He went to fire again, only the weapon didn’t work.
Pulling himself back into cover, he pulled the magazine out of the rifle.
Nope, still got at least ten rounds left. What is… there. It’s jammed.
“You out?” Morgan asked, firing twice.
“Jam. How close is Bert?”
“Another… three crates to go. I think they’ve figured out he’s up to something. They’re shooting at us less and him more.”
It was a bad jam, worse than the ones he’d had to deal with at the small range they had for practice.
He replaced the magazine, slapping it hard into place to be sure it was seated right, and then started trying to work the chamber.
Almost there.
Beside him, Morgan screamed, an anguished cry of pain. Dropping the rifle he turned to see her clutching her left shoulder, blood already staining much of her arm and the top of her dress from a wound to her bicep.
As gently as he could, he got her seated against the crate, taking the pistol from her very weak grip on it.
“Don’t worry about me, give Bert some cover.”
“But…”
“Do it. If he doesn’t make it to the air car, my arm won’t matter anyway.”
Lance really didn’t want to do it. There was an innocent girl, bleeding and in pain next to him, and he was supposed to ignore her?
She’s right. It’s all down to Bert.
Rather than pick up the jammed rifle, he checked the pistol – the magazine was almost full, she must have just swapped it out – and popped up for a couple quick shots.
“I’m grabbing the knife off your belt,” Morgan said, quietly enough that he almost didn’t hear her. He felt her weakly pull the knife free though, followed by the sound of fabric being cut.
“Do you need help with a bandage?” he asked, not looking down.
“Shut up and shoot.”
He did, until the gun ran empty.
“Any more magazines?” he ducked down, more and more bullets hitting the crate. From the sounds of it almost all of his brothers were either down, or out of ammo. Aside from the ringing in his ears it was almost quiet.
“Last one.” It was on the ground on her left side, but she grabbed it with her right arm, passing it over to him.
“He’s almost there, right?”
“Yes, he is.” I hope he is. He hadn’t actually been able to check for a bit.
As he started firing again he spared a moment to look.
Bert was to the car! He had the hatch open, thankfully facing away from the incoming fire, and was climbing in.
The need for covering fire now gone, Lance just got back behind cover before the assassins could shoot him too.
Still… he needed to know when to grab Morgan and make a run for it, so he peeked out the side to watch once he could hear the engine start up.
It was actually working, they were going to be okay.
The air car started to turn.
Wait, hang on, it’s turning away. He’s headed for the exit. He’s leaving us!
Lance watched in horror as Bert abandoned them, left them behind while he was safe in the car.
“I can hear the car, is it close?” Morgan asked.
“I, um…” Lance stuttered out, closing his eyes tightly as he collapsed back onto the ground.
“What? What is it?”
Before he could answer, a single shot rang out, accompanied by the sound of breaking glass.
Peeking back out, he got a glimpse of the front window of the car, spider-web cracks already spreading across it, just before Bert lost control of the car and it started veering towards the ground.
For a moment, he feared it would crash into them, but the air car righted itself for a moment, headed away.
The sound of it crashing was horrendous, a deafening shriek of metal and the shattering of concrete.
“I guess,” Morgan groaned, gasping a bit against the pain, “we aren’t getting out of here after all.”
“Don’t give up hope,” he replied, but the words felt bitter on his tongue.
They just sat there for a moment, unsure what to do, what to say.
“I don’t hear any gunshots,” she said at last.
Lance realized she was right. He didn’t hear any gunshots either. Cautiously he looked over the all but shattered crate. What he saw actually did make him hopeful.
“Can you stand?”
“It’s my arm, not my legs,” she replied, rolling her eyes, “but I might need a bit of help. Why, though? I’d rather not make it easy for them.”
“We need to hurry, I don’t know if they’ll be able to get through.”
“Through what?”
“Bert crashed right into them. Even if they aren’t hurt, they can’t get through that doorway.”
“Wow, some actual bravery,” she sounded quite surprised. She was right to be.
Lance thought it was more likely spite on Bert’s part. Or dumb luck. He’d never know for sure. He stared at the wreckage for a long moment.
We probably owe him our lives. It doesn’t hurt us to assume he did it for the right reasons.
He helped her stand, and they headed over to one of the other air cars.
They made slow progress across the debris strewn floor. The firefight had been exhausting in more than one way, despite how short a time had actually passed, and Morgan hadn’t been doing too well even before being shot.
The only sound besides the ringing in their ears was that of their footfalls. Even the low moans of the injured had stopped, either unconsciousness or death ending their suffering.
“How are we the only ones still standing?” Morgan asked, giving voice to what they were both thinking.
Lance pondered that for a moment before answering, looking around at the devastation around them.
“I think we were just lucky. They started with the poor sods closest to them, and worked their way back. We just happened to be the farthest back.”
Lance was still holding her up, one arm under her armpit, the other on her elbow. He felt her shiver.
“I don’t like relying on luck.”
