A velociraptor sprinted towards him, the blue streak on his left eye letting him know there was a Logan in the body. He nodded at James, rushing into the ship.
“RUN RUN RUN RUN!” The other gladiators were more vocal. Oog let out a series of yelps as she barreled past James, others following close behind.
“Lord Zemka had a plasma rifle!” the Roman called out. He sprinted past James, calling out the name of his husband as he went inside the ship.
James knew he was on board. He’d counted everyone to make sure. All except Yateley.
As more rushed in, James felt his stomach drop.
The entire ship was beginning to rumble.
There was a hissing sound, the doorway he was standing in beginning to slide shut.
James leaned back inside, pressing a few buttons. The door slid back open, the last few gladiators all rushing in.
“Where’s Crickett?” he asked. “And we’re short a few raptors.”
“Crickett, Yrsa, and two lizard beasts took the giant sky box!” Grimsaw bellowed as he rushed past, the last of the group to get into the Seacole. His head was covered in sweat as he clutched onto a bloody seared stump where his right hand used to be. The scabs on the wound were still smoking, like a stump of wood from a campfire.
But if James’ math was right, that was everyone.
Except for Logan and Victor.
They’d been down in the origin tubes, smashing apart every last DNA sample. And they hadn’t made it back yet.
Well, unless they’d got in when James had been trying to get the door inside the Seacole open. But he would have seen them on the way back, right?
The sand beneath his feet rumbled as the ship suddenly rose up. Five feet off the ground. Ten feet.
That was when he saw them. The dash of green as Victor darted towards the ship. Logan clutching tight to his back, riding him like a horse.
The raptor leapt up into the air, flying high. Logan reached up, James holding his hand out. “COME ON!”
James clung to the edge of the doorway tight as Logan wrapped his hands around his wrist.
Then, Victor reached out with his claws, wrapping them around Logan’s ankle. “ARGH!” James screamed.
James was pulled down to his chest, his arms screaming in pain, the muscles tearing in his shoulder from all the weight.
It was then the heat from below increased, the ship suddenly hurtling up into the air.
The ground fell away, the body of a T-Rex visible in the courtyard as they rose thirty feet in the air. Fifty. One hundred.
All three men screamed, the air moving so fast James’ hat came flying clean off, falling far below.
It landed next to the tiniest speck of a man, who took aim with his plasma rifle as the ship took off.
The superheated ball of plasma slammed into the wall next to them as Logan shouted something to Victor.
Nodding, Victor slid a claw around Logan’s belt, pulling himself up, climbing on the man. The claw digging into his back, he grabbed his clawed hands onto the edge of the doorway, pulling himself in above James.
Every single time he moved, drops of blood burst from his clothes, from his skin, sprinkling James in a crimson mist.
As Victor clambered off him, James felt his shoulder relaxing, the weight below easing.
Before he knew what was happening, he felt claws wrap around his ankle as he was yanked back, his stomach dragging across the floor. “Yeargh!” he couldn’t help but yelp, a button or two definitely pinging off his shirt as he went.
He screamed once more, Logan’s blood-soaked body sliding into the ship.
James let go of his arms, Logan leaping up, slamming a button by the doorway.
It slid shut, the door sealing tight, a satisfying hiss as it pressurized.
James breathed in deep, letting the feeling wash over him.
They had done it.
They had escaped.
A soft chuckle seeped from Logan’s lips. Before long, the man was laughing. As was James. So was Victor, although his laugh sounded more like a deranged parrot.
“Y’all okay?” James reached up to adjust his hat, his hand instead meeting the short hair on his head. He looked Logan up and down, his jaw hanging open at the sight of so much blood.
“Oh, yeah,” Logan wearily nodded. “It’s Agent Glass’ blood.”
“Oh.” James nodded back, pushing himself off the floor. He turned around as Victor pulled a severed arm out of the inside of his jacket. All of the fingers were gone, and James couldn’t help but wince as Victor bit into the palm of the hand, tearing it in half, the crunches echoing through the corridor as he ate.
