by Chris Turner
But Spike lay in a spreading pool of his own blood, eyes staring up, blood draining from a chest wound, pierced by shrapnel.
“Ain’t that a shitter,” said Smacky, scratching his head. Two more bodies lay unmoving, the long-haired brothers. Lace prodded them with a finger, a sniff and grimace, like a curious grade-school kid.
Smacky fiddled with his stock’s firing mechanism. “Fucking thing’s jammed again. Should’ve taken Marv’s weapon.” He looked around, kicked at the dust. The blast had leveled all sign of anything. “Where are those fuckers?”
Yul stared grimly. Anxiety grew in his gut.
“No matter,” said Smacky. “Get those explosives out of the APV. Reckon we’ll need them.”
Yul grimaced at the irony of the adoption of a plan he’d suggested all along.
“Back to the crib.”
“But Smack—”
“Back, you fucks! We take this bomb, rig it up back in the crib.”
Try as they might, they couldn’t find hide nor hair of Regers. They had disappeared in a trail of blood.
* * *
Deakes eyes darted about. “Regers, this is fucking dangerous.”
Regers motioned him on with his gun, ignoring the pain in his mangled half ear, torn by shrapnel, as they crawled on their bellies away from the blast. “Only the good things in life are, Deakes. Damn that crafty Dez, installing egg shell armor on that APV. Last laugh’s on us. Get moving, Deakes. Stay low, you other two,” he rasped back at Vincent and Jennings. “Don’t want them tagging you too.”
Deakes shook his grime-faced head as they rounded a corner. “Ramra dead. Creib dead. Just me, Jennings, you and Vincent now…and Jennings is looking the worse for wear. Want to add three more corpses to the count?”
“Ain’t going to be more corpses if you quit jabbering and we get this job done.”
Vincent grinned through his sweat and grime, “Yeah, Uncle Regers gonna take care of us.”
Deakes gave a hoarse sneer. “Uncle Regers is going to be sucking bug dick before long.”
“Shut up, Deakes. Enough of your vulgar talk. Down!” Regers pulled Deakes’s shoulder. Three figures were hunching their way through the rubble: blocks of masonry in a square of fallen buildings. Smoke curled from piles of bodies. Hydro wires had fallen. Electrical fixtures lay exposed and sparking.
“There’s those fuckers now, creeping like weasels along the line of that derailed tram line. Think they’re going to get away from old Regers? Fat chance. There’s probably more of ’em, I count six now. Looks as if they’re carrying something. Probably parts scavenged from the APV. Fucking packrats. Yul must have bagged himself some new friends.”
Regers nudged Deakes. “You slip over there, head them off. Vincent and me’ll go straight in.”
With a grunt, Deakes disappeared on the left flank of the battered square.
Regers broke off in a dog trot. He spat a round of fire ahead of the skulkers, trying to hedge them toward Deakes, but they ducked into a back alley. “Shit.”
Vincent came up behind Regers, face grimed and blood-streaked, his voice hoarse. “Should’ve pegged those rats, boss, rather than try to take them alive.”
“Hindsight, Vincent. We’ll get them.”
Following like weasels on the hunt, they set after Yul and the others at a loping run. Deakes joined the three as distant booms echoed across the dismal cityscape. Mentera craft haunted the skies, long mantis shapes firing down stun rays like grasshopper spit. Sticking to the sidelines, Regers and his hounds dodged from rubble pile to pile or ruined vehicle or half crumbled building to building, tracking the fugitives to some shelled apartment complex with front windows blasted. “Bonzai,” Regers croaked between his teeth. “Deakes, Vincent, you first.”
Chapter 29
In the dim kerosene lamplight of Smacky’s den, Mick and Smacky peered over the scavenged ammo box and its prickle pod of wires on Mick’s workbench.
“Hurry the hell up, we don’t have a lot of time.”
Mickey rustled away at soldering some leads. “Yeah, yeah. Only so fast I can go, Smacky.”
Smacky darted anxious, half-slitted eyes at the door and the gloomy confines of the decrepit apartment as if every shadow was a foe in waiting. Marv’s weapon had been jammed, ever since they’d lost Spike’s in the free-for-all. Yul could understand Smacky’s anxiety. Only one working gun between them. Still, one gun was enough to keep him and Cloye from leaping at Smacky’s throat.
