Scarlet said.
“Shh,” I said. “It’s a security lock. They aren’t the easiest.”
“You mean your skills aren’t the best?”
“No…I’m just a little rusty…shit.”
“Here, let me.” Scarlet pushed me aside as she took the lock picks from me. Ten seconds later, she had the lock open. “Never let a man do a woman’s job.”
“Okay, I’m impressed,” I said, taking the tools back off her and returning them to my pocket. “You should teach a class or something.”
“You should take a class or something.”
“Ha-ha.”
She laughed as she pulled the gates open so we could squeeze through. “Let’s go, Rusty.”
I threw her a look. “You cheeky bitch.”
“You said it old man, not me.”
“It’s old man now, is it? Jesus, I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson when this is all over.”
Standing there smiling, she said, “I’ll look forward to it.”
Our eyes met for a second, and then I smiled and shook my head. “Come on, let’s go.”
We walked up the gravel road in silence for a bit as we got our bearings, the road steep and slippery from the rain. Tall pine trees flanked us on both sides, encasing us in darkness. Now and again, I would switch my vision to infrared as I looked ahead for signs of life, but aside from a lone fox, I saw nothing else.
As we neared the fork in the road that Webb had told us about, I realized that Scarlet had stopped behind me. “What’s up?” I said in a hushed voice, going to stand by her.
“What if she’s not here?” she said. “What if we’re wasting our time?”
“Then we keep looking,” I said.
She sighed and shook her head as if my response wasn’t good enough. “And what if she is here? What if this Webb guy has done something awful to her? What if Charlotte isn’t Charlotte anymore? What if she’s some…monster?” Tears formed in her eyes as she spoke, and I put a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it,” I said. “You’re not alone in this, Scarlet.”
Scarlet stared at me with wet eyes for a second, and then took me aback by coming forward and kissing me, her soft lips pressing into mine for a few seconds before she pulled away. “I—I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what came over me. I—”
“It’s okay.” I stood awkwardly for a second, trying not make a big deal out of it. “We should probably keep moving.”
She nodded as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “Yeah, good idea.”
We took the right fork in the road and crept along in silence. As we did, I would glance at her occasionally, seeing her for the lonely soul that she was, thinking it took one to know one.
“Hold up,” Scarlet whispered. She had her hood up as I stopped beside her. “There, up ahead.”
About fifty yards up the winding road, there were three vehicles parked on a wide ledge—two black SUVs and a VW camper van. “At least we know he’s here,” I said, glancing at her, seeing the relief on her face, but still the dread underneath. “I’m guessing the SUVs belong to the security team. Maybe eight guys. Ten at most. What do you think?”
“I think you’re right,” she said as she loaded her bow with a steel-headed arrow. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“What are you doing?”
“Up ahead. By the entrance.”
Peering up ahead, I soon spotted an armed guard standing in front of a set of huge steel doors fitted into the side of the mountain. But before I could even say anything, Scarlet unleashed her arrow, and a second later, the arrow penetrated the guard’s skull at a forty-five-degree angle, knocking him sideways onto the ground. “You really can use that thing,” I said.
“We should be clear now,” she said. “Everyone else should be inside.”
Moving quickly, we made our way up to the entrance to the mountain facility. On the way up, I s
et the submachine gun to full auto and planted it into my shoulder, ready to fire in case any more guards appeared, but none did. Before we reached the entrance, however, I stopped Scarlet and pointed to the camera positioned above the steel doors. Nodding, Scarlet loaded her bow again and fired an arrow at the camera, the steel tip penetrating the body of the camera and staying there. “Nice. You’ll have to give me lessons sometime.”
Scarlet gave me a slight smile, and we both walked up to the keypad set into the rock to the side of the doors. I didn’t need to look at the piece of paper in my pocket, for I’d memorized the number as soon as Webb gave it to me. After pushing in the six-digit code, the heavy steel doors immediately began to open, drawing apart at a steady pace.
