by James Hilton
“With a gun? Like a pussy?”
Weiss cocked his head to one side, baring his teeth. It was all Danny needed. Rolling his head away from the pistol, he gripped Weiss’s wrist with both hands, wrenching the joint as he turned. The German’s arm was locked straight as Danny looped his elbow over the top, his grip tightening. Dropping his weight and twisting, Danny drove the German up and over in a combat throw. Weiss slipped to one side, remaining on his feet, and rammed his knee into Danny’s ribs. The pistol barked, the bullet sparking from the side of the armoured truck. Danny wrenched Weiss’s wrist again, slamming it into the plate steel of the truck over and over. The pistol fell from his hand. Danny tensed his neck, tucking his chin low as the German strained at the choke hold. Forcing himself to ignore the pain in his torso, Danny slammed the heel of his open hand into the German’s face and stamped down on his shin.
The two men circled each other. Flames cast ever-changing shadows, smoke filling the air with a pungent sting. A wide patch of red stained the German’s ribs. Danny knew now where his earlier bullet had struck. Weiss cursed in his native tongue.
“Aye, it’s a different story when the guy you’re fighting isn’t filled to the brim with drugs, isn’t it?” spat Danny. A spasm of pain shot across his midriff. The ballistic vest he had taken from the dead cartel man had stopped the bullets from Weiss’s pistol drilling through him, but the shock from the multiple impacts was proving hard to shake off.
“I’m still going to kill you.” Weiss drew a tomahawk and a knife.
Danny snatched his ERT from his pocket, snapping open the blade. Weiss moved into a crouch, his right hand cocking the deadly tomahawk back to his shoulder. The knife he held in his left was nearly a foot long, the straight blade tapering to a needle point.
Danny dodged a thrust aimed at his stomach, ready for the swing that he knew would follow. The triangular blade of the tomahawk cut the air inches from his face. Weiss immediately thrust with the knife again, his movements fluid and confident. The knife blade raked along Danny’s forearm, leaving a stinging furrow. Moving away from the tomahawk, Danny launched a backhand slice at Weiss’s hands. As the German dodged the cut, Danny ripped up with the ERT. The blade caught Weiss just below his hairline. Danny ducked under the long knife that was aimed at his throat. A crimson sheet streamed over Weiss’s face, the wound in his forehead serving its purpose. Danny snap-kicked the hand holding the tomahawk, but Weiss angled away from the force, slashing out again with his knife. The German roared like a beast as he cut the air with a vicious backslash. Danny caught Weiss’s attack on his raised left elbow. Something cracked in the German’s wrist and the knife flew from his hand, spinning like a helicopter blade.
Both men moved as a single unit. Weiss raised his tomahawk. Danny slammed his left fist into the German’s nose. Droplets of blood flew as Weiss’s head snapped back from the blow. The tomahawk cut down at Danny’s skull.
But Danny wasn’t there. Using a two-step motion, Danny pivoted and was behind Weiss in a split second. The ERT punched deep into his exposed back. Even in mortal agony, the German proved dangerous. Weiss turned to face his would-be killer, jamming his elbow into Danny’s face. Danny reeled, his legs suddenly heavy. The ERT slipped from his hand, the blade still wedged deep in Weiss’s body. As he stepped back, Danny tripped over one of the dead bodies sprawled in the darkness. The tomahawk skimmed through his hair, mere inches from lobotomising him.
Weiss loomed over him, his blood-covered face that of a monster. The whiteness of his hair, eyes and teeth was stark in the flickering flames. Danny moved to rise from the ground when his right hand closed upon a welcome object. Flopping back onto the ground, he wedged the stock of the shotgun to his hip.
Weiss raised the tomahawk to his shoulder.
The three rapid shots ripped the German apart. Weiss jerked spasmodically, a hole punched clean through his chest. He dropped as if gravity had collected an outstanding debt.
“The way to a man’s heart is through his chest,” said Danny, cradling the AA12 shotgun. “I’m keeping this bad boy!”
