Edge of Survival Box Set 1

by William Oday

  Beth wheeled the muzzle over to rest on Diana.

  She blanched, her skin pale and drawn.

  “Get away from the door.”

  Diana’s heels clacked on the floor as she skittered away.

  “You’ll never get out of here with my property!”

  She was right. As soon as Beth left, Diana could easily call security and have her identity card deactivated. Then she’d have no way of getting out the employee exit. The main entrance and exit had mechanical locks and would’ve been locked up tight by now.

  What was left?

  She didn’t feel confident about scaling a twenty foot gate carrying medical supplies and an hours-old chimpanzee.

  Who said she had to use her own card though?

  “Take off your clothes, Diana!”

  Diana’s brows raised, confusion and surprise on her face vying for dominance. She glanced at Ralph, obviously uncomfortable.

  “What?”

  “You heard me! Don’t make me ask again!”

  Beth approached Diana with the rifle pointed at her chest.

  “I should kill you now and be done with it.”

  Diana visibly faltered. Her eyes locked onto the tip of the barrel. She raised her hands with the palms out.

  “Okay, okay.”

  Diana peeled out of her sleek business suit, while Ralph tried not to stare at the revealed bra and panties.

  Beth gathered up the clothing and felt the hard edge of an identity card in Diana’s pants pocket.

  Bingo.

  Diana covered herself as best she could.

  “This is assault and battery! You’ll rot in prison for this!”

  Beth raised her left hand and extended the middle finger. She stepped into the hall and pointed the rifle at each of them in turn.

  “I’m closing this door. I might leave. Or I might wait a while and put a dart in the chest of whoever opens this door.”

  She flashed a wicked smile and pulled the door shut.

  That should keep them wondering for a few minutes.

  A walkie-talkie chirped.

  “Operations, this is Diana Richston. Dr. West has gone crazy and threatened to kill me and our head of security. Call 911! Deactivate her security card immediately!”

  Beth tossed the rifle to the floor and fished Diana’s card from her pants. She dumped the clothing and sprinted down the hall.

  She had to make it to her bike before the police arrived.

  If they caught her, she’d have to give up the chimp. Diana would probably let him die just to spite her.

  She flew out the door of the medical wing and headed toward the main entrance. It was dark outside as only the emergency lights were illuminated. No patrons ambled down the normally busy paths.

  A small group of zoo employees huddled on the path she wanted to take, the shortest one out. She dodged off to the left and took the longer looping path. She’d go a little further if she could avoid any more confrontations. Death threats weren’t her thing.

  She ran down a narrow path, past the flamingos and the petting zoo, and approached the employee exit, wondering if it would be blocked by a line of bodies.

  It wasn’t.

  She was almost surprised. Something could go right today. Sucking wind as she arrived, she fumbled Diana’s card from her pocket and swiped it. A red light beeped.

  No.

  She swiped it again, her hand shaking.

  The red light beeped again.

  No. No. No.

  She looked at the card, ready to stomp it into crumpled plastic.

  It was backwards. She’d swiped it with the metallic strip on the wrong side.

  Seriously?

  She was a terrible criminal. She was going to get caught for failing to do what any dimwit could easily do going through a grocery store line. Maybe the judge would consider that when she was sentenced.

  She flipped the card and swiped it again.

  A green light beeped and the electronic lock clunked open.

  The modulated wail of a siren in the distance grabbed her attention. Out on the access road, two squad cars with lights blazing sped by headed for the parking lot entrance.

  She shoved the gate open and sprinted toward employee parking, praying it was dark enough that they wouldn’t see a lone figure running across the empty lots.

  She arrived at her bike as the two squad cars pulled in, their headlights washing across her as they turned. Helmet on, key in the ignition, she cranked it and the old Vulcan rumbled to life. The vibration between her legs promised a quick escape.