As if guessing his thoughts, Smacky waved his cleaver at Yul. “Keep those prisoners covered, Wilb. Don’t want them jumping us.”
“Why don’t we just fucking kill them?” growled Wilb.
“Because I said so, This Yab bastard’s given us some good intel. While he’s useful, we keep him. The woman—” he stared with an evil grin “—well, she can have her uses at a later time.”
“You should kill her too,” Lace wailed. “Fucked up my arm.”
“Quit your whining, Lace.”
Yul debated trying to reason with them, but dropped the idea. If Regers was still on the loose and caught up with them, he and his thugs’d make mincemeat of Smacky and this motley crew.
“What’s that?” Smacky whirled, ears perked, raising his hand.
Fire flare sprayed through the doorway. A grey muzzle poked out and a burly form’s bald head with it. Smacky gave a cursing cry, his cleaver raised. He charged the dull shape from the side.
Deakes, blood-grimed in his kevlar, caught the descending meat blade. He yanked his E1 about just as his muzzle picked off Mick who was scrambling in the background for a knife to hurl.
Yul sprang sideways to pull Smacky off Deakes’s back before he got himself wasted by crossfire.
Too late.
The next figure through the door blasted Wilb to ratshit as he raised his rifle. Another muzzle lifted and nailed Marv. Both slumped in puddles of their own blood. Cloye scrambled for the meat cleaver but Deakes kicked it away. Jennings stood mute, a ghost in human form. The girl, Lace, wailed, hands clutching her ears. “Stop! Stop!”
“Cry all you want, little girl.” Regers patted her on the head. “Momma ain’t gonna kiss and make it better.” He stared about in the dim, crypt-like gloom. “Deakes, you okay?”
“Yeah, just got half my finger chopped off by this chicken shit rooster boy.” He hoofed Smacky in the gut. The gang leader lay supine, deader than a doornail, riddled with shells from crossfire. Deakes worked at wrapping leather around his stump of a finger, stomaching the pain and muttering curses.
Regers chuckled. “You ought to be more alert, Deakes. Surprised you fell for the old chip and charge back there. These boys like to play rough.”
“Well, let’s just say I’m not as spry as I used to be, Regers. I’m off my game, after having a pressure blast in my ear.” He gnawed at his bloody knuckles.
“Happens.” Regers leveled his gun at Yul whose lips worked and his fists clenched. “Well, Yul, the happy deserter. Long time no see. How’s it feel, friend?”
Yul spit out curses.
Regers peered crosswise at Jennings who still stood mute, rifle down, pointed at the floor. “Jiminy, you’re quieter than a church mouse. Anything to say?”
Jennings just stared, unblinking, the whites of his eyes dull in the kerosene lamplight.
Regers gave a wry grunt, jabbing Vincent in the ribs. “See, Vincent, I told you Jiminy’d learn his lesson. Doesn’t even want to call NOA now, or cry for backup, or help that poor dying turd over there, crawling in his own blood.”
Vincent gave a raucous laugh.
Cloye, fingers twitching, itched to make a move but Yul flashed her a warning glance. He took a stealthy step sideways, looking for a weapon to grab, but Regers motioned him back. “Forget it, Yul boy. Don’t try it. You’re dogshit as it is.”
“You kilt Smacky,” the girl wailed, scuttling over to kneel by her gang leader’s side.
Regers frowned down at the shredded corpse. “Looks as
if Smacky or Smokey or whatever the fuck his name is, ain’t going to be doing too much more rough-housing in the next while.”
“No, he ain’t, is he boss?” laughed Deakes, stamping on the lifeless arm. He hooked a meaty fist around the sawed off weapon, tossed it to Vincent. “There. Extra toothpick for you.”
Vincent showed a grin full of brown teeth. He cocked the weapon, gave it a go. “Useless, jammed.” He threw it aside where it smashed into some broken plates.
Regers slung his rifle over his shoulder and sighed. “So, this is the local clubhouse.” His feet shuffled about and beady eyes roved around with critical inspection. “Shithouse more like it. Wouldn’t let a pet rabbit run loose in here. All that work and ’em all dead except the girl and a few bozos back there.” Vincent reached for the girl. Regers warned him back. “Nah, leave her. I don’t like her meat anyway. She can play amateur ham radio operator, chew on some hashish and twiddle herself.” He gave a hollow sigh. “How the day has run sour. Ramra fucked. Who’s next?” He glared around with a quizzical expression.
