The Gods' Day to Die

by David Welch

  Row by row they went. At the last ripple, Ares paused for cover fire. Two mercs had made it back into the cavern, and were behind a ripple opposite them. They ducked to avoid Ares’ attack.

  The men bounced up just as Ares made his leap. Something struck his right shoulder, hitting hard against his body armor. He slammed into the ground, a sharp pain where he’d been hit. Dita roared a battle cry and sprayed the area with bullets, buying time. She grabbed him by his good shoulder and yanked him back toward the tunnel.

  He stumbled to his feet, shifting his gun to his left hand. Dita was out of ammo, which meant they had only moments before the mercs started shooting. Ares waved his gun blindly with his left hand, squeezing round after round toward the enemy. The weapon bucked hard against his wrist, its shots zipping off in all directions. He didn’t expect to hit anything, he just needed to get them a few more seconds.

  For a moment it worked; then four AK-74s opened up on them as they made their way down the tunnel. A shot zipped close, striking Dita in the side, just above her hip. Her body armor ate the bullet, but the force of it spun her around and tossed her forward. She fell to the ground, gashing her forehead.

  Ares spun and fired with both hands on his gun, lacing the cavern with fire. The four remaining mercs dove for cover. He reached out with his right hand, his shoulder screaming in pain as he wrenched Aphrodite back to her feet. They dashed as quickly as their battered bodies could go, ducking behind a protruding fin of rock, out of the crosshairs of their enemies.

  Nicholai scowled in the dim illumination of the tunnel. The lights were well spaced outside the main cavern, casting rays that caught on some of the life-sized sculptures that adorned the walls. Others were not hit by the beams, and were left in deep shadow. A few were so shrouded he could barely make out their features as he passed by.

  He had six men left with him, and no idea where his prey were. He’d caught enough glimpses of Artemis during the firefights to know whom he was hunting. Who the man with her was, he didn’t know. He assumed it was her mortal lover. Why that idiot had let himself be dragged into this mess, Nicholai didn’t know. It didn’t make sense. Sure, he could understand sacrificing yourself to save somebody you loved. But a woman who’d already lived nearly six thousand years? A woman who’d had hundreds of lovers, and would have most likely had hundreds more in the centuries to come?

  He wouldn’t risk his life for that. Not to be some footnote that Artemis would probably forget about entirely in a century or two.

  He refocused his attention on the tunnel. The main cavern was fifty yards ahead. This particular tunnel was straight enough that he could see it open onto the ramp. But another tunnel intersected this tunnel ten yards in front of him. And if he’d learned anything in this labyrinth, it was that the immortals knew every ambush spot, and were all too good at using them.

  Creeping up toward the incoming tunnel, he waved two of his men ahead. They advanced with guns at eye level. Neither had any grenades left. Nicholai himself had only one. They pressed up against the wall of the tunnel inches from the new passage. One stuck his gun around and fired blindly.

  He blasted away for a second, then ran across the mouth of the tunnel to the other side. The second man took his place, turning his gun around the corner and firing down the passage. No shots answered them.

  This, Nicholai realized, didn’t mean that nobody was actually there. With all the stalactites and stalagmites and natural bulges and ridges in the rock, this cave system had a million places to take cover. Still, they had to advance past this tunnel to get to the main cavern. There they could either meet up with Lenka’s group, or pick up Artemis’ trail again.

  Nicholai motioned the others forward, joining them as they moved. A shot rang out, streaking out of the intersecting tunnel and into the one his men were in. He ducked instinctively, the bullet going high and bouncing off a statue of a young woman. His men opened fire, filling the smaller tunnel with bullets.

  Then came a new roar of gunfire, this one from behind him. One of his men lurched forward, four rounds tearing into his back. Amazingly, his body armor withstood the first three impacts. But the fourth shot struck the base of the man’s neck, ripping through his spine and tearing up the inside of his throat. The man dropped to the ground, instantly paralyzed, unable to even gasp for breath as he died.

