“I’m not going in there.” Ronan was back to being the scared merchant.
Dominic backed up to get a better view of the roof. As expected, there were gaping holes in the metal, patched over by pieces of fragile scrap wood. “Ronan, prop me up there.”
“What?”
Dominic nodded towards the roof, flaring his eyes impatiently.
It took Ronan a moment to make sense of it. “Oh, okay. Really?”
“You got a better idea?”
“What do you want me to do?” Higgins asked.
“Keep him talking. Keep him shooting. Just keep his attention off of me, but do not kill him.”
“You’re the boss.” Higgins extended his gun sideways, shot through the door, and received a shotgun blast and a string of outraged profanity in return.
Dominic set his rifle against the side of the building and faced the wall, stretching his hands towards the roof ledge. He lifted a boot and set it in Ronan’s palms. There was a silent three count and Dominic pressed off with his free leg while Ronan hoisted him up. He grasped the edge, the sheet metal cutting into his hands, his shoulders screaming, as he pulled himself up inch-by-inch. When he got chest high with the roof, he threw a leg up and pulled his body the rest of the way. For a moment he laid there on his back, soaked in sweat. The flat ledge was barely wide enough to hold him; the roof sloped up sharply to his right, threatening to dump him.
He rolled to his side, reached down, and took his weapon from Ronan. Higgins was still yelling back and forth with Randall, exchanging gunshots and insults, giving Dominic the distraction he needed. Dominic came up to the balls of his feet, as slowly and quietly as possible, the structure crying softly beneath his weight. There was a hole in front of him covered by three planks. Through the cracks, he could see Randall. He was sitting behind two crates of ammo, his enormous body still wrapped up tight in the stained, white suit. He had a long black shotgun resting on the surface of the crates, with a box of shells opened up next to it. Dominic would peel back the boards one-by-one, climb through, and come down on top of him. He’d ask him hard questions, make sure the weapons he needed were present and accounted for, and then he’d kill him.
That was the plan.
Dominic leaned forward slightly and got a hold on the first plank. His feet slipped backward from under him and all of his weight heaved forward. The wood split as if it were made of paper and Dominic went right through. He fell, spinning, head over feet and feet over head. Randall managed to scoot back out of the impact zone, pulling the shotgun along with him. Dominic landed atop the ammo crates, smashing them, sending bullets, magazines, and ammunition belts spinning towards the four corners of the room. There were bells in his ears and stars in his eyes. The impact had stolen his breath. He couldn’t cry out. He thought that he could still hear Higgins’ voice somewhere in the distance.
“Dominic! You in there? Everything alright?”
There was a strange sense of déjà vu about the whole thing. He thought back to when he dove from the second-floor window of the inn, rose from the ruins, and scattered his enemies. The difference was that he’d thrown himself from the window intentionally. He hadn’t tripped over his own feet and toppled through the glass like some toddling child. There’d be no rising from the ruins this time. He could barely speak, never mind stand. As the haze cleared, he looked up and was greeted by the mouth of Randall’s shotgun.
“Well, this is fortuitous,” he hissed. “Usually I am forced to hunt my prey. They don’t simply fall into my lap.”
“Wasn’t exactly the way I’d planned it out. You mind if I sit up? Back is screaming at me.”
“I’d feel more comfortable if you remained where you are.”
“Your shotgun, your rules.” Dominic dropped his head back on the cool floor. He could hear Higgins and Ronan scrambling around outside, trying to figure out what the hell had happened.
“Dominic, man, are you okay?” Higgins was running laps around the shed.
“I don’t know if I’d go as far as okay, but I’m alive. You and Ronan just hang back. I’m a little jammed up at the moment.”
“No, no, come on in,” Randall’s purple tongue did a circuit around his lips, “I’m starving.”