“Don’t judge me.” Victor went back to eating, scoffing down chunks of raw human flesh as Logan and James wearily stumbled past him.
“Come on,” Logan said. “This ship is big. We need to get people settled in. Need to find the bridge, set a course.”
James nodded. They had escaped, but they weren’t out of the woods yet. Before the end of the Civil War, he’d heard a few horror stories about freed slaves who were quickly recaptured as they celebrated.
Those terrifying stories had stuck with him, seared into his mind for the rest of his life. And the next life, apparently.
“Crickett!” he suddenly bellowed. “And Yrsa! They went up the atmospire. We’ll need to get them.”
“Should be easy enough.” Logan patted James on the shoulder. “We can easily make a seal once they get to the top.”
Logan and James went through the door Marge had unlocked.
The inside was caked in dust. A few cobwebs. James could see dozens of footprints in the dust as people had moved on through.
No one had been inside for years. At least sixty, if James’ math on Victor was correct.
James walked a few steps behind Logan, letting him lead the way. He definitely didn’t know exactly where he was going. But he checked painted symbols on the walls, nodded, mumbled to himself. He was at least familiar with the terrain.
Logan spotted the strange prints in the dust. Where Marge had clearly slithered, her tentacles leaving drags in the dust instead of clear footprints.
James was so busy looking at the dust patterns on the floor, he almost stumbled on the lip of the doorway. He took a step back when a loud clang made him flinch, the door in front of him suddenly slamming shut.
James frowned, pressing the buttons next to the door.
It wouldn’t open.
Logan turned around, looking at him through the small window in the door. It looked like he was in a large chamber. Probably the main triage area Logan talked about. The huge room where an entire wall would open out into the field, and hundreds of soldiers could be loaded on at once.
But there weren’t hundreds of soldiers in the room.
There were two men in total.
“BEHIND YOU!” James yelled, Logan turning around to face his foe.
Sir Yateley the Knight.
Looks like he’d somehow gotten on board.
And was now locked in a room with Logan.
Chapter 37
Logan flexed his fingers, the dried blood cracking as he looked Yateley up and down. He was ten or so meters away, standing in the middle of the hangar area.
It was the largest hangar Logan had ever seen, probably the biggest space in a ship he’d ever experienced. At least one hundred meters deep, one fifty across. Room on a ship was always fought over, every millimeter serving purpose. The hangar of a medical ship’s sole purpose was to be big. To ferry in multiple platoons of soldiers, smaller transports of wounded, even refugees.
Right now it was filled with nothing but dust. Thick layers caked to every surface. Some of it vibrated as the ship continued rising up into space. Flecks danced in the air, beginning to cling to Logan. To Yateley.
He chanced a glance behind the mountain of a man, at the large collapsible wall on the other side of the hangar. There were small windows in some of the panels, the outsides bright whi
te as they flew through clouds.
Somewhere in the vast room was a control panel. One press and the wall would turn into a ramp, sliding to the outside. Yateley must have used it to seal up the room.
But how?
This Yateley clone was fresh. Barely a few days into the new world. How did a knight from medieval times figure out how to use a control panel?
The clanking of boots let Logan know they weren’t alone.
The Nazis. They were coming down a staircase, leading up to a higher level. At least five of them, their boots leaving prints in the dust as they lined up behind Yateley.
“We had a good thing going,” Yateley said, “down on the planet.”
“Ahem,” one of the Nazis said.
“Well, I did.” Yateley grinned, flexing his muscles as he looked Logan up and down. “Now, all we have to look forward to is killing you, Lord Zemka sharing some of his riches. You could have lived in the glory of combat. Feasted every night, killed every day. You are no true warrior.”
“No.” Logan reached into his back pocket, pulling out the only weapon he had.
The thigh bone of Yrsa, the one he’d used to smash up all the other origin tubes. He grabbed tight at each end, pulling with all his might. It snapped in two, the ends jagged, sharp enough to pierce the skin.