  “Behind us!” Nicholai bellowed, letting loose with his gun. Too late he realized the straightness of the tunnel worked as much to Artemis’ advantage as his. He could see her forty yards back. She slipped from behind a statue, one deep in shadows, and disappeared.

  Fury ran through Nicholai. She’d been right next to them as they’d made their way down the tunnel! She’d been hiding in one of the long pockets of shadow and nobody had seen a damn thing. Angrily, he realized she most likely had been pretending to be one of the sculptures, and in the dim light his people hadn’t been able to tell the difference!

  He roared his frustration as he fired again and again, others joining him. Their guns threw lead in hot bursts down the tunnel, but the only sound that greeted him was the zing of ricochets as steel struck rock. Artemis was long gone.

  “Move after her!” he ordered, advancing back down the way they’d come. “Forget the man! She’s the one we need to kill!”

  Artemis ran, following the tunnel to its end. It ended in a T with two other tunnels, neither adorned with monuments. She went right, heart pounding as she heard the clamor of feet behind her. The ruse had worked, but she’d only been able to take down one of them. Which meant six angry men were still chasing her.

  Sprinting down this new tunnel, she saw a figure ahead. It was Desmond, waiting. He’d taken a single shot at the bastards from the side tunnel, then quickly dashed back here to meet her.

  “Run!” she shouted. “Follow this tunnel to its end! Go!”

  He didn’t argue or hesitate, just took off, two steps in front of her. The tunnel wound, descending slightly. The turns gave them cover, keeping them out of the sights of their enemy. But the tunnel itself was clear, the stalactites and stalagmites chipped away centuries ago during one of the periodic renovations they’d given this place. So until they reached the end, there was nothing to hide behind.

  The sound of running water filled her ears, telling her they were close. Desmond caromed around a final curve, then sprinted five yards farther.

  The tunnel opened into another cavern, one she’d known and loved for years. It rose maybe a hundred feet up, and stretched in front of them twenty feet or so. At the edge of that space a river emerged, flowing across the cavern, turning its far half into a pool. Another tunnel entered the cavern to their right, and for a moment it looked like Des would make for it.

  She grabbed him by the shirt and redirected him to the water. Clutching her gun to her side with one hand, she leapt.

  She plunged into the water, surrounded by darkness. The dim illumination of the cavern lights didn’t reach much beyond a foot or two of depth. The water exploded next to her as Desmond made the plunge. She struggled underwater, grabbing at her belt. She found her LED flashlight. Thankful it was waterproof, she turned it on. A small beam of light cut through the darkness.

  Using just her legs, she kicked, heading for the far side of the river. What her pursuers didn’t know was that the river had undercut the far wall of the cavern, and that it was ten feet wider than it appeared from the surface. She swam for that stretch, the dark bulk of the cavern wall rising above her. Her light played along the rock, looking for the right spot. If they didn’t find it, they’d either drown, or be forced back out into the cavern, where they’d easily be shot down.

  But she found what she was looking for. A tear in the rock, maybe five feet by two. She’d discovered this place millennia ago, while exploring the place with Apollo. She’d considered it “her spot” since then. She’d never imagined she’d be using it for this purpose.

>   She swam up, quickly pulling herself into the seam. The air was musty and damp, but it was air. Below her, Desmond’s head breached the surface. She shined her light down, so he could see where he was.

  “What the heck is this place?” he asked, fighting for breath.

  “You’ll see,” she replied. She put her gun down and helped him up. He got his feet onto two shallow ledges and stood up next to her. They were inches apart in the tight confines.

  “So, are we hiding?” he asked.

  “No,” she replied. “Follow me.”

  She began to climb, following the seam upward. She’d carved handholds into it years ago, to make her sojourns here easier. The handholds hadn’t seen her fingers in over a century, but they were familiar.

  She pulled herself upward, hand over hand. The tunnel ran twenty feet or so. At its summit was a small, open shelf. Streams of light reached it. Just then she stopped, motioning Desmond to do the same.

