Dead Six

by Larry Correia

  “Let’s get these cars hidden, then sneak up on the camp and see if we can spot Jill,” I suggested, hefting my AR-15. “If we’re lucky, maybe we can get her out with minimal shooting.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on that.” Bob turned, opened the back of his Suburban, and pulled out a long black Remington 700 sniper rifle, with a suppressor, bipod, and US Optics scope. He worked the bolt and chambered a round. He put the heavy barreled rifle over one shoulder. Bob almost seemed to be looking forward to this. Maybe I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did. “When the shooting starts, take them hard and fast.”

  “That’s what she said!” Reaper quipped.

  “You. Stop talking,” Valentine ordered.

  Reaper grinned, gesturing with his stubby shotgun. “Then let’s go.” The bravado was forced. The kid was tough, but he wasn’t a warrior like the rest of us, but God bless his techno-geek soul, he was ready. “Let’s smoke these fags.”

  Hawk adjusted his old South African army vest. “Yep.” Then he spat on the ground.

  Valentine raised an eyebrow. “Smoke these fags?” he asked, looking at me incredulously. “What have you been teaching this kid?” I held up my hands in surrender. A general has to fight with the army he’s got.

  The five of us climbed the sagebrush-and-scrub-tree hill. The sun was rapidly setting. I suggested we track farther to one side so that we could attack out of the sun. Valentine didn’t seem to care one way or the other, Bob and Hawk thought it was a good idea, and Reaper was used to following my orders.

  We picked our frequencies and checked the radios on the walk in, and they worked fine. We had no plan and no intel. Our group had never worked together before, and there wasn’t a lot of trust.

  “So why do you guys use those old Belgian rifles?” Reaper asked Hawk and Valentine at one point, displaying his ignorance. “Those are the same kind as those rusty poacher guns from all over Africa, right? Why don’t you get something new?”

  Hawk grunted. “They’re all over Africa because they still work, kid. Besides, you can dress ’em up if you want. Look at his,” he said, indicating Valentine’s railed-up FAL. “You can bolt ten pounds of crap on it if you want.” Valentine’s rifle was fitted with a Tijicon scope and had a flashlight bolted to the hand guards. It looked heavy, but he didn’t seem to mind. “And it’s at least a manly thirty caliber, unlike Lorenzo’s pussy twenty-two.”

  I paid Hawk’s opinions on terminal ballistics no mind. I’d lost track of how many people I’d killed with a short-barreled 5.56 over the years. I preferred lots of little bullets to a few big ones, but then again, anybody worth shooting once was worth shooting five to seven times.

  “M-16s are poodle shooters,” Hawk said. “That’s all they’re good for.”

  “I’m pretty good with a FAL,” Valentine answered Reaper, not looking up from the trail through the sagebrush.

  “How good is pretty good?” Reaper asked. The kid just didn’t know when to quit.

  “Look,” Valentine said levelly, pointing the knife-edge of his hand at Reaper. “This isn’t a game, okay? You need to focus, or you’re going to get yourself killed. Now either lock it up or go wait in the car!”

  Reaper seemed taken aback by Valentine’s harsh words. “Okay, okay! Sorry. I miss a lot. That’s why Lorenzo makes me use the shotgun.”

  “Super,” Valentine muttered. “You know, we really ought to be quiet.”

  “Kid’s right. Quiet down. They might have sentries posted at the top of the hill,” Hawk suggested.

  “They won’t,” Bob replied. “They’ve been operating above the law so long, they think they’re untouchable. The idea of us coming to them will never even enter their minds.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Hawk muttered.

  After half an hour of walking, we hunkered down in the rocks overlooking the old prison work camp. It looked like a ghost town out of an old western movie. There were several wooden buildings, in two horizontal rows heading away from us, paint long since peeled, signs long since faded. One larger building was directly below us, newer, built out of cinder blocks; it looked like it had been a truck stop or some sort of garage back in the days before the freeway bypassed this little settlement. Fence posts stuck out of the ground like random teeth in a broken jaw, the barbed wire mostly rusted away.

