Death Drop (38 page)

Dezmara flew from behind Libby, but she was too late. As soon as she was on her feet, she turned only to find the trapped door henchman aiming the barrel of his gun directly at her chest. The silver-gray weapon recoiled fiercely in his hand and the killer leered savagely in the pulsing light of his muzzle-flash. She braced herself for the impact and hoped the searing pain of hot metal punching through her torso wouldn’t last long. She waited and, to her surprise, something other than pain wracked her brain—she was confused. Dezmara could see frustration creep across the henchman’s face as he continued to fire but she stayed upright. Her arm shook wildly in time with the deafening report of the gun just a few feet away, and empty shells bounced on the ground and rolled to a stop at her feet. Somehow, the shield had found its way in front of her, but she was certain that it wasn’t there in time—or was it? Either way it was a good thing; apparently, the shield Lilietha gave her was strong enough to stop bullets.

Dezmara took a short step forward and spun to her left as she leapt from the ground. Slugs, barreling head-on and punishing her arm with tremendous force just moments ago, now glanced from the shield as her attack turned her body parallel with the henchman’s line of fire. She noticed his gruesome face as she pirouetted past. His mouth, full of jagged, white teeth, fell open in surprise, and his six black eyes each reflected the haunting, remorseless expression of the kranos and the flash of Dezmara’s blade as it sliced through his neck. It happened so quickly that his eyes continued to report to his brain for a moment. The last thing he saw before his head tumbled forward and fell to the dock was a stream of his wayward bullets mowing down one of his accomplices who had attacked from across the dock.

Dezmara turned a complete revolution in the air, and as she landed behind the decapitated trapdoor henchman, she spun her blade so the tip curved out past her elbow while catching the falling body beneath the right arm.

“Good thing this asshole was left-handed!”
she thought as she grabbed the wrist of his gun hand, still mashed down on the trigger, and tried to send a barrage into the pickpocket and his friend, who were now rushing straight for her. It was a lot harder than she thought. The body was falling to its knees and listing to the left, and Dezmara had to pull hard to the right to aim the gun in the general direction of her attackers. It was a haphazard counter-measure but the gun was an auto and its rapid fire worked in her favor. Three bullets arced across the thief on the left in a random pattern that knocked him off his feet like he was an action figure thrown around by a spoiled kid. His body slid backward along the dock and crashed into the railing at the outside edge with a loud kathoong!

Dezmara continued to strain against the body’s weight, but she was losing the fight. She stumbled behind the corpse as it came crashing down. Dezmara was still yanking on the left wrist, trying desperately to score another kill or at least wound the bastard. The gun was firing and she could see her target as she willed the pistol to edge just a little more to the right, but it was too late. The remaining bullets in the gun pinged off of Libby’s scratched and worn exterior as the pickpocket dove to his left and out of Dezmara’s sights. The automatic gave out a loud click, but an empty gun was the least of her worries. Dezmara had held on to the corpse too long and her left arm had been pinned beneath the body. She could bend her arm at the elbow and raise the shield perpendicular to the dock, but she couldn’t move it laterally and she couldn’t pull free. Luckily, the decapitated remains of the henchman covered most of her from a frontal attack, but now the kranos, completely exposed, filled the space just behind the dead thug’s shoulders and it wasn’t designed to stop bullets.

“Shit-shit-shit! Simon, you gotta be seein’ this—I know you’re not a fighter, but I need you—why won’t you help me?!” The kranos still answered her calls to the
Ghost
with static, and she was beginning to panic as she brought her knees and feet up to the henchman’s back to help free her arm. She didn’t have much time. The body rocked back and forth as she pushed. She was too far out of position to build any power in her legs and the henchman’s outstretched arm made it virtually impossible to roll the body forward, but she still had to try. She pushed the edge of her left boot into the slick surface of the dock and shoved against the body with everything she had while pulling back on her left arm. The body rocked forward and she felt circulation return to her arm only to be cut off again as her foot slipped on the dock and she was pinned in place once more.