While I stood to one side of the doors, Scarlet stood to the other. As expected, two guards soon came to investigate. Leaning around the door as it continued to slide open, I let off a burst from the Rogue Hunter and shot the nearest guard in the chest, at least one bullet penetrating the guy’s throat, the suppressor keeping the noise to a minimum. Almost at the same time, Scarlet unleashed an arrow from her bow that hit the other guard in the forehead, dropping him instantly.
With two guards down, Scarlet and I nodded to each other as we moved inside the facility, her with her bow already reloaded, me with the Noveske shouldered and ready to fire if any more guards appeared.
We walked into a long, wide corridor with concrete walls and floor, lit up by strip lights. We were halfway down the corridor when two more guards—one at each side of the opening up ahead—leaned around and fired at us with their submachine guns.
Staying close to the wall, I dropped to a crouch and fired a burst at the guard straight ahead of me, who had already ducked back behind the wall. Keeping my gun pointed, I waited on the guard to appear again. As I did, I heard the whoosh of another arrow unleashed from Scarlet’s bow, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the guard on her side fall to the floor. When the guard nearest to me leaned around the wall again, I shot him in the head before he could even pull the trigger.
Glancing at Scarlet, we both started moving again. I changed the magazine on my gun just as another guard fired on us from up ahead. Once again I ducked as bullets whizzed past my head, but before I could even return fire, Scarlet took the guy down with an arrow.
Keeping up our advance, we were almost at the end of the corridor now as it opened into an enormous room. More guards awaited us there, all of them firing at us with bursts from their automatics. Most of them seemed to be on the left-hand side, so I dived across the corridor to Scarlet’s side where I would be less of a target. There was also a stack of wooden crates there that we used for cover. “I counted about five guards out there,” I said.
Scarlet loosed an arrow at a guard who dared show himself up ahead, hitting him in the chest. “Make that four,” she said.
Inside the open room, there was a walkway that went around the far walls leading to another corridor. The room we were at seemed to be the main room, however, for I also caught a glimpse of computer equipment and what appeared to be a large transparent box near the left side of the room.
Then from out of the room, a voice shouted, “Don’t let them in here!”
“I assume that’s Jonas,” I said.
Scarlet said nothing as she let fly another arrow, this one hitting a guard who was trying to sneak around the walkway.
Edging past Scarlet, I peeked around the corner to see where the rest of the guards were. I caught sight of two of them standing by the see-through box, and another was making his way boldly toward us, a pistol raised in front of him as he started to squeeze off shots, his bullets taking chunks out of the surrounding walls.
From the corridor across from us, more guards came running down toward the room. Scarlet was already on them, firing arrows at a rapid rate, hitting at least two men that I saw.
But my attention was now taken by the lone guard still making his way toward us like he didn’t give a fuck if he got shot or not. He was a big fucker, heavily built with a face like stone. Leaning around the corner, I fired off a burst, and the guard dived to the side to avoid getting hit. When I next squeezed the trigger, there was nothing but clicking, and I quickly pulled out the empty magazine and tossed it away.
But as I went to grab a full magazine from my trench pocket, I realized the guard was now sprinting toward me, not even a gun in his hand anymore. A split-second calculation told me I wouldn’t have time to reload. He’d be on me before then, which he nearly was already. He roared like a bear as he practically dived at me, forcing me to drop my gun to defend myself.
By that point, the room ahead had flooded with more guards. Scarlet was doing her best to take care of them, firing off arrows at an insane rate while trying to avoid getting shot.
As bullets flew all around us and the smell of gunpowder filled the corridor, I was driven back by the manimal who’d attacked me, losing my footing as I stumbled and hit the deck.
As I fell, Manimal fell with me, and he immediately started raining down punches, his massive fists smashing into my skull as I crossed my arms in front of me to deflect the blows.
After taking a few good hits, I was able to pull the bastard into my guard, wrapping my legs around his waist and pulling his head down into me.
With his block head close to my face, I turned toward him and bit down on his ear, holding it with my teeth for a second before jerking my head sideways, ripping off the ear before spitting the severed appendage out of my mouth.