  She could hear voices from below, jabbering in Russian.

  “There’s nobody in the other tunnel!” one said.

  “They weren’t that far ahead,” said another. “We would’ve seen them if they went that way.”

  “I tell you, they went into the water!” said a third. “Look at the ripples!” said a third.

  “It’s a river. Anything could’ve caused those ripples!” said a fourth.

  “Enough,” another man said. The others grumbled, but complied. That one’s clearly in charge, Artemis figured.

  “Shoot into the water,” said the commander. “Just in case they’re still down there.”

  A roar filled the cavern as the mercs opened fire, lacing the river with rounds. Artemis used the sound to cover the noise of her scrambling up onto the shelf, then furiously waved at Desmond to follow. He climbed up next to her, able to kneel but not stand without hitting the cavern wall. Artemis, also on her knees, inched forward to the edge of the shelf.

  They found themselves twenty feet above the cavern floor, looking down on unsuspecting mercenaries busy showing the river who was boss. A grim smile came to Artemis’ face as she took aim. She held up three fingers for Desmond. He nodded, and took aim. She counted down.

  As one they opened fire. She’d lined up the commander in her sights, and his head dissolved in a spray of blood and bone. Next to him another went down, his face and neck torn apart by Desmond’s fire. The corpses flailed and collapsed. The other mercs swore, and looked around desperately for the source of the attack.

  She didn’t intend to give them a chance to fight back. Her aim swiveled to a tall merc with a mustache, and her finger squeezed the trigger. A bullet leapt from the gun, punching through the man’s forehead. He flew backward, already dead. The three remaining mercs fired wildly, still unsure where the attack was coming from. One finally saw them on their perch, high above. He raised his AK to take a shot, but Desmond’s gun barked and sent a salvo of bullets into the man’s chest. He slumped to the ground, his armor shattered. Desmond fired again, sending three more rounds into the man just to be sure. He jerked violently under their impact, then lay still.

  The two survivors fell back, firing to cover their escape. Artemis crawled to the back of the shelf, throwing herself to the ground. Desmond lay on top of her, shielding her. The man’s fire went high, spattering the ceiling of the cavern. Bits of pulverized rock rained down, too small to do any damage.

  The firing stopped as the man retreated. Desmond pulled himself off Artemis, inching back to the edge of the shelf. The cavern was quiet.

  “You didn’t have to throw yourself on me,” Artemis said. “I don’t think they could’ve gotten a clear shot at us, given the angles.”

  “Why take the risk?” he replied.

  “You took all the risk,” she pointed out.

  He shrugged, saying, “Ricochet could’ve caught you. Terrible things, especially with all this rock . . .”

  “Uh-huh,” she said. “Or maybe you’re just too damn chivalric for your own good.”

  “I assure you,” he replied, “I have never ridden a horse in my life.”

  She grabbed him by the collar, and kissed him hard.

  “Don’t be so willing to throw your life away,” she said as she broke the kiss. “I need you around for a least a few decades.”

  “No promises,” he replied.

  She laughed. “Come on, hero, there’s still more of those bastards out there.”

  Ares crept low through the darkness, to a stalagmite as wide as he was and twice as tall. He and Aphrodite were far back from the main cavern, in a long chamber that disappeared into the darkness. The tunnel had been widened by a river that wound through the bottom. The ceiling stretched thirty feet above him, and the tunnel’s width spanned a similar distance. He knew from past explorations that the route ran at a downward slant for nearly a quarter mile before the river disappeared under a rock wall.

  The only light was a single source at the end of a memorial tunnel, barely enough to illuminate the immediate area. And in the mouth of the tunnel stood two figures, both mercenaries. They stood uneasily, peering through their gunsights into the vast chamber. Ares knew at least four mercs remained in the party sent to hunt him down. Where the others were, he didn’t know.

  He turned back to Aphrodite, holding up two fingers. She hid behind a bulge of rock about fifteen feet to his right, out of sight of the enemy. Her small flashlight was on. When she saw his signal she signed back something, which he didn’t see at first.

