A sudden scream from behind the truck drew his attention. Reznik rushed around the back of the trailer and saw a small, dirty-looking man screaming in shock and pain. A huge syringe half-filled with milky liquid was jabbed into his groin. A pistol fell from the man’s grasp, and he staggered away. He made it three steps before he face-planted in the dirt. I bet that was unpleasant, Reznik thought.
“Got what you deserved, you fucking prick,” someone said weakly. A young Asian man lay on his side with a large exit wound in his chest. Reznik could see right away that he wouldn’t last long. The man wore a filthy, ragged uniform of some type with a stylized “TI” logo on the breast. Another man wearing the same type of uniform lay next to him. Blood soaked the dirt from an apparent gunshot wound to his head. Are these Thorne Industries men?
The Asian man gasped, and his eyes widened as he saw Reznik. “It’s all right, I’m here to help,” Reznik said reassuringly and lowered the AK.
The man nodded weakly. “You got here just a little too late, I’m afraid.” He coughed up some blood and groaned in pain. “Marcus?” he asked, nudging his dead friend. “Are you all right?” The way the man was positioned, he couldn’t see his friend’s head wound.
Reznik came closer and leaned over the two men. “He’s not going to…” Reznik trailed off, shocked to see that the other man’s chest rose and fell as he still drew breath.
“Marcus? Is he dead?” The first man coughed up some more blood. His face was pale, and his lips were starting to turn blue. His uniform, as well as the ground, were both soaked with blood.
“Surprisingly, no,” Reznik replied. “He might still die without medical attention, but he’s one lucky son of a bitch.”
The bullet had evidently grazed off Marcus’s skull, tearing an ugly path along the right side of his head and blowing off half of his ear in the process. Even shallow head wounds bled like crazy, and with a wound this severe, the man could bleed out in a few more minutes. “You saved his life. That slaver would have finished both of you off.”
“Don’t let me die,” the man pleaded weakly. He fumbled toward Reznik, who clasped the man’s already cold hand. A couple more weak breaths fluttered in his chest, and then he lay still.
Reznik looked at the young black man with the head wound and decided he wouldn’t be able to do much to help him until after the slavers had been run off. He tore a strip of cloth from the Asian man’s sleeve and pressed it gently against the deepest part of the wound.
“Sorry, bud. You’re gonna have to help your friend out until I get back.” Reznik repositioned the Asian man, elevated Marcus’s head, and rested it on the other man’s thigh. He then draped the Asian man’s arm lightly over the bandage so it would maintain some pressure on the wound.
He stood up and was studying his work when a hot knife of pain suddenly stabbed his lower back. Blat blat was the only sound he heard before he fell down next to the Thorne men.
“Are you the one trying to steal my slaves?” a gravelly voice growled. A burly brute of a man stood over Reznik pointing a strange-looking rifle at his face.
Chapter 10
“SEVERE DAMAGE SUSTAINED” a warning alarm flashed on Rin’s HUD. Her body was a veritable cacophony of pain. Her ears were ringing, dulling the sounds around her, as if she were hearing the world from the bottom of a well. She could hear the crackling of flames and the pungent smell of burning plastics nearby. Slowly, she opened her eyes to see the hard ground blurry and undulating in front of her face. After a moment, she slowly brought the ground into focus and realized it wasn’t the ground itself but a swarm of red ants scurrying around in a frenzy, their orderly parade having been rudely interrupted.
Rin tried to pick herself up, but she couldn’t move. In a brief moment of panic, her disoriented mind thought her paralysis had returned.
Blood was everywhere as she tried to pull herself through the broken glass tearing the soft skin of her palms and forearms open. Her arms were wobbly with fatigue, and she knew she was bleeding to death. Her legs were just dead weight dragging on the ground once again.
“You got a lot of fight in you… I like that,” a rough voice drifted into her head. She could feel the hot, fetid breath on her ear. “Are you all ready for this?”