“Hey, locusts at two-o’clock,” Deakes shouted. He motioned to the table.
Regers grimaced. He peppered the chicken-wired captives full of fire. Heads and pincers went flying in sheets of puce-yellow blood. “No, not no more, Deakes. This is bug-crushing day.” He scowled, face curled in a sneer. “These creepos are sick here, harboring crickets. What the fuck are they playing, bug rape?”
Yul saw the desperate gleam in the other two gang members’ eyes, huddled in the shadows, thin, ragged, unkempt hoods. He shook his head in warning, as if they’d try something stupid, like make a run for it.
“Mickey wanted them as pets,” the girl whimpered. “You kilt Mickey.”
Regers looked down at her with a sad sigh.
“What we going to do about her, boss?” asked Vincent.
“Bring her topside into the light. All of them. The stench in here is killing me. Honestly, Yul, don’t know how you stood it, why you didn’t break out of this crib with fists flying.”
There was shuffling of feet and muttered grunts.
“Any time soon, you fucks,” sneered Regers. “Move your feet, Jennings, you slack bastard! Sick of you turning zombie on us.”
The four mercs brought the prisoners out at swift speed. Lace and two other no names shuffled along, the latter mumbling curses. Cloye and Yul remained silent. Vincent led the way, rifle fanning the shadows to deal with ambushers. Deakes and Regers took up the rear. All the while Lace giggled hysterically. She danced about, sing-songing out-of-key nursery rhymes.
Regers rolled his eyes and muttered a few dark words. “Girl’s getting a rude awakening to the reality of life—one big violent ant farm.”
Squinting through the broken glass, they stood in the lobby, staring out at the bright, open square. No stragglers in sight. Seemed as if any wandering locals had learned the hard way to stay away from this death zone.
The air battle had taken a new turn. Sleek submarine shapes of the NOA fighters now slid across the skies like brown leeches harried by a swarm of aphid and mantis fighters. Orbs drew in, armed to the teeth with lethal uro bombs. They raced after the newer threat, the smaller, lighter NOA craft. Space fireworks lit up the near distant skies; dogfights erupted everywhere, feints, dives and luck to play a role in deciding this battle. Yul gritted his teeth. He hoped, but knew his was a small hope that so few could win against so many. But if those damn mechnos could do their job…
Regers was about to motion them out toward the nearest overturned airbus when the girl sprang up in an unexpected fury. She laid teeth into Deakes’s wrist, prompting a painful howl as she wrenched at his rifle. Deakes pistol whipped her down but she was up like a cat, snarling, as if she felt no pain. She scrambled, hands and knees off into the dust like a crab with the other two gang members fleeing at her heels.
Vincent’s muzzle flashed. It slammed the slowest in the leg. The three stumbled off, groaning, cursing, the last hobbling on one leg. “Mother fucks, die in hell!” he called back.
Vincent sprayed fire, kicking up dust at their feet. They dogged it behind a crumbled corner of an alley. Vincent went to take after them but Regers held his arm. “Leave ’em. That girl’s so hiked up on smack she’ll live through anything, like a rabid animal. Our prizes are here.” He pointed in the fading light to Yul whose chest heaved. “Well, well, my good ole buddy Yul. Taking up with a pack of chicken shits to fight your battles. Shame on you.”
Cloye went to snatch up a piece of iron pipe, but Regers waved her back with his gun. “Uh, uh. Spring chickens get their wings clipped.”
Yul grunted with disgust. He cursed himself for not taking the initiative earlier. He started forward, but Regers was faster.
“Back the fuck up, Yul. Four to two, we got you covered. You too, young lady. Unless you’re itching for a pisshole full of E1. Think you can immobilize three marksmen before one blasts your ass?”
Cloye stepped back. Regers came up to her, squinting in the pale sunlight, licking his chops as the sun struggled between thin clouds.
“Well, well, a mighty fine spring capon. Perfect for a late afternoon dessert treat, eh Vincent?” He yanked the piece of pipe from her hand and tossed it into the rubble. His eyes roved over her wide hips, buxom chest and pouting jaw, his own jawbone outthrust in challenge. He turned to Yul. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Yul, having a lady like that. Always pegged you for a pansy ass.” His lascivious eyes raked Cloye again with deeper scrutiny. “I might get ugly old Deakes here to do her in front of you, just for kicks, see how much anguish it causes you and what kind of man you really are.”
