A Double Dose of Darkness

by Adam Drake

  He had these three outside to contend with first. How things panned out with the remainder was up for debate. At least the group had split up.

  Meanwhile, Martin kept talking. Whether it was a genuine attempt at distraction or just nervousness, Nate didn't care. It was working.

  “Yeah, I had to walk all day to get here,” Martin said and gestured at the wheel-barrel full of prawns. “A real pain in the ass.”

  Scott snickered. “Yeah, Unger sure likes those things.”

  The other two men were eyeing Nate, but kept their guns down. We may be all one big happy criminal organization, but that didn't mean they had to completely lower their guard, he thought.

  “Tell me about it,” Martin said. Then launched into a spiel about his travels to get here.

  As he spoke, Nate gave one final glance into the bar. Orson was in the office along with another man. The other two loitered outside the office door, torches held to their sides.

  He saw Orson look in the direction of the hall and Nate could see the curious expression on his face. He moved out of sight.

  Five seconds, Nate thought. He turned and suddenly made a show of looking into the distance behind the three men.

  “Oh, shit, someone is coming,” Nate said with the best impression of a worried guard he could muster.

  All three men turned to look and at that exact moment Orson shouted from behind the back of the building. This caused Scott to rubberneck from turning to look behind him to the front door.

  Nate was already shooting.

  His first target was the man closest to him. The shotgun ripped off the man's shoulder and sent him spinning backward.

  Scott was already facing in the bar's direction, but reacted too slowly to raise his rifle. As Nate shot at him, Scott fired, but the bullet hit the concrete between Martin and Nate.

  Nate had aimed for the other man's middle body mass, but ended up taking out his knees, instead. Scott screamed as he fell to the ground.

  Amazingly, even as all this was happening in a few seconds, Martin had the presence of mind to pull out his pistol from his waistband without shooting himself. He pointed it at the final man who let out a burst from his sub-machine gun.

  Mercifully, the man's aim was bad or ruined by the quickly unfolding of events. The burst hit the wall to the side of the front door.

  But Martin's aim was impeccable. A single shot hit the last man almost between the eyes and he dropped to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.

  “Holy, shit!” Martin shouted as Nate grabbed him and pulled him out of view of the open doors. The men inside started firing, one dropping his torch to do so.

  Nate propelled them down the length of the building away from the door. Martin let himself be pulled along, his face ashen with shock.

  “I killed him,” Martin said.

  “We have to get to cover,” Nate said keeping an eye on the front door as they ran. When they reached the corner of building, he moved them around it, out of view.

  Martin squatted down and sat against the wall. Nate looked around the corner with one eye, watching for signs of pursuit.

  “That was amazing,” Martin said, shaking. The pistol was gripped tightly in his hand.

  “Watch the trigger on that, will ya?” Nate said. “But you're right. That was pretty God-damned amazing what just happened. I thought we were as good as dead.”

  “Really?”

  “Nah,” Nate said with a grin. “I knew you could do it. Nice job distracting that one guy.” Down by the front door he could see their abandoned lantern lighting the area. Three torches lay by their dead owners corpses. One torch was close enough to catch Scott's shirt sleeve and set it on fire.

  Beyond it all was the magnificent inferno that was the apartment building.

  What a crazy scene, Nate thought, his heart hammering in his chest. And the first of many more to come.

  “Yeah, I knew him from before,” Martin said, his voice trembling with excitement. “Thought if I just-.”

  A face appeared through the bar's front door and Nate fired at it. The face ducked back inside. Nate didn't think he hit him, the shotgun was crap for accuracy at such a distance, but it kept the other man suppressed.

  Martin quickly moved into a crouch, pistol held up like one of those models you see on the covers of spy novels. “What is it? They coming?”

  Nate shook his head, his eyes locked on the front door. “Not from this way.” He glanced down the wall to the other corner of the building. The back lot was dimly lit by the distant apartment fire, but he could still see.

