by L. M. Vila
Seconds clicked down quicker than Seika could count. Estimating the time of contact to the start of combat calculated to approximately sixty seconds. They had less than two minutes to make their escape.
Seika rained bullets down against the police car. Carrying two pistols was definitely to her advantage. The vehicle looked like a piece of salami with all of the fat plucked out. Accuracy suffered but the results proved effective. Keeping the survivors suppressed while the target was being eliminated. Hopefully Kurtis was completing his objective as well as she was taking care of hers.
“She’s relentless.”
Meryl snapped another magazine into the chamber. She stood up and fired another set of shots. They bounced off the concrete wall but it was more than enough to keep Seika retreating. Meryl was determined to show her that she could equally be a pain in the ass.
The officer slowly rose to his knees. Any residual effects of the accident have almost completely worn off. He drew his weapon from the holster and pinned himself against the other tire like his companion.
“You feeling alright?” Meryl lifted herself and popped off a few more rounds.
“I’ll live. How’s their aim?”
She dropped to the ground. A half-second later a bullet pierced the back window, destroying it in the process. “Good for the distance. Be careful.”
“Then this pea shooter isn’t going to do much,” he declared. The officer reached in center console and brought back an Ithaca Model 37 shotgun. “This should do the trick.”
He rose and blasted the weapon. The fragments splintered the cement block exposing an open area in the corner. Suddenly, the odds seemed to even out. This gave Meryl an idea.
“Cover me!” She yelled underneath the sound of another burst of fire. “I’m going around the fence to flank her.”
“Okay!” He replied, clutching his weapon tightly. “Go on three?”
“Wait!” Meryl’s commanding tone nearly sent a shiver down her companion’s spine. She counted the seconds. It was much further than the previous rounds of firing. “She’s stopped. Did you get her?”
“Let me check.”
The officer started to move up. Meryl’s mind froze. Somehow that didn’t sound like a good idea. Her body took over. There wasn’t a second to spare.
“Stop!”
Meryl dove after the officer. A sharp whipping sound approached. An object sped towards him. Their bodies collided. A ghastly yell bellowed forth followed by a splash of blood. The ground broke their fall. Meryl made sure to keep his body covered. She lifted her head up to survey the damage.
“Jesus! Are you alright?!”
The officer winced and sniveled. Breaths were broken and awkward. He cringed and gritted the pain to the point of his teeth almost shattering. Yelps of pain came forth.
“My – my arm!”
She moved her stare towards the problem area. A shining silver knife had pierced his right bicep. Blood was spilling slowly out of the wound. It was turning his freshly pressed uniform into a deadly color.
He reached for the knife. Thoughts of movie action heroes and tough-guys sang to him that it would be a good decision. Meryl slapped his hand away.
“Leave it in! You’ll just make it worse.”
Compassion tingled with her orders. The officer negated his heroic thinking and believed it was best to obey.
Meryl carefully slipped the shotgun out of the officer’s hands. She peered under the vehicle, hoping to catch sight of the assassin. Sounds of movement grew distant. The target was running away.
Electricity shot through Meryl’s body. Adrenaline flowed to the brim. Meryl stood up and ran around the vehicle. The assassin was in her sight. She pointed the shotgun up and fired a round. Not aimed at the assassin but as a warning. The loud pinging sound continued to follow her as she ran. Firing a weapon of this size takes some getting used to.
Thankfully, officers had procedures to abide by. Seika did not. Holding faith in the agent’s integrity was pushing it but there wasn’t much time left. She had delayed them long enough. Diving over the hood of her car, Seika slid to her feet and ducked behind it. Her pistols versus the agent’s shotgun weren't exactly an even playing field. Seika wasn’t about to risk danger over a futile encounter. She pulled another knife from its sheath and listened to the quick steps approaching. The opportune moment to strike drew closer.
Damaged, but not destroyed, the brick wall served as sufficient cover. Meryl took refuge on the left end of the wall giving her close space to the opening. A wide opening at that. Approximately twenty to twenty-five feet separated the partitions of white brick.
