And then a sound from directly behind me catches my attention. It's a sound that both floods my system with adrenaline thus slowing time, and reminds me that sometimes I'm not always the smartest person in the battle.
It's the hard metallic clink-tink of grenades bouncing off the pavement and rolling towards me under the Escalade.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
They distracted me! Is the first thought that shoots through my mind upon seeing the two black, metal cylinders roll towards me across the dark, shadowy pavement (OK, that's a lie. My first thoughts were a number of curses, but it wasn't really a very helpful string of thinking.). That open door was just to absorb my attention while they used the shattered passenger window to toss me down a few surprises. For a split second I stare at the two soda can-shaped objects behind me as a last thought comes to me before I'm jolted into action. I'm impressed, I think as I force my body to spin like a top so that I can maneuver myself to grab the two objects.
Continuing my rotation, I scoop up one of the warm, hissing cans and hurl it out and away from the vehicle as hard as I can. I watch as it sails into the street and careens off the tire of a parked car before my momentum takes it out of my view.
One down and one to go, I think as I reach for where I'm expecting the second grenade to be resting, but it's not there. Frantically looking back and forth, I locate it wedged under the rear wheel (my spinning foot must have kicked it while I was focusing on the other one). It's out of my reach unless I start crawling, and I have no idea how long I have before it goes off. Crawling might only put me closer to it at the exactly wrong moment.
With a hope that the occupants of the car wouldn't toss something violently explosive under themselves, I roll away from the grenade and towards the front of the vehicle. As long as everything around me doesn't go up in flames, then I should be fine. At least that's what my completely uninformed thinking tells me (Come on movie logic, don't fail me now!).
Clearing the front of the Escalade, I maneuver my body so that my feet come out beneath me and spring straight up and onto the hood. Over the creak of the vehicle's shocks settling under my weight I hear two distinct whumps - one from directly in front of me and beneath the undercarriage and another one farther off down the street. Immediately following the sound, an acrid, white smoke begins to pour out from underneath the truck and flood the surrounding area.
It wasn't an explosive grenade! Thanking my own luck for letting me survive what could have been a very nasty surprise, I turn my attention to the men inside the Cadillac and realize I might have been a bit premature with my thinking.
Squinting through the darkened glass of the front window all I can make out are the eerie reflections of sweatshirt-hooded heads wearing gas masks. These gentlemen were prepared for me. And even though I can't see their expressions through their masks’ reflective lenses, I can certainly sense their smiles as they stare straight at me. They seem neither surprised nor bothered by my sudden appearance on the hood of their vehicle.
As we stare at each other with a hissing can underneath us filling the air with a disturbingly large amount of unbreathable air (Finally figured out they were tear gas canisters. Really not good for me and my hyper-senses.), the realization hits me that the drug cartels that I have been so wantonly attacking may have finally come up with a solid plan. And I wasn't prepared for it.
Bending my knees, I crouch down so that I am only a couple feet from the two guys in the front seat. Figuring it can't hurt to attempt to disarm them with wit, I say, "So about those cookies I mentioned earlier?" And then I smile at the intimidating trio of men staring back at me to show them that I'm far from scared (Although I most definitely should be right now.). "The price has gone up," I manage to squeeze out as I notice that all three are raising their rifles to point towards the windshield. Where I'm standing. Only a few feet away.
Not wanting to see how they react to my unorthodox cookie-haggling techniques, I straighten my legs and propel myself up and over the top of the Escalade as I hear the burning roar of the guns beneath me erupt into what sounds like a chorus of ticked off, chattering grizzly bears. The glass behind me explodes outward onto the hood where I had been standing moments before. My momentum carries me up onto the roof (now less than a foot from these men and their intended harbingers of my destruction) where I only land briefly before rolling off the back and into the middle of the smoke-filled haze.
Holding my breath and squeezing my eyes as tightly shut as possible (reacting to any of this gas now would be horrifyingly detrimental to my health), I reach under the rear wheel for where I remember seeing the grenade before. Hoping that its detonation didn't move it at all, my plan becomes one of necessity: grab it and toss it into the car and then step back and wait for them to exit.
