Grave Makers (Darkside Dreams - Series 1 Book 2)

by A. King Bradley

  As they rounded the corner, the shooting finally started.

  Oscar and Lynn drew back amid a hail of bullets, scooting along the wall to a safe distance. Someone called cease fire through the din and the gunfire stopped.

  "Did you see how many?" Oscar asked.

  "Five or six. All in a line across the hall. They aren't hiding behind anything. But they have bigger guns than we do."

  Oscar nodded. "Nothing hit you, did it?"

  "No. How about you."

  "No. I'm fine. But I have an idea."

  He stomped his feet, making a sound like someone falling over. Then he constricted his throat, letting out a pained groan that echoed down the hall. Pulling his pistol back off his belt, he tossed it into the open as though signifying his surrender.

  "The door right across from us," he whispered to Lynn. "Go. Leave the door open."

  She saw what he was going for and rushed to follow his commands. Posting up inside the room, she waited and watched.

  Oscar continued making sounds of pain. Finally, he heard the soft scuttling of feet as the guards made their way slowly down the hall. As soon as he saw their shadow, Oscar turned the handle behind him and fell into the shadows of another side room.

  Five guards stepped into sight, staring down the hall in confusion. Only two of them were smart enough to still have their weapons raised. Lynn and Oscar targeted those two first as they came bursting out of hiding.

  Oscar swept his gun from right to left, Lynn swept hers from left to right. The recoil was hard to control, but Oscar did his best to keep the line of bullets on level with the guards' vulnerable neck lines. One by one they erupted blood and hit the floor. One of them was still grunting in pain for a long moment, but Lynn put him out of his misery with a burst of bullets through his visor.

  "That worked," she said.

  "Impressed?" Oscar asked, reloading his submachine gun.

  "Maybe a little," she replied, seemingly smiling based on the sound of her voice.

  "Well, don't be too impressed. That felt like the B-team to me. I doubt the rest of Greyson's errand boys will be as dumb as these ones. Let's move out before someone responds to the gunfire."

  They dashed side by side along the hallway.

  "There's an elevator just up here," Lynn said. "It won't be running, I'm sure, but we can still pry it open and climb the shaft."

  "I was afraid you were going to suggest that," Oscar admitted.

  She was about to make some sort of reply when two doors on either side of them burst open and a handful of lithe, blindingly fast figures emerged from them.

  Assassins.

  Oscar turned and raised his arm just in time to block a knife that had been headed straight for his liver. He grabbed the assassin's wrist and jerked upward hard, dislocating the shoulder with a dull popping sound. The assassin made no sound, even when Oscar punched him in the throat and kicked him hard enough to send him back four feet before he hit the floor. Raising his gun, he gave the trigger three quick squeezes.

  The third bullet went wild as another Assassin kicked the barrel of Oscar's gun. It went sailing out of his hands, struck the ceiling, bounced to the floor behind him. He wanted to turn and retrieve it, but in the time it would take him to do that the assassin would have carved him like a turkey. So he kept facing the snakelike little man, dancing out of the way of his knife. But each swing was getting closer, closer, closer... Oscar kept trying to reach for other guns on his bandolier, but the assassin kept slashing at his fingers.

  He was trying to give his partners a chance to ambush Oscar from the rear but Oscar didn't think the partners were coming anytime soon. He heard a crunching, choking sound as Lynn broke one of their necks, then a series of gunshots as she put a fourth assassin in the dirt. Now it was just the guy who was slashing at Oscar. His motions were getting desperate. Oscar could imagine the sweaty, ascetic face behind the mask. Probably thought this assignment would be a breeze, taking out an aging private investigator and some young woman who looked far too pretty to be much of a killer. Too bad for him. The son-of-a-bitch couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Oscar grabbed the assassin's wrist decisively, wrenched it so that the knife fell to the floor, then kicked the guy hard in the balls. The assassin somehow managed not to fall to the floor. He lurched back, cradling his wounded wrist, and was about to rebound toward Oscar for a second bout when Lynn put a bullet through his brain.