  She may have made a terrible criminal, but she was an excellent rider. She tucked the messenger bag in front, the supply bag behind, securing them both to her waist as the headlights found her again and this time didn’t waver.

  They’d seen her.

  Red and blue lights splashed across the empty lots as the sirens grew louder.

  Beth dropped the visor on her helmet, crouched low in the seat, and cranked back the throttle.

  The Vulcan’s 750 cc engine roared as the bike shot forward. The front tire kicked up before she shifted up and it settled back to the ground with a screech.

  She cut to the side and blew by the squad cars as they fishtailed around to follow.

  They didn’t stand a chance.

  Their sirens faded under the eager howl of her bike. She rocketed out of the parking lot and broke free into the night.

  66

  ELIO stood beside each office door in turn and tried to open it. They were halfway down the hall now and every door had been locked with no response forthcoming. Most everyone had gone home. If anyone remained, he didn’t blame them for not being more inviting.

  The sound of gunfire didn’t make for a reassuring doorbell.

  Maybe the suit and Frank would stay locked up and wait them out. That would be the best case scenario. He could show Cesar that he’d tried. That failure wasn’t his fault.

  Even within the agreeable confines of his own mind, Cesar accepting such an outcome didn’t seem likely.

  He crossed the hall and approached the next door on the right side. Maybe the tenth one or so he’d tried so far.

  He stood to the side and tried the handle. Locked like the rest. He pounded on the door. No response like the rest. He took a step toward the door on the opposite side.

  BOOM.

  A shotgun fired inside the office. It tore a grapefruit-sized hole through the door and then another one on the opposite wall. Splinters exploded outward like shrapnel. Sharp bits of the door cut through his shirt and dug into his side. He fell back and pushed up against the wall. A cloud of smoke whooshed out and obscured the air.

  SHUCK-SHUCK.

  BOOM.

  Another chunk of door vaporized, leaving the hallway filled with splinters and pulverized gypsum. Acrid smoke billowed out and burned his throat and eyes. Tears washed down his cheeks. He coughed and sputtered.

  “Shoot him!” Cesar shouted from behind.

  Elio raised the TEC-9 and held it at arm’s length toward the door. Even being shot at, Elio couldn’t bring himself to return fire.

  “Matalo!” Cesar shouted.

  What choice did Elio have?

  He tilted the muzzle up and pulled the trigger.

  The gun jerked as rounds ripped through the thick wood door, heading toward the ceiling inside. He hoped the bullets hit nothing but overhead lights and ductwork.

  A voice inside the office yelled and doors slammed. They sounded faint and far away and Elio wondered if the ringing in his ears would ever go away.

  A body shouldered him aside and Evil stepped in front of the door. He landed a hard kick on the mangled lock and the door swung inward. Cuts rushed through with his shotgun leading the way.

  “Vamos! Vamos!” he said.

  Evil moved in with his rifle raised and scanning for a target. Elio followed in behind and found himself in a front area with an unoccupied receptionist’s desk facing the entrance. It was a lon
g J-shaped, dark wood desk. Two empty chairs sat behind it. The fancy kind with the fine mesh backing and leather wrapped armrests. Thin computer screens silently waited to verify an appointment.

  They didn’t have one.

  Off to the left was a minimalist, modern-looking couch with a few chairs surrounding a low glass coffee table.

  Evil nodded at Cuts, pointing his muzzle down the wide corridor deeper in. The suit and Frank must’ve retreated into the office.

  A voice rang out in the main hall.

  “Don’t move!”

  Cesar and Theresa were the only ones still out there. But it wasn’t either of their voices.

  Had one of the suits survived and come up the stairs behind them? Were the police already here?

  Elio turned to see what was going on.

  Still in the hall, Cesar pivoted to face the threat and his brow screwed up in confusion.

  “Daddy!” Theresa screamed, choking and coughing. “Daddy!”

  Mason West was here?

  The tracker app. It worked!

