by Greg Curtis
Just as Dimock was raising the launcher for another shot, David squeezed the trigger and knew from the first instant that he’d hit. It was a glorious feeling as he watched his enemy fly backwards like a toy. He knew the body armour had probably taken most of the hit, but even so, the ribs underneath had to be at least bruised if not broken. And he didn’t stop firing. Even as he was flying backwards, David could see and almost feel more slugs hitting his body. He just hoped one of them was fatal.
He emptied the last of the first fifty round clip into Dimock’s still moving body, then reloaded quickly, just in time to see his enemy rising as though nothing had happened. Shit he was fast.
It was then that David knew that as careful as he’d been he had still under-prepared. He stood there, staring at his one true nemesis, with a growing feeling of shock and terror in his guts. The bullets were hurting him certainly; they’d knocked him off his feet. But it wasn’t enough. The armour piercing, fifty calibre, eight hundred grain bullets would have torn a charging rhino in half, smashed through the armour plate of a tank and ripped a man inside into shreds in mere milliseconds. But none of that was happening. Despite the hellish fury of hot metal being blasted into him it simply wasn’t happening. Dimock had been knocked down and he was angry about it. He was bleeding and screaming his rage for all the world to hear, but he was still intact, still moving. How could that be?
It was then that David knew he was in trouble. It seemed that whatever prison Dimock had been locked up in again, whatever further experiments they’d done on the monster, it had once more only served to make him even more dangerous, still harder to kill. That was just so unfair. And it kept happening. Just what sort of deal had the monster made with Satan to be so blessed?
But in the end it didn’t matter as he locked the second clip in place in mere milliseconds squeezed the trigger and kept spraying the man with bullets. He was doomed, David could already feel that in the chill in his blood, but he had to fight, and maybe, just maybe he could wound the monster enough to slow him down. Enough to keep his neighbours safe from him for a while. Enough that he could keep Cyrea safe, and that in the end was all that mattered. No matter what happened, and he already knew he was going to die and probably painfully, Cyrea would be safe. That in the end was enough for him, for the soldier he had once been, and there was a surprising peace he found in that. In the midst of battle and awaiting defeat, with the thunder of the machine gun in his ears and the huge recoil as it slammed backwards into his body eight times a second like a jack hammer with every shot, he discovered a certain calmness he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Calmly he kept spraying him, holding the heavy machine gun steady, making sure every shot hit, every shot did the maximum damage it could to him, intending that every bullet in the clip should hit him, do as much damage as it could. In the end he knew, he was a soldier and that was what he did.
The second clip emptied far too soon and he dropped it and slotted the third clip in a split second and he opened fire. But as fast as he was he was still too slow. He knew that as Dimock leapt to his feet and came charging at him like a bullet. There was blood on his face and he didn’t look either happy or smooth, but he was still coming. David trained his third clip on his chest and just held the trigger down, once more knocking him to the ground. Then he moved on to his legs. Unarmoured, they made good targets and he enjoyed the howling that came from his foe. Even more he liked the thought that it would slow him down, maybe eventually, even kill him.
But too soon the third clip was gone and he had no more. Meanwhile Dimock was rising again, looking if possible, even angrier. David clutched the other two MP 5 machine guns to him as he dropped the M2. They were all he had left.
He let Dimock get to his feet, the better he hoped to shoot his legs out from under him, and then opened fire with both weapons. More blood and more screams came from him, but Dimock refused to fall down and die. Instead he just came straight at David, even faster than before. Somehow he had put himself beyond pain, beyond injury. Now he had only one target, killing David.
The distance between them closed at unholy speed, and David barely got another dozen slugs into him, before he had to fling himself aside and pray. As he had expected, he was nowhere near fast enough, and a hand reached out and crushed his ankle in mid-air. He was flung away like a rag doll, as Dimock went screaming off into the distance, unable to turn or stop quickly on his injured legs. He was at least wounded, finally, but despite that David knew he would be back very soon.
He emptied the last of his clips at Dimock’s retreating back and head, and then reloaded as Dimock finally turned.
Last clips. David hauled himself to his feet, barely even noticing the pain of his broken ankle, and waited, watching Dimock preparing himself. By then he was a mass of blood from head to foot, and all David could see were the whites of his eyes, and his grinning teeth, but that only added to his deadliness. He went cold inside, knowing Dimock had him. Despite all his preparations, he was still doomed. But he was still a soldier.
Then Dimock began his charge, and David opened fire on his rapidly approaching form. Again he hit him, repeatedly, and watched more blood and gore coming from his legs, but nothing stopped him, or even slowed him down. He just kept coming and coming, laughing as he did so.
