“Weston! I’m going to fucking kill you!”
Progg.
“That is bad news,” I said, my heart picking up pace. I realized I was terrified. My hand shook as I tried to steady my gun. Progg was going to kill me.
Bones rattled off a burst, clipping the knees of another Hazmat. They had virtually no cover despite the advantage of higher ground.
“Keep your head down!” Bones yelled as he pushed my head back behind the pile of rubble.
I ground my teeth as I listening to the whistling bullets fly overhead, each one striving for a taste of our flesh. I could almost tell which gun was Proggs, which shots flew from the barrel of his snarling gun. I licked my lips and blind fired towards the stairs where they were. We were running out of ammo and each shell ejected onto the floor was a tick of the clock. Time was running out.
“Come on Weston, show me that ugly face of yours!”
My stomach lurched with hatred as Progg’s words reached me. Bones peeked around the fallen beams and twisted metal, popping off a single shot, downing a Hazmat, the bullet striking his chest. Now it was only Progg and one remaining soldier.
Enraged that we had killed another one of his men, Progg howled and lay down a heavy spray of fire.
“Bitch!” I cried, going to my stomach, kissing the cold ground as ricochets danced around us. We needed something, some advantage, anything. Bones was reloading when I heard feet pounding down the steps. I chanced a quick look and saw that our two enemies had descended from their high ground and now were advancing on us in crouched positions.
Progg’s armor was glowing bright, almost blinding, as he was swept away in the heat of battle. His goggles were trained on me, starving to kill me.
“Bad new West,” Bones was saying, “I’ve only got a couple shots left.”
“Damn it!” I screamed, covering up as rubble peppered my skin, remnants of our cover, destroyed by the onslaught of fire.
I rolled to my side, gun trained forward, out from cover. I took aim and shot the rest of my clip towards Progg. Because of the awkward angle, I missed my target, but still found a mark, clipping the Hazmat in the thigh. He dropped his gun, clutching the wound, screaming.
Before Progg’s gun found me, I slid back behind the rubble, watching as Bones emptied his rifle into the bleeding Hazmat.
“Perfect, we’re both dry now,” I muttered, breathing heavy, listening to Progg growl as his last soldier went down.
“Definitely isn’t looking good,” Bones said, discarding the empty gun.
“Progg’s going to gun us down if we don’t-” suddenly I was cut short as a pair of hands grabbed me from over our cover and hauled me up. Choking, I gasped and kicked, my face leveling in front of orange goggles that shone like the sun.
“I’ve got you, you little shit,” Progg snarled, tightening his grip around my throat.
I gasped, swinging my feet, “Help me Bones!” I screamed, panicking.
Bones was suddenly thundering into Progg, driving his shoulder hard into the man’s chest, bowling all three of us backwards. The grip was released from my neck and I fell gasping for air, landing hard on my shoulder. As I regained my composure, I saw Bones and Progg wrestling, fists beating into each other.
I scrambled around for something, any weapon or hard metal that could hurt, watching as Progg head butt Bones, his mask dominating the old man’s forehead. Dazed, Bones went on his back, blood sprouting from split skin.
My fingers wrapped around something cold and I saw that I was holding a twisted piece of metal, long and charred. Before Progg could stomp Bones to death, I was racing towards him.
With a meaty thunk, I brought the pole down hard across Progg’s armored back. I heard a satisfying gasp as he stumbled forward, almost falling. I chanced a quick glance at Bones, seeing that his eyes were open, but he was severely dazed.
Turning, Progg glared at me, breathing hard, “You really think you can kill me? You?!”
“Go to hell,” I spat, gripping the metal with both hands, “You sent me there and now I’m sending you.”
“Don’t bullshit yourself,” he said, his electronic voice grating across my ears, “You’re nothing to anyone. You’re worthless. And you want to know something?”
“Fuck you.”
Progg’s voice changed and dripped with contempt, “Your sister? I gave the order for her to be tortured the way she was. All that suffering was because of me. How do you like that Weston? How does that make you feel?”
