The Relic Runner Origin Story Box Set

by Ernest Dempsey

  "I know. I know."

  Will wanted to tell him that she was probably already dead, and if she wasn't, she would be after Bo executed him. He didn't for a second believe that the villain would keep his word, that he would face Dak like he said in the note.

  He did as Dak requested and drove a little farther down the road before stopping when more of the farmhouse driveway came into view.

  "Good luck," Will said, unwilling to meet his friend's gaze.

  "Hey, it's going to be okay." Dak slapped him on the shoulder and stepped out of the car. His boots crunched the dry dirt and gravel underfoot.

  "Hey, Dak," Will said.

  Dak was about to close the door. He held the top edge and waited. "Yeah?"

  "Kick his butt."

  Eighteen

  Ulupelit

  Dak walked on the gravel verge next to the ancient asphalt road. He kept his eyes forward as he lumbered toward the driveway. The farmhouse came into view on the right, forty feet away, tucked back into the corner of the property. The dark brown barn on the left stood next to a rolling field. Tall grass wavered in the breeze in the unkept pasture. It looked like it hadn't been maintained in years. A weathered wooden fence wrapped around it with rotted wooden pieces dangling precipitously from posts in multiple places.

  Birds squawked and chirped in the trees, but he couldn't see the animals. Their songs mingled with the wisp of a warm breeze that brushed against his hair and ears, tickling the back of his neck.

  Dak kept his breathing at a steady cadence as he ambled up the driveway and toward the farmhouse. The gentle slope leveled off and Dak noticed a sedan parked behind the farmhouse.

  He kept walking toward the derelict home. Some of the windows were cracked, or shattered entirely. Several shutters hung crookedly. The faded paint peeled and cracked like a dried skin around the building. It was evident no one had lived there for some time, or if they did, the tenants didn't care much for its upkeep.

  "That's far enough," a sickeningly familiar voice shouted across the gravel parking area.

  At least he didn't shoot me without saying a word, Dak thought. Part of him wished Bo had just shot him. No bull. No banter. Now, Dak had to listen to his monologue.

  He turned his head toward the barn, where the sound of Bo's voice had come from, to see a second-floor window-door swing open with a loud creak. Bo stood just inside the opening. Another figure sat close by in an old wooden chair. There was no mistaking who struggled against the bonds wrapped around her arms and torso.

  Nicole stared back at Dak with pleading, apologetic eyes.

  He felt a familiar, sickening feel drop into his gut like a bomb. His heart pounded, as if attempting to leap out of his chest with every heartbeat.

  Dak sighed, averting his gaze to the pistol in Bo's right hand, hanging next to his hip.

  "So, you get to have a gun but I don't?"

  Bo looked down at the weapon, raising it above his waist. His eyes roamed over it momentarily, as if he hadn't seen the pistol before. "Oh, you're right. I'm sorry, Dak. I forgot I had this. Silly me."

  Dak glowered at the man, but said nothing. In his flashing moments of fantasy, he envisioned leaping up to the second story and snapping Bo's neck.

  "Down on your knees, Dak," Bo commanded. Even at this range, Dak knew his ex-teammate would be lethal with the pistol.

  "That's it?" Dak protested. "I thought you were going to face me in a fair fight."

  "Oh, yes. I am. Terribly sorry," Bo hissed. "But before we do that, I have to come down this ladder back here." He motioned to a rickety wooden ladder that led down to the barn's main floor. "See?"

  Dak rolled his eyes. "I don't like the idea of getting on my knees for anyone, Bo."

  "Fine. Turn around."

  Dak huffed at the continuing awkward moment. "So you can shoot me in the back? What's the difference?"

  "I’ve already told you," Bo exclaimed. "If I were going to lure you here to shoot you, I'd have already done it. I want to kill you with my own hands, Dak. The old-fashioned way, hand-to-hand combat. Sure, you could get lucky and beat me. But there's something pure, and at the same time barbaric, about two men fighting to the death. I haven't had the pleasure in so long."

  The words sickened Dak. Perhaps he'd underestimated the level of evil that possessed Bo. Maybe he was just trying to be intimidating. That came next.

