DIRE : BORN (The Dire Saga Book 1) (24 page)

Instead I broke cover myself, towards the central stone fountain of the roundabout. I managed to avoid the claymore's blast area. He turned faster than I thought possible and drew like lightning with one hand, chasing me with pistol rounds. One hit, and I winced as the heat amped up again. I was starting to feel light-headed, and my arms were killing me. He was a good shot, I couldn't afford to underestimate him.

However, I had a few more cards to play. I started the ball drone on a wide arc, around the conflict. I needed time for this.

The smackbrawl episode I'd seen came back to me. It might just be time to try some kayfabe.

“YOU THOUGHT DIRE EASY PREY? YOU WERE WRONG. DIRE IS GOING TO DESTROY YOU AND YOUR GANG, ONE BY ONE! THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU THAT SHE CAN'T FIX WITH A LITTLE GRATUITIOUS VIOLENCE.”

“Big words, lady. Come over here and say that to my face.”

“OH NO, IT WON'T BE THAT EASY. DO YOU THINK SHE JUST BROUGHT HER FISTS TO A GUNFIGHT?”

“For a minute there? Yeah, I really did. But hey, keep talking. I want to test a theory.”

Through the ball drone I saw him poke the burning man for a few times, nod at the lack of resistence. Then he brought the rifle up, gauging the distance, pointing it my way and bracing himself. He was trying to line up a shot with the grenade launcher.

“YOU THINK TO SHELL HER? YOU'RE OVERLOOKING ONE VERY IMPORTANT THING.”

And he hesitated. My smacktalk, primitive though it was, had bought me enough time.

“And what's that?” he called.

“YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WITH EXPLOSIVES.”

With a simple command, I had the ball drone roll up to him and start beeping.

He dove for cover behind the APC, getting as far as he could from the drone...

And when he was in front of the claymore, I activated my universal remote.

Click. Beep!

BOOM!

It was like watching a bag full of red paint get hit by a shotgun. What was left of him hit the ground about twenty feet away, and I let myself relax. The only Black Bloods left were in full withdrawal, running like hell to the south.

“Hey! Dire!” A familiar shout, and I looked up to a second-story window of a nearby restaurant to see Bunny waving down at me. “Good work. We're pulling back now.”

“WE'RE NOT DONE. THIS IS ONLY HALF THE JOB!"

“I've got like four people left who aren't dead or injured.”

I hissed between my teeth. “THE CAMP NEEDS US.”

“And so do my brothers and sisters. They need medical care. Like now.” She gestured around the scene. I looked around, and my objections stilled in my throat. For every two or three black-clad forms around the wrecked crossroads, there was one blue-coated form down. Some of them were shrieking in pain. Others were ominously silent and still. They'd earned their keep, here, and I couldn't deny them their withdrawal.

I shook my head. “NO TIME TO ARGUE. DO HER A FAVOR AND SECURE THE APC BEFORE YOU LEAVE. DIRE HAS A USE FOR IT LATER.”

I retrieved my ball drone and took to the air. I ached all over, sweat was running down me in buckets, my arms felt fried and throbbed in pain in a way that matched my heartbeat. But I wasn't done. God damn it, I wasn't done.

All I could do was fly as fast as I could, and hope that I could get there in time to make a difference.

CHAPTER 14: A Dark and Bloody Secret

“You have to admit, it was a masterful deception. They built up their reputation as a gang of crazies and murderers, blamed for all sorts of horrible things. No one had a clue of their true nature. No one suspected the truth of the matter, save for one lone hunter...”

--From Teatime with Bastet: My ruminations with Icon's resident goddess, by Adrian Delaware, page 74. Published by Night-errant press, 2005

It had taken me a full minute and a half to make my way through unfamiliar, obstacle-choked streets without drawing attention from the Bloods. I made the return trip without a care for stealth, and got there in thirty seconds or so. What I saw horrified me. Two groups of black-clad invaders had set up, one group on the dunes north of the camp, and the other group was clustered behind the showerhouse, using its concrete walls for cover. Bullets sang as they unloaded into the camp with every sort of firearm under the sun, and I didn't see many defenders. There were bodies strewn about the tents, and the bulk of the refugees were clustered behind the few boats they'd managed to drag up on shore. A scream from the crowd, and the occasional slumping figure showed me that there was no good cover there.

Behind the group at the showerhouse, up the rock-strewn slope, a few black vans were pulling in along the road. I marked the heavy bars on the back of them, and cursed. They were likely transporting more of the rage-driven victims. One of those had given me trouble. I didn't want to see what three of them did to a crowd of civilians.

I gnawed my lip. Finally, I decided there was no help for it. I'd tackle the group that had solid cover first.

Muzzle flashes shifted my way as I came roaring down from above, landing on one of them and feeling bones give as I slammed him into the concrete of the showerhouse floor. I grabbed another and threw him into a cluster, then waded in with fists swinging.