I was trembling as his words shocked me. Memories of walking into my hut that day came barreling back and hit me hard, right where it hurt. My mouth was open, sweat beading and dripping from bloody lips, my breath heavy and thick.
“Well look at that!” Progg gloated, “He’s got nothing to say! I guess there’s a first for everything isn’t there West?!”
Kill.
Kill him.
Progg was flexing his knuckles, “I guess there’s not going to be a lot of ‘first times’ for your sister though huh? Bummer about that. You know...your bitch whore sibling being tortured to death? Screaming and calling your name throughout the whole thing. That’s what they told me. The Hazmats. That she was pleading for you to come and save her, but you were too late.”
Fucking kill him.
Rip his throat out.
Gut him.
“It’s too bad you came at all,” Progg continued, “Because I was looking for to a nice long night of passion with her. Word on the street was that she knew how to pleasure a man in all the right ways. I bet she loved it too. Your whore sister. I bet she would have loved it.”
I felt as if my consciousness had been swallowed by a burning white heat. It was all I could feel. My finger tips tingled and my head buzzed. My vision could only focus on Progg, everything else was a blur of melting colors.
Progg paused, noticing, “Good. Good Weston. Get angry. Hate me. Loath me. It’s going to make killing you all the better. Are you angry? Are you angry Weston?”
Instead of answering, I charged, the metal pipe sparking on the floor as I dragged it behind me bringing it over my head as I reached Progg in a split second.
My burst of speed caught Progg off guard, my lighting quick approach surprising him. My pipe cut through the air, whistling with force and it took him on the shoulder. He cried out and went to his knee, grunting. He was fast though, and hardened. Before I could take another swipe, his fist was plowing into my stomach. I flew back, wheezing.
Progg was striding towards me, one hand rubbing the cracked shoulder plate where I had hit him. Shit. I sucked in air, standing, grasping my pipe, feeling desperate. My advantage was gone and here I was, just a kid facing a towering soldier.
“Bones!” I screamed, my heart sinking, “Bones get up!”
Laughing, Progg charged, easily knocking aside the blow I desperately took at him. His fist connected with my face and I felt my world shake. Blood filled my mouth as I fell, but Progg grabbed me by the hair and hauled me up again, another fist waiting for a taste.
Stunned, foggy, I tried to fight back, but Progg was like iron. Suddenly, as he was about to deliver a third blow, Bones was on his back, grabbing at his mask, pulling him away from me. I slumped over, catching my breath, wiping my face, trying to get the damn world to stop rocking. Bones had his fingers at the base of Progg’s mask trying to rip it off. Progg was reaching behind him, yelling, trying to get free, but Bones kept swinging them both around.
Grunting, muscles tensed, Bones ripped Progg’s mask off, slowly grinding the edge of it up his face, ripping and cutting his skin. Howling, Progg’s elbow finally found Bones and the old man went tumbling to the ground, mask in hand.
I had recovered and found my pipe again. I took this momentary distraction and charged. Progg was holding his face, but he saw me coming. He went to swing at me, but I dove between his legs, under his fist. Still sliding, I spun and smashed the metal into Progg’s back.
Bones was up and he rushed Prog
g, swinging the mask at his head. It clipped his temple and he stumbled to the ground, his short black hair slick with sweat and blood. He stood after a moment, facing us, shaking, hating. The man just would not go down.
“Enough!” he roared, fists clenched, his eyes spitting sparks, “It’s over you two!” He reached down and pulled out a knife from a hidden sheath in his thigh armor.
“Come on you bastards,” he growled, blood streaming from his torn face, “I can’t wait for it.”
I looked at Bones.
He looked back.
Bones was unsure. I didn’t know what to do. I was frozen. The sounds of the rioting was a million miles away from us. We were in our own arena. This was an isolated war.
“I’ve waited so long for this!” Progg bellowed, cocking back his knife.
Bones saved my life.