  Bo turned the pistol to Nicole and pushed the muzzle into the side of her skull. "Look, Dak. You're going to die one way or the other. She doesn't have to. So, please, pretty please, turn around and stop being an idiot."

  Dak stared into her frightened eyes. No tears formed, but she looked tired, more than he'd ever seen before. And he'd worn her out emotionally on several occasions—usually when being stubborn.

  "Fine," Dak surrendered. He turned around slowly with his hands in the air. Three thumps of boots on wood, followed by a slightly different thud, reached Dak's ears. He looked over his shoulder to see Bo was already on the ground and walking toward him, pistol leveled.

  "You can turn around now, Dak."

  Dak pivoted around until he faced his old teammate. He lowered his hands to his sides, knowing Bo had already checked for firearms, simply by analyzing Dak's form. Had he been concealing a weapon, Bo would know it, and Dak would probably already be dead.

  "I don't blame you," Bo said as he slowed to a halt a mere ten feet away from Dak.

  "For what?" Dak sneered.

  "Wanting revenge. I mean, if I were standing there in your shoes, I'd want the same thing. Me and the guys, we probably deserve the vengeance you're looking to mete out."

  "You killed Billy."

  Bo nodded. "Yeah, that's true. But don't get sentimental on me." He extended the pistol in a feigned threat. "I didn't do that one for you. I did it for me."

  "You didn't think I could take him out."

  "Affirmative. As I said before, Billy's fortifications were considerable. He had a tight net around that entire property. The only way in was a Trojan horse—one who's son had just been murdered."

  "I suppose I should thank you," Dak quipped.

  "Not necessary. All a means to an end. You're the last loose string, Dak. The last piece I need to tie off so I can rest easy, stop looking over my shoulder."

  Dak smiled, an odd gesture at that moment.

  "What's so funny?" Bo demanded, curiously.

  "Just the thought of you unable to sleep each night. Waking up with every bump in the night. Walking down the street, glancing behind you every time you think someone is on your tail. Those are the thoughts that make it all worthwhile, Bo."

  Bo let out a humph. "Yes, well. When this is over, I won't have to worry about that."

  He pulled the release button on the side of the pistol, and the magazine slid out of the grip. Bo meticulously ejected each round out of the mag until it was empty, then pulled the slide on the weapon which sent the last live round tumbling onto the ground.

  Dak never liked seeing people do that. It made him nervous that a round would go off. Even though he knew it was unlikely, stranger things had happened. Relief took over as the last shell came to a rest amid the gravel.

  Bo tossed the pistol aside and reached to his hips. Dak had already noticed the pair of hunting knives, each black handle concealed in gray sheaths. Bo's fingers unclipped the blades from the hand guards, flipping them open with ease. He unsheathed the weapons from their slumber and flipped them over in his hands. He caught one in his right hand by the grip and the other by the tip. It was a careless, showy move that could have cut his fingers open. Unfortunately, Bo caught it with graceful ease. He laid the knife down on the ground and took a step away from Dak.

  "Shall we?" Bo asked.

  Dak spied the knife with caution, wondering if the second he made for the blade, Bo might cut him down. He leaned over at the hips and reached for the weapon, keeping a watchful eye on Bo.

  His enemy never flinched, never made so much as a twitch in the wrong
direction. He stood like a possessed statue, his gaze locked on Dak like a hungry lion.

  Dak's fingers brushed against the handle, then quickly snatched up the blade. He held the curved weapon with a comfortable ease. The hunting knife was much like his favorite one back in Tennessee, one he'd practiced with often.

  "I didn't want things to go down the way they did in Iraq, for what it's worth." Bo's confession did nothing to ease Dak's mind. "But you left me no choice. You should have taken your share of the treasure with us."

  "Then who would've done your dirty work, taking out the others while you sat back and played?"

  Bo chuckled and wagged his knife. "You make a good point. Eh, maybe you're right. This probably worked out perfectly for me."

  Dak was done talking. The time had come to end this.

  Last one, Dak thought. Then he twisted his body into a fighting position and surged forward.