Dominic was in a tight spot. The two men outside weren’t exactly brothers in arms. One of them was a pants-shitting merchant that wanted nothing more than to get back to his scrap-cart and hightail it out of there. And Dominic had attempted to dismember the other one in front of his family. No loyalty existed. They had every reason to leave and let Randall the Cannibal have his way. All Dominic could do was hope that they’d ignore past sins and see the mission through.
“Lay it down, maybe we can sort through this. Otherwise, I don’t see any way for you to come out of this alive, cousin.”
Randall laughed, though it was more of a wheeze. “You always were a bit short-sighted.”
Dominic looked up at Randall, staring down the barrel of his shotgun. “He’s right, you lay it down, and maybe the four of us can sort something out.”
“And why would I trust you? We already had a deal. You give me a hand and I…give you arms.” Randall paused, allowing his play on words to hang in the air for a moment. “You broke that arrangement. Few men dare to cross me once. No one has ever been allowed the opportunity to do it twice. I’m sorry, but you will not be the first.”
“Hey, Dominic, you’re the man with the gun to your head. What do you want us to do?” Higgins asked.
“You two just hang back for now. There’s nothing to be done from out there.”
“I beg to differ.” Randall leaned forward, flaring his bloodshot eyes. “They lay ‘em down and mosey their way on in here or you die messy.”
“You’re not much of a negotiator,” Dominic laughed. “You’re going to kill me whether they come in here or not. It may be slower, it may be faster, but the end result is still the same. The difference between me and you is that I don’t care if I die.”
Randall was starting to see the cracks in his plan. He was a man that had much to live for. He’d become an addict to certain pleasures in life…certain cravings…and he was willing to do whatever it took to satisfy those cravings. But he wasn’t willing to die for them. He wasn’t willing to risk never being able to taste flesh again. Randall stood and waddled back a few steps, shotgun aimed, finger now easing away from the trigger. “What do you propose?”
“I propose you put that shotgun down.”
“What do I get out of it?”
Dominic sighed. “Randall, if you don’t put down that goddamn shotgun, I’m going to take it from you and beat your ass to death with it.”
Randall laughed, his entire neck wobbled with the effort. “That’d be a neat trick.”
“Glad you like it. Got another one too, where I shove it up your ass and pull the trigger.”
“Really?”
“Never fails to wow.”
“You know, I think we’re done here.” Randall raised the shotgun, his finger creeping back towards the trigger. “Fuck you and goodnight!”
Dominic had hoped to keep Randall talking longer, to allow Higgins and Ronan to use the sound of his voice to zero in on his position. It was a stretch and it involved a hell of a lot of faith, but it was the final bet of a desperate man, the only card up his sleeve. His options had grown slim when he’d fallen through the roof.
As Randall’s finger swam towards the trigger, Dominic lifted his chin and stared down the instrument of his demise with every last ounce of pride he had left.
A blast of gunfire erupted outside. Bullets ripped through the door, zipping inches above Dominic’s head and tearing into Randall. As the rotund Cannibal fell backward, his belly all shot up, his finger twitched against the trigger. Dominic saw the flash and felt the heat.
He was blind and deaf.
He was waiting for his consciousness to blink out.
For the curtains to fall.
But, slowly, everything
started to come back.
He heard footsteps in the room.
Shouting.
Moaning.
There was light and the force of someone pulling him to his feet.
Voices swelling back into existence.
“Dominic? Dominic? Can you hear me?”
He pressed the heels of his palms to his temples. His head was still attached. “Am I hit?”
Higgins shook his head. “Not that I can see.”
The metal wall behind him was torn and twisted from the rifle fire. There was also a giant pit dug into the concrete floor beside him where the buckshot from Randall’s shotgun had nestled.
Randall was teetering on his back, his stubby arms sliding across his stomach, smearing the blood around. It was hard to tell where he was hit exactly, but it looked fatal.
Dominic ignored the writhing beast as he made his way around the small interior, prying open the boxes on the shelves and the crates stacked across the ground. He’d hit it big: LMG’s, SMG’s, carbines, explosives, and all the ammo he needed. He got what he came for. Now there was only one more thing left to do.