“No!” Rin slammed her fists against the ground again and again. The memory disappeared as the sting of sharp stones digging into the heels of her hands cut through her hazy, disoriented thoughts. That wasn’t real. That happened a lifetime ago, back when I was weak and dying. I’m a survivor—it takes more than a grenade to kill me now. She recognized the reality around her: the desolate wasteland and a town called Planter’s Ridge a short distance away.
After her head cleared a bit, she realized with great relief that she couldn’t move because she was pinned under a large piece of twisted metal. She was able to move her feet, but the destroyed bulk of the hoverbike had come to land across her lower back and thighs. She was about to try to get up again when a heavy tread approached.
“Lady Takahashi, are you all right?” Ichiro called anxiously through the robot’s speaker. The robot lumbered up beside her.
“I’m alive,” she replied. “I don’t die so easily.”
The Ares 13 made a whirring sound as its guns rotated to the side and its hands emerged from its arms. The bot carefully stepped over her and grasped the ruined bike with both hands and easily lifted it off before heaving it aside. It stepped aside and watched silently as she slowly got to her hands and knees.
Paying attention to the flashing damage indicators on her HUD, she rolled over to a sitting position. The highest priority wound was a six-inch-long piece of shrapnel buried deep in her thigh. She yanked it free, and blood trickled from the wound. After a moment, the bleeding subsided as her nanites began to mend the deep wound. Another, smaller piece of shrapnel had impaled her abdomen just below her ribcage. She removed that shard of metal as well. Scrolling through the damage alerts, she decided the rest were minor cuts, scrapes, and bruises. Getting hit by a grenade, followed by a spill off the bike at approximately sixty miles per hour tended to cause some damage. And yet, I still live.
Reaching up, Rin grasped the massive arm of the Ares 13 and gingerly pulled herself to her feet. Her vision swam dizzily for a moment but then stabilized. She was pleased to note that, other than a limp, she would be able to move without too much difficulty.
Rin retrieved her katana from where it lay a short distance away. She could see by the remains of her pack that most of her gear had been destroyed, but she would have to search around later. Gunshots rang out from the other side of the town.
“Let’s go help Reznik,” she said.
***
The man standing over Reznik was an ugly bastard with a lantern jaw and a greasy mop of dark hair. His eyes were deeply set below a heavy brow, and in his beefy arms, he held some type of futuristic-looking rifle. This guy is a cut above the other slavers.
“Aw, what a touching little scene.” The man spat at the Thorne men. “Those two were a pain in my ass. Good riddance.”
Reznik felt the wound in his back and noted it was hot and blistered. Is that thing a laser gun?
“Like my new toy, do ya?” the man asked. He smiled, and his face somehow got uglier if that was even possible. “That’s good, because I’m gonna cut you apart with it.”
A droning engine noise he had been hearing for several minutes was becoming louder. Reznik glanced to the side and saw the dune buggy still approaching from the open plain at barely an idle, with the remains of the driver sprawled across the dashboard. He realized the slaver couldn’t see the buggy with the trailer between him and the approaching vehicle.
“What is that, some kind of laser gun?” Reznik needed to keep him talking a little longer. The AK-47 was within reach, and he still had the .45 holstered on his hip. He just needed the distraction the approaching vehicle would provide.
The slaver nodded and turned the rifle over in his hands, obviously in a
dmiration of it. “Pulse rifle, right out of Thorne’s arsenal. Those two shit-for-brains crashed their ship in the desert, and my men scavenged this. Want to see how well it works?”
Before Reznik could reply, the slaver shot him in the shin. He saw a flash of red light and heard the pulse rifle’s blat before his leg started burning as if stuck with a hot iron. He hissed in pain, and his HUD flashed a damage indicator, which he ignored. His uniform curled back, singed around the small hole caused by the laser blast.
“Who are you, and why are you attacking us? How many more of you are there?” The man’s eyes held a nasty glint.
Reznik didn’t care for that. He knew the man would carve him up if he didn’t talk. “Well, I was out enjoying an evening walk and saw a bunch of asshole slavers attacking an innocent town, so I thought I’d stop by and introduce myself.”
Blat. The blast singed into his other shin. The damage indicator flashed more insistently. “Oh, is that right? So introduce yourself. Who do I have the pleasure of killing and leaving for the vultures?”