Silence followed. Meryl was tucked away, waiting for a sign of movement. Seika agreed with her sentiments. Neither of them could afford a mistake at this point. The one who made the first one would pay dearly. Possibly with their life.
Punches flailed against the backdrop of a chaotic street. Michael dodged the initial volley but his opponent’s new set of attacks were far quicker than before. Even if the method is sloppy, a blind squirrel is bound to find a nut eventually.
Kurtis threw a quick uppercut; Michael swayed. The wind grazed his chin like a rusted razorblade. He could feel the force of that swing. If it landed, Michael’s neck would be well tested as to how well it can hold on to his head.
Staying on the defensive proved dangerous. With each strike Kurtis came closer to connecting. This fight compared to his battle with Kaze was like two sides of a coin. Unfortunately for him, excessive strength could trump technique. And Kurtis had it in spades.
A heavy fist traveled towards Michael’s ribs. He countered by driving his elbow down, catching Kurtis in the forearm. The Russian briefly ceased his initial attacks. Kurtis was shocked. His arm cried in horror. During his entire existence, Kurtis has only felt anger, disdain, and sometimes joy. But never, and truly has he never felt pain quite like this.
His fingers tingled. The arm seemed to go numb. No breakage. That would have been impossible given the design. Being on the receiving end of punishment, this was part of the plan. None of the scenarios called for an adversary that resisted this well. He had to mix things up a bit.
A horrific roar echoed in the chaotic streets of Los Angeles. The beast within had been unleashed. Kurtis darted and launched a brutal sweeping roundhouse kick. Michael jumped back and watched the tail end of his jacket take the blow for him. His opponent had increased his efforts. Not a good sign.
Before Michael could react to the next series of attacks, his pain receptors lit up like the 4th of July. Kurtis’ fist slashed his ribcage. He didn’t even see the swing. Michael retreated back a few extra steps clutching his side. It was damaged, possible bruised, but not life threatening. Fate had dealt him a good hand. The punch was a glancing blow. A devastating glance but not a direct hit. That may have saved Michael’s life.
If the initial pain he felt in his arm was shocking, the fact that Kurtis did not kill this man in one punch was world shattering. Every enemy he’s faced up to this point could not stand up to his fists. Despite all of his courage, here stood one man who not only took the blow but wasn’t even knocked down by it.
Time drifted away. Kurtis pushed on. A nagging sensation was playing in his mind. The General’s warning about this man. Suddenly, he was starting to live up to the reputation.
The delay affected them both. Meryl knew she had to do something quickly. Her opponent was far too quick to take head on. Kaze’s movements flowed swiftly and silently, like the wind. It would require a bit of wit and a dash of cunning to break down the barrier. She devised a plan that would have to hinder one of her most important senses for it to work. That would require reaching into a jar of crazy and swallowing as much as she could fit into her mouth.
Meryl pumped her shotgun, fired a blast into the air above Kaze’s vehicle. A flash of silver cascaded her vision, following by that sharp slicing noise. This was it. Meryl watched the blade pass overhead thanking her body for responding to her
urgent commands. She pumped the weapon again and fired a shot straight up. The wheels were in motion.
Breathing heavily during combat was something Seika was not fond of. Mostly it was a physical response but this one was coupled with emotions. This was no place to feel anxiety. Seika waited to hear another sound. She was slow with the first response. Hearing the gun being pumped should have be her cue to attack.
Steel rattled against concrete. Time to strike. Seika stood up and flung her knife at the target’s location. It traveled without restraint. As her eyes settled with the rapid movement her heart began to drop. The knife cut nothing but open air.
A gunshot echoed follow. Seika’s mind stopped. Her body shot horrid messages of pain in her right arm. Gravity brought her down. The bullet cut through her suit, grazing her. The only saving grace was that her reflexes worked faster than her instincts.
Seika screwed up. She was too focused on her sense of sound she didn’t realize it had been hindered. All of those shotgun blasts had taken a toll. She didn't even notice the target switching positions to the other side. A window of opportunity like that would not present itself again. The exit had to be secured.
