by Max Dune
Gray smoke rockets out and fills the room.
The reaction is almost immediate.
Yuriko looks down at the coughing, screaming and vomiting her chemicals have unleashed. She knows exactly what they’re feeling. She’s been on the receiving end of the weapon before too, and it’s no picnic. She smiles as she imagines the guards suffering burning eyes, skin, and lungs, enough to drive them mad. Too bad gas masks weren’t on your wishlist, boys Yuriko thinks.
The guards start throwing the tables and chairs out the window, wishing to draw the gas outside.
Then she hears Santa’s furious voice.
“Fire!” he shouts.
Santa’s order is followed by a ripple of gunfire. She has become their sole target. Her smile fades. Time to go. In a split second, she’s off again, running across the roof as bullets rip through it. Each one comes closer and closer to hitting her, and as she reaches the building’s edge, she feels the caress of one bullet as it passes through her red ponytail. Much too close.
Yuriko stops to debate her next move. The leap to the next building is a precarious one. Can she make it? She’s unsure.
As she ponders what to do, a whistle comes from above. She lifts her gaze to the starry sky and sees a figure descending. A wide smile crosses her face. “Change of plans,” she whispers to herself.
She takes a few steps back, then charges forward and leaps off the building with supreme confidence, as if she has hidden wings that will sprout any second and carry her away. Of course she doesn’t, but she does have Jack, who sweeps down like an angel and clamps his arms around her upper torso. “Nice of you to finally show up,” Yuriko teases.
“Sorry,” Jack says. “Had a few errands to run.”
She twists her legs back and wraps them snugly around Jack’s waist. Her back presses into his chest. Suddenly two extra hands, tan and scarred, reach down and take hold of Yuriko’s jacket.
“Oh, hey, Fuego,” Yuriko says in casual manner.
He reciprocates her calmness. “Howdy.”
“Mmm. Isn’t this cozy?” Jack chirps. “Just the three of us? I don’t know why people accuse it of being a crowd.”
Fuego chuckles. “Don’t get too comfortable, buddy.”
Just as Jack soars upward again, a shot rings out.
“Argh!” Jack cries.
The trio begins to spiral down. Yuriko gasps at the sudden drop but also studies the approaching area and prepares for her next actions. Her mind is a steel trap, sharp and strong. Moments before impact, she releases Jack and pushes herself away from him. She lands on her feet and throws a shuriken at a guard who sits atop a snowmobile. The metal blade lodges in his throat, and he lets out a guttural, choking sound before collapsing against the wheel.
Several other guards exit the cafeteria’s entrance, coughing up a storm and cursing. Behind her, Jack and Fuego crash onto the ground.
But Fuego doesn’t miss a beat.
He rolls into standing position, aims his flamethrower and covers the guards with fire. Their coughs turn to screams. At Fuego’s back, two more appear. Yuriko’s shurikens find their chests, and they explode into gleaming dust. Had the guards assumed their crash-landing left them vulnerable? Fools.
It is only now that she catches sight of him. Tiktok.
The traitor grins down at them from the roof, a bomb in his hand. She points her sword at him and spits out, “You’re dead. You just don’t know it.” Now alerted to his presence, Fuego growls furiously, then turns and angles his column of fire at him.
But Tiktok had already anticipated the maneuver, and hurls the disc bomb at the pyro. Right into the pillar of flame.
Yuriko jumps away, realizing Tiktok’s plan.
Boom!
The explosion is deafening, and Fuego is thrown back to the ground in a shower of sparks. He lands near Jack, who is still on his back, afflicted by pain. Yuriko hurries to join her injured teammates and stands guard over them. She glances down at Fuego, trying to determine his condition, but she finds him lying on his stomach, still as a rock.
“Don’t worry. He’s still breathing,” Jack groans.
“And you?” Yuriko asks, her black eyes darting all around.
Jack coughs up a little blood. “Better than ever.”
The front door, riddled with holes, opens as dozens of guards mill out. Yuriko stands her ground and raises her katana. Let them come. She is yearning for more fun.
