The second combatant was much shorter, but nearly as massive. Barely five feet tall, it weighed close to 400 pounds. Large eyes looked out from behind a transparent second eyelid that opened and closed from the sides rather than top and bottom. It had a deep powerful chest and large hands with three short thick fingers, and two opposable thumbs, one sprouting from each side of its wrist. The skin had an almost stone-like appearance, dull gray and completely hairless.
As Malone watched, the hairy brute landed a blow with its right hook. There was an audible scraping sound as the hook screeched across the rock-hard hide of the stone man. The big one was very fast, landing blow after blow that would have shredded a normal person. The shorter fighter merely tucked his chin against his chest held his arms low out to his sides, fingers flexing and slowly advanced on its opponent.
The deadly barrage seemed not to faze the gray fighter. There was a wet snap as the spur on the left hand of the first fighter snapped off against the side of the stone-like head.
Roaring in a combination of pain and rage, the beast redoubled its attack. It closed with the shorter fighter and wrapped its arms around the neck of its opponent.
The stone man responded by wrapping its arms around the torso of its enemy and squeezing.
Strong as the big hairy one was, it was obvious that it was not as tough as its shorter, squatter opponent. In obvious pain as its rib cage was slowly constricted, it attempted to crush the skull of the stone man with its huge teeth.
Malone could hear the popping and cracking of cartilage and bone, even above the shouting of the excited bettors, as the big one’s ribcage was strained past its limits. It was a testament to the big guy that it actually managed to break the skin of the stone man. It cost one of the incisors, and did little more than start a trickle of blood.
Suddenly, the shorter one released its hold and slammed its hands together, with the giant’s head between. It was a graphic display as brain and blood splattered over the first two rows of spectators. The crushed skull made a wet thud as it smacked into the ground, and the large hairy fighter sprawled lifeless in the sand.
Taking a seat in a dark corner, Malone watched as the stone man dabbed the blood from his scalp, tossing the towel aside he raised both hands over his head in triumph. He then crossed to his own table and took a seat. Sycophants gathered ‘round and were ignored as they vied for the victor’s attention. He sat and drank beer from a massive mug brought to him by a serving girl.
As the crowd slowly gave up and left the morose creature to his private thoughts, Malone went unnoticed as he retrieved the blood spotted towel, and tearing off a red corner, fed it into his PDT. Studying the display, he grunted in satisfaction. The stone man would make a perfect example. He quickly tapped a few sentences into his PDT and sent the message on its way.
Rising, Malone crossed the smoke filled room. Walking quickly towards the stone man he shouted out “Hey, Dead Man!” As he shouted, he picked up a stool and smashed it, with absolutely no effect, across the stone man’s face. The stool merely bent on the rock hard head.
Malone’s opponent rose slowly to his feet. “Mister, I don’t know who you are, or why you’ve chosen to commit suicide, but that was really dumb,” said the stone man in a voice that perfectly suited his appearance. Deep and gravelly, Malone felt it as much as heard it. Malone supposed many a man, having heard that voice coming from that massive chest, lost any courage he might have claimed.
As the gray skinned fighter rose to his feet, Malone stood there calmly twirling a stainless steel pen in the fingers of his left hand. It wove an intricate dance as every living soul in the place stopped what they were doing to watch the crazy man commit suicide.
“My name is Special Agent James Malone, of the BGP,” said Malone in a voice pitched to carry to every corner of the establishment.
As the echoes of his announcement died, both the front and back doors exploded inward in a shower of splinters. As the smoke and dust billowed into the room, black clad and armored men moved in and spread out along the walls. Each man was armed with a Packwood .133 flechette carbine. The short black weapon fired 56 rounds per second, from four stubby barrels. Each round fragmented into 6 razor sharp projectiles, and would cut a man in half with a single ½ second burst.
“You are all genetic scum or guilty of consorting with such. There is one way only to get out of here. If you,” said Malone pointing straight into the face of the stone man, “can get past me, these agents will withdraw, leaving you all in peace. If you cannot, they will leave you all in pieces.”
“I hope you don’t think those Packwoods will stop me. Flechette rounds tickle.”
Still twirling the pen across the backs’ of his fingers, Malone said, “You, my granite-skinned friend, are mine. I have never lost, and I’m not about to go down to genetic trash like you.”
“I get past you, everybody lives? Is that the deal?”
Glancing over his shoulder Malone called out, “Captain, if this man can defeat me, you and your men will withdraw. You will not fire a single shot, nor will you make any arrests. You will forget that you were ever in this establishment. Is that perfectly clear?”
“Yes, Sir. Sir, if I may…”
“You may not Captain. Simply follow your orders.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Satisfactory?” Malone asked noticing the smiles and confident looks on several faces in the crowd.
“Like I’ve got any choice. To get out of here I need to go over you. I’ve always thought I could take a Hunter. Your hide’s not near as tough as mine. You seem to think you can stop me, sure as I’m sittin’ here those yahoo’s with the carbines can’t slow me down. Shall we dance?”
Raising to his feet, the outcast came from behind the table and stalked toward Malone.