  Nineteen

  Ulupelit

  Dak fought two enemies. The first he had to overcome was the rage burning inside him. Not only had Bo left him for dead and kidnapped the woman he loved, he had used Dak to do his dirty work.

  He lashed out before he got control of his emotions. The blade swiped recklessly through the air in front of Bo as he easily stepped back to avoid the strike. He countered with a slash of his own, drawing first blood with his initial attack. The blade slipped across Dak's forearm, opening a four-inch slit just above the wrist.

  Dak snapped back, retreating at the sudden sting that screamed from the wound.

  "That was stupid," Bo snarled. "Have you really gotten that rusty?"

  Dak grimaced. When the pain numbed a little, he stepped to the left. Bo mirrored his movement, and the two circled as if in a deadly dance, each studying their opponent for a weakness.

  "Maybe I have gotten rusty," Dak said. "But the rest of your crew might beg to differ if they were still alive."

  Bo huffed. "None of them were ever as good as me, not at this. They all had their strong points, but you and I were the most well-rounded. Fitting, I think, that the two of us are the last ones standing."

  Bo took a quick step toward Dak, feigning a stab to the gut. Dak recognized the fake. Instead of buckling backward, as instinct would dictate, he spun away from the strike before Bo could offer a secondary punch to the face with his free hand. As he twisted, Dak used his backhand to rip the tip of his blade over Bo's shoulder and down his tricep.

  He could have gone for the killing blow a second later had Bo not reeled away at the last possible moment.

  Bo growled like an angry dog. He grasped at the wound that oozed blood through his Rush T-shirt.

  "This was my favorite shirt," he grumbled, glowering incredulously at Dak.

  "Appropriate since you wore it to your funeral."

  Bo's expression tightened into a smug grin. "Don't get cocky, now, Dak. We both know this is a fight you can't win."

  "Your torn shirt and cut arm beg to differ."

  Bo clenched his jaw and lunged again. He swiped and slashed in a flurry of movement. Dak jumped back from the first attack, then dipped away from the second to avoid getting a gash across the neck.

  As Bo's fury wore on, the attacks grew less vigorous. Dak ducked away from another stab, but this time Bo anticipated the move and kicked Dak in the gut.

  The blow knocked the wind out of Dak, and he cursed himself for not seeing it coming. His plan had been to let Bo wear himself down, then counter with a quick attack of his own and finish the fight.

  Instead, it appeared Bo had been ready for that plan, and now he didn't seem fatigued at all, aside from the shallow panting for air.

  Dak wished he could get even a minuscule amount of air in his lungs, but his chest remained locked as his enemy stalked toward him.

  "You get too caught up in what's right in front of you, Dak," Bo preached.

  Dak scooted backward along the gravel, still clutching the knife as he retreated.

  "When you narrow your focus, you forget the big picture, the grand scheme of things." Bo extended his hands out above his shoulders. "Just like with how you found yourself in this predicament." He pointed the knife at Dak, letting it bob as if chastising a child with a ruler.

  The air abruptly returned to Dak's lungs and he sucked it in with huge gasps. Relief flooded him and he glared at Bo again while clawing himself back to his feet.

  "I don't think you should be telling anyone how to live their lives, Bo. You're a murderer and a liar. I'm not sure which is worse."

  Bo pouted his lips as if he didn't care that his opponent was correct. "Yes, well, that may be true, Dak. But don't act like your hands are so squeaky clean. You've killed. I'm not just talking about Iraq either. You killed men you served with, men you knew. You're no better than me."

  "I didn't say I was better," Dak responded. "I know I have sins on my ledger, ones that I'll live with for the rest of my life. But your boys got what they deserved. Just like you will."

  Bo snorted a derisive laugh. "Perhaps, but not today. And not from you."

  He launched an unexpected strike, stepping quickly toward Dak and then leaping. Dak didn't anticipate the attack, but he reacted in time to dive onto the gravel again. Instead of trying to get away, he rolled directly at his enemy, who flew by before he knew what had happened.

  Dak and Bo stopped suddenly, but Dak recovered faster and from a crouching position drew the blade's sharp edge across the achilles tendon of Bo's right leg. The knife sunk deep as it carved through skin and tissue, easily slicing the tendon in two.