81
Clay screwed his eyes shut as the cartel soldier viciously ground a thumb into his eye socket. The crossbow bolt grated against the bones deep inside his shoulder. Pain forked like lightning through his body.
The man was a foot shorter than Clay but nearly as wide. The strength in his arms was commensurate to the massive muscles that filled his bulky frame. His jet-black hair was cropped into a raised strip, Mohawk style. An S-shaped tattoo decorated the left side of his face.
Clay’s balance tilted as if he were on a storm-tossed ship. He shook his head, dislodging the man’s thumb. Fighting to remain on his feet, he crashed a massive right hook into the side of the teeth that now sought to latch onto his face. The cartel man wrenched on the bolt as he absorbed the force of the punch and answered with one of his own. Clay tucked his chin and took the punch just below his hairline. The two that followed caught him on the jaw. Lights sparked in his vision.
The blows only added to his fury. In one motion, Clay caught the man’s head between both hands, his grip closing around his ears, and pulled him close. Clay could feel the convulsions of the marauder’s body as he held his grip tight. The crossbow bolt had transfixed his right eye, the rigid shaft spearing deep inside his skull. The agony in his shoulder was like nothing he had suffered before, yet he pulled the cartel shooter even closer. As the man slumped, Clay thrust him away with a derisive snort.
Silence descended, the lull disturbed only by the crackle of flames and a quiet groaning. Clay turned a slow circle before he moved to the pickup truck. He placed the flat of his hand against the glass, leaving a red smear behind. Celine nodded as he motioned for her to stay inside.
“Kelly?” Clay dropped to one knee, his fingers moving to the side of her neck. He could feel no pulse.
Boom! The sound of a shotgun snapped him back to full focus. Pushing back his dismay, he scooped up a weapon from the ground, a MAC-10. Dropping to one knee, he frowned into the darkness.
Boom! The shotgun sounded again.
“Clay! It’s me. I’m coming up!” The thick Scottish burr of his brother’s voice was unmistakable.
“Come on up.”
Moments later, Danny’s wiry silhouette appeared over the crest of the hill. The weapon he carried resembled a carved two-by-four.
“They all finished down there?”
Danny gave a single nod. “All now honorary members of the dodo club.”
“You sure?”
“Aye, a couple were still frisky on my way up. They’re not now.”
That explained the two shotgun blasts. Clay managed a strained smile.
“What the hell?” Danny reached out, his fingers hovering inches from the crossbow bolt. “Jesus, Clay.”
“It hurts a lot worse than it looks,” said Clay.
“The last guy I shot had a crossbow.”
“Pity you didn’t shoot him sooner.”
Danny reached out a hand. “You’re still walking and talking, so it can’t be that bad.”
Clay gripped his brother’s shoulder. “I can see the worry in your face, wee one. No need, I’m sure I’ll live.”
“You might not if you call me ‘wee one’ again.” Danny cradled the AA12, the business end pointed away from Clay and the trucks. “What the hell is that?”
Clay looked down at the eyeball wedged midway along the crossbow bolt. “It belongs to one of those desperados. I’ll keep an eye out for him later.”
Grimacing, Clay straightened his back as Celine climbed from the confines of the truck. He slid the remnants of the eyeball from the arrow, casting it away.
“Are we safe?” asked Celine.
“Not ’til we touch down in Texas,” said Clay.
“I mean, are all the ones chasing us… dead?”
“Deader than disco-dancin’ dodos, my lass,” answered Danny. “But Clay’s right. We’ve got to keep moving. With good luck
and a tailwind, we’ll make the city by morning light.”
Danny ushered the survivors back into the vehicles, then lifted Kelly into the flatbed of his truck, laying her out carefully. One of the women, sobbing, covered her face with her shirt.
Clay looked down again at the bolt jutting from his chest.
“I’ll drive from here,” said Celine.
Danny cut Clay’s protest short. “I think that’s best. Give me a few minutes to gather up some weapons and then we’re out of here.”
Clay slid his bulk into the passenger seat of the pickup. The few minutes it took for Danny to return felt like an eternity. His brother trotted up the slope, his arms full of weaponry. In addition to his chunky shotgun, which he had fashioned a sling for, he held half a dozen more MAC-10s.
