by Greg Curtis
He grabbed at the nearest heavy machine gun, and leapt for the sniper hole, opening it in one fluid move while depressing the trigger. The hail of bullets sprang out, in the general direction of Dimock while he made a run for it, with all the blinding speed the drugs gave him. He was a blur of motion, and David had barely enough time to watch him leap into the lake. But he also knew as Dimock vanished out of sight, that some of those slugs had hit their target. The after image of the little spurts of blood and the sounds of those soft impacts told him that. But a hit wasn’t enough to kill. Maybe not even enough to slow him down.
David slammed the door shut again, and ducked back behind his desk to review the computer records. He had to know how well he’d done. His life depended on it.
A few agonizing seconds later he watched in slow motion as the video showed two bullets scoring on his enemy. Neither was unfortunately fatal, one having shot him in the backside, the other having grazed his shoulder, but at least they would hurt. They would also slow him down and if he was just lucky enough, Dimock might suffer some serious blood loss. Finally there was some hope. Not a lot, but some.
He turned back to the active monitors and waited. It would take him ten minutes to soak the burns he figured, and then he might want to remove a bullet, maybe put a few stitches in his new wounds. Time to figure out what to do next. And what Dimock would do.
Chances were, David figured, he’d forget his mad compulsion to kill him by hand, and go for some major artillery. Probably what he should have done from the beginning, if he hadn’t wanted so badly to see his victim suffer. But Dimock had now learned that it wouldn’t be as easy as usual and he wasn’t stupid. Insane but still smart. The real question was exactly what he’d use.
A bazooka? Rocket launcher? Bombs? Poison Gas? David knew he would surely have all of those things in reserve. He’d been free over a day, and those would have been his first priority after finding out where he lived. The only question was whether David’s preparations could handle them. It was a long wait.
He caught a brief glimpse of Dimock leaving the water fifteen minutes later, through one of the remote cameras. Slow motion replay told him he was hurt too, limping a little. The shot in the buttocks at least had done some damage. But even so he was still incredibly fast, and damnably good at vanishing. Besides, he was certain to realize he was under observation, and was likely playing to the cameras.
David guessed he would be heading for his base, going for weapons, probably munitions. Maybe also some first aid. But he wouldn’t be away long. The battle had been joined and Dimock wasn’t one to let a good fight end early. He would grab what he needed and be back, probably in less than half an hour. But what with?
Whatever he had, David knew it was time to start planning his end game. So far, Dimock had been under-prepared, not expecting his level of readiness. From this point on he would be much better prepared. So David needed to be too.
But this time he promised himself, he would use some of the booby traps he’d prepared. The first time the jet had caught him off guard, and not knowing if Dimock was alive or dead after the crash, or when he’d strike, he’d held back again. But now it was time to show his hand.
Top of his list was the soporific gas, Ether D. An experimental crowd pacifier unsuitable for use in the States or any other civilized country, he’d bought it in bulk from a Chinese General, for the American researchers to study. Hoping he’d never need it, but knowing it was one way to fight a superman, and like so many of the other munitions he’d bought for particular assignments, he’d kept some. The CIA paid, and what they didn’t use he kept.
But the best thing about the gas wasn’t that it would put Dimock to sleep, though he would have loved that. It couldn’t do that. What it would do, he hoped, was slow him down. His high speed reactions, his colossal strength, all would be very, very slowly eroded, while he hopefully knew nothing about it. He would feel perfectly fine until the end. There would be no sound, no smell to give it away. And hopefully no escape. Once he was slowed down to roughly human levels, David could take him. In theory.
In practice though, he had to keep reminding himself that Dimock’s body was not normal. What would drop a normal man might have no effect on him. It might even make him faster and more dangerous, as everything else seemed to. And that was always assuming he didn’t suspect, and hadn’t put in some nose filters like David. Just as David knew Dimock’s methods, so did Dimock know his. He might well suspect gas and plan for it. He was also cunning and might also pretend he hadn’t, trying to draw David out into his own trap in turn.
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It was late in the afternoon when Dimock returned. Far later than David had expected. He caught him first on the long range cameras in the hills behind the house.
He was moving quickly, carrying something, trying to catch David from behind, unawares. Once more he looked like a panther, fast, sleek and deadly, and there was no sign of any injury. Either he’d healed, which he did rather well, or he’d simply overcome the pain. It was irrelevant. The only thing that was important was what he was carrying in the bag.
David focused in on him as best he could, with camera after camera, trying to answer that single question. But try as he might, he got nowhere. Dimock must have suspected he was under observation. He kept low, keeping the bag lower, and crept at high speed between the bushes. It was a big bag, large enough to carry a full sized mortar, and that would be a likely weapon for him to use.