  Martin suddenly pitched over, clutching his stomach.

  “What? Did you get hit?” Nate asked.

  Martin wretched, spewing a thick stream of vomit onto the ground.

  Nate shook his head and kept watch. “The first time is always the hardest. You'll get used to it. Trust me.”

  Panting, Martin stood straight and wiped at his mouth. “Really? You got sick, too? It feels like I got a flock of angry birds fluttering around my stomach.”

  “Take a few deep breaths. They'll be coming at us soon,” Nate said. The truth was, he didn't get sick when he made his first kill. In fact, he had been overjoyed. His father deserved what he got so why should Nate have felt sick about it?

  “They will?”

  “I would,” Nate said casting another glance down to the other side corner. They were exposed from there. If Orson decided to flank them that's the direction he'd come.

  “How many bullets do I have left?” Martin said looking at his gun with mild confusion.

  “Enough,” Nate said. He reached over and pulled Martin by an arm. “Come here. Stand there and keep watch on the door. Shoot at anyone who sticks their head out, okay?”

  Martin moved into position as he peeked around the corner half of his face was illuminated by the orange blaze of the apartment fire. He swallowed, blinking away tears from his eyes.

  “Stay solid,” Nate said. He didn't need this guy to suddenly implode on him. He can do that later. “I'm going to check the other side.”

  “O-okay,” Martin said nervously. But he kept his eye on the front doors.

  Nate stalked down the side of the building toward the other back corner. As he got closer, he stepped away and inched to where he could peek around.

  The moment he did, he saw a man skulking along the wall toward him, machine gun raised.

  Nate fired his shotgun and ducked back. The other man fired and a burst of bullets peppered a line on the asphalt by Nate's feet.

  “Whoa,” he said as he backed away and pressed up against the wall. Without looking he stuck his shotgun around the corner and fired.

  A scream was his reward and Nate laughed. It was a cowardly thing to do, but screw it. There were no combat rules when your life was on the line.

  Another burst of fire, this going wide and hitting the wooden fence down at the other end of the lot. Nate looked the fence over. It was high with a stack of pallets nudged up against it. Beyond was a thin line of trees. Past that, he couldn't see in the darkness. A possible escape route.

  He looked back at Martin. The man had not moved a muscle throughout the entire exchange, keeping his one eye locked on the front door. Nate felt a sudden burst of pride. This guy may not be a career killer, but he was managing to keep his shit together fine enough.

  A voice from around the corner called out. “You son of a bitch!”

  It wasn't the man he'd just shot, too far.

  “You killed my brother!” the voice shouted.

  It was Orson. He sounded far away, somewhere around the back door. Was there any cover down there? Nate couldn't remember. Maybe he could hide behind Unger's corpse. It was big enough.

  “Why?” Orson wailed. “Why did you murder him?!”

  Grinning, Nate shouted back, “He had shitty taste in beer!”

  Suddenly, Martin fired the pistol, a single shot.

  “We cool?” Nate called over to him.
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  Martin kept his pistol raised and his eyes widened. “I got him! I got another one!”

  “Damn, soldier. Nice shooting,” Nate said. If his math was right, that left two men, including cry-baby Orson. Nate's grin grew wider. This was shaping up better than he could have anticipated.

  Not wanting Martin to have all the glory, Nate risked a quick peek around the corner, again.

  Orson was ten feet away, running toward him, eyes filled with rage.

  “Oh, shit!” Nate said as he fired, but Orson shot first.

  Bullets hit the corner's edge spraying pieces of brick into Nate's face.

  With a shout of pain Nate fell back, stumbled and landed on his back. He tried to open his eyes, but he couldn't see.

  By the time he could blink away the crap in his face it was too late. Orson stood above him, machine gun pointed at Nate.

  “You bastard!” Orson screamed. “You killed my brother! You're dead!” He raised his gun up a little and looked down the barrel at Nate.