  "Jesus Christ," Oscar said. "What the hell was that?"

  “Stop wasting time, Oscar,” Lynn snapped, while she put another bullet in each of the assassins, just to make sure, then reloaded her gun. Just in time.

  The sound of marching feet reached their ears.

  "Hide," Oscar urged.

  As one, they fled through an unmarked door and found themselves in a lab filled with desks, computers, huge machines whose purpose Oscar could only guess at. The lights were dim but Oscar's goggles compensated, bringing everything into stark relief.

  There was another door on the other wall of the room, and it soon burst open. A stream of armed guards flooded in. Oscar ducked down, hiding behind a random desk. He looked around, expecting to see Lynn close by, but she was nowhere to be found.

  "Shit," he grunted.

  They stood a small enough chance together, let alone separated.

  Oscar breathed heavily, still trying to recover from his fight with the assassins and the near-death experience of having a knife come within a millimeter of slicing his gut open. He found himself craving a coffee, a cigarette, a goddamn drink of scotch. Anything. But all he tasted was his own fear and the salty sweat that ran into his mouth from his upper lip.

  Someone fired. A computer screen on a desk just a few feet from Oscar exploded, showering the wall with shards of electronic parts. He ducked lower instinctively, crawling across the floor to a desk farther away from the fray. He heard one of the guards cry out in a muffled voice. It sounded something like "She's there!"

  Lynn had been spotted. She was in danger. Oscar had to help her.

  He reached up, scraping his hand along the surface of the desk above him, and grabbed a small stack of books. He tossed them over his left shoulder. They struck some other desks, knocking things over, pulling the attention of the guards in that direction.

  Oscar rose to a crouch, poking his head above the desk and taking stock of the situation.

  Suddenly, the room was filled with gunfire, lit with muzzle flashes and curious wisps of glowing red lights that darted around the room. The brief moments of quiet were shattered by the desperate cries of the guards. Oscar had no idea what was going on; he was disoriented, whipping his gun this way and that, trying to find someone to shoot. By the time he came to his senses, there was no one left standing. No one but Lynn.

  She walked toward him, breathing heavily and gripping the glowing red handle of her now blood-soaked katana.

  "Thanks for that diversion," she said. "It was all I needed."

  "Uh... don't mention it. How many guys did you just kill?"

  She shrugged. "I wasn't counting. Now let's go; the elevator is right up the hall."

  She led toward the far door, the one the guards had come through. They had to wait through blood and guts and the ripped bodies of fifteen men. Oscar looked at the sea of gore and felt a chill. Suddenly he was very glad to be on Lynn's side. And, for the first time, he felt a faint hope that they might actually pull this off.

  The elevator was right where she said it would be. They were able to pry its doors open together. Oscar nearly fell into the dark shaft beyond, but Lynn caught him and pulled him back.

  "You're no good to me dead, Grave Maker," she said firmly.

  "Not until Greyson's dead too," Oscar replied.

  He braced himself on the wall and leaned into the shaft, peering around. His goggles compensated for the darkness after a moment and he saw a ladder on the left wall. He shuffled over, hooked one arm around the edge of the elevator doors, and reached for the
rungs.

  "Got it," he said.

  "Good, now hold still," Lynn replied. "I'll use you as a bridge."

  He looked back at her fearfully.

  She laughed. "Only joking. What are you waiting for? Climb your ass up there, Old Man."

  Oscar smirked and started climbing, with Lynn following close behind.

  Oscar moved slowly. He was exhausted already. His adrenal gland seemed to have run dry. No juice left to keep him going. He decided to take his time, climbing as slowly as possible, hoping his battered body would mount some sort of comeback. But the journey was over too quickly; he reached the doors at level 6 before he knew it.

  "Here, use this," said Lynn, passing a thin-bladed but sturdy combat knife up to him.

  He jammed the blade between the doors, shoved it all the way to the hilt, and levered the handle with all his might. The blade flexed and the doors popped open. Grunting and sweating, Oscar shoved them wide enough to fit through. With a deep breath, he leaped over from the ladder and caught the edge of the door with his hand, hauling himself onto level 6.