Jack, however, doesn’t feel the same way as the fiery ninja. He lets his power seep beneath him. Ice creeps up from the ground, forming a circular shape and curving upward, under Jack’s control. Within seconds, they are enclosed in a glistening dome.
Yuriko whirls around, angry. “What are you doing?”
He closes his eyes. “Buying us time.”
Through the ice, she can see the hazy forms of guards, moving close enough to touch the icy encasement. One fires a single shot, prompting Yuriko step back. The bullet is lodged in the ice, failing to bring any damage to their enclosure. Before she can breathe easy, though, another guard appears. This one has a shotgun. Oh, boy.
He fires away. This time, a small but visible crack is left behind.
Yuriko’s dread grows as two other guards join the festivities, also armed with shotguns and wearing menacing sneers. She throws Jack a nervous look, but his eyes are closed, even though she knows he’s wide awake. Yuriko exhales deeply and looks at the walls. They are several feet thick. They should hold awhile longer. At least, she hopes so.
* * *
“We have to help them somehow!” I exclaim, watching helplessly as the shotguns blast away.
“From here, we can’t do squat. My rounds could hit them.” I can tell it kills him to say that.
“And my arrows won’t reach the guards, not this far out,” I realize. The distance between us and them is too much. We’re unable to offer any substantial help. Unless we re-strategize. “We’ll have to move around, approach from their sides. And I’ll get closer so I can take out some of those guards.”
Bullets nods. He turns, getting ready to move. “Not too close, though or—“
A shot goes off close by. Sparks fly off his metal arm as a bullet nicks it. I jump back. We have been located. Just when I think it can’t get any worse, lo and behold. I whirl around and open fire, sending arrows into the chests of several guards with my rapid fire. Bullets also unleashes his weapon. In the midst of all those glittering explosions and all that shooting, I lose track of the casualties, but guards keep coming at us, swarming in from everywhere, like a bunch of angry hornets. Soon, we’re forced to take cover behind a large tree, letting its thick trunk absorb the rounds. The branches shake against the assault, showering us with pine needles.
Then it stops.
Bullets takes advantage of the respite to peek over at our attackers. His face says it all.
“How many are there?” I whisper, though I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.
For the first time since I met him, his deep voice harbors a tremble. “Too many.”
“Give me a round park figure,” I beg quietly, holding my crossbow even tighter.
He hesitates. “Thirty. Maybe more.”
“Oh God...” I mutter.
Sweat drips down his forehead. “Yeah. If you’ve ever been the praying sort, now’s the time for it.”
As much as I want to be optimistic, as much as I want to display courage, as much as I want to believe in miracles...I just can’t. At this moment, as countless guards close in from every direction, readying themselves for the kill, my hope is gone.
Our mission has failed.
It’s game over. For all of us.
Chapter Twenty–Six
It won’t be long now, Yuriko realizes as the cracks in the wall web out and spread. About ten guards stand outside the icy fortress, armed to the teeth and just waiting for the fractured wall to collapse. They look as excited as little kids on Christmas morning. She feels death closing in. Even with
her speed, she cannot outrun all the guards’ machine guns.
Jack opens his eyes lazily and studies their adversaries. “I don’t suppose they’d be willing to talk this out, huh?”
A faint smile touches Yuriko’s lips, and she kneels and supports Jack’s head on her lap. He is barely conscious. His three bullet wounds continue bleeding. “Doesn’t look like it,” she murmurs.
The shotgun blasts are less and less muffled as time wanes on. Slivers of ice begin peeling off the wall and falling to the snowy ground.
She knows the guards will break through any minute. Yet it is not fear that overtakes Yuriko’s emotions right now. Another feeling makes an appearance. It is one Yuriko hasn’t experienced in many years. For that reason, she does something that’s been plaguing her since she met the unpredictable warrior.
First, she touches his face. Her fingers, soft and cold, trace down his cheek. He squints up at her, surprised by her caress.
She lowers and kisses his lips with delicateness. “It was an honor to fight with you, Jack Frost,” she whispers.