  Panic seized Nate and he couldn't raise his shotgun. He was going to die.

  Two shots rang out.

  Orson grunted in pain, dropping his gun and clutching his stomach. Blood gushed through his fingers. He looked up and past Nate.

  Stunned, Nate looked, too.

  Martin stood with the pistol in both hands, legs spread apart like he was in a shooting range.

  “Fuck you and your brother,” Martin said and fired again.

  This bullet hit Orson in the forehead and the big man fell backwards on the ground, dead.

  Martin ran over to Nate. “You okay, boss?”

  Nate blinked at the pain that shot through his face. “Yeah, I'll live. Thanks.”

  As Martin tried to help him up, Nate waved him away. “There's still one guy left. Watch that door!”

  Martin nodded and ran back to the corner. The moment he peered around it he raised his pistol and fired again, shouting in surprise.

  A scream of pain was followed by a burst of gunfire. Martin ducked back behind the building as bullets tore through the brickwork.

  Nate pushed himself up to his feet, shotgun still in hand. He looked at Martin with concern. “You okay?”

  Martin blinked in amazement and looked his body over. “Yeah! Not a scratch.”

  The screaming continued then died down.

  “I'm gonna finish this,” Martin said and Nate didn't argue.

  With another quick look, Martin could see that the other man was dying on the ground, and no longer a threat. He calmly raised his pistol, aimed and fired.

  “That's that,” Martin said as Nate hobbled over.

  “That was all of them,” Nate said and tried to grin, but the pain of his face made him wince.

  Martin cringed when he looked at him. “Damn, boss. Looks like your face is messed up.”

  “At least it's not my pride,” Nate said. He looked down the front of the building.

  Two more bodies had been added to the carnage. One at the front door, the other about half way down the building. Nate shook his head. Imagine that. Martin pulled his weight and then some. Now he was glad he didn't kill him earlier. Without him this show would have ended a lot differently.

  Smoke started to froth out of the front doors of the bar.

  “It's burning,” Martins said.

  Nate said, “That's Spectacular.” He winced as he tried to laugh at his own stupid joke. “Come on, let's grab as much of their stuff as we can carry.”

  “And then what?” Martin asked, eagerness on his face.

  “Then we start to build an empire.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Wyatt

  There were no more trees, just towering buildings, dark and cold. Had they even been there?

  Did he just run through a forest, bullets flying all around? He couldn't remember.

  The sound of rushing water roared in his ears.

  He was on the side of a river bank which snaked its way through the city. The rumbling waters vanished into the black maw of a tunnel a short distance from where he was. Hard concrete pressed against his body, not the soft wet dirt of a forest. His clothes were soaked through, but he didn't mind.

  I escaped, he thought.

  Looking to his right he could see the dark outline of the river curving around a bend, the direction he must have come from. This was not a natural river, but one guided by the hand of man.

  He peered up and found himself breathless at the sight of so many stars. The sky was stunningly clear.

  Another memory tried to bubble up from the depths of his mind, but he forced it down. Enough of that.

  He tried to stand up only to realize his hands were still bound behind his back. The cold water had frozen him so thoroughly he couldn't feel them anymore. Dead weight. Just like him.

  With sluggish effort he shook his head and blinked his eyes. Water sprayed from his beard. He had to get up, get moving. Sitting here will only complicate things, give his enemies time to catch up.

  But who were they?

  “Smarten up!” Wyatt said, his voice fighting to be heard over the river's frothy roar. His eyes drooped. What was wrong with him?

  He needed to stand up. Now.

  Slipping one foot beneath his butt, he tried to stand. Half way to his goal he lost all balance and fell over on his side.

  He coughed and wretched, water spraying from his mouth. He must have swallowed half the river.

  For a few moments he lay there, watching the river pass by. The sounds of its passage echoing loudly from the tunnel.

  “Where's the pick up?” he asked. He almost expected to hear a static filled answer in his ear, but none came.