“I thought about jacking the armoured truck down there, but one of the tyres is shot out. Got these, though.”
Clay nodded to the access road. “At least the fire is dying down. Is the path clear?”
“Aye, we’ll need to swing around the drums and the burnt-out jalopy, but we’ll manage.”
Clay gave a slow blink in acquiescence. He could taste blood in his mouth.
82
Celine’s stomach lurched each time a new set of headlights appeared. Clay had lapsed into a brooding silence as the two trucks sped towards the city. The arrow that jutted from his chest was painful even to look at. Celine could only imagine the pain he was fighting against, pushing back. The only indication of his suffering was the fine sheen of sweat that covered his face and the occasional twitch of his scarred face.
Danny had taken the lead and they had rejoined the main road once again. The gunfire, screams and flames were now just another layer of nightmare memories that she felt sure would haunt her dreams for many years to come.
The scars on Clay’s face, pale against the tan of his skin, caught her attention as she glanced his way. She now understood all too well what each of those scars may have cost him. A lump grew in her throat as she was filled with a new appreciation.
Her nose twitched as she inhaled the air inside the cab. Sweat, fear, smoke and blood were now smells she feared would never leave her senses. A glance to the back seat sent a renewed worry for Marco’s life rippling through her. Her friend looked dead. His face was devoid of colour and covered with a waxy sheen. Gillian had tried to wake him, but nothing was working. A real hospital was his only chance of survival. That meant going all the way back to Cancún, where the closest emergency hospitals were. Danny had insisted on this. Yes, they would pass through a few smaller towns on the way, but he had reasoned that they would be vulnerable to the wrath of Los Espadas if they were still being pursued. The cartel would think little about opening fire in a small rural town or village. Gillian had taken the cell phone from Celine and kept trying to call the police. After twenty or so attempts, she held up the handset.
“The battery is nearly dead on this.”
Celine pursed her lips. “Try once every ten minutes. Power down in between. We’ll get lucky sooner or later.”
Gillian nodded in agreement.
For many miles, the only sound in the vehicle was the constant hum of the engine and rubber on asphalt. The light of a new day began to push against the darkness. They had survived to see a new dawn, something she had doubted many times in the previous night. Sporadic signs of life passed in a blur. Occasional buildings at the side of the road. A gas station, a roadside diner, all in darkness.
“You okay?”
The road widened into a regular highway with a narrow strip of plants separating the lanes.
“Celine? You okay?” asked the voice again. Gillian’s voice.
She shook her head to relieve the encroaching reverie. “Okay. Yeah. I’m okay.”
“You were starting to drift.”
“I was?”
Gillian reached between the seats and placed her hand on her shoulder. Celine gave her hand a gentle squeeze. The sky had lightened, the sun now cresting well above the horizon. When had that happened? How many miles had passed without her knowing? A sign at the roadside told her they were on Highway 307. The clusters of buildings began to grow in both size and frequency.
As they began to pass more familiar landmarks and recognisable place names on the road signs, Celine’s heart was filled with hope. They were nearly there. Civilisation meant safety. It meant they could go home.
The indicator on Danny’s truck flashed and she followed him to the side of the road. She gently shook Clay awake as Danny approached. Celine managed a wan smile as he rested his forearms on her open window.
“We need to ditch the hardware before we hit the checkpoint up ahead. There are soldiers up there and I don’t want to be stuck explaining shit to armed grunts.”
Celine looked at Clay. His voice carried none of his usual vitality. “I suppose it makes sense. I don’t like the thought of being unarmed, though.”
“We can stash a couple of pistols under the seats, but two trucks full of raggedy-arsed gringos with MAC-10s isn’t going to go down too well.”
“Have at it, little brother.”
Celine watched Danny collect the weapons from the trucks and throw each one into the waterway that ran alongside the road. He kept one pistol and handed one to Celine. She tucked it under her seat, making sure it was secure. Clay’s eyes closed again.