In that precise moment, the wall shatters. Yuriko looks at the guards as they smile maliciously at the trio.
The leader of the horde steps out in front and raises his weapon in their direction. “Look what Santa brought me this year,” he sneers.
His friends laugh at his joke. It goes on for several seconds before they abruptly stop, lifting their eyes. The humor drains from their faces and is replaced by pure terror.
Yuriko can’t help but frown. What has caught their attention? She follows their gaze and gasps. A giant portal is opening in the sky. Joy overtakes her. The shimmering, white mass continues to expand at a rapid pace. But Yuriko knows the portal itself is not the reason for the guards’ mood swing. They are aghast at the thousands of bats flying through, making their way straight toward them.
Jack chuckles weakly. “Looks like Wintress changed her mind.”
* * *
Neon blue flecks soar across the skies, shockingly prominent against the dark night. Their number is uncountable. There have to be thousands, if not tens of thousands. The light emanating from their glowing bodies almost gives the illusion of daytime. It is a welcome change, for it will help Bullets and me spot our surrounding attackers.
“B-Bloody hell,” one stammers.
“Do we retreat, Boss?” another frightened guard asks.
“Negative. We must eliminate these two targets first.”
That response makes me shiver. I don’t have to see him to know who it is. I would recognize Oleg’s voice anywhere.
“Understood?”
But before anyone can move, the area is flooded with blue light and hundreds of fluttering wings. The bats’ speed of flight is nothing less than amazing, and the densely packed clusters make astonishingly sharp turns, all the creatures moving in perfect unison. There is much screaming, from bats and guards alike.
I seek Bullets for our next move, wondering if we should attack as well. He shakes his head.
“Conserve your energy,” he says. “Let our friends work.”
I nod. He’s right. Still, I can’t help but take a glimpse.
Most of the guards are being ripped apart. One in particular causes me to grimace. He is several feet in the air, covered by rabid bats who tear at his flesh, devouring him alive. A guard appears behind him and shoots what’s left of his face—an act of mercy—before turning his machine gun on the lights that whizz by, yelling incoherently, beyond the edge of madness. In an instant, a cluster descends upon him, and off he goes, into the sky. It’s a short-lived flight; he falls to the floor moments later. His head lies twisted at a gruesome angle, and I know his neck is broken.
Another yell jolts me, this one coming from Oleg. He shoves at a trembling guard who refuses to loosen his clutch on his arm. The guard is a picture of fear, but Oleg remains emotionless.
“What do we, Boss? We’re dying out here!” he cries, his voice rising several octaves.
Oleg reacts by slapping his subordinate with the back of his hand. The blow is hard enough that it knocks the guard off his feet, sending him sliding across the crunchy snow.
“Get it together!” Oleg snaps down at him.
The guard doesn’t get the chance to; bats cluster around him, silencing his screams forever. And how does his leader react to his death? He doesn’t even blink. Oleg truly cares for no one. His men. My people. Our lives mean nothing to him. As Santa had said during his confession, we’re just “collateral damage.”
The more I think about it, the higher my deep-seated rage begins to climb. “You monster,” I hear myself say. Apparently Oleg hears me too, because he turns in my direction. His eyes narrow.
Without saying a word, he starts heading my way. There is no rush in his movements. He takes his time, unbothered by the chaos and fatalities around him. He motions me to him with a polite wave.
As frightening as Oleg is, I am happy to accept the challenge and begin to move toward him, only to be stopped by Bullets’ well-muscled arm. “You sure about this, kid?”
I am stern. “He’s mine.”
He stares at me for a moment, as if examining my resolve, then lowers his arm and nods.
I head over, crossbow in hand, studying the handgun clipped to Oleg’s belt. Oddly, he makes no moves to reach for it.
He follows my gaze and simply says, “No need for weapons here. We should take our time and savor this, don’t you think?”
I give him a nonchalant shrug.
He reaches for the gun slowly and tosses it aside, then gestures at my crossbow.
