Repairman Jack 02 - Legacies

by F. Paul Wilson

  Jack hid behind a big oak. At least he thought it was an oak. All he knew for sure was that its trunk was about two feet across—barely enough to hide him—and bordered the deer trail. Jack held one of the lateral branches of a smaller tree growing between the big oak and the trail. He'd used his Swiss Army knife to trim most of the branch's twigs, leaving only one-inch stubs jutting out like nails.

  And now he waited, listening to Barlowe's noisy approach along the trail.

  He had a length of the ubiquitous vine coiled loosely about his left wrist, and the tree branch that had once stretched face-high across the trail bent back as far as he dared without snapping it off the trunk.

  His knuckles looked blue from the cold, but his palms were sweating. Timing was everything here. A second too early or late and Jack would be following Yoshio into the Great Whatever.

  And so he waited, letting the sounds get louder and closer, waited until he sensed that Barlowe was just about to step into view, then he let go and ducked back, loosening the loops of vine as he slid around the other side of the trunk.

  Barlowe's cry of pain and his sudden wild shooting were Jack's signals to go. He leaped from the back side of the tree, landing directly behind Barlowe. The merc was stumbling back toward Jack, his left hand to his face, firing blindly with the Tec-9 in his right. Jack waited a heartbeat until Barlowe lowered his left hand, then looped a coil of the vine around the merc's throat and yanked the startled man backward.

  As he slammed Barlowe's back against the big tree, he noticed blood running from his left eye. One of the twiglets Jack had left had found its mark. In hyperdrive now, Jack dropped one end of the vine, put the trunk between them, then reached around the other side and reclaimed the loose end.

  He hauled back on the two ends of the vine, putting all his weight into the job. He couldn't see Barlowe on the far side of the trunk, but Jack could hear his choking grunt as the vine garrote cut off his air. His legs thrashed frantically and he tried to fire his Tec backward, angling the muzzle around the trunk, but Jack simply moved to his left without loosening up on the vine. The two bursts Barlowe got off did little more than kick up wet leaves.

  And then the shooting stopped, though the thrashing continued. That could mean only one thing: Barlowe had realized that his Tec-9 was not going to save his life. And Jack figured what he'd try next.

  Quickly he twisted the two ends of the vine together so he could keep it taut with one hand. Then he stretched around to his right.

  Just as he'd suspected, Barlowe was pulling his Special Forces knife from its scabbard. The wicked-looking saw-toothed Rambo blade gleamed in the light as Barlowe brought it up behind his head to saw at the vines.

  "No you don't," Jack said, and grabbed his wrist.

  The struggle was a short one. Weakened by lack of air, Barlowe didn't have the strength to pull free of Jack's grip.

  Finally, he sagged.

  But Jack wasn't about to release the vine. Barlowe could be playing possum.

  Just then the bark on the trunk above Jack's head exploded into stinging fragments to the rattling tune of assault weapon fire.

  He ducked and turned. He spotted the other merc, Kenny, about fifty yards away, crashing toward him.

  Kenny whooped and yelled. "Hey, Barlowe! What're you shooting at? I found him! He's over here! Yo, Barlowe! Over here!"

  Jack released the vine and crawled around to Barlowe's side of the tree. The merc's face was blue-tinged, his eyes closed as his body sagged to its knees.

  On the far side he could hear Kenny's noisy progress, yelling and firing short bursts as he approached.

  "Gotcha now, fucker! Say your prayers, 'cause you got about a minute to live. Hope you're shittin' your pants, fucker. Hey, yo, Barlowe! Where are you, man? You're gonna miss the fun!"

  "Barlowe's right here," Jack whispered. "Waiting for you."

  Jack grabbed Barlowe's Tec-9 but its strap was wrapped and twisted around his arm. He yanked first, then tried to untangle it, and all the while he could hear Kenny crashing closer.

  "Dammit!" he hissed as he fumbled for the strap release.

  And then pain blazed through the front of Jack's left thigh. For an instant he thought he'd been shot, then he looked down and saw Barlowe's knife dropping out of a bloody slit in his jeans, and Barlowe staring up at him with the reddest whites Jack had ever seen.

