Dead Six

by Larry Correia

  I must have gone out for a second. I was down, blood spewing from my mouth. The room spun as I refocused, again on the floor, and at the blood-stained Korth revolver that he’d just hit me with.

  I rolled out of the way as his foot kicked through empty air. I was back up in a split second, trying to make distance until I could see straight. I was dizzy, but my blade appeared in my hand, like I had willed the Greco there with anger alone. His hand came out of his pocket, and a switchblade opened with an audible snik. Time slowed down as we focused on each other.

  “Oh, it’s on now,” he said as he pointed the knife at me, chest heaving, gasping for breath.

  I spat out a bunch of blood. “On like Donkey Kong, motherfucker.”

  We charged.

  VALENTINE

  I had to finish this. The warning klaxon was screaming, and I could hear people shouting outside. Lorenzo had a hard gleam in his eye, and I knew he meant to kill me.

  He lunged. I dodged to the right and tried to slash at him with the Infidel automatic knife in my left hand. His hand arced around and put a gash up my left cheek, barely missing my eye. It wasn’t deep, but Christ it was close. I slashed at his abdomen as he pulled away and managed to clip him.

  Lorenzo only took a moment to recompose and came at me again. I could tell he was a better fighter than me. He fought like a wounded animal and was extremely fast. This guy was dangerous. But he was injured. I still had the advantage.

  He slashed at my face. I leaned back and dodged it, but just barely. I tried to stab him in the abdomen. He moved to the right, avoiding the thrust. His right hand came back down, trying to cut open my left arm. I twisted to the left at the last second. He sliced upward, nicking my arm.

  He didn’t let up. As I recoiled in pain, he brought his left elbow up and smashed it into my face. Lights flashed in front of my eyes. I dropped my knife. Lorenzo then snap-kicked me in the chest, sending me crashing to the floor.

  He was on top of me in an instant. I kicked out, nailing him in the groin. Lorenzo grunted and gasped for air, face turning red. I turned around, fumbling for any kind of weapon. My hand found the rock I used to prop the balcony door open. Grasping it, I sat up and threw it at Lorenzo as hard as I could. His hands flew up to cover his face. The white, softball-sized Zubaran rock hit him in the forearms. He reeled back.

  I only had a second. I sat up and dove toward my bed. I desperately grasped for my holstered revolver sitting on my armor. Lorenzo reached me before I could reach my .44, trying to plunge his blade into my back.

  LORENZO

  It should have been over by now. I should have been able to take him, but those initial hits had left me disoriented, sluggish. Before I could drive my knife into his spine, his enormous boot hit me in the stomach. My abs absorbed the hit, but I staggered back, gasping for air. The kid was pulling that big .44 now, the muzzle swinging toward me.

  I stepped into him, knife humming through the air. He raised his right hand to hold me off and I opened his forearm, splashing the walls with red droplets. The kid screamed as the blade struck. But I was too late, he swiveled the big revolver into me from a low retention position.

  The concussion was deafening in the little room. The mammoth slug hit me square in the chest. My armor stopped it, but I couldn’t breathe. It was like being hit with a bat. Fire washed down every nerve. It took everything I had to stay on my feet. We locked up, me trying to keep that gun away and his blood-slick hand wrapped around my wrist to keep my knife at bay.

  I got my fingers around the cylinder of the Smith and wouldn’t let it turn as he squeezed the trigger. I could feel his other hand slipping off my knife, and as soon as he let go I was going to plunge it into his neck. We spun around, shoving and grunting, stumbling over the junk on the floor. He was shouting in my ear.

  All coherent thought had ceased. It was kill or be killed. No time for fear, no time for pain. I kept throwing knees, trying to tear him down. He head-butted me in the face, smashing my nose, but he stumbled back as well. My eyes filled with involuntary tears, and my hand began to slip from the cylinder.

  Desperate, I dropped my knife, reached across his torso, and got my thumb under the hammer of the Smith just as it fell, blocking the shot. His wounded hand now free, the kid swung for my face. I ducked, pushed the gun away from me, and hit him repeatedly, forearms, fists, elbows, knees, every time that gun came back around, I hit him again. He went to his knees, still trying to shoot me. I stepped back and snap-kicked him in the face.