  “Injured damsel,” she signed again.

  His shook his head.

  “They’ll kill you,” he signed back.

  She shook her head furiously. Knowing that Ares couldn’t move without alerting the two mercs, she pulled off her armor. Ares tightened his grip on his gun, unable to stop her. She pulled off the tight-fitting T-shirt she had worn under the armor. All she had on above the waist was a sports bra that did little to conceal the fullness of her breasts.

  “Hired guns won’t turn this down,” she signed.

  Ares would have grumbled, if he wasn’t afraid the sound would give away his position. He didn’t like this idea, not the least because his wife was basically betting that the enemy would try to rape her instead of killing her. She’d done this before, in Constantinople when she’d been captured by a sultan and thrown into his seraglio. Ares had been in the middle of a rescue operation when a guard had busted in. She’d played up her feminine charms to distract the guard, giving Ares the chance to sneak up behind the man and snap his neck.

  And as much as he hated the idea, he saw the advantage. If he opened fire on these two, he’d probably kill them, but he’d attract the remaining two. If they could kill them quietly, he could go on the attack. Dealing with the remaining two was nothing to take lightly, but it was well within his ability. Even with his shoulder acting like a bitch, he still retained a full, if painful, range of motion.

  He nodded reluctantly. Aphrodite set down her flashlight, casting a beam out into the darkness. She hunched to one side, probing the dark bruise on her side where the bullet had struck her armor. She winced as she probed it, letting out the slightest of feminine whimpers.

  It was enough to attract the attention of the two men. One pointed, noticing the stray beam of her light. He motioned for the other to be quiet, then leapt forward. The mercs stepped softly, moving as quietly as possible, unaware they were being watched the whole way. Ares signed to Aphrodite to be ready. She moved her gun behind her thigh, out of sight. Again she probed the wound, gasping in pain.

  The lead merc rounded the rock bulge hiding Aphrodite, gun up and ready. Dita threw her hands up, hyperventilating and cringing back from the man.

  “Please!” she begged in Russian, maybe a little louder than absolutely necessary to be heard. “Please don’t hurt me! Please! I surrender!”

  “Hands up!”
barked the man. He didn’t make any move toward Dita, but held his stare. He wasn’t looking at her eyes.

  “Don’t kill me! Please! I don’t know what’s wrong with your psycho boss, but I didn’t do anything to him. You have to help me!”

  The second man rounded the bulge as Dita pleaded. Ares pulled a commando knife from his belt. In three quick, silent steps he was behind the man.

  “I’ll do anything! I swear! Just please don’t take me to him!” Dita prattled on.

  Ares plunged the knife into the man’s neck, severing his jugular and windpipe in one cut. The man choked and tried to shout. Ares ripped the knife forward, tearing through tissue until the blade ripped free. Blood poured from the wound.

  The lead man turned, eyes going wide as he saw his compatriot bleeding out. He moved to raise his gun, but Ares shoved the dying man forward. The body slammed into the lead man, knocking him backward. He bounced off the rock, struggling to get his balance. Before he had a chance, Dita had her gun in her hands, and slammed the stock down hard on the man’s head. The blow knocked him senseless. He crumbled to the floor, stunned. As he flailed around, trying to find purchase, Dita slammed the stock into the back of his head again and again. The man’s spastic motions slowed and stopped as Dita continued clubbing, turning the back of his head into a pulpy mat of blood and hair.

  “He’s dead, Dita,” Ares whispered.

  Breathing heavily, Dita relented. She stared a long moment at her work, as if afraid the man would rise. He did not.

  “And you say you’re not a fighter,” Ares said softly.

  She slumped back against the bulge of rock, fighting for composure. A tear streaked down her face, but only one.

  “I knew they’d hesitate,” she said.

  “Thank God all men are scum,” Ares replied sarcastically. He picked up her shirt and handed it to her. She pulled it on, followed by her armor and her helmet.

  “Two left?” she said.

  “Two left,” he confirmed.