The Redivivus Trilogy (Book 3): Miasma

by Kirk Withrow

  Physically, Plant was much bigger than Bayani, and he moved more like a boxer. He kept his chin and elbows tucked, and his weight perfectly balanced on the balls of his feet. His kukri machete had a shorter and wider blade than the Filipino’s ginunting, but it was no less intimidating. He, too, kept his blade in perpetual motion, occasionally spinning it around with a flick of the wrist before bringing it back to his center.

  When it seemed like circling was all they were going to do, the two men transformed into a flurry of movement that would’ve been hard to keep up with even in broad daylight. Plant unleashed a hard backhand slash aimed at Bayani’s neck. The attack came quick, but he deflected it to the outside with practiced ease. Bayani countered with an uppercut elbow that slammed into Plant’s triceps muscle. The painful blow made his hand tingle, but he didn’t drop his kukri. Bayani immediately grabbed his wrist and wrenched it forward to clear the machete before coming over the top with an overhand elbow. Plant blocked it with the open palm of his left hand. Although both fighters had managed to avoid the other’s blade during their first exchange, they knew it was only a matter of time before the first blood would be drawn.

  Plant shoved Bayani’s elbow to the side before freeing his right hand with a scissoring motion. He immediately attacked with a backhand slash to Bayani’s midsection. The Filipino leapt back deftly, but the kukri still managed to carve a shallow line across his belly. Blood instantly darkened his shirt, making the wound look far worse than it was. The strike did not go unanswered, as Bayani flipped his ginunting down and back up, connecting with Plant’s hand as it passed. The razor-sharp edge raised a flap of skin that extended from the back of his thumb all the way to his little finger, exposing the muscles and tendons underneath. Fortunately, it had been a glancing blow and didn’t impair the function of his hand. He didn’t have time to dwell on the pain, as Bayani’s sword was immediately poised for another attack.

  The sound of Bayani’s ginunting slicing through the air made the hairs on the back of Plant’s neck stand up. He dropped down at the last second, ducking under the sword as he drove his shoulder into the smaller man’s chest. His momentum sent the two men sprawling to the ground. He hoped that the impact would stun Bayani long enough for him bring his kukri around for a lethal blow. His plan was only partially successful.

  The air rushed from Bayani’s chest when he landed with Plant’s full weight on top of him. The Filipino kept his head from hitting the ground, but as expected, he was quite dazed. What Plant hadn’t anticipated was being unable to use his machete…that, and the excruciating pain in his right hand.

  As soon as Bayani realized he was going to be taken to the ground, he wrapped his arm over Plant’s right arm in order to neutralize Plant’s weapon. He knew the danger posed by the blade during such a scramble. The result was Plant’s hand—and his kukri—being pinned behind Bayani’s back. Intense pain shot through Bayani’s back as Plant’s closed fist dug in. Plant felt it, too, as the small bones in his hand were crushed against the machete’s handle.

  Plant lost the control he’d had over Bayani’s right arm when they hit the ground. With his own weapon free and Plant’s effectively neutralized, Bayani recognized his advantage and harnessed everything he had to fight through the pain. He smashed his sword’s pommel against the side of Plant’s head repeatedly. The first strike opened a large gash above Plant’s left eye, and the second left him feeling dizzy. He got his hand up in time to block the third strike. Blood poured out of the wound like a faucet. Plant used this to his advantage and moved his head so that the blood dripped into Bayani’s eyes, obscuring his vision. While that slowed the Filipino down, it wouldn’t do so for long.

  With his right hand pinned and his left hand busy defending against the pommel strikes, Plant’s main weapons were nullified. Unwilling to accept defeat, Plant dove forward and slammed the top of his head into Bayani’s nose with a satisfying crunch. The Filipino writhed in agony, shifting his weight and allowing Plant to pull his arm free. Unfortunately, he’d had to abandon his machete to do so. Bayani immediately shoved Plant to the side as he scooted himself away from the bigger man.