David released the gas from the areas ahead of where he was going, knowing that at least the delivery would be silent. The canisters were hidden in small holes under the leaf floor, and the gas would be leached out slowly. Even so, he guessed the surrounding forest would be filled with the narcoleptic gas by the time Dimock got there. The only question was whether or not it would work.
He spent an anxious half hour trying to keep track of Dimock as he made his way down the hill, but it wasn’t easy. The man moved like a ghost, flitting from one hiding place to another, but always coming closer. Always concealing the bag. He knew he was being watched.
Finally he entered the gas filled regions, and David watched intently. Looking for any sign he might be slowing down, and any clue if he did, that he might be faking it. His knuckles went white as he gripped the seat arms, in between desperate taps at computer keys.
Finally Dimock reached some of the more open areas nearer the house, and David got his first good look at the bag. It was an army kit bag, big enough to hold at least a couple of full packs, or a field hospital tent. What was in it though, was anything but. It had sharp metal points sticking out in places, and it looked distinctly too large for the bag. From that point on he was certain it had to be a mortar. The tripod stand had made the bag awkward to pack and the ends of the legs were no doubt what he could see.
Dimock carried it with ease though, showing not the slightest sign of weakness or slowing down, and David realized with sorrow that the gas was either useless, or he was wearing filters. Another of his defences had been proven useless. Next he had to turn to the static defences, knowing Dimock would have expected them. But first he had to wait, until Dimock found his place to set up. He’d never hit him otherwise.
Dimock of course knew that too. He would keep moving until he found the perfect spot. A spot no further than half a mile away, where he could get a good view of the house while still being protected from line of sight weapons coming from it. Behind a small mound, hidden in bushes. Exactly the places the army had taught him to find. The same places David knew he would look for, and which he’d trapped. But Dimock too knew David would have known what he’d look for. It became a guessing game as to who knew how much, and what they’d each prepared for.
David bit his lip and waited anxiously while Dimock skulked around and then finally found his place. A small hollow in the ground, nearly three quarters of a mile away from his house, surrounded by small bushes which he could creep through to spy out his target. A small ho
llow which David too had long since spied out and placed a camera in the high trees behind. And he thankfully noted, a remote activated machine gun.
He watched as Dimock slid into the hollow on his hands and knees, dragging the bag behind him. The maniac scouted the area like a seasoned pro, looking for any sign of mines or booby traps, knowing David must have identified the area himself. But what he didn’t know was that David had refused to set up high explosive charges anywhere near where locals might wander. It was just too dangerous. Instead he’d built his weapons into trees, high above the ground, with a good field of view, and off switches. Totally safe, until he activated them.
Dimock of course, found no traps, and so eventually began to set up his weapon. When he drew it out of the bag David congratulated himself on his guesswork. It was a mortar. Full sized and designed to take out either buildings or tanks. Just not his house. It was too well armoured for that. But he was almost too quick as he suddenly spotted the projectile. It was a mortar shell all right, but the colour was wrong. Instead of dark grey almost black, it was red. That burnished copper red gleam told him what he’d never expected. The shell was case hardened with depleted uranium. His home, armour plate and all, would not survive the attack.
Where the hell he could have got such a shell, David couldn’t begin to guess, but he didn’t have time to wonder. All he did know was that if he didn’t get Dimock now, he would die. With the click of a mouse, he switched on the motion activated guns behind him and waited. The moment he crossed one of the infra red beams, they would fire. And then they would track their target.
Dimock set up the tripod first, and then pulled out the two part barrel. The weapon when fully assembled had a barrel that was nearly eight feet long, too big to carry in one section. Instead it had two halves that slotted neatly into each other. That of course, was all the movement the beams needed. The end of the barrel suddenly crossed one of the beams, and the guns rang out.
David leapt in his chair at the sudden roar through the computer speakers, while Dimock also jumped. But unlike David he leapt higher, faster and sideways, moving like a lightning bolt. As always he was simply too fast to follow, moving faster than the eye could see. But not faster than the guns could track. They had been given massive high speed servos, just because of him. While David saw a blur moving rapidly towards the woods behind him, he also saw the trails of weapons fire following him all the way.
Five seconds of shear hell, was all that there was, but it seemed far longer as his heart leapt into his mouth. Then came the silence, as the guns stopped firing, and he could see no sign of Dimock. Logically he knew he was heading for the hills again, going back for another weapon and a new approach, but Dimock sometimes wasn’t always logical. Sometimes he was just insane, knowing his speed and his strength could overcome nearly anything.
It only took David a few seconds to find him, less than three hundred yards from where he had been, staring back at the clearing, and the mortar. He was no doubt preparing himself for a return, planning to take out the weapons, and then fire the weapon in safety. David could see it lying on the ground where he’d left it. It had taken a few hits, but still looked intact.