  He landed flat on his back with a huge crash.

  That had to do it. I bore down on him, ready to beat his head in. He jerked the gun up.

  BOOM!

  There was a flash of light as he fired, so close that fire engulfed my vision. He missed, but pain like nothing I had ever felt before pierced the right side of my skull. The bullet skimmed past my head and blew a chunk from the ceiling, but I was already falling, clamping one hand over my bleeding ear.

  My balance was just gone. I could barely think. I wanted to vomit. All I could hear was this terrible grinding noise as my eardrum died. He was rising, wobbly, seeing two of me. Then I saw tiny green lights under the bed, the night sights from my 9mm. I snatched it into my hand, rolled over and stood, gun punching out, finger already on the trigger.

  I was staring down the barrel of his .44. The suppressor of my gun was inches from my opponent’s face, centered on the bridge of his nose. Our fingers were on the triggers, both of us just ounces of pressure away from oblivion.

  We glared at each other. Each of us battered, cut, bleeding, and pulped. I was blowing frothy blood bubbles every time I exhaled. He moved his mouth. He was talking. Holy shit, I’m deaf! I could barely understand him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Careful not to let my gun move, I reached into my vest, grimacing as my hand brushed the area that was now one massive spreading bruise, and pulled out Adar’s box. “I’ve got what I came for.”

  Nightcrawler was confused. “That? I don’t even know what that is!”

  “I’ll be going now,” I said.

  He was shaking badly, and blood was dripping from his forearm, but it wasn’t pumping like I’d severed the artery. Too bad. “I don’t think so.”

  I didn’t hear the door open behind me, but I did feel the terrible impact as they smashed a rifle butt over my head. I ended up on the floor. The last thing I remember was looking at the ceiling, surrounded by angry shadows pointing guns at me. I couldnunderstand a word they were saying over that damn ringing, and then everything faded to blessed black.

  Chapter 19:

  Best Laid Plans

  VALENTINE

  It was like an old John Woo movie. Lorenzo and I stood in my little room, not six feet from each other, guns drawn. Neither of us fired. I don’t know why. My arm was bleeding badly and burned with pain. I was dizzy and felt sick. It hurt to breathe. Only the Calm kept me focused enough to stay in the fight. I barely noticed the pain, and even though I was terrified, I felt no fear.

  He was so focused on me that he didn’t notice the door opening behind him. Tailor, Hudson, and two of Hunter’s security guys came rushing in, weapons at the ready. I lowered my gun just as Hudson bashed Lorenzo in the head with the buttstock of a carbine. The intruder’s gun clattered to the floor as he collapsed. He lay there for a second, staring bleary-eyed at the ceiling before losing consciousness.

  I stepped back, setting my revolver down on the bed, and clutched my bleeding arm. The Calm was wearing off, and I was beginning to notice the pain. And holy crap did it hurt.

  “Michael!” Sarah said, pushing her way through the men in my room, holstering her Sig .45. She threw her arms around me and hugged me tightly. “What happened?” she asked. “Your face! You have a cut on your face! I was walking back to the dorm when I heard the shots. Oh my God! Your arm!” She turned to yell at Hunter’s men as they picked Lorenzo up off the floor. “Get a medic up here right now! He’s injured!” Shouts went ou
t for the doc.

  “Val, what the fuck happened up here?” Tailor asked. He lowered his carbine as Hunter’s two security guys dragged Lorenzo away.

  “That’s the guy from Hasa Market,” I said, wincing with the pain.

  Nervously, Tailor looked around for anyone who wasn’t in the know. “Did he come back for his money?”

  “He was in here looking for that puzzle box I found in Adar’s safe. I jumped him. Son of a bitch is a hell of a fighter. If I hadn’t got the drop on him he’d have sliced me open.” I said, straining. “Where the hell is Hal? Christ, I’m bleeding like crazy here.” I wiped the blood from my cheek, smearing it across my face.

  “Stop being a pussy,” Tailor said. “Focus. You sure he wasn’t after the money?”

  “He only seemed to care about the box.”

  “Tailor looked thoughtful. “Shit. We need to tell Hunter.”

  “You’re going to tell him about the money?” Hudson asked, concern in his voice.

