The sniper was still at the same window, staring in the same direction. The barrel of the rifle moved slightly back and forth, but no shots were fired.
One more minute.
Cole thought he might have caught some movement near the shelter connected to the fuselage but couldn’t see enough to tell for certain whether it was Frank or just the wind kicking some dirt around. Finally, the time came for him to fire his shot. Cole aimed at one of the windows closer to the cracked tail section and sent a round through an already broken window.
The rifle barrel poking through the other window shifted in that direction and was immediately pulled into the plane. Squinting along the top of his rifle, Cole prepared to take another shot. The only problem was that he didn’t have a target. His nerves drew taut. After waiting so long in Cody for a chance to hit The Vigilant, it was difficult to wait one more second now that he was on the job.
When he saw a face appear in the window where the sniper had been, Cole snapped his aim straight to that spot and placed his finger on his trigger. Through the scope, it was easy enough to pick out Frank’s reptilian features. A Squam’s expressions were never easy to read, but tension on any face looked the same.
“Whoever is out there. I know you can hear me.”
The voice came from the earpiece Cole had taken from one of the guards. He hadn’t put it on because all radio traffic seemed to have been cut after the first coded response was messed up. Cole clipped the piece to his ear and tapped it. “I hear you.”
“I’ve got your snake man at gunpoint. Show yourself or I send his brains out through this window.”
Cole settled in behind his Brown Precision, resting his cheek against the side of the rifle so his eye was lined up with the scope. “Bullshit. Nobody can sneak up on him that easily.”
“You don’t talk like a snake man.”
“And you don’t talk like someone who’s seriously got the upper hand.”
“You think so? I already have a pretty good fix on your position,” the voice said. “Do yourself a favor and come down here before I rain mortar fire down on you.”
“You’re just a voice on a radio, idiot,” Cole said. “You could be calling from anywhere. I stand up and wave my hands and you’ll see me for sure. You think I’m stupid?”
“This is a secure location. You either do as you’re told or you don’t go home.”
“Sounds like a bluff to me. You got a gun on my partner? Prove it. Let me talk to him.”
Frank stood rooted to his spot. His toes curled to dig their short claws into the floor while his eyes remained fixed on the window directly in front of him. He’d just been looking out but froze when he felt the touch of a pistol’s barrel against the back of his head. The sniper who’d been at that window before lay sprawled upon the floor. Moments ago, the two of them had been the only other living things inside that plane. By the time Frank detected the scent of another human, it was too late to do anything about it.
“Say something,” the man behind him demanded.
Frank’s thoughts raced, and a plan quickly took shape. It wasn’t much, but it was the best he would get under the circumstances. When he reached back to take the earpiece, Frank felt the barrel jam against his head aggressively.
“Just talk,” the human said.
“Can you hear me?” Frank asked.
Cole’s voice crackled through the connection. “Are you all right?”
“You won’t see me again.”
“So someone is really there with you? He’s got a gun on you?”
“Yes,” Frank replied. “You won’t see me again.” He didn’t know how much of that he actually got to say before the human behind him pulled the earpiece back.
Frank listened to the gunman make some more threats but wasn’t paying attention to specific words. Instead, he listened to the tone in the human’s voice while focusing the pressure of the gun barrel against his head. Within seconds, that tone shifted, and the pressure of the gun barrel altered slightly. Frank snapped his head to one side and twisted his entire body around.
The human had the build of a soldier with a lean frame and was obviously no stranger to being starved for days or weeks at a time. His eyes betrayed no surprise now that his prisoner had turned on him. He cut himself off in mid-sentence, dropped the earpiece and adjusted his aim to take a shot. The pistol in his hand sent a round into the battered interior of the fuselage, sending moldy dust into the air. If Frank’s body had been constrained by a human’s flexibility limitations, he would have been dead. A Squam needed to wriggle through the smallest openings at the bottom of a swamp or crawl beneath fallen logs while keeping his belly to the ground. Ducking out of the way of a gun being fired by someone with a human’s reflexes was no big challenge. Staying out of that gun’s way at close range for more than a few seconds wasn’t going to be as simple.
Contorting his spine into a crimped zigzag line, Frank pushed against the floor with both feet in a desperate attempt to scramble away. His arms stretched out to support himself as his frame partially collapsed. The human fired again, hitting Frank’s side. Because the Squam had drawn his innards into the middle of his body so he could flatten his torso, the bullet passed through without doing more than tearing two small holes in his leathery skin. Frank hissed while scrambling around to get behind the gunman. The next bullet scraped across the side of his neck. That vital area was protected by several layers of scales, preventing any real damage from being done. It still hurt, however, and Frank used that pain to fuel his next attack.
The human wasn’t about to waste his bullets. Instead of firing wildly at his target, he took time to aim. It wouldn’t be long before he started inflicting some serious wounds, and he backed away to give himself the best possible opportunity to do so. Frank remained still for a second as his body went through another set of jerking contortions. The gunman fired again, missing only because the Squam’s head was pulled from his line of fire by an impossibly curving neck.