“I am a soldier.”
The Nazis charged towards him, Logan positioning his feet, his boots leaving marks in the dust. Seven Nazis. Unarmed, but still grown men. They’d fought across Europe, taking over towns. Using their guns, their tanks, their bombs and planes.
It was just their flesh now.
Yateley stood deathly still as one Nazis lunged forward, ahead of all the rest. Logan took a couple of steps back, absorbing the blow as the Nazis tackled him. His arms wrapped around Logan’s torso, and Logan grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, stabbing into his back with the jagged bone.
The Nazi yelped, the blood seeping out, clumping with the dust on the floor as he scrambled away, holding his back, trying to cover the wounds.
As soon as he backed off, two Nazis came in, both swinging their fists. Logan kept on stepping back, parrying the blows with his forearms. Their blows were unpracticed, undisciplined. They’d probably won a few bar fights, thought themselves champions.
Logan had five hundred years of martial arts training ahead on them. A cross discipline developed by generations of soldiers, computer algorithms, and years of study. They fought like cavemen compared to him.
His moves practiced, the muscle memory programmed into the cloning process kicked in to block the blows. With two in the front, the other Nazis had to wait their turn.
There. The Nazi on the left swung up high, exposing his stomach. Logan stabbed with the jagged bone in his right hand, tearing into the stomach. Another two quick jabs. Logan had definitely nicked something vital. Not an instant kill, but his blood was draining fast from the three holes, pouring onto the dusty floor as he stumbled back.
The other Nazi took the opportunity to swing out with his leg.
Big mistake.
It landed on Logan’s ribs. Bruised, maybe even fractured. Logan grunted in pain, wrapping his thick left arm around the ankle.
He wondered what biology the Nazi had studied. If he realized how much blood went through the thighs of a man.
Logan stabbed in just below the groin, right into the femoral vein. As he dragged his improvised weapon down through the flesh, blood burst like he’d punctured a beer can. The Nazi screamed, grabbing the wound. He crumbled to the floor, clutching his leg as the blood spurted out. He tried clutching the wound, like he was pressing his thumbs onto an open tap. The blood splattered in all directions, the color almost instantly leaving his face as the blood poured out.
The Nazi with the stomach wounds stumbled forward, breathing heavy, sweating all over. He held up his fists, jabbing one out.
Logan easily bobbed out of the way as the Nazi covered in back wounds darted behind him.
He dodged the blow from the front with ease, only darting out of the way just in time. The Nazi from behind grunted with pain as he struck Logan in the shoulder blade, not causing any real damage.
The Nazi in front punched once more. Logan dropped the jagged bone in his left hand, grabbing the wrist in front, throwing him into the Nazi behind him.
He knelt down to pick up the other dropped bone weapon, another Nazi swinging his foot out. Logan scrambled back just in time, the foot barely missing his face, his palms caked in dust and blood as he scampered back.
Standing back up, the other Nazi picked up the bone fragment, grinning as he lunged forward.
But the weapon had given him too much confidence. He swung it up, trying to stab from above. Logan blocked his wrist with his forearm, a stabbing pain bursting in his ribs from the sudden movement.
With one practiced move, Logan shoved his weapon up underneath the chin. The Nazi screamed, blood bursting from his mouth. Logan could see the bone inside, stabbing partway into the tongue.
Grabbing him by the back of the scalp, blood and dust matted with his blond hair, Logan clutched on tight and bought the head crashing down to his knee. The jagged bone stabbed up, and the Nazi went deathly still, his brain punctured from underneath.
Logan snatched the bone from his twitching hand as the Nazi with the stomach wounds stumbled forward. He was even paler than before, covered in sweat, his eyes glazing over. His green shirt was covered in crimson blood, even his trousers beginning to stain from the blood loss.
He took a few more steps and then stumbled onto his back, clutching his stomach tight as the blood carried on pouring out. His breath was shallow and weak.