  Cesar held Theresa pinned to his chest with the crook of his left arm around her neck. The chromed Desert Eagle came up and unleashed a volley of lead back toward the stairwell. “Coma plomo, cabron!”

  Cesar dodged into the office, dragging Theresa with him. Evil aimed at the empty corridor further in and let loose. The muzzle flashed and did a brutal redecorating job on the interior space. Evil and Cuts ran past the desk, their guns kicking out rounds as they went.

  Return fire exploded from an open doorway further down. A round snapped by Elio’s head. So close it singed the skin on his ear. Evil and Cuts continued forward filling the space with deadly lead and choking smoke.

  Cesar leaned his head out the door to look back toward the stairwell.

  Shots fired and he ducked back in as the door frame by his head exploded with a double tap that just missed.

  Elio froze.

  Caught in a crossfire, between the suit and Frank fighting for their lives and Mason on the other side coming for Theresa. And then Cesar who probably didn’t much care if they all died together in a ferocious blood bath. They wouldn’t survive for long in this position.

  What could he do?

  He had to protect Theresa. That’s what he had to do.

  Cesar’s back was to him, his attention on the empty doorway.

  This was his best chance. Maybe his only chance.

  So he took it.

  He yanked a sleeve down and doubled it over his right hand and then pulled the dagger shard of glass from his back pocket. A chain-link glove would’ve been better. A few layers of cotton was pitiful protection. Maybe it would be enough to keep his fingers attached.

  He lunged forward and jabbed the razor-edged glass into Cesar’s back. His fingers slid forward along that same edge. The glass sliced through the cloth and parted his skin.

  Cesar screamed and jerked forward. Theresa took advantage of his loosened grip and twirled in his grasp and threw a vicious knee to his groin.

  He stumbled a couple of steps, and then whipped the butt of his pistol at her head.

  She took it on the cheek and crashed to the marble floor.

  Cesar turned in a circle, his left hand grasping at the shard lodged in the center of his back.

  Elio dodged around him and dragged Theresa to her feet.

  Cesar struggled to reach the embedded glass, but the width of his back and biceps made it an impossible task. He screamed with a ragged, guttural croak. “You’re dead! Dead!”

  The cacophony of gunfire coming from deeper inside the office ceased. Evil joined them.

  “The security guy is dead. Cuts is looking for…”

  He stuttered to a stop, looking around confused.

  With Cesar blocking the open door, Elio dragged Theresa behind the desk. They swung around the corner just as Evil’s rifle cracked to life and bullets chewed through the wood corner.

  Elio pushed Theresa further into cover and then, with his right hand shredded, held the TEC-9 in his left hand and poked it around the corner. He triggered off a burst of fire. This time aiming waist-high and wanting nothing more than for those rounds to find flesh.

  Furniture crashed and bodies tumbled to the floor. It went quiet. Maybe he killed them all.

  Then the desk shuddered as bullets pounded into it. The whole thing shook and shivered but no rounds made it through. At least they had that.

  The wood inches from his face exploded outward, peppering him with splinters. He fell back and landed hard on the harder floor.

  “Get it out! Out!”

  “You sure, Jefe?”

  “Now!” Cesar said, and then screamed as somebody tore the glass dagger free.

  “I’m gonna put a bullet through your teeth! And then one through that puta’s chest. I’m gonna rip your hearts out.”

  Elio had no doubt he’d do exactly that if given the chance. So he crawled forward and pushed his pistol around the corner and squeezed the trigger, determined not to give him the chance.

  The hammer clicked and nothing happened.

  He yanked the bolt back and saw the chamber was empty.

  They were screwed now.

  67

  MASON jumped back away from the interior column of the stairwell when the report of a shotgun sounded. Then another.

  They were close now. On the floor above. He held his Glock out and up, ready to squeeze rounds into any threat that entered his field of fire.

  He continued up, slicing the view of the staircase above as he went.