Dezmara repositioned her grip on the right blade. She had it! She would hack the body in half and free herself. “Why didn’t you think of that before, genius?!” she said and her hand flew up into the air. But before she could strike, she heard a familiar sound, the unique click of fresh rounds going into her custom automatic pistols. She looked past the edge of Libby and saw the pickpocket standing there with guns leveled at her head and a cocky smile bisecting the big, bony disk in the center of his face.

“I told ya I’d getcha, you stupid bastard! Gotta a big bonus comin’ to me from the portmaster for icin’ you, Ghost!”

Dezmara loved the fact that most inexperienced or arrogant killers always wanted to monologue. She couldn’t count the number of times she had escaped death because the person intent on killing her had something smart or ‘cool’ to say before actually doing the deed. She thought she had time to figure something out because the pickpocket seemed to be as arrogant and inexperienced as they came, but she was dead wrong—the kid she had cut up was done talking. It was time for revenge.

The twin barrels on the custom autos kicked back, and the pickpocket laughed, waiting to see the contents of the helmet spattered on the dockyard behind The Ghost’s limp corpse as he walked steadily forward.

Before Dezmara could blink her eyes, the shield on her left arm rattled from the impact of slugs and she jumped. This kid was either
really
bad with guns or he was toying with her—her head was sitting there on a platter ready to be blasted to bits. Judging from his comfort with a knife and his willingness to use it without a moment’s hesitation back in the market, Dezmara guessed he was just playing with her. The shield was covering the center of the henchman’s chest, and Dezmara had raised it out of pure reflex when she had spotted the pickpocket. “I guess you’re as dumb as I thought you were after all,” she said as she raised the blade to bisect the body pinning her to the ground. But the pickpocket, still walking steadily forward, was only twenty feet away, and he pulled the triggers on the stolen guns once again before she could free herself. Her heart stopped at the crackle of gunfire so close, and she shut her eyes beneath her hood.

“Am I dead?” she wondered. Everything was dark and silent. She pried one eye open and if she was looking at eternity, it looked a whole lot like the display on the kranos. Her view even had orange numbers on the side that counted down the approach of a gun-toting character that looked exactly like the pickpocket that had just killed her. “Maybe this is hell…”

“Godammit!” roared the young thief as he frantically moved forward again, arms shaking as he trained the guns on Dezmara’s head for the third time.

“Nope, if this was hell, he’d be a lot happier, and I wonder...” she said as she tapped the controls on the kranos. The thief was only ten feet away now, and he let loose another barrage; but this time, Dezmara recorded the trajectory of the bullets. She tapped the helmet again and the display showed something that just didn’t seem possible. The bullets were flying straight at her head, but at the last possible moment every single projectile curved sharply and dove straight into the shield.
“Protection indeed!”
she laughed to herself briefly before turning her attention back to the pickpocket. He would dash forward several feet and then stop abruptly, hysterically whipping the autos forward and firing again. His maddened curses stung the air as each spray of bullets rattled against the shield on Dezmara’s arm like metal rain.

The pickpocket stopped close enough that she could see the sweat on his bone-ringed brow, but Dezmara couldn’t quite reach him with her scythe. He opened fire with similar results as she brought her right blade down and its razor sharp edge chunked into the platform. The lower half of the body slid quickly down the width of the blood-slicked blade and came to rest on the planks of dock six. With the weight of the lower half no longer pinning her arm, Dezmara carefully pulled the headless torso away, making sure the shield stayed facing the raving pickpocket. Each report of fire was mirrored by the clack of metal against metal and the little thief looked like he was about to explode with anger.

“What the hell, you freak-bastard-sonofabitch?!” CRACK-ACK-ACK-ACK-ACK! “Why won’t you fuckin’ die?!” CRACK-ACK-ACK-ACK!

“It’s about time to reload,” Dezmara said. She reached behind her, and as her arm approached her flank, the panels on the shield closest to her body collapsed, allowing for a smooth grab of her left blade. She pulled the scythe from its sheath, spun it point down in front her, and the shield expanded again.