Cloye snarled. “Try it, fucker, see what happens to your nuts. I’ll squeeze ’em off like cherries from a tree.”
Regers burst out laughing. He doubled over, slapping his thigh. “Oh, you know how to pick ’em, Yul! My kind of lady, foul-tongued and sweet-assed. Sexy as hell, even grimed and blooded up. Woo wee! This day has certainly picked up considerably.” He piked his rifle to the sky. “Captain Regers on the prowl! Bags one spirited wench and a surly boy toy all in one go. All the better. Might save this vixen for a special day. Blood, guts, burnt-out cities, squids and bugs getting their asses kicked. Mayhem left and right and some fine tail to go.” He shot off a few rounds in the sky.
“Settle down, Regers,” warned Deakes. “You out of your mind? Don’t want to attract any more squids and bugs than’s necessary.”
“Enough noise and guts to go around a hundred lifetimes, Deakes, so don’t matter what I do.”
Deakes looked around with nervous eyes.
“Aw, don’t be such a pussy,” Regers snorted. “Let ’em come, Deakes. Place is infested with bugs as it is. Kill ’em, crush ’em under our heels.”
Yul stared. Seems as if Uncle Regers had gone a little off the deep end.
Deakes scowled and twisted about. He made a wide sweep with his rifle back the way they’d come. “Think we better get back to the ship, Regers, even if it is screwed. Safer there. What you going to do with Yul? Slice his nuts off? Take him back as prisoner? Don’t know about you, but I’d feel safer with armor around us. Think about looking for a new ride out of here. NOA could pick us up as looters and opportunists.”
“That’s an awful lot of babble from you, Deakes. Ramra’s dead face staring up at you back there got you spooked?”
“Just cautious.”
“Yeah, sure. I’m just savoring this precious moment. Treasure it, Vincent.” He put an arm around the younger thug’s shoulders. “There won’t be any better time or place here and now to enjoy this moment of triumph.”
Vincent’s lips curled in a sanguine grin.
Blaster fire licked out from the rubble. Regers instinctively swept his rifle barrel back and forth. Yul tensed, his metal fist flexing.
“What the fuck?…Vincent, go check it out.”
Vincent scrambled off into the shadows of the wall breasting the rubble-choked sidewalk. More fire echo
ed off the twisted mortar and leaning buildings. Vincent came back, hissing air between his teeth. “It’s that smarmy fucker. The one we gunned down earlier. He’s out there running loose, must have alerted the bugs and squids.”
“Your friend,” Regers snapped at Yul. “He was tailing us, one we shot out of the sky. Must’ve gotten sentimental and came back looking for you after crawling out of his downed copter. Should have dropped a bomb on his ass while we had the chance. But we were too busy chasing you.”
“Squids coming at four o’clock,” grunted Deakes. Six sets of eyes lifted to the sky. “We can’t get back to the ship without a major firefight.”
“Ain’t that a pickle. Another shootout.”
“Told you not to fire those shots.” Deakes groaned. “Regers, doesn’t anything faze you? I mean, anything?”
“Nope. Reckon I died a hundred deaths back in that fucking bug tank. Don’t feel an ounce of fear. How you feeling, Deakes? You’re looking a little pale. Old man fear giving you the shakes?” He laughed. “Killing the old geyser named ‘fear’ makes a man invincible, you know.”
“Or stupid. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Regers motioned the two prisoners on. “Move, you two, if you want to live a little longer.”
Yul gave a surly grunt. He heaved himself up through the rubble. Jennings took up the rear, as if resigned to death.
As they loped away from the incoming fire, Regers hitched himself closer to Yul. “Had Vincent go easy on shooting your ship down. Boy’s a regular marksman. Deakes here, boxy-faced badger’s a little heavier on the trigger.”
“Let the woman go, Regers,” Yul rasped. “She’s innocent. You and I have our beef. Let’s have it out.”
“Mighty brave of you, Yul. As I see it, so brave of you to leave me dying back in the trenches in that shithole Orb too.”
“Let’s put it this way, Regers, if you were in my shoes, would you do any different? Just can’t picture you stopping to pick up and carry a dying Yul Vrean a mile or so to the ship. Frue was hurting. I left you with the last bit of suit adhesive. I could only save one of you. At least Frue had a suit.”