  “No. Especially not this dude’s cash,” Tailor said. “We found that box and a bunch of money in Adar’s safe. We’ll just tell Hunter about the box and shut up about the rest.”

  “Damn.” Hudson whistled. “You guys find a lot of money laying around, don’t you?”

  A moment later, Hal, the medic, came rushing into the room, carrying his jump bag. Tailor gave everyone the eye so there would be no more talk about the money. “Everybody get back,” Hal said. “Let me see him. Sit down on the bed, Valentine. Goddamn, you got yourself all cut to shit, didn’t you?” He looked me over, illuminating my wounds with a small flashlight. “Yeah, that one on the cheek is going to leave a nasty scar. Not too deep, though. Let me see your arm. Wow, yeah, you’re going to need stitches on this.” I winced as he poked and prodded the bleeding gash. “Quit being a little girl,” Hal chided. “Holy shit, you’re lucky. Any deeper and this would’ve severed your radial artery.”

  “Just patch me up, Doc. Was anybody hurt in that explosion?”

  “I don’t think so,” Hudson said. “I was outside when the truck blew. Nobody was nearby. Did that guy have something to do with that?”

  “I think so. Hal, please hurry. I need to talk to Hunter right away.”

  “Just hold still,” Hal said. “This is going to hurt.”

  He wasn’t kidding. Hal expertly stitched up the long gash on my arm without bothering with anesthetic. He then bandaged my face and stuck cotton balls in my nose to stop the trickle of blood. Lorenzo had elbowed me pretty hard, but my nose wasn’t broken.

  I turned to Sarah as Hal applied the last of my bandages. “Go get your body armor on and tell Hunter I’ll be there in a minute. Tell him that the guy we caught is the same shooter from Hasa Market. They call him Lorenzo. Bring the puzzle box to him, too. We have a major security breach here. Somehow this guy was able to track us back to the fort. If he found us, Al Sabah’s forces might have, too.”

  “Okay,” Sarah said. She picked up Adar’s puzzle box and turned to leave the room. She paused by the door and looked back at me.

  “I’ll be right there,” I said. “Don’t worry.” Sarah flashed me a worried smile and was out the door.

  It wasn’t until after she’d left that I remembered that the key Sarah was wearing on her necklace had been inside that box.

  LORENZO

  I woke up in terrible pain. “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Time for you to start talking,” a voice said. The screeching banshee death wail in my right ear had calmed down enough that I could hear, but I had the worst headache ever. Waves of throbbing suffering cascaded through my skull with each heartbeat. Every bit of me hurt.

  There was a blinding light aimed at my face. The light moved away, and I blinked in confusion. It had been a flashlight. “All yours, sir,” a young man said. “He’ll live as long as you want him to.”

  “Thank you. That will be all, Hal,” said the man with an eye patch. He was probably sixty but looked tough for his age. The medic picked up his bag and left us. We were in an old room. It smelled of mildew and decay. The walls were made of rough, crumbling brick, and down the center of the room was a line of rusty iron bars cemented into the floor and ceiling. A jail? On the other side of those bars were two other men, both armed and watching. I was sitting on the floor, back to the damp wall. When I tried to move, a chain clanked. My left arm had been handcuffed to a bar.

  The old man was sitting on a folding chair, just out of reach. “This was the original brig for Fort Saradia. Appropriate right now, don’t you think?” He took his time lighting a fat cigar, finally blowing a pungent cloud of smoke in my direction.

  I took stock of the situation. I couldn’t have been out long. My vest was gone. My shirt had been torn open, and there was a spreading black and purple blotch over most of my chest and stomach. Something was packed into my ear, and the blood that coated my neck and chest was still slick. I tugged on the cuff. The bar was rusty, but solid.

  He got tired of waiting for me to answer. “Why is this important?” he asked, cigar in one hand, Adar’s box in the other. “It’s an Arabian puzzle. Very old from the looks of it.”

  “I’m into antiques.” It hurt to talk. My face was too swollen. I bet I looked like a mess.

  The old man smiled, only there was nothing friendly about it at all. This dude was dangerous. “I don’t think you realize the world of shit you’ve gotten yourself into, boy, or maybe you do. Maybe you know exactly who you’re messing with.”