Then it was too late as the madman loomed large in his face, and he felt a massive blow somewhere in his midriff, driving all the air out of his lungs, even through the kevlar. He flew like a rag doll, still trying to comprehend the impossibility of it all, while Dimock stood there and laughed. He knew David was his for the taking, and for all his suffering he was going to enjoy it. But then he had been intending to from the very beginning.
David hit the ground in a heap and lay there, unable to move, unable to breathe. He could see the madman, casually playing with a machine gun, and realized he’d dropped them when he’d been hit. But they wouldn’t have helped anyway. Apparently all they did was make him mad.
“Did you really think these would stop me?” He wasn’t really asking a question, just boasting of his strength. To emphasize it he simply tore one of the guns apart in his hands, as though it was made of paper.
David couldn’t answer. He had nothing to say and no breath to say it with. Dimock threw the remains of the gun aside, and pulled out a knife. A huge sword like knife that glistened in the late afternoon sun. He loved knives. And David had a fair idea of what he’d do with it. He’d seen too many of his victims.
But he was wrong. Faster than a striking snake, Dimock upended the knife and flung it at him like a bullet. Even if he could have moved, he couldn’t have avoided it, and the blade buried itself up to its hilt in his shoulder. He gasped in shock and immediately lost all control of his arm, but the surprising thing was how little it hurt. He wondered if his arm was even still attached. Liquid warmth down his chest told him he was bleeding as at least a dozen major arteries had been severed, and he knew the end would not be far away now. He would bleed to death in less than a minute regardless of anything else Dimock could do.
Unable to help himself he collapsed all the way to the ground, and simply watched the madman approach slowly. There was nothing else he could do.
“Do you know what I’m going to do after you’re dead?” Still it wasn’t a question, just a threat, although David knew he meant it. He said nothing, simply letting his vision turn grey around him.
“I’m going to find everyone you’ve ever known. Every friend, every lover, every relative. And I’m going to rip their hearts out. DO YOU HEAR ME!” The last was screamed at David from only a few feet away, probably because he was already becoming faint from blood loss.
“Every single fucking one.” David felt his hand on his chest, and then a sudden tearing pain as Dimock pulled his knife clear. He knew it was only so he could use it again, and again, and he should have been afraid. But he was already moving beyond fear and the pain wasn’t that bad any more. Neither was his blood covered face as David
’s vision began turning dark.
“They’re going to die in screaming agony, the way you know I like it. And they’re going to die knowing it’s because of you that they suffer.”
Another stabbing pain made itself known, through his other hand, and David knew Dimock had stapled it to the ground for some reason, probably trying to hurt him. But the pain was only an annoyance by then. Deep inside some part of him was simply annoyed by the way he was being distracted from the sense of peace that was filling him. He was a soldier, he had done his duty, and it was time to rest.
“And the best part of it is that there’s nothing you can do.” The last was whispered at him, directly into his ear, while he ripped the knife loose and then more tearing made itself known somewhere in his stomach. Dimock was simply carving him up like a roast dinner. It must have annoyed him immensely that David could barely feel anything by then. He wanted him to suffer.
“Except make a good meal.” And just to prove his point Dimock pulled something, some flesh or meat out of David’s middle, and began chewing on it in front of him, his blood running down his chin. It should have hurt, it should have shocked him, but by then David simply didn’t care any longer. There was no more pain, only the peace that was creeping over him. Besides he had seen it all before, and maybe it was only right that he should do this to him. After all he had failed to stop him too many times before, and so many unfortunates had paid the price for his failure. At least this time he had protected the innocent. No one else would die in his place.
“Like shit!” A blaze of white light suddenly suffused even his blindness, and he briefly saw the bleeding madman glowing even whiter than the sun. Then the last of his sight vanished, as did everything else. He had just enough presence of mind to know that the last voice he’d heard was Cyrea’s, and pray she wasn’t anywhere nearby.
Then there was nothing.
Chapter Fifteen
“Cyrea.”
Cyrea turned as her boss’ voice came from just behind her, but she was glad for the interruption. Sitting there staring at the holo’s of the doctors reassembling David once more was far from easy. Even when the doctor’s claimed they would have no great difficulties in reassembling him.
There was just so much damage. Terrible damage. That man, if he was truly a man, had torn him apart, and in micro-seconds. Just watching the battle between the two of them had been hard enough, watching her mate be beaten, nearly cut in two, and then as he lay there dying, watching the mad man start eating him, there were no words to describe just how terrible that was. But the deepest pain, the thing that cut her, was that David had always known the likely outcome. He had known he would lose. And he had known what the mad man would do to him.