I know the masks they are wearing will prevent the gas from affecting them physically, but my goal is for it be contained enough to allow me to move around and attack. Even if they aren't choking on the gas, if the vehicle is filled with that acrid, white vapor, then they won't be able to see me to shoot me. And for now, that is a consolation prize I'm willing to settle for.
On only my second attempt I manage to find the warm, hissing can and pull it out from under the wheel (like plucking an angry, hissing kitten from out of the comfort of its littermates) and sprint along the passenger side of the car (ok, let's call it an "accelerated, stumbling grope" to be honest) so that I can toss the can in through the open, shattered side window.
I would love to be able to say I startled the men on the inside of the vehicle, but my sudden reappearance on a whole new side of their car didn't even seem to faze them. Not that I could see their expressions (I opened my eyes once I got to the window - had to run my hand along the side to know where I was - but I might as well have kept them closed for all the good their masks were doing me.), but their heads didn't even turn to follow the smoking canister as it sailed between the three of them to land in the farthest back part of the car. They just brought their guns around to face towards me in the open window and fired through it as I dove across the hood and slid to safety on the ground next to the front tire.
Pausing to catch my breath (Normally physical exertion isn't an issue for me, but that whole breath-holding thing upped the challenge a bit.), I consider my next attack. The grenade had been going off for a few seconds already by the time I got it into the back of the car. Plus the front and side windows are now gone, so that means the smoke won't be too horrible of a hindrance to the guys inside. It'll be more of an annoyance than a hindrance, really. And that means they will feel the need to press the advantage. And I don't want that. I can't have that. Not if I'm planning on winning this battle. I need to take them off guard and quickly.
And then it hits me like a punch to the face. Quite literally, actually. I have an idea on how to even the playing field.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Reaching into my backpack (And this is why it pays to be prepared!), I pull out a foot-long section of a thin steel bar I had found at the warehouse a few weeks back. I wasn't sure what I could use it for at the time, but I figured necessity would help spawn creativity and invention. And these times are about as necessary as one is going to get.
Deciding to take advantage of the car's shattered front window, I leap up and onto the hood so that I have an easy reach to the guy in the driver's seat. Swinging the bar towards the man's face as soon as my butt hits the metal and shattered glass, I catch him unprepared for my sudden arrival. At least I am guessing that I caught them off-guard as they didn't shoot me as soon as I landed. The end of the heavy, metal rod connects with the mask's safety glass causing an instant spider web effect that completely obscures any view of the man's face. I'm not sure if I also managed to crack the glass and give the gas an entry point or if I just blinded him, but I figure either option is an improvement.
The two men in the backseats don't seem overly shocked or impressed by my attack, but at least I'm thinking the guy in the driver's s
eat will be out of commission for a bit. He can either keep the mask on and not see me, or take it off and suffer through the gas. Either way, he's now lost his advantage.
As I pull the heavy bar back, I adjust my body so that I have a better angle on the man sitting in the back passenger seat staring straight at me. His gun is already swiveling towards me and my front window perch when I transform the bar from a hand-to-hand weapon into a projectile. Snapping my arm out and towards his head I release the bar and watch it slowly spin through the air like an unbent boomerang towards the man's unprotected glass faceplate (Apparently my adrenaline kicked in once I hit the vehicle’s hood as time is slowing down around me. I hadn't done it on purpose, but I'm not arguing with my body's self-preservation abilities!). The bar broadsides and demolishes the mask's faceplate before his dark, ominous gun even gets halfway around to me. As soon as I see the bar come to a rest wedged sideways into the shattered glass like a dumbbell thrown into a freshly plastered wall, I leap up and over the vehicle so that I can land on the ground behind the driver's side door.