“It’s all here, more than enough to go around.” He dipped his head towards Randall. “It’s your cousin, you make the call.”
“You think he’s done?” Higgins seemed to be a bit taken back by the noise and mess of Randall’s dying process. Dominic understood. It was easier when they just went down and stayed still. But when they wound up crying and pleading like a sickly infant, it gnawed at you a bit. It required a certain toughness that a lot of men just didn’t have. It had taken Dominic a few times before he’d been able to steel himself up against it and get the job done.
“Yeah, he’s dying.”
Ronan looked ready to lose his dinner. “How long before he…stops?”
“He’s gut shot, it could take the rest of the night.”
“Kill me! Kill me! Cousin, please! Fuck! Please!”
Even Dominic was starting to feel something like pity towards the fat piece of shit.
Higgins swallowed hard and pushed down whatever emotion he was feeling. “I reckon that he was a treacherous sonofabitch…we should leave him…let him think about…everything.”
Dominic shrugged. “It’s your call. Grab what you need and let’s move out.”
They circled the room, picking the shelves and boxes clean, before stumbling out into the night, drunk on loot, Randall screaming at their backs for an end to his suffering.
***
Dominic sat atop his horse. He was pointed in the direction of the Glass Mountains. Higgins and Ronan stood off to his right. They had combined their weapons on the back of Ronan’s mule cart. They planned to hit a few settlements and sell off what they could. After that, they’d split the profits and go their separate ways.
“What’s the plan?” Higgins asked. He was shouldering one of the new rifles and had it loaded up with a drum magazine.
“Same as it always was, get my ass to the other side of the Glass Mountains.”
Higgins shook his head. “Can’t think of anything worth crossing through that hell for.”
Dominic nodded in agreement. “There aren’t many things, but there is one. For that one thing, I must go.”
Ronan looked like he was in a hurry to get back on the road and as far away from Dominic as possible.
“Ronan, my friend, thanks for everything.” Dominic reached down from the horse with an open hand, but his gesture remained unanswered.
“Not like I had much of a choice.” Ronan stood there, petting the head of his mule, pretending he couldn’t see Dominic.
“He’s a little sore, I think. Not used to getting his hands dirty.” Higgins shook Dominic’s hand instead. “For letting me keep my hand, for ridding me of that demonic cousin of mine, thank you.”
“Yeah, about the hand and everything…”
“We’re square. Out here, a man has to do what he has to do. Besides, it all worked out for the best. Gonna sell off these weapons and then me and mine are gonna be able to sit comfortable for a bit.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Ronan started to turn the mule cart towards the nearest town, urging an end to their pleasantries.
“Looks like my ride is trying to leave without me.”
Dominic looked towards the horizon. “Sun will be rising before too long. We should get moving, do our best to outrun it.”
“You take care of yourself, Dominic.”
“And you.”
Dominic laid into the horse with his heels. There was a snort of compliance as the well-muscled beast lurched towards the distant black fangs rising over the horizon. Dominic had saddled his steed with all manner of weaponry: a light machine gun with an ammunition belt lay horizontally across its haunches, there were rifles sheathed on either side in brown saddlebags, along with a bag of grenades, and two handguns holstered on Dominic’s hips.
He was ready for war.
22
Silas’ army had moved out just after sunrise to join the Rebels. They were chanting and drinking and waving their weapons high above their heads as they converged on the path that led through to the other side of the Glass Mountains, acting as if they’d already won the battle.
And why not?
If Genesis truly was at war, destroying itself from the inside, all it would take was a little push from the outside for the whole thing to topple over.