Dimock meanwhile, was finally looking a bit the worse for wear. He was dotted with blood, some of it on his face, and David knew he’d taken a few more hits. No doubt he would survive, his toughened skin and the bullet proof vest having absorbed the worst of it, and he would heal. But surely he was starting to hurt.
While Dimock lay there recovering his breath, David quickly checked the computer for evidence of his injuries. It was a frustratingly slow process, even for his state of the art machine. But in the end it was well worth the weight. He counted ten direct hits. Six of them unfortunately on the body armour, but still four more on the legs and arms and face. He would be slowed by them, hopefully. One had scored right across his cheek, leaving a red trail. No doubt he hated it most of all. A slap in the face, literally.
He found Dimock again, still lying where he’d been before, carrying out first aid. His legs were the most critical injury, a bullet in the back of each thigh. They would slow a normal man up enormously David knew, and hopefully even him. And his left shoulder looked to have taken a decent shot, right under the armour. Blood was oozing down the arm. But the look of hatred on his enemy’s face told him there was plenty of fight left in him. He was at most slightly wounded, not crippled.
Soon he had his field dressings in place, and was looking fully prepared for his return to the mortar. And David knew he could do it too. He now knew where the covering guns were, and he would get them first this time. After that he could largely do what he wanted. All David had left to use against him were his long range weapons, including, ironically, a mortar of his own.
David quickly grabbed the weapon from the lounge where he’d left it, and headed for the back door. He had to take out the mortar before Dimock got to it.
He set it up on the back porch, and quickly started adjusting it for distance and wind, all the time trying to keep one eye fixed on the monitors. All the while he was outside, he was vulnerable. But only if Dimock realized what he was doing.
The weapon was ready in seconds, David having assembled it that morning, and he dropped the first shell in the tube immediately. The explosion of flame and noise that came out of the back of it was as always unbelievable, but he had the satisfaction of watching the shell fly high in an arc towards its target. The only question was how close it would get.
The explosion at the other end was large and satisfying, but when the smoke cleared he could see in the monitor that he’d missed the mortar. The shock wave looked to have knocked it around all right, but it still looked largely intact. And Dimock was nowhere to be found.
He scanned all the cameras as quickly as he could, hunting desperately, but nowhere could he see the psycho. Which usually meant he was coming up right behind you, fast and deadly. David grabbed the mortar inside and slammed the back door shut hurriedly, expecting to find him anywhere, and then breathed a quick sigh of relief. Against all the odds he was still alive.
He breathed too quickly. Motion sensors activated somewhere in front of the house, and he scrambled to the front monitor, expecting to find the worst. He wasn’t disappointed. Dimock stood there, larger than life and twice as angry, with a rocket launcher slung casually under one arm. He must have hidden it before. He had the most evil grin on his face. The advance on the mortar position had been a feint, allowing him to get in close with his true weapon. And David had fallen for it. The madman knew he had him.
“Time to die David.” He screamed it at him, even as he pulled the trigger, and David had just the presence of mind to dive as his home exploded around him. Steel walls protected him somewhat, but they still buckled alarmingly while large sections of the ceiling came tumbling down around him. Whatever sort of rockets that thing fired they weren't standard fare. Antitank maybe. His computers disintegrated under the falling masonry, and David was suddenly blind. He was also deaf, his ears still ringing from the assault.
All the while he knew, Dimock was simply reloading, putting another missile in the tube, and preparing to fire again. David grabbed the nearest machine guns, and scampered for the trap door in the floor. Sliding down the stairs he pulled the hatch shut after him, just as a second massive explosion tore into the house above. Even the basement shook.
But David knew he didn’t have time to dally. Soon his house would be in ruins and Dimock would come looking for his body. When he didn’t find it, that was when the fun would begin. He made his way to the escape tunnel, grabbing more ammunition and weapons on the way through. They were his survival.
The other end of the tunnel opened behind the nearby trees, and he carefully levered open the hatch, hoping Dimock hadn’t discovered it. Apparently he hadn’t. With no-one in sight, David crawled out of the tunnel, and into the dense undergrowth of the forest proper, all the while hearing Dimock laughing, and pounding more rounds into his ho
me. He should have been annoyed by the number of rockets it was taking, but David was perversely pleased as it meant Dimock was depleting his fire power. It also gave him the time to circle around behind him.
In a very short time he could see Dimock, still directly in front of his house, casually reloading the launcher, and still looking very pleased with himself. But all the while he was a sitting duck, as David took aim with the M2 machine gun. It had long since been modified into a unit able to be carried and fired from the hip, and it fired fifty calibre armour piercing slugs. It should stop a charging rhino.