Before I even knew that Progg had thrown the blade, Bones was on top of me, diving and pushing me out of the deadly knife’s path. I felt something slice into my arm as I collapsed, biting and burning me. I heard an angry scream from Progg and I knew I wasn’t dead.
Bones was climbing to his feet, his strength drained, when Progg booted him in the face. I heard a groan escape Bones as he fell hard, the fight literally kicked out of him.
“Fight your own fucking battle old man!” Progg roared, kicking Bones in the ribs, his fury completely on him now. I could see Progg’s eyes and understood that he wanted to kill Bones more than anything else in the world right now. He was an animal, completely absorbed in death. I had seconds.
I gripped my pipe, and standing, I rushed.
My aim was dead on.
It connected with Progg’s knee cap, shattering the bone and blowing it out the back of his leg, crunching through his armor. My hands spiked with pain from the force of the swing and I dropped my weapon, watching as my enemy sank to the ground, screaming like I had never heard a man scream before.
Progg’s leg was bent back in a grotesque position, blood slicked bone jutting through the ripped skin. He rolled on the cold unforgiving metal, crying, weeping, howling, in agony.
I leapt.
I came down hard on Progg’s chest, robbing his lungs of air, his eyes bulging. I slammed my knees into him, my fingers grasping at his hair, holding his head still. Rasping, I beat my fists into his teeth, over and over again, cracking them, breaking them. I realized I was crying.
“Don’t you ever talk about my sister like that!” I heard myself sob through a heavy veil of rage, “You fucking animal! You fucking piece of shit!” Then I saw a knife slide into my vision across the ground, still wet with my blood.
“Finish it,” Bones croaked from his position on the floor.
Fumbling, I picked up the blade and raising it over my head, I saw a look of horrific disbelief flood Progg’s bloodshot eyes.
“I told you I was sending you to hell,” I growled, spittle leaking from my mouth.
I brought the knife down and stabbed him in the throat.
Blood exploded from his neck and I sat there, eyes closed, as it sprayed me, cleansing me forever from this monster. Progg jerked, his body convulsing, and slowly, his life drained along with his blood.
.........I breathed.
I was soaked.
I was alive.
Time crawled. Seconds were like bombs, each one detonating in my head with every heart beat. I wiped my hands off on Progg’s dead body, ridding myself of the infectious stain of the man. Bones was struggling to stand. I watched him, not moving, my mind numb. He was a tough son of a bitch and I would have been dead if he had not been with me. He hobbled to my side.
“Weston? Son are you ok?”
His voice was distant, almost an echo from another life, another world.
“West?”
I looked up at him, my eyes half lidded, my mouth locked.
“He’s dead boy, it’s over.”
I nodded, slowly, “He’s…dead.”
“Can you stand?”
I reached out my hand to meet his and he hauled me up, his hands slick from the blood on mine. I looked around, searching for something I couldn’t find, something I didn’t know, anything, my eyes pouring over the scene like a thick syrup. I felt sloshed. My blood had turned to tar.
“Where’s my gun?”
Bones steadied me, “It’s empty, it doesn’t matter.”
“Where’s my gun?”
Bones took me by the shoulders and went to one knee, staring at me hard, “Weston. Are you ok?”
I shuddered, “Yeah. Yeah I’m ok. We should keep moving. We need to get to the armory. Time’s dying.”
“Take a minute if you need to, there’s no use moving on if you’re going to collapse on me,” Bones said, still kneeling.
I tried to smile, but the expression was murdered by the blood on my face, “I’ll be ok.”
Bones got to his feet, “Then let’s go.”
We set out again, the sounds of the riot slowly coming back into focus, the washed out noises were moistening and becoming real again, blooming into reality. I felt naked without a weapon. Exposed without a means to fight back.
Corridors came and went, silently passing us by as we walked. Prisoners came and went with them, dead and alive, not saying a word to us, the odd couple. An old man and a blood soaked child.
Bones led us, constantly looking back at me to make sure I was still with him. I could feel my old self returning, my strength clawing its way back into my muscles. The dead weight I felt in my head was leaving, parting with me like a bitter rival. I felt sick, but I pushed the feeling aside. I had to be strong, keep moving, keep fighting until this was over.