  Dak heard an audible pop followed by a scream of pain.

  Bo fell onto his side, grasping at the wounded heel. A look of anguish stretched his face, replacing all of the bravado he'd worn just seconds before. Amid a flood of profanities, mostly directed at Dak, the air around the two men grew heavy, as if the reaper himself had descended into the hills to collect another soul.

  Upon sensing the change in the air, Dak glanced around and realized it was just a cloud overhead, giving them shade, though he could have sworn something else loomed in the ether around him.

  It didn't matter.

  He would finish this fight.

  Dak trudged toward Bo, who kicked his good leg out to push himself away. He repeated the process, looking like a wounded animal.

  "What were you saying about not getting cocky?" Dak asked.

  "You got lucky," Bo said. "But it's not over yet."

  He scrambled to his feet… or foot, and leaned on it with all his weight. Bo grimaced in agony, but he would not surrender, not even when he had to fight on one leg.

  "Maybe I got lucky," Dak admitted. "Or maybe you never had control of your emotions. You let them get in your way and make rash decisions, just like in Iraq."

  Bo's eyes gleamed hungrily. He still believed he would win, that he would kill Dak. He couldn't believe he'd been so foolish, so careless.

  Dak stopped five feet from his ex-teammate. Bo flashed his teeth. Ever the predator, he had no intention of going down easily.

  "Come get it, Dak."

  He flicked his fingers, beckoning Dak forward.

  Dak knew better. He'd already calculated the five potential moves Bo had in his now limited arsenal.

  Seconds ticked by as Dak decided what to do. Leaves fluttered through the air around them as a breeze swelled to a gust. Dak knew Nicole was watching from the barn's second floor, but he didn't dare look at her. He focused only on Bo and the attack.

  Bo licked his top lip to relieve it from the dry air, but Dak only took it as a disgusting gesture from a back-stabber.

  Dak lunged abruptly, the knife in his right hand diving toward Bo's upper chest. Bo reacted, but a fraction too soon. He overcommitted, turning his body to avoid the strike and counter with his own backhanded stab. Dak's motion changed in an instant. As his body twisted, he tossed the blade from his right hand to his left. When his fingers and palm made contact, he squeezed and jerked the knife toward himself.

/>   Bo's exposed neck stood in the way, and the man only realized what was about to happen a fraction of a second before the tip pierced his skin.

  Dak felt the blade resist for a second as it plunged into his enemy's throat. He pulled through that resistance effortlessly, driving the long hunting knife into Bo's neck and up into the bottom of his skull.

  Bo's eyes blinked once and then remained open, staring lifelessly into the sky over the farmhouse. His body went limp and fell to the ground. Dak let go of the knife handle and let it drop to the ground with his victim. Bo's body lay on the ground, his head on a gravel pillow.

  Dak's breathing slowed again. The scene around him returned to the peaceful tranquility from before. The birds' songs resumed, and it was only then Dak realized that nature itself seemed to have watched the duel between the two men.

  He tore his gaze away from the dead man at his feet and looked up to the second story barn window. His eyes met Nicole's. An ocean of emotions rushed over as he hurried over to the ladder. He climbed it in seconds, then untied the old rope binding her to the chair.

  When he removed the gag from her mouth, she stood and immediately wrapped her arms around him. He hugged her back, squeezing her tighter than he ever had before.

  "I'm so sorry," he said. Tears streamed down his cheeks and soaked into the back of her shirt.

  "I know," Nicole replied. "I am too."

  He pulled away and locked eyes with her again. "You don't have anything to be sorry about."

  "I could have done better. You know, with us."

  Dak shook his head. "Maybe we both could have."

  Then he sighed, as if bearing a two-ton weight on his thoughts. Gripping her shoulders, he never took his eyes from hers. "I have to go. We'll get you back to Istanbul. You should be safe now. But this isn't over for me."

  She puzzled at the statement. "But you just—" she faltered at the thought of what happened, how she'd seen the man she loved brutally kill another.

  Dak's head shook again. "I know he's the last one of my team, but there's another threat."