  An automatic burst of fire echoed down the hall and he froze at the landing to the 60th floor. Dust and smoke wafted into the stairwell.

  This was it.

  One of those events with consequences that rippled onward through time. The crests so high, sometimes, they could drown you.

  The sharp cracks of rifle fire stabbed his eardrums.

  Shouting voices and then a scream.

  A scream he recognized.

  Theresa’s.

  He rounded into the hall with his pistol ready and his heart jumped into his throat. Cold fear clenched his gut. Not for himself, but for his daughter.

  Theresa was held by some huge thug. Drifting smoke parted and Mason recognized Cesar.

  He should’ve put him in the ground that morning. Forget the legal repercussions. Forget the dubious morality.

  He’d put his daughter in danger. His motivations had been golden. Getting Elio out of a fix was holding to a promise that had few equals in his life. It was simply life. Sometimes your best call turned out bad.

  Mason drew a bead on Cesar’s head, preparing a kill shot.

  Theresa jerked in Cesar’s grasp and she pushed into his sight picture. He needed more separation to be sure.

  “Don’t move!” he yelled.

  Theresa saw him.

  “Daddy! Daddy!”

  Cesar pivoted her toward him, using her as body armor. The lowlife.

  He longed to release a barrage into Cesar’s chest, but had no angle for it.

  Cesar’s pistol came up and kicked to life.

  Mason ducked back into cover as lead thundered into the stairwell’s far wall.

  The firing stopped and he peeked out just as Cesar pulled his daughter into an office.

  He scanned the approach and saw he’d have zero cover once he committed. It didn’t matter. He set off in a low crouch, his front sight glued to the empty doorway.

  “Go!” someone said and he stopped as a storm of gunfire erupted. All inside the office.

  All in close proximity to Theresa.

  Blind panic chewed at the edges of his brain. Echoes of past loss dulled his thinking.

  He breathed hard and grounded his focus. Looking left and right as he passed closed doors. Ready to pivot in case any of them held a lethal surprise.

  The walls wavered and existed in two places at once. Like a double exposure. Walls from a distant place and time. Thick walls made of clay and ston
e. White-washed walls dulled brown by layers of dust and debris.

  A head that wasn’t Theresa’s appeared in the doorway. It pulled back as his pistol blasted two rounds in the empty space it had just occupied.

  The head was familiar though. Hadn’t he seen it…

  When?

  A memory that he daily fought to keep locked away broke free. A melancholy madness gripped him.

  Cold sweat dripped down his forehead and ran into his eyes, blurring the world more than it already was.

  A weight pressed into his chest. A tightness he dismissed as the heavy ceramic plate in the Interceptor body armor that had become almost like a second skin in Fallujah.

  Mason blinked hard, trying to clear his mind.

  Fallujah happened long ago. He’d buried those memories.

  Buried them a thousand times.

  But they always rose to haunt him.

  68

  November 2004

  Fallujah, Iraq

  MASON didn’t have the patience to deal with a row right now. But he also had no desire to drop the hammer on his men either.

  Miro smacked Lopes on the helmet. “Don’t put that voodoo on Lucky!”

  Lopes spit a glob of brown juice on Miro’s boot. “I don’t make the news. I just report it.”

  Miro examined his boot.

  Mason waited for it. Now was not the time for these two to tangle.

  Miro looked back up and grinned. “Sweet. I think your chaw spit washed some brains off my toe.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Now was not the time for their comedy routine either.

  “Great,” Mason said. “I’m happy you’re bosom buddies again. Can we get on with our jobs now?”

  “Yes, Sergeant West,” Miro said in clipped tones. He always used Mason’s rank and name when he was worked up.

  Good. Anger kept you on edge. Kept your senses awake.

  “Clear that room,” Mason said, pointing to the doorway that the muj had entered from.

  The team cleared a sizable kitchen with no further surprises. They headed back to the foyer and stacked up on the door to the right. Door number two. Still avoiding door number three. The horror show door.