A Route of Wares: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure: Hollow Island Book One

by Daniel Coleman

  “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. As Karolina had said, and the miniature in his pocket reminded him, he was born for this.

  “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. There was the line in the sand. It was up to the Wares whether this got nasty or not.

  As a group, 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 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 route 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.

  One arm and one leg burned from the gouges. The other one was all warm too, but he didn’t remember being injured there. Gla
ncing 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 Triple R 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 followed 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 routemates, and brought his hands up to block the punch.

  The punch was 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.

  A rout of Wares, Nash told himself and was surprised at his own chuckle.

  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 route 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 her 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?”