  Beaten and battered, both men were considerably slower in getting back to their feet. Bayani, with his ginunting still in hand, was faster. He charged with his sword raised like a berserker going into battle. It was a mistake fueled by anger and fatigue, and Plant exploited it. He parried the blow before pivoting to the side and overhooking Bayani’s arm. A swift upward jerk had it hyperextended, placing considerable pressure on the Filipino’s elbow. Plant clinched the back of Bayani’s neck, and after two hard knees to the mid-section, the blade clattered to the ground.

  Before Plant could retrieve the sword, however, Bayani drove the crown of his head into Plant’s jaw as he stepped in to prevent being hit with any additional strikes. It was uncomfortable, but Plant still had Bayani’s right arm tied up, which minimized the amount of pressure the Filipino could generate. Bayani fired a couple of punches at Plant’s liver, but they possessed very little power and, frankly, hurt less than the rest of his body.

  Not wanting to risk losing control of Bayani’s arm, Plant clasped his hands tighter before wrenching it upward even farther. Their height difference had the Filipino standing on his toes to try to alleviate the massive amount of pressure being exerted on his elbow and shoulder. It also left him virtually incapable of mounting any effective attacks…or so Plant thought.

  A sound like that of a dry tree limb beginning to snap came as the elbow started to give way under the force. With his body turned at an angle, Plant didn’t see the desperate Filipino’s left hand reach into the back of his waistband. For that reason, the searing pain that tore through Plant’s right arm a second later came as a complete surprise. His clasped hands, which had been strong a moment before, became instantly weak. He instinctively looked at his arm and saw the swollen edges of the partially transected muscle poking out of the deep gash. A second wound gaped near the bend in his arm. When he saw the blood dripping from the wicked, curved blade in Bayani’s hand, his confusion about his inability to flex his arm vanished.

  For his part, Bayani had accepted that Plant had gained complete control over him even before his arm began to break. Standing on his tiptoes, he had no base and thus little ability to attack or defend. Although he’d clearly lost the battle, he refused to cede the war. In a last ditch attempt to turn the tables once again, he drew the karambit concealed in his waistband. He brought the short, curved knife around with surprising speed, slashing first through Plant’s biceps and then back through the muscle’s tendon. The pressure on his devastated arm relaxed immediately. Bayani winced as he pulled it free and squared up with his opponent who stood with mouth agape.

  Taking advantage of Plant’s now useless right arm, Bayani attacked with a forehand slash that sliced Plant’s cheek as he pulled the blade through. He flipped the karambit forward to extend its reach as he brought it back to attack in the opposite direction. Plant got his arm up in time to protect his face, causing the blade to cut his forearm deeply. Without hesitation, Bayani flipped the knife back and attacked with an upward thrust that ended with the blade buried to the hilt just below Plant’s breastbone.

  A look of surprise appeared on Plant’s face, as his eyes grew distant and glassy. His brain was still struggling to process what had happened even as his gaze followed the Filipino’s arm to where it seemed to have melded with his body. He did not appear any closer to understanding when Bayani gave the blade a final upward thrust before twisting it to the side and wrenching it free. Dark red blood cascaded out of the wound on the heels of the knife. Plant opened his mouth to speak, but only a soft, gurgling noise escaped.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Plant,” Bayani said coldly.

  Without a word, Benjamin Plant dropped to his knees and collapsed forward.

  Although Animal hadn’t stopped struggling since the men restrained her, she went absolutely berserk when Plant fell to the ground. Having
been so focused on the fight, Bayani didn’t noticed her until she let out a loud, unsettling scream that sent a shiver up his spine. It was a shrill, anguished sound, filled with animosity and ire. When he turned to face her, she fixed him with eyes that burned with such hatred and hostility that it pained him to hold her gaze.

  Like Bayani, the men who’d been fighting to control Animal were taken aback by her fury. Rocking back, she slammed the top of her head into the nose of the man trying to hold her before catching another with a hard kick to the groin. When the man guarding Mother shifted his rifle toward Animal, Mother saw his chance.