  There were several vehicles parked on the broken asphalt around the garage, new vehicles, black sedans, a Chevy passenger van, and another G-ride Suburban. There were a couple of men standing around the cars, smoking, talking, long guns visible slung from their backs.

  “Damn, there’s a lot of them,” I said.

  Bob extended the bipod legs on his sniper rifle and hunkered down, scanning through his scope. “I’ve got three in the parking lot. At least one moving inside the garage.” After a moment he stopped, then cranked up the magnification. “Hector, take a look at the window on the left.”

  “Hector?” Reaper laughed. “Your real name is Hector?”

  “Shut it . . . Skyler,” I answered. Reaper was immediately silent. Valentine snorted as he tried to suppress a laugh.

  “Yeah? Well, what the fuck kind of name is Nightcrawler?” Reaper asked defensively.

  “It’s French,” he replied, looking through the scope on his rifle. He then turned to my teammate. “You know that’s not actually my name, right? Just like you. Reaper isn’t your real name. Skyler is your real name, and I think it’s pretty.” Valentine cracked a smile again.

  I shushed Reaper before he could retort. Bob moved aside and I got behind the Remington. It took a moment to find the right window on 14X magnification. The glass was gray with filth and hard to see through. “That’s her.” Jill was slumped in a chair, long black hair obscuring her face. Seeing her there filled me with fresh anger.

  The terrain leading up to that window was rough enough that it gave me an idea. I didn’t want to endanger the lives of these men any more than I had to. I moved into a crouch and examined each of them in the fading light. “Okay. Here’s the plan. I’ll sneak up on that building, break in, and secure Jill. If everything works out, I can get her out of there before they ever even know we were here.”

  “That’s just stupid,” Bob said. “There’s no way you could sneak in there under their noses.”

  Reaper just looked at him and grinned. “Dude, you have no idea. Your brother could steal cookies from the Keebler elves.”

  Hawk reached over and tapped Valentine on the arm, gesturing down the hillside. “Check out that ravine,” he said. He’d always had a good eye for terrain.

  Valentine nodded. “While you’re crawling through the weeds, we’ll take Marilyn Manson here and head down that way. It’ll put us closer so we can back you up if this all goes to shit.” He looked to Bob. “You good enough with that rifle to give us some cover?”

  My brother nodded. Before I had dropped off the grid, Bob had already been a champion rifle competitor. When we were teenagers, I had spent my free time boosting cars, while he had shot coyotes for the local farmers. Bob was better than me at most things, and shooting was probably toward the top of that list, and that was before he had joined the Army and become some sort of Green Beret or something.

  “He’ll do fine. We all will.” This was it. This wasn’t a heist, it wasn’t a job. These men were here to help me. This was a rescue mission. I’d led many crews, but usually for money. I didn’t know how to motivate people with pure intentions. Awkwardly, I put my hand out, palm down. “Thanks, guys.”

  Reaper enthusiastically put his on top of mine. “Anytime, chief!”

  It took a moment before Bob followed suit. “No problem, bro.”

  Valentine looked at us incredulously. “Are you guys for real?”

  “I’m not really good at saying thank you, okay?”

  Valentine glanced over at Hawk, who just shrugged, then back at us. “You guys are so gay.”

  Reaper yanked his hand back, embarrassed. Okay, so maybe it was corny. I took one la
st look at my friends—and Valentine—nodded, and disappeared into the weeds.

  Chapter 28:

  The Calm

  VALENTINE

  Lorenzo’s little buddy tagged along as Hawk and I made our way down the ravine, practically crawling along as we went. There were several cars parked outside of the building that Jill was being held in, and there were armed men standing watch outside. They didn’t seem particularly alert, but it wasn’t quite dark yet and I didn’t want to blow our cover.

  I was most worried about them spotting Reaper. Where Hawk and I were dressed in earth tones and flat colors, Reaper was dressed entirely in black. Black sticks out pretty clearly against a dusty brown hillside in the Nevada desert. Worse, the kid just didn’t know how to move. We had to crawl along more slowly than we would have otherwise, making sure Reaper utilized available cover and concealment.