“Ayn.” She nodded to Lar respectfully, but quickly turned her attention back to the holo’s where large chunks of David, too damaged to be repaired, were being discarded into stainless steel bins for later analysis, while new organs were being cloned in endless glass tanks fixed along the wall, to replace them. Damage such as David had suffered was almost unheard of.
“We need to speak of your actions.”
Of course they did. Cyrea knew that. Sending out the synthetics had been a terrible gamble. It risked exposing them all. And worse it risked the humans getting advanced technology before they were ready for it. But on the other hand as the humans said, it had saved lives, more than she’d known at the time as the reports of what the mad man had done to people along the way as he’d travelled to reach David, were still only trickling in. Terrible reports. And it had saved David.
“I know.”
“You know that what you did went against our instructions.” She nodded. There was no point in denying what was blatantly obvious. In point of fact, nearly everything was blatantly obvious when they had cameras everywhere. There was a strange freedom in that. Something that the humans had yet to learn. Humans lied because they imagined they could get away with it. None of the people of her world ever even thought to lie. There was no point when the truth was already known.
“You know that it risked exposing us.”
“I know. I did take precautions, but I knew.”
“Precautions?” There was no point in denying it, even if she knew it was only going to get her in more trouble.
“I had two more squads of synthetics ready to back up the first if they failed, and they were more heavily armed with neural chargers. I also had a flyer ready with an eight donder laser array waiting in the bay.” Lar just groaned as he heard the last, and she wasn’t quite sure why. That she’d been over-prepared. Or that she’d been ready to kill the mad man if she had to. Ayns did not do such things. But then their mates were never placed in such terrible danger either.
“You know you will have to stand before a disciplinary court.”
“I know.” That she’d known from the start. But doing what she had done had never really been a choice. Not from when the mad man had attacked David with a jet fighter. A primitive weapon perhaps, but still something capable of terrible destruction, and more than that, proof of his intentions to kill her mate. That she could not allow. And when the reports had started trickling in of the other deaths, the massacre at the base where he’d stolen the jet for a start, she’d known he was prepared to kill many more people as well. That was why David had sent her away. He knew his enemy.
She wished she’d understood that at the time. That he wasn’t just scared, he was desperate. But she’d let anger blind her to the truth.
Silence returned to the room as she let her full attention focus again on her mate, worried, and Lar no doubt, considered what to say. But it couldn’t last.
“We’ll leave that for the moment. For now we have to worry about maintaining security, and what to do with Dimock.” Two things that they would probably never have had to concern themselves with if she’d let things be. Actions had consequences, and in doing what she’d done, she’d made a bad situation worse. But David was alive, and she had to cling to that. And also that the locals had been protected. She had no doubt that the mad man would have killed many of them as well had he not been stopped.
“He’s still under restraint?” Of course he was. Her people weren’t stupid, and when they’d seen what he could do, they’d taken the appropriate precautions. He was chemically immobilized, kept fully sedated, and if that wasn’t enough, bound into brackets welded on to a solid steel table. Titanium brackets that would not give no matter how great his strength.
“Of course. But he does keep waking up.” That she knew. The whole ship knew it. Because whenever he awoke, he struggled, and with whatever had been done to him, his struggles were spectacular. When he found out that he couldn’t break free of his shackles, he threw himself against the table itself, a series of powerful lunges and gyrations that while they couldn’t break the table, actually had it walking across the floor, tearing holes in the decking. A tonne of solid steel, leaping and dancing like a youngster playing in the fields. And that when he was supposedly chemically restrained.
Stranger than that though, he kept waking up. Whatever had been done to him, it seemed he could somehow neutralize any and all of the drugs they dosed him with, and wake up at least twenty times sooner than he should. That was something else the doctors would have to work on. Super strength, speed, psychosis and drug resistance. David had been right to fear him. But going against him alone. That was insanity. Actually it was suicide. Something else that sat badly with her.
“There’ll be a hearing?” Of course there would be, and even though Dimock wasn’t one of them he would be tried for his actions, and since his guilt was obvious, convicted. But then what would they do with him? They couldn’t keep him locked up forever. Lar just nodded for an answer.
“Exile?” It was a terrible punishment to administer, the worst that they knew, and not more than a dozen people a year faced exile. Even Doctor Roze, a man willing to kill others in the name of science, had not been exiled. He had lost his title, been prohi
bited from his work for life, given a twenty year sentence of physical labour and required to undergo extensive therapy. Matthew Dimock's crimes were worse and required a tougher sentence. But he wasn’t even of her people. Did they have the right to do such a thing? But if they didn’t, could they return such a monster to people unready for him? Knowing what he'd do?