“Screw you, you freak!” the pickpocket cried as he pulled the triggers. CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

“You’ve tried to steal from me twice,” she said as she flicked out her first two fingers from around the handle of her left blade, “and kill me twice.” The fingers on her opposite hand snapped out to assist in the count. “That’s about three more chances than I’ve given anyone before.”

“Godammit…godammit…” the pickpocket whimpered between rasping breaths as he fumbled with the new clips he pulled from the stolen belt. He took several stumbling steps backward. Dezmara waited patiently as he slapped the ammunition into place and looked up again with wild eyes and trembling hands. “Die now!” The guns blared once more, but their fearsome cry was reduced to harmless noise by Dezmara’s shield. As she tore forward, the animal in her mind was awake again. There were no thoughts, just action, and she didn’t make a conscious decision to teach the thief the last lesson he’d ever learn, but he would learn it nonetheless. No more talk and death be done.

The distance separating them disintegrated in a blur of black and gray metal as Dezmara charged. Bullets pounded the shield and sparks heated the air between them. The kranos flashed frantically, counting every round from the automatics as on target to cause severe damage or death before they swerved mysteriously and crashed into the disc as she peered over its top edge. Dezmara moved so fast it seemed like her boots barely touched the dock. One second she was directly in front of him and the next instant, she had disappeared—
like a ghost.

The pickpocket was backpedaling wildly as he held the triggers down, but he might as well have been standing still. A flash of black and silver exploded in his vision and then vanished. He watched in terror as the automatics fell to the ground, still clutched tightly in his hands and firing rapidly. His stumps spewed blood and painted the dock in front of him a slick, shimmering green. He raised what was left of his arms toward his face and then gasped for the air to scream. But before he could cry out, another sound stole his breath—and then his life. Slit.

The pickpocket’s eyes went black as his torso separated from his legs just above the waist and splattered to the ground, adding to the gruesome collage of amputated limbs and slashed bodies strewn at the
Ghost’s
open cargo bay door. Dezmara bent down and flicked the shiny buckle to loosen the ammo belt. She pulled it straight up toward her with a zip, being careful to avoid the guts and fluid spilling freely from the pickpocket’s open stomach. She scooped up her autos from the deck, pried the pickpocket’s still-warm fingers from around the triggers, and gave both guns a familiar spin before sliding them back into the holsters on each of her legs. “Done,” she whispered. And then the kranos sounded an alarm.

Chapter 29: Death of a Soldier

T
he ghost-beast—Noruuka—swung his lengths of phantom cord wildly, and although they looked like permeable, translucent things that barely existed, a raging sting ripped through Abalias’ back after each crack of the whips. He knew Killikbar’s evil spirits were far more deadly than any soldier he had ever faced on the field of battle in his long career as a military man. The whipping wasn’t constant, but Noruuka enjoyed reminding the colonel who was behind him. Abalias took a small measure of satisfaction knowing that only the first blow that ushered him from the cell had slashed open his skin; each subsequent lash tore at his uniform only to find a layer of ice beneath. He was happy to know these
weapons of the ether
could be defended against with means other than magic. He made a mental note and filed it away for later. Right now, he needed to prepare for what he knew was going to be an unfair fight and his mind raced to figure out exactly how it would unfold.

He made a considerable effort to keep his nerves down so he could reason, and he thought hard as he shuffled between Noruuka and the helmed phantom with the sword. He glimpsed at his surroundings for possible clues as to what might lay ahead of him in the arena. They were walking through a rough-hewn tunnel with a curved ceiling and a squared floor. As the phantoms ahead of him floated along, the inky black walls showed in their muted glow but were invisible beyond the cool smolder of Killikbar’s demon torches. Every now and then Abalias spied a thick cell door, complete with nine rectangular cut-outs and a huge stone bolt, in the wraith light on either side. As he trudged along the deeply worn trail in the rock, Abalias wondered how many good men, women, or even children had marched this way to their deaths. Beyond his forward phantom guard, he could see the armor-clad backside of Killikbar, and the other two specters lighted the way ahead of him.