I'd come into the middle of them, and when they fired they couldn't avoid hitting their friends... especially when I grabbed one of them at random intervals to use as a shield. The bodies soaked bullets while I pulped the ones that couldn't get away fast enough with my free hand. For a moment there, my heart rose, and I forgot the pain from my scalded arms as I punished them. I beat my fists over and over again into the wretches that threatened me and mine. That dared to threaten me and mine!

“YOUR FATE IS DIRE!” I promised. “SHE IS YOUR RECKONING! SHE IS THE END OF YOUR DAYS!”

They hesitated, and I killed them for it.

Out of my peripheral vision, I saw one of them with a purple scarf around her neck take a few steps back up the beach. Then she reached into her pocket, pulled something out, and seemed to take a drink from it. I was too busy to stop her, as I laid another two of them low with a sweeping backhand. Eight down, four running, and I had to dodge out of the way as the rest shot at me. I stooped to grab another human shield, thanking my stars that I'd slimmed down the armor and rebuilt it for mobility. The forcefield was getting a small workout, but so far it was manageable.

A burbling roar rose at my back, and I whirled around. Purple scarf was on the ground, howling and rocking back and forth. Blood poured from her mouth in a spray, and her teeth grew and seemed to warp into sharp, jagged shapes.

So this was the infamous Black Rage...

She looked at me with dark, bleeding eyes, and in a heartbeat she was off the ground and at my throat. It took everything I had to check her with one forearm, and she sent me staggering back a good couple of feet before I ground my heels in.

To the east I heard gunfire from the direction of the camp. I hoped it was the good guys, but I had no time to glance over and check, as purple scarf was doing her level best to rip my head off. The armor reinforcing my neck groaned, and rivets started to give...

I grabbed one of her hands with my left arm, hauled the coilgun's barrel down with my right, and slammed the weapon into her head. After about the third slam something broke in her skull. She stumbled back a bit, shook her head. Her left eyesocket was shattered, and her eye flopped on her cheek, obscene and dangling from one bloody strand. And yet she still stood.

I drilled her point-blank in the head with a spike round, and she finally dropped as her skull gave way with a crimson spray. Glancing up, I looked for the next targets, and found the six or so remaining bloods running up the beach. A glance at the dunes showed that things had shifted, there. The camp had rallied at my appearance, and some of my gunners were returning fire. Then lightning flared from behind a wooden lump near the boats, and I grinned, as Sparky got into play. With only one direction to focus on now, he could safely commence bolting their asses down. Yeah, my people had that in hand. The dunes were a good vantage point but didn't have much cover, so the Bloods would have to back off soon.

As I watched, a white-clad figure burst out of the medical tent. He was running toward me, unlimbering a long object from his side as he went. I recognized Khalid, and as he approached I identified the thing in his hands as a sword. What the devil was he doing with that? He was shouting, but the words were lost in the noise of the distant firefight. Finally, as his hand came up and gestured I knew what was going on.

I whipped around, before the first screaming maniac could fling himself at me.

The Black Bloods had opened the vans, set their drug-twisted minions loose. And I was the nearest target still standing.

I tried to stiff arm the one in the lead, but with a mighty leap he crashed into me, taking us both down. I threw him off, but the second one leaped on me, started pummeling me over and over with his fists. The armor shook and I could feel it start to give in the torso. I fought back, pistoning my hands into his ribs, and feeling them break with every strike. I was giving better than I was getting, but he wasn't slowing down. How the hell was this even possible?

A metallic crunch, and a strike broke through to my stomach. I doubled over in pain, tried to kick him off, but he was having none of it. And then my vision was obscured by long-nailed hands, as I realized the third one had crept around during my scuffle, and wrapped her fingers around my mask. With terrible strength she twisted my head, and my neck armor creaked.

She twisted, and I fought back as best I could. But with two of them on me, this could only have one ending. I closed my eyes, as the first rivet popped.
Sorry Sparky. Sorry Joan
.

And then the pressure on my head ceased. The one on me jumped back, and a white-clad form stood over me, curved sword dripping, glaring at the last remaining druggie.

“You shall not have her! Flee, vermin!” One hand dipped into a pocket, came up with a bottle. He threw it and a smoky flash of green billowed up around the druggie, who howled in pain and started running away.

“YOU COULDN'T HAVE DONE THAT EARLIER?”

“It's toxic to the living. I didn't want to kill you while trying to save you. Anyway, we need to—”

The first one, the one I'd thrown off, tackled him in a blur of pale flesh. I shoved myself off the ground, staggered as I realized that my beating had thrown the hydraulics off a bit.

“A little help here?” Khalid called out, wrestling with his attacker. He was twisting, trying to keep the druggie from getting a good grip, but he was nowhere as strong as the madman who was doing his best to bite Khalid's face off. Only a matter of time... I spared a glance for the woman who had been trying to pop my spine. Her body was a few feet away, with her head a few feet more from it. Huh, sharp sword.

No more time. I lurched over and grabbed Khalid's attacker, one hand seizing each of his arms. And then I clamped down and
pulled.