  Lynn was close behind. He grabbed her arm and helped her through, though she didn't need it. It made him feel a little better about how disappointingly human his performance had been thus far.

  "Hallway's deserted," he remarked. "Where's the Unit now?"

  Lynn checked. "The same place. She hasn't moved much. They're in some big room at the edge of the building... this way."

  She gestured down the hall and they went, lifting their guns and preparing for a firefight.

  But none came. The hallway was eerily silent. The lights were burning bright, but there was no one around. Oscar could hear the individual fibers compressing beneath his feet as he strode down the long, narrow rug that ran along the center of the floor.

  "Maybe you were right," he said. "About Greyson not having many guards. Maybe we took most of them out already."

  "Maybe all of them," Lynn suggested.

  "Do you really believe that?"

  "No. Not at all. But a girl can dream."

  "Even a synth girl? I thought you all just float in the data sphere."

  Lynn shrugged. "It's a bunch of random information that your mind tries to make sense of. In that way, I think it's pretty much the same thing as your dreams."

  "Fair enough," said Oscar. He felt almost comfortable now, strolling in a rather languid posture. There was a growing sense that they might have already won, that the building was theirs. All they had to do now was face the Unit, and Lynn had her EMP grenade if it came to that. Oscar didn't want it to come to that, but the point was they could beat the Unit one way or the other.

  Still, in the back of his mind, he knew that the feeling was wrong. Greyson had more tricks up his sleeve. He must. This was too easy.

  "We're getting close," said Lynn. "And still... nothing. No more guards. I don't like it."

  Oscar grunted his agreement. "But we don't have a choice. Greyson's in there."

  She nodded vigorously, and seemed to turn a corner in her mind. Her doubts evaporated and she walked forward confidently. Oscar had to increase his pace to keep up.

  They rounded a bend in the hall and saw the room ahead of them. It was flanked by two armed figures. Oscar jumped in fear, taking aim with his gun. But then he realized they were just statues of Roman soldiers, poised and ready for battle. He had heard Greyson was a bit of an art snob at times. This room must be his private quarters, the place he slept when he had to spend the night at this facility.

  The doors were shut, but no one opened them as Oscar and Lynn approached. The doors were simple. Just a knob and a peephole. Old school. No keycard reader, no sophisticated button pad.

  "The Unit is just inside to the left," Lynn said quietly. "We’ll have to focus fire on her immediately. Otherwise she’ll likely tear us in half. Once she's out of the way, we can grab Greyson."

  Oscar nodded, changing his submachine gun out for a combat shotgun. He figured it would do more damage against the android.

  "Ready?" Lynn asked.

  Oscar considered lying, but decided against it. All they had now was each other. The trust they had built as they fought their way to the top of this building to whatever hell awaited them on the far side of this door.

  "No," he said. "Not really. That thing would have killed me if it wasn’t for you. I don’t think I’ll ever be truly ready to face something like that again. But I’ve got your back Lynn. We’ve made it this far. Too late to turn back now."

  "Well, then, let's get in there and take care of business,” Lynn said firmly.

  The business of dying, maybe, Oscar had time to have the thought but not to voice it. Lynn was already charging through the door and he had no choice but to run in with her. She went low and Oscar stayed standing; they twisted left, toward where they knew the Unit must be standing.

  And there she was, seemingly powered down behind a plate glass wall. She stood frozen, her head slightly bowed, her eyes closed and no longer emitting their sinister red glow. Lynn let out a few shots, but the bullets shattered uselessly against the bulletproof glass.

  "Well, that won't work," she said.

  Oscar started looking around, wary for the presence of more guards. The room was fairly small, a lot more reserved than he would have expected. He saw no one at all. Which was at first a relief, then a source of horror.

  The only other area was the small glass enclosure where the Unit stood, apparently charging her power cells.

  "Greyson isn't here," Oscar said.

  Lynn looked around too. "No, he isn't. Shit. Well, he has to be somewhere in the building..."

  Something dawned on her. Her eyebrows went up.

  "The basement!" she said.