Manimal screamed as his blood flowed down over my face, but I held him in position with one hand as he struggled to break my guard. Luckily for me, Manimal was all aggression and no technique. A more skilled fighter would probably have broken my guard. As it was, I could jam my thumb into the bloody hole where his ear used to be. Gritting my teeth, I forced my thumb in as far as it would go, pulling his head toward me, my thumb driving deep into his eardrum as he started screaming with the pain.
It sometimes happens that you can cause a person too much pain in a fight, and your opponent ends up getting a massive adrenaline rush that nullifies the pain and causes them to go all Hulk on your ass. Which is precisely what happened in this case, and it’s why I hate fighting anyone on the ground. I’m usually a straight-back-to-my-feet kind of guy when I hit the deck, but in this case, I had a raging assailant on top of me preventing me from doing that.
Manimal got his adrenaline burst and went fucking crazy, ripping his head away and pulling out of my guard. As he leaned back, his face a mask of pain and rage, I could only watch as he went for a knife strapped to his belt.
The next thing I knew, I had a massive Bowie knife coming toward my skull, the gleaming tip of the blade mere inches from my forehead as I gripped Manimal’s wrists to stop the knife from descending any farther.
It was a tricky situation. I had my sidearm, but if I took my hand away from Manimal’s wrist to grab the gun, I wouldn’t be able to hold the knife back with just one hand, and the next thing would be that I would have a brand new adornment to my skull and a one-way trip to the Void.
So as gunfire and shouting sounded in the background, I went for the only option left open to me, and that was to use my magic.
I say magic, but it’s not really. Or maybe it is, depending on your definition, I don’t know. All I know is, Blackstar gave me these tattoos that somehow work a kind of magic that allows me to fuck with people’s minds. Not make them do things necessarily, but confuse them, make them forget things. I don’t know how it works, nor do I care. The magic is in the ink, that’s all I know.
Still using the space between my thumb and forefinger to push on Manimal’s wrist—while still gripping the same wrist with my other hand—I turned the fingers of my left hand out to the side so that my palm became exposed, just as the ink made its way down my arm and out onto my hand. There, it began to swirl as the magic within it intensified and began to focus itself. All I needed now was for Manimal to look at my hand.
One glance would be enough for me to hook him.
The problem was, though, he was wholly focused on my face instead. He was one of these sadistic fuckers who like to look in a person’s eyes as they kill them. They get off on seeing the fear and then watching the lights go out for good.
But there was no fear in my eyes, I can tell you that much, even when Manimal growled through gritted teeth, “Fucking die, you fucker!”
The tip of the Bowie knife was half an inch from my head now. As strong as I was, there was no way I could push back against the massive downward pressure for much longer. So unless Scarlet was going to kill this guy for me—which I didn’t see happening, given she was being shot at by the other guards—I would have to do something, and quick.
Here, I applied Occam’s Razor to the problem. More often than not, the simplest solution is always the best solution. This applies particularly to fighting, where the simplest moves are nearly always the most effective.
So I said, “Look at my hand, asshole.”
Sometimes people can’t help but do what you tell them. By giving simple commands or asking simple questions, you engage their brain in a way that they can’t control. You’re plugging directly into their deeper wiring, bypassing their conscious thought.
So when I told this asshole to look at my hand, that’s exactly what he did. Just for a split second, but long enough for his attention to be hooked by the swirling ink, to the point where he couldn’t look away.
Immediately, he eased off the pressure as his full attention was taken by the gracefully moving ink patterns swimming around my palm like fish in a pond.
“You don’t even know what you’re doing here,” I told him, out of breath. “You can’t even remember your own fucking name.”
As Manimal sat back with a look of extreme confusion on his face now, I pushed him off me and got up into a crouch, drawing my sidearm at the same time. Scarlet was behind the boxes, having just fired an arrow at a guard on the walkway. There was one more that I could see standing just around the corner. Pointing my gun in the guard’s direction, I fired four or five rounds, and the guy staggered back before falling to the floor.