At that moment, the dune buggy slammed into the rear corner of the cattle car. Metal crunched, and the bumper of the trailer tore into the fender of the buggy, spinning it around toward where Reznik sat.
The slaver jerked at the impact. He leaped sideways and trained the rifle on the buggy for an instant before swinging the barrel back toward Reznik. He was too late.
Reznik rolled away, just avoiding the spinning tire of the buggy, and snatched the AK-47 from the ground. He came up in a crouch and fired at the slaver’s head.
Blood spurted, and the man backpedaled, firing wildly in Reznik’s direction. The dune buggy ground up under the rear of the trailer and finally came to a stop, the motor stalling out with a pitiful sigh. Reznik’s shins and back were aching from the shots he had taken, but everything seemed to still be in working order, so he ignored the pain.
Reznik moved in a low crouch up against the back of the buggy and leaned around the corner, snapping off a couple shots. The slaver was pressed up against the side of the truck, trying to stanch the blood flowing out of his now-missing nose. He quickly responded to Reznik’s shots, the laser’s blasts sizzling into the rear tire of the dune buggy.
“I can’t say that losing your nose will improve your looks by much,” Reznik taunted.
The man roared in anger and let loose a barrage of blasts into the buggy. Reznik had to flatten himself as the bolts pierced the vehicle’s scant sheet metal and crackled past his head.
“Drop that AK and come out here, hero,” the man ordered. “I’m gonna start executing slaves.”
Reznik took a quick peek. The barrel of the slaver’s pulse rifle was stuck through one of the slats pointing inside the trailer.
Shit. I was hoping that wouldn’t happen. “You don’t want to do that.”
“No, but I will.” As if to emphasize that he was serious, the slaver fired a couple shots into the back of the trailer. Cries of pain and terror followed.
“Whoa, hold on, I’m coming out,” Reznik called. He held up the AK by its receiver and slowly stood. Just as he was wondering how he was going to get out of this scrape, he saw the reassuring sight of the Ares 13 moving south along the fence, still several hundred yards away.
“Reznik, what’s your situation?” Ichiro’s voice filled his head over the Datalink channel he had forgotten was still open.
Under his breath, Reznik said, “I could use some backup here… take the shot if you get an opening. Just be aware that he’s willing to shoot the civilians.”
“Who are you talking to?” The slaver’s eyes darted around suspiciously, but he didn’t look behind him. His nose was just a bloody nub and the bullet had proceeded to carve a deep gash across his cheek as well.
“I was just telling my friends to shoot at the ugliest asshole they see. There won’t be a problem hitting the wrong scumbag.”
The man’s ugly mug twisted in rage, and he swung the rifle back at Reznik, squeezing the trigger as he swept it toward him. Reznik dove to the side at the same time, his hand reaching for the revolver on his hip. He drew the big pistol and cleared the holster, firing before he hit the dirt, but his bullet’s target was no longer there.
It was as if the slaver had disappeared, at least from the waist up. His torso disintegrated into ropes of shredded flesh and a shower of blood as the 30mm autocannon rounds pulverized his flesh. It looked like a bad splatter effect from an ultra-violent Hollywood action flick. The pulse rifle spun away and clattered on the ground.
“Target eliminated,” Ichiro said.
“I see that. Nice shooting. How’s Rin doing?”
“I’m doing.” Rin’s throaty voice came over the open channel. “I scared a few of them off. They should be heading your way shortly.”
***
The slaver slid off the end of Rin’s katana and crumpled to the floor. His shotgun clattered loudly on the packed dirt floor in the enclosed space. The child had stopped screaming when Rin appeared out of the shadows and cut down the slaver. She couldn’t tell if it was a girl or a boy; the child’s hair was ragged and its face covered in dirt. His or her clothes were little more than threadbare rags.
“You’re safe now. Is your family around?” The child stared at her wide-eyed and then nodded slowly. “Go hide somewhere safe until they come to get you, okay?” Rin tried on a smile, which only made the child scamper away more quickly. I must look quite frightening, she thought wryly. The child disappeared behind a curtained partition.