There didn’t seem to be anything to say to that, so he just kept on walking. They got to an air car, and he popped the door open, helping her sit down on the edge. Through the open door, and the front window beyond, he could see the wreckage of Bert’s car.
He groaned.
“What?”
“I have to be sure.”
She turned, following his gaze to the tangle of metal and concrete.
“There is no way he survived that. Trust me, I’ve… well, I’ve seen the aftermath of a lot of these.”
“Air car accidents?”
She shook her head.
“Mining. And on spaceships. He didn’t survive.”
“You’re right, but…”
Her face softened, almost smiling for an instant.
“You’d better hurry.”
I’m being reckless. Lance thought. He knew that the longer they stayed there the more likely the assassins would find a way around the wreck. Bert was a coward, and a right bastard. If not for him tricking Lance and Morgan, they wouldn’t have been here in the first place. Lance mentally shied away from admitting that if Bert had taken them back to the front they’d likely have fared no better. Yet here he was risking his life, on the smallest chance Bert wasn’t dead.
Why am I doing this?
He glanced back at the waiting air car, and though he couldn’t see her he realized why.
I actually care what she thinks of me, don’t I?
Gingerly picking his way around the debris he made his way to the front of the wreck.
It was barely recognizable, all smashed in and half-hidden in the collapsed wall where the doorway had been, but he could still see bits of the windshield.
Stepping up closer he got a good look inside.
All it took was a moment to confirm, a momentary look that would haunt hi
m for the rest of his life.
Swallowing hard to try and resist vomiting, he turned away, and started back towards the waiting air car.
He was only partway there when the explosion hit.
If he had been any closer it would almost certainly have killed him. As it was, the blast knocked him off of his feet, bouncing him off of one of the other air cars.
His vision slightly blurry, he looked back. There was a new hole in the wall, a few meters down from the wreck, roughly like a doorway.
Shaped charges. They’ll be through any moment.
He looked over to the air car where she was waiting. It was still more than a hundred meters away, with nothing between him and the hole.
Then he looked next to him, and the air car he had landed practically on. It was undamaged, ready to go.
There was no decision to make, no hesitation. Grunting, he pulled himself up, running as fast as he could towards the car, towards her.
He almost made it.
There was no warning. One moment he was running and the next a single shot rang out, painfully audible above the ringing in his ears, and he was falling, his leg one big mass of pain.
No. No! I won’t get this close, just to fail!
He started to crawl, pulling himself forward with his arms. Morgan poked her head out around the side of the air car, not twenty feet away, Another shot rang out, narrowly missing her and smashing into the air car. She ducked back out of sight.
“You’re almost there,” she called out.
He knew though. He was completely exposed, and moving slowly.
There wasn’t anyone to give him covering fire, or to even present a more pressing target for the assassins.
He knew she knew too. He could hear it in her voice.
Despite that knowledge, he kept crawling. He expected each moment to hear another gunshot, and for that to be the end of it, but for some reason it didn’t come.
He could hear Morgan moving about in the car, cursing at something.
Then it started to power up, the engine turning over.
At last the expected shot rang out, and Lance flinched. It took him a second to realize there was no new pain, that he wasn’t dead.
They missed?
Then he heard it. Or rather, didn’t.
The air car’s engine had stopped.
Rolling onto his side he saw what they had done. There was a neat hole in the side of the air car, right where the engine was. It hadn’t gone all the way through, there was no exit hole, but it had taken the engine out completely, it had to be a mess in there.
Anger surging in his chest, Lance crawled over to the edge of the car, leveraging its bulk to get onto his feet, all of his weight on his uninjured leg.
“Why wait?” he yelled towards the hole in the wall. He couldn’t see them, as the assassins still hadn’t come out into the room, firing instead from within. “You’ve killed everyone else, why drag it out?”
Before anyone could answer him Morgan was there, yanking him around to the open door, out of sight for the assassins. It caused him to stumble, accidentally stepping on his shot leg. He blacked out for a moment from the pain, waking up a moment later to find himself laid out on the floor of the car, his head resting on her lap.
“What’s the point,” he whispered, clenching his eyes closed and his jaw shut against the pain.
“There’s always hope,” she answered. He opened his eyes enough to see a sad smile on her face. Then she held up a pistol, and he realized the air car they’d chosen had a rack of weapons by the door. “Plus, we might get out of this yet.”
You mean we might take them with us, he thought. Then he thought of everything his mother and the rest of them had done, since Brighton Bay. All of it, and for what? More violence? More death? What good is revenge, if you aren’t around after? What good is it, if it only brings about more revenge?
Footsteps echoed out, slow methodical. Then there was a cold laugh.
Lance recognized that laugh.
“Ms. Ice,” he called out.
“I’m actually impressed. None of the rest of your pathetic organization put up anything like the fight you did. I was starting to think all your brave men died years ago.”
He wanted to yell back something, some defiant bit of banter, but the truth was he was in too much pain and too tired to do so.
She kept approaching, and after a few moments silence she continued.