  And Kenny just on the other side of the tree.

  Ignoring the pain in his leg as best he could, Jack hauled Barlowe to his feet—had to hand it to the guy, he was one tough, determined son of a bitch—and faced him toward Kenny's sounds. As he held him up he wriggled his hand under the merc's right arm, searching for the Tec-9's grip.

  Kenny arrived with his own Tec blazing, and Jack felt the jolting impact of the slugs tearing into Barlowe.

  "Oh, Christ!" Kenny wailed as the shooting stopped. "Barlowe, what—?"

  Jack couldn't see Kenny, but he could imagine his expression. Jack's questing finger found the trigger of Barlowe's Tec then, and he pulled it. He had no idea where he was aiming, he simply started firing blind and wild, and hoped the clip wouldn't run out.

  He chanced a peek over Barlowe's shoulder and saw Kenny stumbling backward, arms and eyes wide, his chest a bloody ruin.

  Jack released Barlowe and his Tec, letting him fall forward. Both mercs hit the ground about the same time.

  And then Jack sagged against the big tree, clutching his bloody thigh. It hurt like hell every time he moved his leg.

  Just what I need, he thought.

  But at least he was no longer the only unarmed man on the hill.

  9

  The gunfire had stopped.

  "Well," Baker said, "that's it for your boyfriend."

  He leaned against the desk, his pistol still in his hand.

  "You don't know that," Alicia said.

  She could not imagine Jack dead. He seemed too resourceful to be dead. But then, she'd only seen him playing his tricks. She'd never seen him in a gunfight. And no matter how good he was, how could he overcome two men armed with automatic weapons?

  "I do know that," Baker said. "All that shooting can mean only one thing: They cornered him and had some fun with him. Probably shot up his legs first, then started moving around the rest of his body. By the time they were through, he was probably begging them to kill him."

  Fearing she might vomit, Alicia turned away. Jack—Just Jack—dead. Add one more to the list of men dead because of her. She'd involved him in this. He'd come willingly, but still, if she'd just let it go, let Thomas have the damn house, they'd all be alive, and she wouldn't be trapped in the woods with these human monsters.

  She heard a loud, celebratory whoop from somewhere outside the cabin.

  Baker straightened and crossed the room, grinning.

  "That's Kenny. He's a noisy son of a bitch."

  Another whoop.

  Baker stepped outside and stood with hands on hips, staring toward the tree line.

  10

  Jack trained Barlowe's Tec-9 on the cabin door and let out a whoop, hoping he sounded enough like Kenny to draw Baker out.

  He leaned against a tree trunk to take the weight off his left leg. The trees were smaller here and didn't provide much cover. Hopefully he wouldn't need it.

  Off to his right, Yoshio's body was a pale blotch among the weeds.

  His leg throbbed and burned. He'd cinched the shoulder strap from the Tec above the wound, and that had slowed the bleeding, but it did nothing for the pain.

  He whooped again.

  Come on, Baker. Show your ugly face.

  If he'd had a pistol, he'd have been sneaking up on the cabin now. But with only this Tec, no way he could risk charging inside and shooting. Not with Alicia in there. These damn things were too inaccurate. No telling who he'd hit once he pulled the trigger.

  And if he'd taken the time to limp to the car for the 9mm he'd stashed there, Baker would have figured something was wrong and be ready for him.


  So it had to be this way. He only wished he was closer. Marksmanship had never been his strong point, and with a Tec-9 at this distance he'd have to rely far more on luck than skill.

  Just then Baker stepped out into the open, looking around for Kenny. Jack pulled the Tec's trigger and emptied the magazine at him.

  The corner of the door above and to the right of Baker's head dissolved into a cloud of splinters, and Baker dove headfirst back into the cabin.

  Furious, Jack smashed the empty Tec against the tree and hurled it into the woods.

  Now what? He had a feeling things were going to get really ugly now.

  11

  The explosion of gunfire had staggered Alicia. As Baker regained his feet after a flying leap into the cabin, Alicia stared at the ruined door, still shuddering and vibrating from the barrage it had absorbed, and wanted to cry with joy.

  Somehow, some way, Jack was still alive. He'd not only survived, he'd come back.