The chorus of automatic weapons began to rise and I knew we were getting close to our destination. More inmates ran by us to join the symphony, each one eager to be part of this history.
We entered a large room, nauseous with heat from all the weapons being fired, the gun smoke drifting into the air and dissipating like bad memories. The bulk of the riot at was packed into this room, Hazmats and prisoners locked in an intense fight. At the far end of the room were the Hazmats, clustered in front of a heavy metal door, thick and well protected. The inmates were at our end, crouching behind make shift cover, struggling to gain the upper hand and take the room.
“That has to be the armory!” Bones yelled over the noise, pulling me down behind some cover. “But there’s no way we’re getting in there while the Hazmats have those riot shields.”
At first I didn’t understand, but then looked and saw that the green glowing oppressors were sporting clear, bullet proof shields. They had formed a wall and were shooting at us from above them, their guns raised and giving our side little to shoot at.
I looked around me and saw a dead Prophet at my feet. He was holding some kind of automatic pistol. I picked it up, checking the clip. Full.
It appeared that the Prophets were the ones leading the assault, my eyes only picking up a few Dragon members. Across the room, I saw Roland, huddled under some scrap, near the front of our line. He didn’t see me through the haze of stinking gunpowder.
I sat up, spraying the Hazmats, both hands steadying the kicking pistol. Automatic fire sprang from the barrel, but my shots bounced harmlessly into the shields. I saw a Prophet go down, his chest punched in by a well placed bullet. This wasn’t going to end well if we couldn’t come up with some way of getting through those shields.
Apparently, the Prophets had had enough also, one of them standing and raising his fist to the ceiling.
“Get them!” He screamed, his eyes red and insane.
I watched, feeling Bones disbelief at my side, as the prisoners let out a howl and leapt from their cover, feet pounding, charging towards the Hazmats. It was a free for all. An all you can kill buffet. The blood lust these men thirst for overwhelmed their fear and they ran like animals, striving for a kill.
The Hazmats open fired, cutting down the front runners, but didn’t have time for a second volley before the chaos c
ame thundering into them. The inmates hit the wall of shields and drove through them like they were paper, knocking them aside, greedy hands grasping for flesh. The Hazmat’s didn’t stand a chance in close quarters. Not with these men who were releasing pent up hatred and fury against their long time captors.
It was over in minutes. Limbs were broken, flesh littered the floor, blood ran like water, screams and howls rocked the room. I covered my ears against the noise, not believing that humans could make such sounds.
When the massacre was over, I watched as the armory door was thrown open. The beasts armed themselves. I couldn’t make out a single distinguishable feature from the pile of mutilated Hazmats.
“Christ,” Bones muttered, “That’s one way to get it done, I guess.”
“Weston!”
I looked up and saw Roland approaching, his hair messy and bloody, his eyes focused, intense.
“You’re insane, you know that?” I said, nodding towards the dead.
“I didn’t take part in that,” he said, spitting on the floor, “I would have been the first to die.”
“You good then?” I asked.
He nodded, “Yeah, fine. Jesus, what happened to you?” He asked, staring at my blood soaked features.
“Progg. Progg’s what happened.”
Bones shifted, “Unless you two plan on fighting with your fists from here on out, I suggest we get some weapons while there’s still some to get.”
I let Roland help me up, “Let’s do it.”
Chapter 18
My breath came slowly. My arm was burning, the cut oozing blood. The burning; that was something I didn’t expect. It felt as if someone had place a hot iron on my skin, holding it firmly in place.
I realized that Bones was watching me from his place at the armory doors. Word had spread fast that we had taken the weapons cache and inmates sprinted to it. They came in, teeth grit, blood staining their faces, and left, guns in hand, fire in their eyes.
“How’s your arm?” Bones asked me, nodding to a Prophet as he entered.
I licked my lips, tasting dried sweat on them, “It hurts like fire. But I’ll survive.”
Haven Ward Page 20