  Lorenzo, on the other hand, moved like a ghost. I tried to track him as he crept down the hill parallel to us, but quickly lost sight of him in the sage. Grudgingly impressed, I had little doubt Lorenzo would make it all the way down without being spotted.

  LORENZO

  There was probably only a few minutes of weak daylight left coming over the hills by the time I crept up on the cinder-block wall. My load-bearing equipment was coated in dirt, twigs, and dead sage. I hadn’t been seen.

  “Looking good,” Bob’s voice said in my ear. “Guards are leaning on the cars out front. I don’t see any movement in the back room. There are a few men inside the next room.”

  Crouching below the window, I cradled my nose-heavy AR in my strong hand and reached up and tested the window. It was the multi-paned, hinged type. It moved slightly. It was unlocked. Just then my phone began to vibrate. I pulled it out of my pocket, glanced both ways, still clear, and flipped it open. “Hello?” I whispered.

  “Mr. Lorenzo.” It was the digitally altered voice. I could hear the real voice through another broken window fifteen feet away. “Where are you?”

  “I’m going through Las Vegas now,” I whispered. “Bad reception here.”

  “You will proceed to Quagmire, Nevada, and wait for further instructions.” The normal human voice came through the window a split second before the distorted voice.

  “Sorry, you’re breaking up.” I closed the phone and put it back in my pocket.

  “Lost him. He says he’s in Vegas,” the voice said. “Send the strike team to Quagmire.”

  “Should we take the girl, sir? He said he wanted to see her alive.”

  “They all say that. Keep her alive long enough to talk on the phone if we need her. Then put a bullet in her. Remember, we want this Lorenzo alive. Eddie won’t give us anything for him dead.”

  Eddie? How could Gordon the government guy be involved with Big Eddie? This didn’t make any sense. Valentine must have picked that up from my microphone. “I recognize that voice. Gordon’s here. You don’t touch him. He’s mine.”

  “Let me get Jill first. Then you can go on a killing spree,” I whispered.

  “A bunch of men in SWAT gear are loading into the passenger van,” Bob noted calmly. There was the sound of a door sliding shut, and then a large engine revving. They were going to set up an ambush for nobody. I crouched lower as the headlights briefly swung past the cinder-block wall.

  This was as good as it was going to get. “I’m going in.” I sprung up and took a quick look through the dirty window. Jill was still slumped in a chair. There was nobody else in the room. The room was filled with old trash, rusted metal, and broken bits of wood. Thick spiderwebs clouded the corners. I pushed the heavy panes open slowly, rust binding in the hinge, begging to let out a screech. I gritted my teeth, pushing, praying for silence. Finally it was open wide enough to scramble through.

  The door to the back room opened. I slid back down the outside wall. A man was coming into the room. He was wearing a suit, and a cigarette dangled from his lips. He was small, weasel-like, and had an MP5 slung over one shoulder. “Hey, baby. The boss man says we don’t need you much longer.”

  Jill raised her head for the first time. There was duct-tape over her mouth. Having held her against her will once myself, I could understand the need for the tape. She struggled against the chair. The fierce anger in her eyes was very familiar. The man closed the door behind him. “See, the way I figure it, I’m your only hope right now. You do me a little favor, and maybe I do you a little favor, know what I mean?” If he was any more of a slimeball he’d be leaving a trail.

  The man leaned the MP5 against the wall. He took his suit coat off, threw it on top of the gun, and began to loosen his tie. “You know you want it anyway, baby. Make this good for me, and I can talk the boss into letting you go.” Jill just glared at him.

  I found the small dowels in my pocket, palmed them in one hand, then slowly put my hands on the windowsill and began to lever myself through as silently as possible. If I could take this guy out quietly, we still had a chance.

  The man had his back to me, distracted as he ran one hand through Jill’s hair. She jerked her head away. “Fine, you wanna be a bitch, whatever. I like it when they fight.” He laughed.