  Pushing off his knee, Mother drove his shoulder into the back of the man’s leg, knocking him to the ground. In a single, quick motion, Mother raised his cuffed hands as high as he could before slamming them hard against his back. The zip ties dug into his wrists, but the force snapped them, freeing his arms. He was thankful they had been the heavy-duty commercial grade variety rather than the ones meant to be used as restraints. The pistol of the man still cradling his shattered nose sat invitingly in a holster on his hip less than two feet from Mother; he grabbed it and began firing at the men who’d held them captive.

  Having been devising a plan the entire time, Mother knew there were three additional men aside from the Filipino: the one he’d knocked down and the two Animal had injured. He fired several shots in quick succession, dropping two of the three remaining men. The third man, as well as the ones they’d injured, scrambled for cover as a bullet from one of the men atop the wall tore through Mother’s arm. He howled in pain but kept laying down suppressive fire. As there was no cover close by, Mother dropped back into the darkness, dragging Cujo with him as he did. Animal was already on the move, and she appeared next to them a moment later.

  “You’re hit. Are you all right?” Animal asked.

  “I’ll be fine. Let me cut your restraints,” Mother replied, pulling a strap cutter from his vest and freeing them both.

  “Mother, can you and Cujo check on Plant? I’m going after Bayani.”

  Animal didn’t wait for an answer before she took off after the Filipino, her mind consumed with revenge. Like the other men, Bayani had broken for cover when the bullets started flying. She had kept her eye on him until he disappeared into the darkness. About fifteen yards away, a trail of blood led to an old refrigerator lying on its side at the edge of the illuminated circle. Squinting into the darkness, she thought she could just make out the outline of the man hobbling toward the reservoir’s wall.

  “Not a chance in hell,” she said as she raced toward the shadowy figure.

  Her sprint was cut short by a string of bullets that stitched the ground in front of her, causing her to curse as she dove behind the refrigerator.

  “Dammit,” she growled. She peered over the top of the refrigerator in hopes of seeing Bayani, but it was too dark. Several more shots rang out, but if it was too dark for her to see, it was too dark for them to see as well. Even so, there were far too many bullets whizzing through the air for her to take a chance. She took a deep breath and tried to control the vengeance she felt inside. There will be time. Just stay alive. You can’t do anything if you’re dead.

  A second later, she heard the words she’d been hoping to avoid. “Hurry! Pull me up,” the Filipino said. “Ahhh…my arm.”

  In her mind, Animal knew Bayani was getting away, and it was something that her heart could not abide. She was pinned down and needed to take care of the shooters on the walls. How many are there? Three? Four? She couldn’t recall. What she needed was a gun. Unfortunately, the only firearms she saw were on the opposite side of the reservoir—the side from which she’d just come. The open space she’d have to cross looked like a killing field, and she wondered if she would be able to run fast enough to avoid being shot. Doubtful.

  Movement on the far side of the reservoir drew her attention. Two of the armed men broke from cover and raced in her direction. They hadn’t made it halfway across the channel when Mother and Cujo emerged from the darkness and put them down with several well-placed shots. Before they realized what had happened to their comrades, the other two men tried their luck, only to be met with the same fate. Cujo pointed in Animal’s direction, and she and Mother started toward her position.

  As they moved, Mother caught a glint of light out of the corner of his eye. The reflection had been on top of the wall at the end opposite of the UTVs. Although Cujo didn’t appear to have noticed anything, Mother got a bad feeling, and his instincts took over.

  “Cujo! To your—”

  BANG!

  Mother lunged forward and shoved her out of the way, but his words were cut short by the rifle’s ear-splitting report. The shot had been fired at such close range that the muzzle flash still lit up the scene as the bullet slammed into his neck.

  Cujo hit the ground and rolled up to one knee, training her rifle on the place where she’d seen the muzzle flash. Before she could fire, however, a vicious snarl erupted out of the darkness. Man and beast came flying into the reservoir as Charon plowed into the shooter at full speed. They both hit the concrete hard, but only Charon got up. While the dog was limping badly, the man merely groaned. He didn’t even do that for long, as Cujo fired two quick shots that silenced him permanently.