The two trucks resumed their journey. Pressure built behind her eyes as they approached the checkpoint. To her surprise, the checkpoint was manned by a single uniform, who looked half asleep. He gave little more than a cursory glance at the two trucks rumbling past him.
Danny pulled over at the outskirts of the city. Celine could hear snippets of the conversation he was having with four construction workers. They pointed the way to the nearest hospital. In the new light of the Mexican morning, she looked again at her companions. Clay dozed, the arrow in his chest looking like a dreadful dime-store gag. Marco was too painful to look at. Frances, too, had slipped into a stupor, her limbs swollen into mottled sausages.
Danny swerved into the parking area of the hospital. Celine followed.
83
Spears of bright sunlight chased away the darkness as dawn came. Ghost could hear voices approaching, one male, the other female. The man’s voice carried an air of sophistication, every syllable pronounced with deliberation. She knew the voice; she knew the man. The woman sounded like she was from the States. Both the tone and her words indicated that she was not a captive, that she was there of her own volition. Their conversation became clearer as they drew closer, still oblivious to her presence. That suited her fine. She knew she would only get one chance at this last act.
“We leave in ten minutes. Are you ready to do what needs to be done, Michelle?”
“I am. I will not let you down, Master.”
“You will be well rewarded. It pains me to leave this house. It holds a special place in my heart, as do you. Yet none of my faithful have returned; they have fallen. They were called but failed the challenge, failed the ultimate trial. You are the only one who has proved worthy to continue at my side, to forge a new path.”
“Thank you, Master.”
The man’s tone changed. “And you are absolutely sure there is nothing left here that the authorities could trace back to me?”
“There’s nothing. The laptops are in your car, as are your ledgers and cash. My things are in there too.”
“Then you know what must be done. Dispatch the witnesses, then burn the buildings. Set everything on fire. I do not want anyone’s lack of caution coming back to haunt us.”
“Consider it done, Master Ezeret.”
The door opened fully to Ezeret’s red-hued room and the two stepped inside. They were three steps inside before they saw the woman sitting in his high-backed chair.
One last job to do, chile, so do it good.
Ghost raised the pistol slowly. Her hand seemed to float in front of her body. Though her enemy could not see it bec
ause of the red light of the room and her black jumpsuit, her entire body was blood-soaked. Four bullet holes in her torso. Her breath came in ragged gasps.
Michelle raised her hands in surrender.
Do it!
The Glock barked once, still loud in the room despite the suppressor. Michelle took a faltering step, then a crimson teardrop traced a path down her face. Her mouth opened and closed without sound. She reached a hand as if to hold Ezeret, then fell in an untidy heap.
Do it again, chile. Lauren is watching you. Don’t fail her again!
“Wait.” Ezeret raised his hands in supplication, a non-threatening gesture. “Please wait. I think you have been sorely treated and I wish to right those wrongs perpetrated in my name.”
Ghost coughed, blood running from her mouth. She didn’t move to wipe it from her face. “I know you. I have waited for you. You killed my sister, my sweet Lauren. Your men took her out there and shot her to death with arrows. You made me watch.”
“And now you have come to kill me?”
“Yes.”
“You would kill the very man who gave your life meaning?” Ezeret’s voice was warm honey. “You would kill me, your spiritual father?”
The pistol was heavy. The suppressor dipped an inch.
“Look inside yourself. What were you before you were set on this path? Hmmm? What meaning did your life hold? Can you not see that I set you free, liberated you from the banal, the mundane?”
The suppressor dipped another inch. His voice resonated deep within her. His eyes looked… beautiful, so big and brown and kind. How could that be?
“I can see you have been reborn in the fires of adversity, yet you have not fallen, have not been consumed. Who gave you that strength, who gave you that purpose, if not I? You have been freed from the constraints of this so-called civilised life, reborn as a warrior, a woman to be reckoned with. Put down the gun and come with me. Together we can begin again, free and uninhibited.”
The pistol dipped another inch.
“That’s it, let go of the gun. You will not need it now.” Ezeret’s words caressed her, warm and soft.