  "Kenny!" Baker was shouting. "Oh, Christ, he must've killed Kenny!"

  She looked back at where Thomas lay. His pistol was just on the other side of him. If she could—

  Baker grabbed her arm and yanked her close. His breath was sour.

  "Who is he, goddammit? Where'd you find this guy?"

  "His name's Jack," she said. What could it matter if Baker knew that? "That's all I know."

  "Don't give me that. There's gotta be something going on between you two, otherwise he wouldn't have come back."

  "No. He gets a percentage of whatever this is worth."

  Another truth, but Alicia had a feeling Jack would have come back no matter what the arrangement. Baker would never understand that, but a percentage was something he could buy.

  He nodded. "Yeah, I guess I'd come back for that too."

  He spun her around, grabbed a fistful of hair at the back of her head, and propelled her toward the door. Her scalp stung and burned from the rough treatment.

  "You're hurting me."

  "You better hope that's the worst of it, honey. Because we're gonna see if you're really as valuable as you say you are."

  He positioned her in the doorway and half crouched behind her, peeking over her shoulder. She felt the cool metal of the muzzle of Baker's pistol press against her temple. Down the slope, almost to the trees, lay a body. Alicia knew from its white shirt that it had to be Yoshio. She closed her eyes. Still another death.

  Back inside the cabin, she heard Kemel moaning for a doctor.

  "Hey, Jack!" Baker shouted. "Or whatever your name is. Come out where I can see you or your girlfriend gets it!"

  "I'm not his—"

  "Shut up!" he hissed, jamming the muzzle harder against her scalp. "Not a fucking word from you!"

  And then she saw Jack, moving between the trees. He stopped and stared at them, but said nothing. Then slowly, deliberately, he raised his middle finger.

  "You son of a—!" Baker said.

  Suddenly the muzzle was gone from her temple, and the pistol was extended before her, firing at Jack. The reports were deafening.

  Jack ducked to his left and popped up next to another tree. Baker pumped more rounds at him. But Jack was gone again, only to pop up somewhere else. Baker fired again.

  "Your boyfriend thinks he's smart," Baker whispered. "Know what he's doing? He's counting my shots. He knows I've got fifteen in the clip. He knows I used one on your brother, one on the gook, and now I've knocked off another nine potshotting at him. So he's thinking, four more shots and—"

  Jack popped up again, and Baker fired off a pair of shots.

  "There's two more. Now he's thinking, two more shots and he'll charge me while I'm changing the clip. Must think I'm a real jerk. Well, I got news for Mr. Jack. Sam Baker's changing his clip now. And won't Jack-o be surprised when he charges up that rise. Can't wait to see his face when that slug goes into his chest."

  Baker withdrew the pistol behind her. As he let go of her hair, Alicia heard a metallic click, then something hitting the ground. Her mind raced. Was Baker right? Was that Jack's plan? She had to do something.

  Alicia whirled and saw Baker with his pistol in his left hand while his right was reaching into a pocket. The old clip lay at his feet.

  Shouting, "Jack! Jack! Now, Jack!" she grabbed the pistol and tried to wrestle it away from him.

  Baker's right hand got caught in his pocket, and it took him a second or two to free it, but even using both her hands, and wrenching with all her strength, Alicia could not break his grip on the pistol.

  "Fucking bitch!" he cried.

  She put her body into it, twisting so that her back was to him. And this gave her a view of the slope where she saw Jack—

  Oh, no! He was running toward her, but with a limp! She saw the red splotch on the denim on his left leg.

  He'll never make it!

  Just then Baker must have freed his right hand because she felt a rock-hard fist slam against the back of her head. But she held on. And then the edge of his hand cut down on her shoulder. Her left arm went numb, and her grip failed. The gun came free of her grasp as a third blow knocked her to her knees.

  And Jack wasn't anywhere near close enough. He had a wicked-looking knife in his hand, but he wasn't going to get close enough to use it.

  Alicia twisted and saw the fresh clip in Baker's hand as he fumbled it into the opening in the bottom of the pistol's grip.

  "No!" she cried, and grabbed his arm.