  What happened next was a surprise. Jill’s hands came around in a blur, bloody tape still tied around her wrists. She must have been working those against the back of the chair for hours. She slugged him right in the throat. He made a terrible gahhwk noise and stumbled. Then Jill stuck one thumb into his eye and locked the other hand around his larynx. The man started to scream, but she cranked down on his throat and choked it off. Her knee found his crotch, so violently hard that I cringed.

  He punched her in the side, she cranked down harder, crushing his windpipe, forcing him to his knees. I pushed myself through the window, landing on my hands and rolling. The would-be rapist was on his back now, with Jill bearing down on his throat with both hands. He grabbed her by her hair and jerked her down, but she kept cranking on his neck.

  The door opened. I stepped behind it without thinking, a dowel in each hand. “Davis, what the hell are you doing in here?” the second man asked. He stepped into the dark, his imagination filling in the blanks about the struggle before him, drawing all the wrong conclusions. “Can’t you just keep it in your—” I kicked the door closed after he stepped through, the length of piano wire stretched between the two dowels coming down over his head. I crossed my arms and tugged with all of my strength.

  He never knew what hit him. The second man struggled, leaning forward I followed, all my weight dragging the wire inexorably through his flesh. The wire grated against vertebra in a matter of seconds, and we both fell to the ground in a spreading puddle of red. His head was barely attached.

  I rolled off the twitching body and moved to assist Jill, but she didn’t need any help. She leaned back, shaking. The man’s eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, his tongue almost bit off between his teeth. Jill stood, angrily ripped the tape from her face, and kicked the body once.

  “Jill? Are you okay?” I whispered, the sound of conversation barely audible on the other side of the door. The rest of Gordon’s men hadn’t heard. She fell into my arms and sobbed. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

  “You came for me.” She was trembling. “I thought I was dead. . . . I’ve never killed anyone before.”

  “It’s okay; he deserved it. Let’s get out of here.”

  We weren’t out of the woods yet. The radio crackled. “Lorenzo, did you get her?” It was Hawk.

  “Yeah, we’re coming out. Two down.”

  “Hold on. There’s more vehicles coming in,” Bob said. “I’ve got an SUV and a couple of sedans.” Headlights came through the window. Our escape route was illuminated.

  “Are they holding a convention?” Hawk asked.

  “Lots of men moving now. These new ones seem to be paying attention. Don’t move,” Bob insisted. “These aren’t government.”

  “What’s wrong?” Jill asked desperately. She was wearing some sort of pink waitress outfit, but it
was filthy and blood splattered. She looked exhausted. “Is that Carl on the radio?”

  She didn’t know. It just strengthened my resolve. I had to get her out of here. “We can’t sneak out. We’re stuck. We might have to fight our way out.”

  “Lorenzo, we’re in position. Just say when,” Valentine said. His demeanor had changed. He wasn’t the sarcastic, nervous asshole he’d been before. Now he sounded utterly calm. I’d seen him in that state before. I could only imagine what kind of childhood he must’ve had to have gotten so messed up.

  Jill knelt by the nearly decapitated man and removed a Glock from his belt. She checked the chamber then stuck it into her waistband. “There’s a subgun under that coat.” She followed my pointing finger and nodded. I leaned against the door and listened. There were more voices on the other side now.

  “So what do you want, Gordon?” Oily, British accent, effeminate. “I’ve got important business to conduct. I don’t have time to drive out to middle of the bloody desert. I had to fly into a pathetic little airport in the middle of this dreadful desert just to get here. And it was closed. There was nothing there but an empty hangar! I had to land at a closed airport like . . . like some kind of vagrant!”

  Eddie?

  “I would think by now you would trust me.” The voices were muffled through the ancient wooden door, but that had to be Gordon. “Why the entourage?”

  “Associates of mine from Las Vegas. I had them pick me up. But I didn’t bring them just because I don’t trust you. I also have some personal business to conduct in the area.” In other words, these were the men that he was planning on using to kill me at the scarab drop.