Logan glanced around him. The Nazi with the thigh wound had stopped moving. The one with the stomach wounds was bleeding out. There was of course the Nazi with the bone stabbed into his skull.
The one with the back wounds was still standing, with three more awkwardly huddled ten or so feet from Logan, trying to figure out the right time to sweep in, to strike.
Yateley stood with the same grin on his face, watching. He probably didn’t even expect the Nazis to take Logan out. He just wanted them to soften him up.
Which they’d done. Even without getting too many hits in, Logan’s left ribs were on fire. He was covered in sweat, blood, and dust, and he was down to just the one weapon.
He needed a new strategy.
Fast.
The Nazi with the back wounds knelt down by his fallen comrade, digging his fingers into the chin wound, trying to pull the bone out. The other Nazis looked at him, distracted for the moment as Logan looked around the vast empty hangar.
No. Not entirely empty.
The dust.
The lights were bright, built to illuminate triage surgery. So it was easy enough for Logan to see all the footprints left in the dust.
They went out in all different directions. Until they all converged at one point, a wall forty or so meters away. Like an arrow in the dust. The Nazis had to have been looking for the control panel before he arrived. When they found it, would they have all gathered round? They had spent time in the present day, but maybe all of them together would have figured out how to use it.
Then, next to a cluster, a clear set of footsteps leading up to the corner staircase.
Logan ran, every step making his ribs sear in agony as he hurtled towards the cluster of footprints.
The Nazi gave up on digging out the bone, instead sliding off his fallen friend’s boots, throwing them at Logan.
He dodged the first, but the second hit true, slamming into his head. Logan stumbled to his knees, pushing himself back up.
One of the uninjured Nazis slammed into him, knocking him to the ground.
All the air left Logan’s lungs as the Nazi scrambled on top of him, bringing his fists down to his face. Logan blocked the blows before the Nazi wrapped his hands around Logan’s neck.
Thankfully, Logan had kept hold of his sole weapon as he fell.
Ignoring the hands around his throat, Logan jabbed the jagged bone into the most vulnerable spot. The Nazi screamed as blood poured from his eye socket. Logan slid the bone in a couple more inches before yanking the weapon out.
Blood poured onto his chest as he threw the dead Nazi off him.
Another Nazi ran up, kicking out with his feet. It hit Logan in the side, Logan yelping in pain as his kidney definitely ruptured.
He came in for another kick, Logan wrapping his arms around the leg, pushing himself up. The Nazi slammed onto his back as the other two Nazis charged in. The last uninjured one, and the one with back injuries.
Logan darted back, breathing heavy, almost stumbling. There was no way he could outrun them to the control panel.
The wounded Nazi lunged forward, clearly more pissed than the other. Logan grabbed him by the shoulders, kneeing him in the gut. He gasped for air, backing away as the Nazi on the ground stood up, swinging his fists at Logan.
Logan blocked most of the blows as the other Nazi charged in, kicking him in the stomach. Logan stumbled back, his insides on fire. Was he bleeding internally?
He’d have to worry about that later, as a Nazi slammed his fist right into his face.
Logan flailed back, still clutching onto the jagged bone in his hand as he closed his left eye. The flesh seared in pain, the eyelid probably already beginning to swell.
One of the Nazis grabbed his arm, trying to wrestle the bone from his grasp. Logan slid his ankle behind the Nazi’s foot, pushing him down to the floor, dust bursting as he landed.
Kicking the Nazi in front of him in the shin, Logan turned to the last one standing, grabbing him by the neck. Three deep stabs to the gut, and he crumbled down.
The other two Nazis began to push themselves up. Logan spun around, kicking the first one in the jaw. He didn’t know which sound was more sickening; the cracking of the jaw or the clattering of teeth as they rained down on the dusty floor.
Logan stabbed into the chest, the jagged bone catching on a rib. Logan slammed his fists into the weapon, forcing it through the gap in the protective bones. The Nazi coughed blood, the bone clearly stabbing into the lung.
Arena of Doom (Clone Squad #1) Page 20