“It is too bad none of the rest of them were half as competent as you. If they had, my target would be dead, and I’d not be forced to clean up your messes.”
“What messes would that be?” Morgan asked.
The footsteps stopped.
“Is that your sad little hostage? She helped you last this long?” Ms. Ice laughed, with actual mirth this time. “Oh, that is almost funny enough to be worth all the trouble you’ve put me through. To answer your question, dearie, you are. Oh, you’re not the only one, not even the biggest. I can’t leave this lot loose to identify me when the government gets around to sweeping them up like they did the rest of them. There isn’t much I can do about all the ribbing I’ll get from my companions for not only failing, but failing so dramatically. But I’ll survive that. They were willing to help me now, as I’m sure you noticed, and that’s what counts.”
Ms. Ice was only a few meters away now. She was still on the other side of the air car, but close. He doubted she’d be stupid enough to come around to where Morgan could shoot her, but what else could they do?
“So that’s it then?” Lance gasped out. “You kill us, and go on your way?”
“Just about, yeah. Nothing personal, kid. Can’t leave loose ends. If you had killed her when I said, I might not have needed to do this.” She paused for a moment. “No, I should be honest. Even if you had never grabbed her in the first place we’d probably still be here. Once they started scooping up the other cells this was inevitable. Then again, if you hadn’t taken a close friend of the baroness hostage, maybe they wouldn’t have been so eager. I guess we’ll never know now.”
“Come on then. What are you waiting for? Come over here and we can get this over with,” Morgan said.
“Why so eager? Some last trap or plan you have? I don’t think so. I only let you get this far because it amused me.”
She reached the car. Lance could hear her slap something against the side, and then she started walking away.
“Here it comes, dearies. If it is any consolation, it shouldn’t hurt. Nice and quick.”
“Run,” he whispered to Morgan.
“And what, be shot in the back?”
“Run. Keep the air car behind you. It might work. Get to the next car and hide.”
“And what about you?”
“I’d never make it. Go.”
“I guess you’re all right. For a terrorist.” She gently placed his head on the floor of the car, and got ready to bolt. “If I wait till she’s farther away, maybe she won’t hear my footsteps.”
“Maybe.” Probably not. Still better than doing nothing.
Before Ms. Ice reached the hole in the wall, and before Morgan jumped from the car, a terrifically loud crashing noise echoed through the entire area, followed by three others.
The last one came from the side they had come from, within easy viewing distance of the air car’s door.
Something crashed through the ceiling above, moving very fast, immediately followed by a burst of flame on the bottom end, slowing whatever it was down.
Lance recognized it after a moment. Marine Battle Armor. Full-on assault models. He had seen snippets of footage of them used in combat. They were just about the scariest thing the military had to deploy. Nearly seven feet tall, heavily armored, and equipped with anti-gravity tech coupled with small rockets to give the suit far more maneuverability than its size and bulk would suggest.
The one they could see leveled its massive rifle towards where the assassins presumably were, firing off bursts lasting a second each.
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“You need to run for cover,” Lance said, struggling to sit up.
“What? We’re saved. Well, I’m saved. And we’re already in cover.”
“The assassins will still have the detonator for whatever they put on the car. Run!”
She grabbed him around the middle, yanking him out of the car with her, supporting him despite her being so much shorter than him. As she dropped the pistol he grabbed it, shoving it in his holster, just in case.
They made it to a stack of crates. There was so much gunfire going back and forth, it was impossible to tell if anyone was firing specifically at them or not.
Meanwhile the last marine had reached where the car was parked, and with a deafening boom it went up. They flattened themselves on the ground, both crying out as their injured limbs collided with the crates or the floor.
When he was finally able to sit up and look, the car was just gone, small bits of burning rubble scattered about. The air was thick with smoke, giving everything a slightly hazy look, almost something out of a dream. The marine was still there, his weapon held at the ready but not firing.
His armor doesn’t even look scuffed up. How were we ever supposed to fight that?
The other two weren’t in sight, having moved on into the storage areas. From the other end, the main area of the base, two more marines tromped into the room, headed straight for Lance and Morgan.
He knew he should probably hold up his hands in surrender, but he just lay there, bleeding from the leg that hurt worse than anything he’d felt in his life, with everything else aching.
The one in front took up position guarding them, facing back the way they’d come, while the second came closer, dropping down into a half kneel in front of Morgan.
Her helmet’s visor retracted, revealing a face Lance was only somewhat surprised to see he recognized.
“Are you all right, Morgan?” the Butcher said, frowning intently. “We have medics inbound as soon as we can secure the landing area.”
Morgan coughed, and then shrugged.
“I’ve been better. Nothing that can’t be fixed, I think. Next time you suggest a vacation though,” she coughed again, “I think I’ll stay home.”
“Somehow I think you’d find trouble even then.” She turned to face Lance, and he swore he could feel her gaze on him. “Who is this? Another prisoner?”
Black Holiday (The Black Chronicles Book 2) Page 16