Frank drew a quick breath while flexing the muscles required to expand his torso and limbs back to normal. He squatted with his back twisted at a sharp angle, allowing him to snap at the human’s tender stomach. When the soldier dropped his arm to protect himself, Frank grabbed that wrist and brought it up with him as he straightened to his full height. The human’s elbow hyper-extended, rendering it useless for the next minute or two. Although he grunted in pain, the soldier wasn’t about to give up the fight.
The arm that had been hurt was the human’s left, which meant his gun hand was still functioning just fine. Gritting his teeth through the pain, the soldier turned toward Frank and swung his pistol to pound it into the Squam’s ribs. Frank’s face contorted, and his eyes opened wide. If more time had passed since he’d collapsed his skeleton, Frank would have taken the hit much better. As it was, his bones were still slightly malleable and overly sensitive. The human must have picked up on Frank’s pain because the next impact landed on the same spot as the one before it.
Baring his teeth in a nightmarish snarl, Frank clamped his jaws shut. His intended target was the human’s face, but the soldier pulled away quickly enough to only lose a portion of his cheek to the bite. The struggle quickly became more primal in nature as one combatant tasted the blood of his enemy while the other was desperate to keep from being eaten alive.
Frank had the advantage of a Squamatosapien structure, but the human’s training quickly began to shine through. Even when Frank managed to land a punch or scrape a claw against the man’s flesh, it was at the expense of opening himself to a well placed blow. The soldier fought through the pain of his hyper-extended elbow so he could use his left hand to reach for a knife at his belt. Frank grabbed that wrist and was forced to contend with a series of kicks and stomps as the soldier continually tried to take control of the fight. While his opponent was keeping the blade away, the human managed to bring his gun around.
The pistol slowly turned. Frank gripped each of the soldier’s
wrists, but sheer strength wasn’t enough to keep both weapons at bay. It was a simple matter of angles and leverage that would allow the soldier to reclaim his advantage millimeter by millimeter. Frank wanted to get a grip on the soldier’s neck, but that would have meant letting go of his left wrist. While he knew that arm had to be hurting, the adrenalin was flowing too quickly through both of them for either combatant to feel much pain.
The pistol kept turning toward Frank.
The stomps raining down on Frank’s feet were taking their toll.
The soldier’s left hand inched closer to his knife.
Frank’s muscles burned within him, aching from the strain of the contortions required for him to break loose in the first place. His wounds, however minor, added to the fatigue threatening to overtake him. If that happened, the human might be able to gain the upper hand for a second or two, which would be more than enough to put Frank down for good.
The only thing weighing in Frank’s favor was the human’s instinct to put a wall to his back. Frank summoned the last bit of his strength, lowered his head and pushed forward with both legs to drive the soldier’s back against the side of the fuselage. There wasn’t much room in there as it was, so the human found himself bent at an angle as his head knocked against the curved ceiling. Frank was able to get him to drop the knife after slamming the soldier’s left hand against the wall. After that, he grabbed the front of the human’s shirt, pulled him down and then shoved his face against the window.
The soldier twisted his right hand a bit more to angle the pistol’s barrel toward its target. Even as he leaned back and away from the window, Frank knew that in one more second, he would feel hot lead burn through his skull.
Half a second later, the window was shattered by a bullet that had been fired from outside the downed plane. The soldier’s entire body twitched as a hole was punched through the upper portion of the top of his head. Another shot quickly followed, landing like the tip of an ice pick into a slab of beef. The soldier was dead before Frank allowed him to slide to the floor.
Frank staggered away from the body and realigned his neck into a mostly straight line so he could take a look around. He blinked several times, causing the ducts in his eyes to produce the fluid that would allow him to see the scents of whatever else was there with him. Apart from the trails rising up from the dead soldier, there were only flat, dark wisps that came from oily metal and rust. His pulse was still racing, and Frank’s eyes were soon flooded by the fluid. Because of that, he was able to see one more scent trail emanating from a near-invisible crack in the fuselage.
“Who’s there?” Cole asked through the earpiece that had been active during the entire struggle. “Talk to me or I’ll keep shooting until I hit everyone hiding inside that rusted piece of junk.”
Making sure to keep his head down, Frank crawled over to the earpiece and held it close to the indentation on the side of his head where a human’s ear would be. “I’m here,” he said.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. I’m just glad you fired when you did.”
“Well, you went through a lot of trouble to tell me I wouldn’t see you again,” Cole said. “When I saw someone lean so close to the window, I figured it wouldn’t be you.”
“You’re a smart man and an excellent shot,” Frank said as he checked his wounds. Now that his body had returned to its normal structure, the hole in his side looked more like a circular blister that had worn away several layers of skin. He touched his neck and winced. That was just a scratch but a nasty one with blackened edges.
“Don’t get too impressed about the smarts,” Cole said. “The head I saw also had hair on it, which is nothing like your scaly dome. As for the shot…that was pretty awesome. Anyone else in there?”