  "We were already down there," Oscar replied.

  "We were at Sublevel A," she said. "There are more floors beneath that. Greyson must be down there. Some kind of bunker, maybe."

  Turning toward the inert Unit, Lynn let out a sigh.

  "Stupid," she said. "I wasn't thinking. Obviously the bitch needed repairs and charging after what I did to her with that stun grenade..."

  She reached for the EMP and held it in her hand, staring wistfully down at it, as though trying to figure out whether to open up the Unit's enclosure and roll it in. Oscar didn't say anything, but he didn't think it was the best play. An EMP here might cut the power to the whole building. And if Greyson was in an underground bunker, the power cut might seal him in. Make him inaccessible. He would have manual controls on the inside to let himself out, but the latches on the outside would be useless.

  Lynn seemed to be on the verge of making a decision about what to do next. The Unit's head suddenly jerked upward, her eyes red like laser pointers as she came to life and started looking around. Behind her, a bank of screens streamed with data and diagnostic information. A series of checks were being run, confirming that the android was good to go. Then she marched forward, approaching the wall.

  The glass wall might have stopped bullets, but it was no match for the Unit. She smashed through it as though it were made of thin plastic, not even bothering to take the time to open the door. She was ten feet from Oscar and Lynn. Closing fast.

  Oscar’s heart pounded with dread as he lifted his shotgun. He would wait until she was close enough to hit her with the full spread. Though he still wasn’t sure if even that would stop her.

  "You go for Greyson!" Lynn barked. "I'll deal with her,” she continued as she slid the EMP grenade back into its pouch and charged forward.

  "You sure?!" Oscar asked, feeling a bit guilty that he was somewhat relieved that Lynn had volunteered to take on the Unit alone.

  “Get the fuck out of here, Grave Maker!” Lynn roared as she and the Unit clashed and grappled with each other like a pair of vicious jaguars.

  Lynn used the Unit’s momentum to hip toss her to the floor, but the android berserker was back to her feet within seconds.

  “Go!” Lynn shrieked at Oscar as she used he
r sword and a series of graceful tornado kicks to keep the Unit at bay.

  She was right. There was no time for a conversation.

  Oscar bolted, out through the door and down the hall. He unlocked the stairwell door and fled down as fast as his old, aching knees would let him, hopping into the space and hammering down onto the landings. He felt ashamed at leaving Lynn. But he knew she made the right call. She was the one who had a snowball's chance at taking the Unit down. And if push came to shove, she had the EMP.

  Meanwhile, there was a bastard billionaire to kill.

  Oscar forgot about pain. He forgot about tiredness, about fear, even about anger. The one thing left in his mind as he ran down the stairs was loyalty. To Catalea, to Lynn, to anyone left in the world who wasn't a greedy, bigoted scumbag. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it, or die trying.

  When three more guards burst into the stairwell, Oscar didn't flinch. They were young guys, fast and strong. They were gung-ho, full of energy and the confidence that only youthful naivety can bring. They thought they were doing the right thing. Oscar hated to put them down, but he didn't hesitate.

  It was fast. One second they were there, running toward him. In the next, they were on the floor bleeding. Oscar barely even realized what he had done, as the demons of his dark past had taken over his mind, turning him back into the stone-cold assassin that he had once been. He was a blur, a bat out of hell, flying down the stairs. He would pay for it later, in pain and anguish... if he was even still alive. Right now, it didn't matter.

  At level 1, the ground floor, he kept going and descended into the murky depths of the sub-levels. To his surprise the stairs kept going, past sub-level A, where the machines that kept the building running toiled away in shadow. Sub-level B, C, D, E... Oscar kept going. None of those doors felt right to him. He had no idea what they contained, probably secretive labs where Greyson and his colleagues did their sick research. They just didn't feel like the sort of places Greyson would hide.

  The man was a lot of things. A billionaire, a genius who excelled in every endeavor he tried, seemingly without effort. A businessman, a crook. But above all, deep down, he was a rat. And where did a rat go when it was in danger? Deep. Deeper. As deep as it could go, hiding where the sun never shined.