As I somersault over the top of the car, I can hear the slow, repetitive brap-brap-brap of the automatic weapon going off below me in the back seat. Without being able to see through the car's roof (That’s still not an ability I've developed, unfortunately.), I am guessing the man is blind firing out of surprise and rage. It's a bit disconcerting, but hardly a danger to me as I land on the far side of the vehicle. With his seatmate separating the two of us. Speaking of which...
Landing on the ground next to the passenger door, I reach out and pull up the door handle and hope at no point did anyone think to hit the door locks. Sighing with a bit of relief, the door pops open for me and I blindly reach in and grab the man I know is sitting inside. My fingers dig into his shirt, and I can feel the hard edges of a protective vest underneath it (I hadn't even noticed that with the first man...who's still lying unconscious underneath the car...mere inches from my feet.). Curling my fingers and gripping the fabric as tightly as I can, I flex my muscles and yank backwards pulling the startled man free of his seat.
I wasn't sure if he would have his seatbelt on or not and I didn't want to take the time to check, so I just put extra effort into the extraction and hope for the best. With how easily he pops out of the opened doorway, though, I'm guessing he either never fastened his seatbelt (so much for safety) or undid it in an attempt to get at me (poor choice). Pulling him out and over my head in an arc that gives the odd impression of a late-night rainbow made entirely out of a Mexican thug, I smash him down onto the pavement and on to his back in an attempt to knock the wind out of him. The air whumps out of his lungs like a sumo wrestler landing on a bagpipe, and I take a moment to smile at the success of my attack. Once I put my mind to it, I managed to disarm and almost completely incapacitate three trained thugs in less than ten seconds. That's impressive even for me.
That's good, but I still shouldn't have been caught off guard in the first place. I'll have to be more careful in the future. These guys could have very easily hurt me if I hadn't been so quick on my feet.
Speaking of which, I look down at the guy on the ground in front of me and decide it's time to return to my original plan: getting my energy from these guys so I can focus on Chadwick. Grabbing the top of the gas mask, I quickly yank it upwards and away from me so that it reveals the man's exposed face and throat.
A quick glance confirms what I had assumed earlier. He's definitely from my home country. And he’s looking a little worse for the wear right now. I watch for a second as his lungs try desperately to bring in the air that I had so suddenly knocked from them mere moments ago, and then I decide to relieve him of the pain. Baring my teeth, I bite into his carotid artery and relish the sweet surge of energy it gives as I feel his blood flow into my mouth.
As I drink, I feel his breathing slow down and even out (as horrifying as what I do is, it does have some beneficial side effects) and the hammering of his heart, which had initially flooded my throat with the salty liquid of his life, becomes a more steady and relaxed pattern. Unconsciousness sweeps up and carries him off in its reassuring embrace. He won't be a worry for a while.
Unfortunately the handful of seconds it took me to feed was enough for the two men in the car to recover and get their wits about them. As I finish licking the sleeping man's wounds close, I look up to see the man in the driver's seat opening his car door and turning to face me. His eyes are red and swollen from the gas still inside the SUV, but I don't think it is thick enough to completely incapacitate him. It's just enough to annoy and anger him instead.
Turning his body to face me, I notice his far arm bringing that menacing rifle around to bear at me. Something tells me he isn't wishing to discuss my earlier offer of female-centric culinary treats. Or at least the discussion he is planning won't be using words so much as sharp, speedy bits of metal. Before the gun can clear the opening of the doorway, I push myself into action and leap straight at him. The newfound energy flowing through me from my recent meal fuels my muscles as they spring and release with strength I haven't felt in days. It's almost too much energy.
Hitting the man square in the chest, my weight and velocity hit him like a lion tackling a gazelle on the open plain. The problem comes in as I realize there is no more front windshield to stop my momentum and the both of us going flying up, out and through that empty space. Well, at least I go through it easily. The poor guy I hit manages to rather violently smack the back of his skull on the roof of the car as he leads me through it while being nearly folded in half (I feel like the awkward meat filling in a weird human taco, and he has become my unwilling tortilla shell.).