  He almost dropped the clip but maintained his grasp by his fingertips. He snarled as he kicked her away.

  Alicia landed on her back. Jack was almost here, but through a haze of pain she saw Baker slam the clip home and raise the pistol with both hands. Jack wasn't going to make it. Baker was going to get a point-blank shot at him. She thought of Thomas's gun, but it was back inside the cabin, too far away…

  Alicia closed her eyes and screamed as she heard three shots in rapid succession… from directly behind her.

  She opened her eyes and saw Baker falling away as Jack slammed into the place where he'd been standing. She turned and saw someone crouched in the cabin doorway, leaning on the door frame.

  Thomas.

  He looked ghastly. The doughy white of his face made the blood trickling from both corners of his mouth seem so much redder. The pistol hung loosely at the end of his limp arm.

  As she watched, he seemed to deflate, seemed to shrink within his clothes as he slumped to the floor.

  Baffled, Alicia crawled over to him.

  "Oh, Thomas. Thank you, Thomas. But…" She had to ask. She'd never known him to do anything for anyone. "Thomas, why?"

  "Don't you know?" he said in a voice bubbling wet with blood. "You're supposed to be so smart. Don't you know?"

  "Know what?" She was almost afraid that she did.

  "Those were the worst years of your life. But they were the best of mine."

  He coughed up a dark red clot, and then his body stiffened as the light went out of his eyes.

  Alicia reached a hand toward him. She'd never thought she could touch him, but now she had to.

  She smoothed his hair and began to cry.

  12

  Jack bounced off the door and dropped to Baker's side. He held Barlowe's Special Forces knife to his throat as he pulled the pistol from his limp fingers. He saw Baker's glazed, staring eyes, checked his throat for a pulse. Dead. Three .32s to the side of his chest had done it.

  Jack knelt there and sucked air deep into his blazing lungs, then he stood and leaned against the door. His left thigh flamed and throbbed with pain, more so when he bent it.

  He watched Alicia crouch over her brother in the doorway, and heard her sobs. He wasn't crazy about the idea, but he probably owed Thomas his life. And it didn't look like a debt he was going to get a chance to repay.

  That had been close…

  He heard a groan from inside. He stepped past Alicia and found Kemel writhing on the floor.

  "A doctor," he moaned. "Pleas
e… get me to a hospital."

  "The only place you're going is outside," Jack said.

  He grabbed the back of Kemel's collar and dragged him toward the door. The Arab howled as he passed Alicia.

  "Really, Jack," she said, straightening up and wiping her eyes. "Is that necessary? Can't you just leave him there?"

  The adrenaline was still shooting through his arteries, his heart still pounding, his lungs still afire. He looked down at his free hand and saw the fine tremor. The fight was over but his body hadn't got the message yet. He'd come this close to buying it and was still shaking from the sight of Baker's pistol zeroing in on his chest a few moments ago.

  He wasn't feeling too polite.

  "The answers are, in order: Yes…and No. He's stinking up the place."

  Jack dragged him outside, past Baker's body, and released him in the weeds. "Please… a doctor…"

  Jack wanted to kick him but held back.

  "Get me to a hospital."

  Jack squatted next to Kemel and leaned close, speaking through his teeth. "Guess what, pal? I just polled the passengers on JAL 27. I said, 'Anyone who thinks Kemel should have a doctor raise your hand.' You know what? Nobody moved. So no doctor for you."

  As he rose, he noticed that it was starting to snow. He returned to the cabin. Alicia was leaning against the wall next to the door, her head back, her eyes closed. She looked pale and weak, as if the wall was the only thing keeping her upright. Snowfiakes brushed her face.

  "Thanks for the help," he said.

  She opened her eyes. "Thanks for coming back."

  "I didn't have much choice."

  "You could have kept going."

  "No, I couldn't."

  "No, I guess you couldn't." She gave him half of a very tired smile. "And you know, somehow I knew that." She glanced down at his bloody thigh. "Let me check that—"

  "I'll be all right for now. I'll get it stitched up back in the city."

  "It needs more than that strap. Come with me."

  Jack followed her into the cabin. Maybe she needed something to do. She pulled the sheet off the cot and began tearing it into long strips.