The interior of the fuselage was exactly what one might expect from a downed plane. Rows of twisted metal and dents in the floor marked spots where seats had been. All that remained of the overhead compartments was broken framework. The wall on one end had a door leading outside to a crooked wooden structure, and the filthy remnants of two bathrooms lay exposed at the opposite end. The dividing walls had been completely removed. “No more guards,” Frank said. “There isn’t much room to hide in here, and if someone else had been lurking nearby, they would have had plenty of chances to move against me.”
“That was a ballsy move going in there like that.”
“It was the only real option against men like this. Besides, I was imprisoned by The Vigilant as well. It felt good to spit in their faces one more time.”
“Can you see anything else down there apart from some wet faces?”
Looking at the faint scent he’d detected, Frank replied, “I found something. I’m not sure what, but it’s something. Knowing what sort of surprises these jailers might have in store, I’d prefer not to dig any further alone.”
“On my way.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Wielding his halberd so his fingers rested between most of the thorns along the handle, Cole drove the wide blade into the floor of the fuselage and pulled the weapon back like it was a giant lever. “Damn,” he grunted. “When you said we’d have to dig, you weren’t kidding.”
Frank crouched nearby. He’d pried a metal pipe from a section of the wall that had been cracked open and kept one of its ends pointed at the floor where Cole was working. “I see something coming from below. It’s a scent.”
Cole’s face twisted into a grimace. “I’m catching that scent too. Wet mold, some dead things and probably some kind of fungus. Must be what it’s like when Mother Earth rips one.”
“More than that,” Frank said. “There’s a human scent as well.”
“Whoever it was…they must’ve had some real bad onion rings. Nothing crafts a fart better than onion rings. I ever tell you about the—”
“Yes. You had some inexpensive fast food onion rings, and you stank bad enough to clear yourself out of a room. You’ve told me.”
“Then let me tell you about this time when I decided to dip a Snickers bar into ranch dressing. Not really bad as far as farts go, but some of the strangest burps I’ve ever tasted.”
Frank was about to hiss at Cole again when the section of floor being leveraged by the Skinner’s halberd started to move. As soon as there was enough room for the pipe, Frank wedged it in so he could pry it open even further.
“There’s…gotta be a button…or something around here,” Cole grunted as his face turned red.
“I searched the man who shot me,” Frank said. “And I searched most of this plane while you were climbing down. All I found were some keys.”
Easing the halberd forward until it was sticking almost straight out of the floor, Cole let go and asked, “Where are the keys?”
Frank kept one hand on the pipe and reached into a small pocket stitched into a rough canvas section of the pants he wore. There were only four large keys on the ring he handed over to Cole. “I couldn’t find anywhere to fit a key.”
“Did you check that shack outside?”
“No. The scent I found came from right here,” Frank replied while nodding down to the floor that appeared to be gnawing on a pipe as well as a Skinner-forged weapon.
“But this is still supposed to be a prison,” Cole said. “In most prisons, the main doors are locked and unlocked from a spot away from the door itself. Keeps all the guards from being bunched up in one place.”
Squinting at Cole beneath a furrowed, scaly brow, Frank asked, “How many times were you locked up in a prison?”
“Just the one,” he replied, “but I had to research a bunch of them when I made multiplayer maps for Sniper Ranger and Hammer Strike. Prisons are awesome for shooters. Very atmospheric.”
“Right. Since you’re the expert on such things, why don’t you go and check that shed outside?”
Cole pulled his weapon from where it was wedged in the floor and propped it onto his shoulder as he walked outside. Despite the circumstances of his visit
to Tensleep Canyon and the reception he’d gotten upon arrival, it felt good just to be away from the garage where he’d been holed up for so long. Walking through the narrow tunnel of the fuselage and seeing walls overgrown with weeds and vegetation reminded him even more of those videogame maps he used to design. All that was missing was the occasional, conveniently-placed ammo box.
The shed outside was only a few steps away from the wall at the lower end of the fuselage. Cole shoved open the door cut into that wall and then carefully approached the dusty little building. His fingers reflexively brushed against his palms as he focused on anything his scars might tell him. Eyes sharpened by years of being hunter as well as hunted scanned the surrounding area for any hint of impending danger. Once inside the shed, he started searching the place as quickly as possible.
There was a chair and plenty of trash strewn along the edges of the floor. Instead of a table, a long counter was nailed into the wall facing the plane. The window cut into that wall was covered by a tattered sheet of plastic nailed down so that one of the bottom corners could be moved aside for a clearer view. Cole’s tracking skills weren’t his strongest suit, but he could tell someone else had been inside that shed fairly recently. Dirt had been freshly scraped off the floor, and the air still smelled like strong coffee. He held his weapon at the ready while bending to one knee so he could get a better look under the wooden counter.
For the most part, the only things beneath the flimsy shelf were the brackets holding it in place. Other than that, there was a narrow strip of metal, about an inch wide, that looked like the same material used to cover the threshold of a cheap motel room. Cole used the tip of his halberd’s blade to pry the strip away from the wall. It popped off without much trouble to expose a bundle of wires running down to the floor and up toward the counter. Positioning himself directly in front of the spot where the wires led, Cole stood up to look at the counter with a more critical eye.
Forged From Ash - Book #7 of the Skinners Series Page 22