We both land on the open street basked in the sterile glow of the Escalade's headlights. Actually, he lands on his back in the street like a paper cup thrown from a passing car. I land neatly on top of him with all of my weight compressing his chest and forcefully ejecting any air that might have been trapped there. My arrival on his chest is immediately followed by both the disturbing wheeze of a life-sized balloon animal being strangled of its air and then the smank of the back of his head bouncing off the dark pavement. Using the cushion of his landing to soften my own impact, I roll over the top of him and into a crouch.
Looking back towards the (now nearly empty) SUV, I don't notice the final man coming out, so I take a moment to ease my current target's pain. Deciding between the man's throat (quicker to drain but harder to see my surroundings) and his wrist (much slower but allows me to watch the car while I drink), I opt for safety over speed. I'm not sure what this last guy has planned and I'd rather see it coming than risk being surprised again. Pulling the man's exposed wrist up to my mouth, I keep my eyes on the smoke-enshrouded vehicle (Having to squint to protect my own senses is making seeing into it rather difficult.). But the last man never appears.
Finishing with my meal, I clean up the small amount of mess on the man's arm and make sure my microphone is still keyed to the "on" position.
"Hey Ren," I whisper while staring at the smoking remains of the vehicle in front of me. "Three are now down for the count, but I have one in the car I can't see. And these guys seem to be professionals. They were prepared for me, and nothing I did seemed to surprise them. I believe I have finally gotten the full attention of someone higher up the food chain. What's your advice?"
"Authorities were just contacted by someone on the street," his voice squeaks from my pocket barely above a mouse's whisper. "You still have time, though. I'd like to know who sent them. Any chance you can pull that last guy out and ask?"
"Sure Ren. I'll give it a try," I say as I stand up and stretch my legs. With all the smoke still clouding my vision of the inside of the car, I don't know what the last guy is up to. It isn't helping matters that my head is beginning to ache from all the pollutants in the air that my lungs are having to filter out and my eyes are watering from the wisps of gas that get blown into them from the wind. I need to be done with this scene and quickly.
&n
bsp; "I can't see him, though," I continue. "I'm not real sure what he's up to in there, to be honest. I'm hoping they don't have any more surprises for me."
As the words leave my mouth, though, my final playmate makes his move. And it's a good one. The Escalade, which had been on and running this whole time, roars and suddenly begins to back away from us. Apparently, the guy used the cover of the gas to sneak into the front seat and pull the gear shift from Park to Reverse. It's irritating, but nothing a little speedy sprint and leap won't fix. I figure I can land on the hood, pull him out through the open windshield and have a little talk with him before putting him to sleep.
And then he manages to really surprise me. Just before I propel myself into motion to follow the fleeing vehicle, two small objects come sailing out the front window. Whereas the previous objects thrown at me looked like cans of soda, these appear to be small, dark, lumpy apples. Even with my eyes watering and my head pounding, I can see these well enough to tell they are not the same things thrown at me before. And if I had a spidey-sense, I'm positive it would be tingling and telling me these are very bad news.
The shock at what I'm seeing freezes me for a split second. Grenades! Real grenades? How have I gotten to a point in my life where I have someone throwing not one, but two, explosive incendiary devices at me? I knew I was making a dent in the drug trade in the city, but I hadn't realized I had achieved a let's-throw-a-grenade-at-the-problem level of attention. The surrealism of the situation is unsettling, and it buys the man in the SUV another second as I watch the two objects arc through the air.
Then I realize the two objects, the grenades, are about to land near me and if I don't do something about the situation immediately I might not have to worry about future run-ins with the cartels. Watching the grenades as they spin, I realize they aren't going to be landing near each other, either (whether it's through sheer bad luck on my part, or impressive, devious foresight on his I don't know). One is landing roughly where I am standing (and my most recent snack is lying blissfully unaware), and the other is spinning off towards the sidewalk and closest building. The sidewalk and building that I had been sure would be out of harm’s way when I had parked my bike there.
Catharsis (Book 2): Catalyst Page 6