  An image of the security guard stalking up behind him made Wyatt suddenly roll over. This time he felt his arms and the plastic restrainers which cut into them. No guard was there. He was further up the river.

  Wyatt looked up the concrete embankment which extended to a chain-link fence. Behind the fence was a dumpster, its rectangular form nearly blending into the night.

  “Huh,” Wyatt said. “Maybe I'll find some cans.” But he didn't try to get up again. In fact, he didn't want to get up any more. He decided he'd done enough movement for one day. Why do more? What was it good for?

  Today he watched his friend die after trying for hours to find him help. What a waste.

  He'd killed two people. Feral Kids, sure. But still people.

  No, he thought. Not people, a start. Didn't he say that to the security guard?

  Wyatt realized that something was wrong with him. Really wrong. Not a passing phase or a late mid-life crisis or any of that nonsense. Something was rotten in Denmark.

  Another memory tried to peek around the corner of his mind, but he swatted it away. None of that now.

  He'd just rest here a while and watch the waters stream by.

  Stream by. Ha ha. Ethan would like that one.

  As his eyes began to close a light appeared from somewhere. From his position on the ground he titled his head back to look in the direction of the tunnel.

  A light was in there, deep inside. Small, but bright against the eternal blackness.

  As Wyatt watched, the light moved, bobbing and weaving in a little dance.

  His mind was empty of thought, only the light mattered. Its approach was calming, soothing.

  Soon the light breached the mouth of the tunnel and Wyatt saw that it was a man carrying a lantern.

  The man paused and looked around, holding the lantern up in front of him.

  Wyatt thought he recognized him.

  “Ethan?” he said, unsure, and suddenly coughed up more water. When his spasm had passed, he discovered the man standing above him, smiling down.

  “What's up, ol'buddy?” Ethan said with a wide grin. “Took a spill into the drink, did you?”

  Wyatt glared angrily up at him. “You know I did. It was your idea!”

  “Was it? I dunno about that,” Ethan said as he bent over and helped Wyatt sit u
p.

  The movement made Wyatt dizzy. “Why did you slam that door?”

  “What door?” Ethan asked. He settled down next to Wyatt and placed the lantern between them. It was an old kerosene lamp.

  “You know what I mean. I was almost scott-free, but you had to go and ruin it.”

  Ethan shook his head, an expression of pity on his face. “Wyatt, I didn't slam any door.”

  “Yeah, you did,” Wyatt said and spit out some more river water. “I was following your little escape plan and then you went and made things...”

  “What?”

  “Complicated!”

  Ethan chuckled. “Well, what happened in the past, stays in the past. Right? What matters is you're here now. Safe.” He gave Wyatt a friendly nudge. “Don't be angry. You know it doesn't suit you.”

  “Suits me just fine,” Wyatt said. He felt that syrupy feeling creeping up on him again. Threatening to make him talk funny. He tried to shake it away. “I'm a little messed up, Ethan.” The admission made him feel a little better. Less weight on his mind.

  Ethan nodded. “I am well aware. But you're going to be even more messed up if we don't find a way to get those restraints off you. Can't do your new job all trussed up like a Sunday ham.”

  “Saving people?” Wyatt said.

  His dead friend only shrugged. “Something like that. Like I said. I only have questions or answers, not both.” He pushed himself up to his feet and grabbed the lantern. “You coming?”

  “Coming where?” Wyatt said with suspicion.

  Ethan pointed to the tunnel. “In there, stupid.”

  Wyatt arched a brow. “I don't like the dark.”

  “That's what makes you perfect for your new job, then.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you will do all you can to find the light,” Ethan said and motioned for Wyatt to stand. “Come on, get up. The future has already started and you're going to miss out.”

  That syrupy feeling edged over Wyatt's shoulders, up his neck and across his scalp. “Yeah, maybe.” He tried to stand again using his legs, but couldn't do it.

  “Mind helping me out a little?” Wyatt said.