Meryl couldn’t believe it. She had a clean shot and it missed. It went damn near perfect too. As she huddled against the wall, Meryl knew another chance like that wouldn’t happen. And she couldn’t jeopardize her safety again. Seika would have to make the next move. And that she did.
The car’s engine quietly purred. This was not expected. Meryl stood up. Her fears were confirmed. Immediately followed by that familiar slicing sound.
Landing chest first on the ground wasn’t Meryl’s idea of safe but it beat the alternative. She was inches away from tasting the grave. Meryl could hear the vehicle burning rubber. A terrible mistake. She pulled herself up from the ground and watched the car traveled out of sight.
Feelings of defeat swept in. Meryl refused to dust herself off and sprinted towards the police cruiser. She was going to give her, at the very least, one hell of a chase.
Still cringing on the ground, the officer caught wind of Meryl’s desperation as she circled the vehicle towards him. His scratchy gasps were a tribute to his current state.
“Agent Lewis,” he wheezed.
“Sit tight, backup will be here soon. I’m going to borrow your car.”
“But,” the officer’s voice sounded dire. “What about Agent Madison?”
The officer saw a potential qualifying participant in the Olympics for the female forty yard dash run off before his very eyes.
Sweat poured down Kurtis’ forehead. He had unleashed so many unsuccessful swings it had finally added up. It needed to end it now. His honor and existence depended on it.
Michael continued to parry but every strike that required blocking left him reeling. His opponent’s strength was unnerving. Michael questioned whether or not he could stand against a clean hit. During this entire encounter, he remained on the defensive. There needed to be a wrench thrown into this mix. Michael would have put him on guard for a change.
The only safe thing about his adversary’s attacks is that they were somewhat predictable. His punches had no finesse, just power. Michael waited for him to throw a wild blow. Kurtis’ hooks left him wide open. And one was coming right up.
Madly, Kurtis threw his arm. Stepping underneath it was easy. Throwing an uppercut simultaneously took skill. Michael’s abilities were second to none. It connected perfectly. There was a large nerve that when stuck could render the entire arm useless for a short period of time. The groan that Kurtis bellowed signified a clean hit.
He disengaged. Kurtis commanded his arm to function but it wouldn’t respond. It was dead. Silent. This created a greater annoyance than the pain itself. For the time being, Kurtis literally had to fight with only one arm. Something he believed he could have easily done minutes earlier.
An opening appeared. Kurtis stood awkwardly while clutching his arm. Michael sprinted forward. Timing was everything. He slid legs underneath the opening in his opponent’s stance. The gravel scraped his suit and cut away at his body. Not a premiere sliding platform. Michael shifted his weight mid-slide and slapped the ground, pressing his strength down on one hand, and pushed himself up off the ground.
Dumbfounded at the target’s technique, Kurtis swung his leg out and threw up his guard. Immediately, his knee felt a distinct heaviness to it. His eyes began to paint the picture his body was feeling. Michael launched himself to the sky and used Kurtis as leverage. After that, everything else went black.
Michael went for the show stopping attack. One he was taught never to use unless your opponent is completely below your skill level. He flipped his body backwards and spinning his free leg straight up. Kurtis ate Michael’s size thirteen shoe as it jammed, heel first, directly into the unsuspecting assassin’s chin.
Kurtis felt his body being lifted. He was airborne. Someone had struck him so devastatingly, that it took him off his feet and knocked him down. Kurtis collided with the ground. It was the first time it felt such a harsh reality. The kick left him dazed. Reality was not settling properly.
Michael’s feet tapped the ground at just the right angle. Performing a somersault kick was dangerous. Any variance by even a few degrees could result in anything from a sprained ankle to a broken leg. Michael had a lot of practice thanks to the hunt. This move was extremely risky and required the utmost precision and timing. Thankfully, Kurtis had delivered both.
Breaths streamlined in and out of Michael’s body. He wasn’t exhausted but it sure felt like he’d been through the ringer. Stress had mounted to capacity. Michael had ended the encounter just in time. Now to get some answers.