Lerah had refused to believe it at first, had tried to convince herself that it was just another form of mental torture concocted by Silas. But she couldn’t deny what she saw. Silas wouldn’t form up his men and have them brave the journey through the Glass Mountains simply to scourge her. There was something going on. Something real. The Rebels didn’t move on a whim, they’d taken too many losses, whatever was happening, it was big and it was bad. For her, it was the final nail in the coffin. She’d died and died again on that miserable stretch of black beach. She’d been holding on for so long, renewed by her conversations with Hawthorne, picking herself up after every assault and torture inflicted upon her, pushing forward with the fragile faith that maybe, just maybe, she’d once more be able to hold her loved ones in her arms and sleep in her own bed. No more. The last thin cloud of hope had dissipated. All that was left for her was death. She was not afraid, not like before. She was resigned to it. It’d be a small mercy. True escape.
Silas strode towards her, carrying a small footstool. He placed it across from her and lowered himself onto it with a tired groan. “I like the men, but it’s nice when they’re away. Things are quiet. I can think.” All of the men didn't go. There was still a handful of them milling around the edge of the water, half-dressed and half-drunk. Conversations with Silas were sadistic games and she had no desire to play. Every syllable, every phrase, was a setup. A trap door adorned with silver and gold, waiting for her to fall prey to its beauty. “I’ve done some thinking since you got here. Me and you, we’ve had our differences. And I admit, the boys and I have gone hard on you. But it’s war, right? Shit happens. No hard feelings.”
She laughed. It broke through her cracked lips in sputters. “You’ve gone hard on me? You raped me. You tortured me. Is that what you call going hard on someone?”
“The Union has done far worse.”
“You know what I think?”
“I haven’t a clue.”
“I think that it doesn’t have a thing to do with war. You and your filthy simpletons are not capable of complex thought and strategy. You’re animals. No, fuck that, you’re insects, acting out of an insect nature. It’s why you lost the war to begin with. It’s why you’re still sleeping under the stars, caked in mud, on this godforsaken beach. You don’t help move humanity forward. You don’t add or create anything of value. You take and you destroy. The Union, we build, we create, and we utilize what we have to improve the condition of mankind. You and your men, with your filthy wives and the rotten kids they shit out of their rotten pussies, you’re all just bugs. You�
��re pests, flying around the head of humanity, aggravating the fuck out of it until it finally gets sick of you and swats you away. You wanna sit there and try to get philosophical with me? Go fuck yourself, Silas!”
She expected him to explode. To shatter the stool across the side of her head and put a couple bullets in her chest. It’s what she wanted. A quick and easy exit from this perpetual hell. But he didn’t explode. He just sat there for a moment, nodding and scratching his chin. “You’ve still got some fire. After everything, it’s still burning. I’m impressed. You’re more resilient than most Union I’ve come across in my time. They’re all so used to easy living that they break at the slightest touch. A couple hours out here in the elements, some quality time with my knife, and they’re shitting their pants. But not you.” He sat forward on his knees. “However, if you keep talking to me like that, I’m going to cut your kneecaps off and let you sit here and scream.”
She knew he wasn’t bluffing. She wanted to die, but she didn’t want to die slow.
“You know, when they first dragged you in here, I had every intention of taking you apart, piece-by-piece. I was gonna bleed you out over a couple days. I blamed you for the death of my brother. Every inch of me hated you for it.”
A few of the women watched their conversation passively, draping wet clothes across drooping lines, while children ran circles around their knees.
“I never touched your brother.”
“I know you didn’t, dear.” He folded one leg across the other. “But you were there. He died hunting for you. Makes you complicit from where I’m sitting. That’s how I used to feel, anyway.”
“Something change? You ready to forgive, forget, and let me go?”
“Afraid not. We’re beyond that. Even if I were willing to forgive and forget, there’s no letting you go. I haven’t lived this long by offering my hand to the lion. Besides, there’s nothing left for you out there.”
He spoke the truth. The only reason she wanted her hands free was so that she could use them to separate his head from his shoulders.
“Do you know who I really blame for all this?”
The Glass Mountains: The Saboteur Chronicles Book 2 Page 17