Rin wiped the blood off on the slaver’s shirt. The man had a crudely inked rattlesnake tattoo on his bald head. She had seen him chase the screaming child down into the storm cellar behind a small house. A rack of shelves stood against the wall, looking in danger of collapse. A sparse collection of canned goods lined the shelves. She saw mostly canned vegetables and a few tins of what might have been sardines. A can of peaches was bloated from spoiling. The storeroom had seen better days, much like the town itself.
“Hey, Grint—you down there?” The voice came from outside the storm cellar. Rin pressed up against the wall behind the steps. “We’re getting outta here. Everyone is bolting—sounds like the battle isn’t going so well.” The top step creaked as a dusty boot stepped down. “You there, man?” The slaver paused but then apparently thought better of coming down. He cursed and disappeared.
Rin left the storm cellar and walked toward the town’s main street. She passed a large vegetable garden that had obviously been trampled in a number of places. Shell casings clinked underfoot on the broken pavement. A large blood stain from an old act of violence marred the porch of the nearest building. The blood stain was long dried and had that rusty, faded look. She couldn’t see or hear any more slavers on this end of the town, so she decided to meet up with Reznik and Ichiro.
Thoomthoomthoom. The Ares 13’s heavy guns thundered somewhere in the distance. Rin walked into the middle of the main street. Looking toward the far end of the town, she saw the sun glinting off the shiny carapace of the robot. Just inside the breach of the wall, a group of men were kneeling in the dirt with their hands raised. She zoomed in her vision a bit and saw Reznik disarming them while the robot stood guard. The slavers aren’t as dumb as they look, she thought. Cowards don’t want to die for nothing. She started limping toward the group.
“Looks like that’s it… the rest of them surrendered,” Reznik’s voice came over the Datalink. “Did you find any more in town?”
“Just the three I took out. I think the rest of them fled.”
“Copy. Let’s try to get in touch with the townsfolk, and then we can finish clearing the town. What’s your location?”
“Five hundred meters east of you.” She waved when Reznik looked up.
“Damn, are you all right?” Reznik asked when she approached. He was eyeing her injuries with concern.
She bit off a sharp retort. “Hasn’t been my day, but I’ll live,” she said instead. She could see that he moved gi
ngerly and had what appeared to be energy-weapon burns on his shins.
“There’s probably thirty or forty slaves in the cattle truck. One of them got shot in the head as he tried to escape with his friend, but I think he’ll survive if he’s treated. We need to canvass the town to make sure it’s secure, figure out what to do with these prisoners, and treat the wounded. First, I’d like to find out who is in charge of this town.”
“Well, you found him,” a voice drawled as a man with an old M-16 stepped out from the nearest building to meet them.
Chapter 11
A scream followed by a loud crash woke Marcus from his dream. He had been fast asleep, dreaming of the day his father had taken him and his little brother to the air show. After admiring a sleek gunship, Marcus knew he wanted to be a pilot one day. He thought it would be so cool to be able to launch bombs and missiles and take out the bad guys like they did in the videos. His father had gently scolded him because his test scores were so high for math and science, he should become a scientist like they had always planned.
Another, longer scream made the scraps of dream vanish, and he sat up straight in bed. The stomping of heavy footsteps downstairs was followed by a strange sound. A gunshot! It wasn’t an old-fashioned gun but one of those laser guns. He remembered how they sounded since he had watched his dad and the men that worked for him at the firing range once. What is going on? Maybe it’s one of those movies Dad sometimes watched with shooting and screaming. But wasn’t he still away on a business trip? Maybe he came back early!
Marcus kicked off the blankets and hopped out of bed. He was about to run downstairs to greet his father but then paused as he heard the heavy footsteps stomping up the stairs. Marcus peeked through the cracked door into the hallway. A dark shape moved in the hallway and then went into his little brother’s bedroom. Maybe father was going to say hi to Miles first, and then he would come to see Marcus as well.
Extensis Vitae: The Shattered Land Page 9