With blinding speed Malone stepped in and drove the pen he’d been playing with straight up under the stone mans chin. There was a slight resistance as the pen encountered cartilage, and then a pop as it broke through and plowed through the palette and into brain tissue.
The rock-skinned man simply folded in on himself and fell to the floor at Malone’s feet.
Calmly stepping over the corpse of his example, Malone passed behind the BGP agents holding their carbines on the shocked and obviously terrified patrons.
“You may commence firing, Gentlemen.”
The Packwoods were eerily quiet as the compressed gas charge held in each round propelled it through the air at 2600 feet per second. Where the flechettes met living flesh, that flesh simply disappeared in a red mist that spattered on the walls. Most didn’t even have time to scream. Some attempted to take cover behind overturned tables. They died as quickly as the others, razor rounds cutting through the table as though it were made of paper.
Following the orders received earlier from Malone’s PDT, the BGP agents, who were arranged along two walls so as not to catch each other in the cross-fire, carefully hosed three-quarters of the room with their deadly steel projectiles.
When the firing stopped and the last quad-barreled Packwood was lowered, the only sound was the dripping of blood, the wet plop as the odd piece of tissue fell from where it had been stuck to the walls or ceiling, and the soft hum of the building’s air conditioning unit.
Walking to that section of the room that had been spared the deadly steel rain, Malone stood staring at the six who survived out of over 80 who had been patronizing the establishment.
After several long moments he spoke, “I trust I have your attention? Good. Some of you may yet live to see another day. I want information. There is a man, calls himself Angus, he’s just shy of six feet tall, medium build, may have red hair, I want him. He does not look like most of you genetic scum. He could almost pass for a citizen. He is somewhere in the Asia. Tell me something of interest about this man and you may go.”
Stepping from the shadows where even Malone had not seen him came a boy. At a second glance he was revealed to be a man. His face was dark
with stubble, his skin as dark as the shadows he had moments before inhabited. He stood no more than 4 ½ feet tall. Even so, he was well muscled and lean. He moved with almost animal grace.
“Malone travels with the kid, that one who some folks say is a Hunter. I don’t think he is, but what he is I don’t know.”
Malone was excited, though he gave no outward sign. He had never heard of this kid, but it had the ring of truth.
“Little man, you just may survive our encounter. Tell me all that you know of both Angus and this kid.”
With calm that did him credit the outcast walked slowly past Malone and to the bar. Pushing a severed arm from the bar top he retrieved a clean mug from below, and, expertly tilting it, let the beer from the tap flow down the inside of the mug. When the glass was full he released the tap, and took a long drink.
Letting out a loud, long belch he said, “My name is not little man, it’s Lazarus. Which, should I survive meeting you, will be particularly appropriate, don’t you think?”
“Very well Lazarus, tell me what you know, and you can go free to tell your friends how, like the man in that great fairy tale known as the bible, you came back from the dead. For surely as we speak you are dead, and do I choose it, I alone may resurrect you,” said Malone taking the mug from Lazarus’ hand and draining the last of the beer.
“He travels with the kid, like I said. They’re at the Rising Sun Hotel in Tokyo. Do you know it? Well, anyway, the kid, I don’t know his name, is 18 to 20 years old, a little over 6 feet, well-muscled. He’s really a good-looking kid. I met him once, he has a…a presence I guess. There is something about him that could make someone with a less mercenary soul than my own follow him anywhere. He don’t have no defects like me, or the ones your boys turned into soup a few minutes ago.
“Some people believe he has some sorta mystical power. That he’s gonna set the world right, and deliver the world into the hands of the outcasts. Let me tell you, if that was to ever happen, it would be bloody.”
“Spare me your opinions just tell me what you know.”
“You mind if I pace a bit? It helps me think.”
“As long as you talk as you do.”
Lazarus jumped up onto the bar and paced back and forth as he continued to speak.
“Most folks don’t know this about either of them, but seein as I’m something of an information broker, I make it my business to know things. They are both pretty deadly. Any weapon or none, they would give you a run for your money.”
“So Angus teaches the boy,” Malone muttered mostly to himself.
Hearing the comment Lazarus responded.
“I don’t think so. The kid’s the more dangerous of the two. I’ve seen Hunters in action before, and just now,” he said gesturing at the unmarked corpse of the stone man on the floor.
“You could probably take Angus, though that’s not certain. I doubt you could beat the kid. I’ve never seen anything like him before. I make it my business to know things, as I said. I also make my living betting.
“By the way, I got terrific odds in your fight with Danko. When I saw the pen I figured you’d found out about his only weakness. You could not have hit his brain via the ear, nose, or even an eye. Only up through the jaw gives any sort of access to a vital part. Of course, the people who gave me such long odds are now puree, so I guess I won’t be collecting.
“The kid now, he would have taken Danko, too. Since he lacks a Hunter’s PDT, and the ability to analyze blood it would give him, he would have had to work for it, but he’d have found a way to win.
“He and Angus move around a lot, and may be gone from the hotel by now, but that’s where they were as of this morning.”
“You’ve been very helpful. Turning from the bar and walking out the door, Malone said, “Captain, kill everything”.
Grinning, the captain replied,” Yes, Sir”.