Even though Oleg lacks all empathy and compassion, my instincts tell me he will not pull any tricks here. He just wants to duke it out, old-school style, to feed his ego. Besides, if he plays dirty, I know Bullets will send him back to Russia in buckets. Keeping this in mind, I place my crossbow at my feet and wait for Oleg.
Fuego’s lessons ring in my mind. I distribute my weight evenly across both legs and raise my fists, keeping my dominant hand in back and my elbows down. I also remember to breathe.
When he is within punching range, Oleg raises his fists. We pause for a moment, staring each other down. He attacks first, swinging at me with lightning speed. Luckily, I dodge the blow in time and pivot off my front foot. Finding a new angle, I counter-punch him in the kidneys, exhaling sharply as I strike. Oleg grunts and staggers back, alarm registering all over his ugly mug. Yet he remains standing.
He is strong inside. He will not go down easily.
Indeed, he swings again right away. I manage to avoid his right fist by pulling my head back at precisely the right time. It’s a shame I don’t catch his other moving fist, because it sinks into my stomach with an audible thump. The pain is intense, and a wave of weakness shakes my limbs. Without wanting to, I fall to my knees, unable to breathe. I briefly reconsider my boldness. It is evident that Oleg’s training and experience in hand-to-hand combat far outweighs my own. As I continue to gasp, he darts behind me. In an instant, I feel his hard arm around my throat, crushing my windpipe.
Breathing is impossible.
“Time to die, little elf,” Oleg whispers into my ear.
I scramble to get him off of me, but his leverage is unshakeable, his grip unbreakable. Darkness begins to edge into my vision. All I can think is that he’s killing me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. He takes out a knife and presses the sharp, serrated blade against my cheek. I see that it is the same weapon he pulled on Zeb back at the laboratory, the one he threatened to use on Lily and Pepper if he disobeyed. In the position we’re in, I doubt Bullets can see the weapon. Otherwise, he would have intervened by now and annihilated the chief guard. Too bad for me, I think gloomily.
I begin to see red orbs floating in the air, which is seldom a good thing. I desperately need air, but Oleg’s grip will not let up. Since he has thrown out the no-weapons rule, I decide to take some liberties of my own. My boot shoots up, and I plant a firm foot between Ol
eg’s legs. He lets out a guttural groan from deep within his diaphragm. Then I’m released. I stumble away and take deep breaths.
Oleg falls to his side and curls into a fetal position, as immense agony radiates from that very sensitive spot on his body.
Bullets catches sight of the blade and becomes incensed. His machine gun lights up, and the hulking African-American elf stomps over to Oleg, with murder shining in his eyes. Of course, when several bats descend upon Oleg, he stops himself. A satisfied smile appears on his face. He must realize there is no worse fate than ending up as bat chow.
While Oleg is chewed to bits, Bullets walks over and offers me a hand. I take it and stand up.
Oleg’s agonized cries only draw more bats to him. They lunge at him hungrily, piercing his flesh with razor-sharp teeth. There are so many. The blue light coming off their flesh is almost blinding.
I pick up my crossbow and look at my teammate’s blue-lit face. “Let’s go help the others.” I fling one final glimpse at what is left of Oleg, whose screams have started to cease. “We’re done here.”
Bullets gestures with his weapon. “Lead the way, brother.”
And then we’re off running.
* * *
“That bloody witch,” Tiktok mutters from his perch on the cafeteria’s rooftop. He should have known Wintress’ standoffish attitude in the forest had been an act. She clearly has a soft spot for Jack, and now everything is falling apart. Her bats are killing all the guards, ruining his carefully orchestrated plan. The hungry ones devour their victims alive, while the rest lift guards high into the sky, only to drop them to their deaths.
A swarm suddenly gathers together above the Christmas tree, transforming into a fulgent tornado of destruction. Then it starts spinning towards Tiktok. But he doesn’t panic or run away. That’s not his style. Instead, he pulls out another bomb and lobs it at the oncoming horde. As it reaches the center, he detonates it. The noise reverberates over the village as efficiently as a thunder clap, and hot wind washes over him. Once the blinding light of the explosion fades, he smiles at the utter obliteration.