A screeching sound alerted Michael’s attention, diverting it from his opponent. A silver Mercedes approached their position going west on 3 Palms Road. The driver was clear in view. Seika rolled the window down and pointed a silver USP pistol right at Michael’s heart.
The trigger pulled. Bullets spewed. Michael ran for cover. He was out in the open. This gas station didn’t allot itself for a shootout. Cement cracked as the nearly misses shots ricocheted off the ground. Sanctuary was found seconds later behind the confines of a gas pump. Weaponless and without a Kevlar vest, Michael was at the whim of Seika’s weapon and aim.
“Kurtis!” She yelled from the driver’s seat. “We have to go. Now!”
Worldly events started to clear up. Kurtis shook off the cobwebs in his mind. He couldn’t afford to waste time since it seems they just ran out of it. Leaving the job unfinished a second time made his mouth turn sour. However, no more than ten feet away was a tool that could very well remedy his anger. After all, the agent was standing on top of a powder keg and all Kurtis needed to do was light a match.
He launched himself forward and picked up the dropped grenade launcher. There were still two rounds left in it. Plenty to light up this corner of Los Angeles in a sea of destruction. Getting back to the car was easy. Kurtis didn’t move as quickly as he once did but it was plenty fast to make a clean getaway. He took up residence in the backseat behind Seika and lowered the window.
“Michael!” Another voice called. Peaking over the gas pump, Michael's heart dropped. Meryl was running up from across the street. She became another target now. He had to move.
Meryl fired her weapon, piercing the back window. The vehicle sped off. Kurtis stuck his noisemaker out. His sadistic grin left one last impression in Michael’s mind. The weapon fired. Two shots rang out in succession. The Mercedes hit the first corner it met and went south. Michael’s legs were infused with electricity. Meryl was so far away. So close to danger. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to her.
Shells bounced off the ground. They had only seconds left. Meryl caught Michael running at her like a man possessed. Her guard lifted. She didn’t know how to react. Never in her life has she seen a level of concern in a man’s eyes as Michael displayed now. Meryl felt her spine shiver. As if life was about to be stolen from
her, right here and now.
Warmth swathed her body. A soft tightness surrounded her. Life was still in her possession. Michael wrapped his arms over Meryl’s frame. His body became her shield against the danger that approached. Sparks sounded. Detonation was imminent.
Eruption commenced, breaking the fragile sound barrier. Fire spewed simultaneously, enveloping the air into a bright orange haze. The gas station exploded in a mountain of smoke and flames. Both shells couldn’t have landed in better target areas. Truly, what Kurtis hoped would occur has finally taken shape.
The blast shot Michael off his feet and into the air. Torture commenced, wrenching his pain receptors into an exclusive level of agony. The force of the explosion snapped against his back, whipping their bodies cleanly away from the scene. Michael gritted against the pain. The reality of what was happening hadn’t registered yet. Meryl was locked safely in his vice-like grip. They traveled together. His body absorbed most of the blast. It was necessary to ensure her survival. Meryl didn’t deserve to die. Not tonight and certainly not like this.
Their impact was merciless. The earth did not take kindly to their landing. Michael turned his frame and planted himself shoulder first then rolled to his back as they inevitably slid across the scarred asphalt. Once again, the street did his suit a great injustice as well as his body. It recorded every single spec of gravel and engraved it into his skin. The force of the explosion carried them all the way across the street. Michael’s senses were distorted, as were Meryl’s. Their ears went silent and were soon filled with a loud screeching ring. Making sense of what was happening seemed impossible at this point. The world as they knew it had stopped. Chaos loomed in.
Michael slowly opened his eyes. He could see the fire engulfing the gas station. Cascading the flames in the foreground, Meryl’s body rested safely in his arms. Her eyes were opened widely. Terror filled her expression. She was shouting something that sounded like a faint whisper. Michael’s hearing hasn’t fully recovered. He tried to understand what she was saying.