Malone walked out the door.
As the short ugly weapons of the BGP came online, Lazarus quickly kicked a tap handle. As the tap swung, the portion of the bar Lazarus was standing on opened beneath his feet, and he disappeared.
Packwoods shredded the bar as others minced the remaining outcasts. Walking over to the ruined bar, the captain noticed that a tunnel opened in the floor. He could see it drop straight down for 30 feet or more then curve out of sight. On one side of the tunnel were rails, obviously for a conveyance of some sort.
Even as he stood gazing into the tunnel, there came a dull boom, followed by a low rumbling, as the tunnel collapsed in on itself, sealing it off from any pursuit.
8
May 14, 2080
Tokyo, Asian Territory
Angus was scared. He and Matt were trapped on the island. Part of his survival routine meant he was always checking his escape routes. If you set in place a means to escape, you could never assume it would remain undiscovered or safe. It did not appear that Malone had discovered Angus’ fake identities, or had found any of the half dozen tickets for various means of transportation that he and Matt had set up. There was no reason to even think the heightened security had anything to do with Malone, but Angus knew it did. It had Malone’s fingerprints all over it. The man had no subtlety. He was like a force of nature, all gale force winds and driving rain. Brute force was his way. Everything Angus had discovered screamed Malone’s presence.
There was the blood screenings at all points of departure. Not just the normal spot checks that both Malone and Matt could easily avoid, but full screenings, on every passenger, crew member, or even friends seeing someone off. Periodically the BGP cracked down, but this was too complete, too thorough.
Added to that, was the massacre in the outcast zone earlier. The BGP did their usual job of keeping it from the sight of the citizens, but they seemed to flaunt it in the faces of the outcasts. Malone could have kept it quiet in those quarters too- many a Hunter would have, but that was not Malone’s style. He liked the killing. He liked to be feared. He even liked the added challenge of announcing his presence to Angus.
Every time Malone got close to Angus dozens, at least, died. Two years ago in Bogotá, he killed 67 people; in Dallas the year before, it was over 100, many of them children. As often as not, there was no way they could possibly know anything of value to him. It mattered little if they were citizens or outcasts.
What really scared Angus was that Lazarus was in Tokyo. Lazarus was an information broker. The little man knew way too much about both Angus and Matt. Malone had gone straight to the bar Lazarus owned and operated in Tokyo. Angus did not believe in coincidence. He really didn’t think Lazarus would seek out Malone, but as brutal as Malone’s methods were, he was a superb Hunter. He knew how to find people like Lazarus. There was every chance that Malone already knew where he and Matt were staying, and was on the way there already.
To make matters infinitely worse, Angus had heard back about the girl. His worst fears were realized - She was BGP, and apparently off working on her graduation project. She had no idea that she had stumbled onto one of the BGP’s ten most wanted, one who, if they knew of him, would be wanted more than all the rest combined.
Oddly, it was Matt’s heart that worried Angus more than his flesh at the moment. When Angus broke the news to him, Matt would be devastated. It was easy to see that what he felt for the girl went way beyond mere infatuation or even lust. If the girl did not kill his body, her betrayal would surely kill his soul.
He knew that Matt had taken the girl riding, but had no idea which way they had gone. Matt had tried to teach Angus something of tracking over the years they had been together while he kept his own skills sharp, but Angus had proven to be almost unteachable. He had learned many things from Matt, but tracking was not one of them. The problem was that trails led from the stables in dozens of directions and all were fairly well traveled. He had thought of sending a message to Matt’s PDT, but was afraid of how Matt would handle it. He had to be there when Matt discovered the truth. He had to be there to comfort Matt almos
t as much as to back him up if the Hunter tried to kill him. He just prayed that Abbey would not discover the truth about Matt while they were alone together.
9
MAY 14, 2080
Tokyo, Asian Territory
Matt could not remember ever being so happy. He was having a picnic lunch on his 18th birthday with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He was young, he was strong, his body and mind sharp. His life could not have been more full at that moment.
Of course, he was also miserable. There was no way he could keep what he had. So for the first time in his life he refused to acknowledge the truth. He would consider the future at another time. For this day he would simply be a man enjoying the company of a woman.
Part of him knew it was dangerous folly. A larger part of him didn’t care. For all of his life he had trusted only two people, Brother Fidelis and Angus. For today he would trust Abbey. He knew it was due in a large part to the effects of the potion, but he was able to admit to himself that he was in love.
It would not change his plans. In fact, it validated all the more his reasons for going. He would do nothing to endanger Abbey. He would leave tomorrow, but today he would soak up her presence. He would drink up as much of her beauty as he could, for after today he would never see her again.
He promised himself he would do nothing to encourage any feelings in her, as that would be unfair. He would enjoy her nearness and her laughter, but never take that next step that he ached to take.
He could feel his body tremble whenever he got too close. Too small to see, he nonetheless felt the shaking in his knees, the tingling in his fingers and toes, and the way his lips quivered with a desire to kiss her when she sat close to him on their blanket. He never tasted his food, yet it was a repast fit for a king with Abbey to add flavor to the moment.
The Hunted Page 8