  I recognized the voice now. I’d heard him on the radio. “So, Big Boss . . . How’s Nightcrawler?” I chuckled. “Did I manage to take his arm off? You Dead Six guys get good medical, right?”

  Big Boss scowled. That had gotten his attention. “Mr. Valentine will be just fine. You, I’m not so sure about.” He didn’t seem concerned to drop actual names, which meant he wanted me to know I was dead, no matter what. The only question was how much it was going to hurt first. “I’ll ask you, just one time, who you are and who you work for. You will answer me truthfully, or I’m going to make you suffer in ways you can’t even imagine.”

  That’s where he was wrong. I had one hell of an imagination. And I just had to keep these people occupied until whatever apocalyptic thing the Fat Man had been talking about happened at midnight. “I’m not telling you shit. I’ll only talk to Gordon. I don’t have time for his flunkies.”

  Big Boss nodded. “I see. Either you know what you’re talking about, or you’re full of shit and I know where that missing radio wound up. Speaking of radios, who were you talking to on yours?” Big Boss pulled my radio out of his shirt pocket. “I tried to be polite, but someone just started calling me names in what I believe was Portuguese. They’re not answering now, for some reason.”

  “They’re picky like that.”

  Big Boss paused to address the two men who had been watching. “Conrad, Walker, come here for a minute. And remove your sidearms. I’m afraid this one’s tricky.” The two men drew their pistols and placed them on a table, then came through the bars. The gate had probably been missing for years.

  One was a taller dude, and he accidentally bumped his head on the only light bulb, sending it swinging wildly back and forth, casting crazy shadows in the old brig. The other was about my size, with sunglasses perched on his head, who looked like he knew his way around the intricacies of hurting people. They grabbed on and smashed me into the wall.

  “To warm up, I want you to take our friend here and break every one of his fingers.” Big Boss paused as the door opened.

  A woman entered. Young, auburn hair tied back, and rather cute, she was totally out of place in this dismal setting. She seemed a little ruffled when she saw the two goons holding me. It was pretty obvious what was about to happen. “Colonel, we’ve sighted the boat. It’ll be at the dock in a few minutes.”

  Big Boss glanced at his watch. “They’re early. Spread the word and start loading. I’m on my way down.”

  The two thugs were d
ragging me to my feet. I didn’t resist and the handcuff scratched its way up the bar until I was standing. The girl’s voice sounded familiar too. It was worth a shot. “Hey, Sarah.” She twitched in surprise. Yep, that was her. “Sorry about cutting up your boyfriend.”

  “You bastard,” she spat. “I’ll—” Then her eyes flashed as she changed her mind. She crossed quickly into the cell, apparently surprising the men holding me. She cupped her hand and smacked me upside the head, right across my bandaged ear.

  The pain was nauseating. I grunted, but forced it into a laugh. “What kind of limp-dick carries a gun like that anyway? He’s compensating for something.” I forced myself to laugh so hard I started wheezing. It actually hurt. And that’s when I saw the briefest flash of a metallic trinket hanging inside her shirt. The necklace looked familiar. No. That’s impossible. But then she was backing away, hands balled into fists, and it was out of sight.

  She was really pissed off now. She was about to come at me again when the old man spoke up. “That’ll be all, McAllister,” he said gruffly. Sarah gave me one last defiant look before leaving.

  Big Boss then turned his attention back to me. “Don’t worry, friend. This won’t take too long. I’ll have you singing like a bird by the time my men get packed. I was interrogating Communists when your mommy gave your daddy the clap for the first time.” Big Boss strode out, pausing just long enough to drop the box and my radio on a table by the exit.

  “Don’t hurry on my account,” I called after him.

  He paused and smiled. “Oh, don’t worry. You don’t have to wait up for me. Walker, start with the pinky.”

  Oh hell.

  “Yes, sir,” said the shorter one cheerfully, obviously excited. The other dude slammed his weight into me, pinning me into the wall. I thrashed, but with my wrist handcuffed, it wasn’t like I had a lot of maneuverability with that hand. The one called Conrad punched me in the stomach, which got my attention just long enough for Walker to latch onto my fist. While I struggled, he pried my pinky loose and yanked it back. I screamed as it broke with a sick crack.