  The sound of doors slamming and engines turning over drew her attention back to the wall. The headlights shining overhead flickered as the engines roared to life. A second later, several of the UTVs peeled away, their tires slinging dirt and rock as they did. An eerie silence descended on the reservoir as Cujo watched Animal, who was staring at the departing taillights. A faint cough had Cujo racing to Mother’s side.

  “Mother, you’re alive,” she said as she dropped to her knees next to him. The surprise she heard in her voice angered her.

  He swallowed weakly, and she noticed that his lips were moving as though he were chewing on something. The light from the remaining UTV reflected off his open eyes, which were directed skyward. Blood bubbled out of the bullet hole in his neck, seemingly tied to his shallow breaths. As she watched helplessly, she wondered if he was praying.

  Although Mother was alive in the literal sense, Cujo wasn’t sure if the man she’d known and fought alongside was truly present any longer. He was dying, and there was nothing she could do to change it. She cradled his head in her lap and stroked his hair softly. Tears ran down her cheeks as she watched the life flow out of him. When his body went still, she closed his eyes and gently laid his head on the ground.

  “Thank you, Mother. It’s been an honor,” she said as she stood and saluted her fallen leader.

  Cujo found Animal crouched next to Plant’s motionless body. She had rolled him over and had her forehead pressed against his. As she approached, she heard Animal muttering something, though she couldn’t make out exactly what she said. Not wanting to interrupt such a personal moment, she stopped to give the woman space and privacy.

  Animal raised her head a second later, though not because she’d heard Cujo’s approach. What captured her attention was a sound akin to an injured dog. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Charon lying ten yards away and immediately jumped to her feet. The sound she’d heard had been much closer.

  When Animal kicked the third body she came to, she found what she was looking for. A sadistic grin appeared on her face when the man groaned in pain.

  “Well, hello there,” she said with a devilish look on her face. Animal paused long enough that Cujo wondered if she’d held his gaze for such an extended time purely for dramatic effect.

  Crouching next to the wounded man, Animal saw that his right arm and left leg had been shattered during the gunfight. Both excruciating injuries she knew, but neither immediately life-threatening. Her smile became genuine as she dug her thumb into the wound in his arm. It was a frightening thing to behold, and his groans became screams as she worked it in deeper.

  “Oh God! Please stop! Make it stop! Oh God!”

  In a frighteningly calm voice, An
imal said, “I’m sorry, was that hurting you? You know you really should keep it down. You’re going to call every infected monster within a mile radius, and I’m not sure you’re in any condition to run. Speaking of running, does that wound on your leg hurt, too?”

  She made a slow, exaggerated display of moving her hand toward the gunshot wound on his leg. The man’s cries became frantic as he tried to move his broken leg away from the crazy woman who wanted to poke her fingers into his wounds. Animal merely smiled and scooted along with him. When he looked back at her to see if he’d somehow managed to escape, she smiled and gave him a thumbs up that carried so much meaning that he wanted to scream even louder.

  “Where you going, buddy? You guys didn’t seem like you were in much of a hurry a few minutes ago, but I guess all of your friends have either abandoned you or died…those inconsiderate bastards. Don’t worry, my friend Cujo and I will take really good care of you. What do you say we play a game? Do you like games, uh, what’s your name?”

  “Kiss my ass,” the man said breathlessly. “What the hell is wrong with you, you sick bitch?”

  Ignoring the man’s last words, Animal said, “Huh, strange name. Did your mother give that to you? What do you go by? Maybe I’ll just call you by your last name: Ass. Well, Ass, let’s play one of my favorite games; it’s called Prod The Wound. It’s really easy. I ask you a question, and then you give me an honest answer that I believe and I’ll see if I can keep my fingers away from those little gunshot wounds of yours. You lie to me or feed me a load of crap, and I’ll go get one of those rev’s fingers and use it to prod your wound. Sound fun?”

  When he didn’t respond, she added, “I’m kind of hoping you feed me a line of shit.”

  The man appeared absolutely terrified as he looked at the insane gleam in her eyes. She looked legitimately excited, and that scared the hell out of him.