The left one gave way first, and it barely slowed him down. He spun around and tried to gnaw through my shoulderplate, kicking and biting at me. Then he jerked, as Khalid's blade protruded through his forehead. With a gurgle, he slumped back... and Khalid pulled the sword out, whirled around, and cut his head off as neatly as a child plucking a flower.

“YOU ARE NOT WHAT YOU SEEM, DOCTOR.”

“Ah, well, that makes two of us.” He grinned. “Explanations later— oh.”

The crack of a gunshot, as he collapsed into my arms. His sword fell from limp fingers, as I blinked in surprise.

I turned as quickly as I could, and looked up the beach. A man stood there by the vans, with a hunting rifle in his hands. He wore a good suit. The jacket was hanging off his neck by a gold chain, his arms out of the sleeves. His long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and he wore sunglasses. It was well into night, and he was wearing sunglasses. But the thing that caught my attention? His smile. A yellowed wedge of teeth, with no real humor in it. It stretched and deformed his face so badly that permanent wrinkles were lined into the visage.

“RICTUS, SHE PRESUMES.” Khalid groaned and bled, and I eased him down behind me.

“Got it in one, babe,” he called. “You've been giving us a lot of trouble. But that ends tonight.”

“BETTER THAN YOU HAVE TRIED,” I snarled, taking a step forward. My leg wobbled a bit, draining menace from my statement. The pain was catching up to me, and my stomach hurt where that druggie had cracked my armor. My other injuries and aches were coming forward. And then my heart sunk, as Rictus snapped his fingers, and four more vans pulled up to the edge of the road. Black Bloods scurried out to stand ready by the doors, ready to pop the bars and let loose the berserkers.

“I'm sure they have,” Rictus talked, his lips dancing over his locked smile. “But I'll settle for sloppy seconds. Or... we could work something out.”

Four vans. Khalid dying or dead. I snuck a look back up the beach. The foes on the dunes had withdrawn, but the showerhouse was between Sparky and Rictus. I couldn't count on help from that corner.

“SHE'S LISTENING,” I said, stalling for time.

“Step out of the armor and come on up here. We sell you to some people who want you, preferably alive. Then we walk away.”

“JUST LIKE THAT?”

“Just like that.”

“CAMP UNHARMED?”

“So long as these fucking bums remember their place, sure.”

“He lies,” Khalid whispered from behind me.

I nodded. This was a gang we were dealing with, and we'd dealt them too much hurt for them to simply walk away. They had their own image to think of.

Behind me, the sound of Sparky's lightning had ceased. So had the gunshots from the dunes. All were waiting for my reply.

And in the distance, a faint whistling noise. I might have mistaken it for wind, if I hadn't heard it before. Great. Of all the times for him to show back up...

“SHE REJECTS YOUR OFFER.” The best I could do was to sow chaos on the field, to slow down the new arrival. “YOU LYING SON OF A BITCH.”

He shook his head, snapped his fingers. “My mother was a saint.” Then the rifle came up, and he took his shot. I couldn't dodge without leaving Khalid vulnerable, so I gritted my teeth and took it on the forcefield. The surge of heat made my head swim. The temperature fluctuations were doing a number on me, and things seemed to slow down... I saw Rictus immediately turn and run clear, as the Black Bloods ripped the bars from the doors and beat feet themselves. Howling, slavering berserkers poured out, looked around, and oriented on me...

...As Ballista touched down with a WHOMP, billowing sand and snow up around him. There was someone in his arms, and the hero put him down carefully. I had to check twice, to make sure I wasn't seeing things.

“ROY?”

“Hey there Dire girl.”

It was! He was bare-chested under his greatcoat with a layer of tape and bandages around his ribs, and he was moving with care, but it was Roy!

“GET CLEAR!” I shouted at him, and fired spike rounds from the coilgun past him, trying to slow down the charging berserkers. Ballista whirled around, drawing spears as he did so, and snapping them out to full extension.

“Stay back! I don't want to hurt y—”

One of them leaped at him, hit the spear. He ran up it, ignoring his impalement and the damage he was doing to himself. Ballista dropped the spear and grabbed for him, and suddenly the berserker was flying in another direction. Two more used the distraction to close in... but by then I had caught up to him, and waded in, fists swinging. “THEY'RE GONE, NOTHING HUMAN LEFT,” I shouted. “DON'T HOLD BACK OR THEY'LL KILL YOU!”

“She's right you know.” Khalid's voice was stronger now, and another bottle flew past me to burst open on one of them, loosing more green smoke. It howled and fled back up the hill, seeming to lose speed as it went. Gunshots chased it. I glanced back to see that Roy had scooped up a dropped pistol, and was blazing away at it. Amazingly enough, the bullets seemed to slow it down. Some property of the gas? Counteracted the drugs, maybe?

I had no time to ponder it. Ballista finally stepped up to join me, his remaining spear in his hands while I battered and punched at them with my gauntlets. They couldn't inflict serious damage on me without time to work, but they tried. They slammed me again and again with ludicrous strength, sending me staggering around the beach. But every time they started to get the upper hand, Ballista would slash with the spear's tip and open grievous wounds. Our foes were slowing, but still going, and even a few shots from Roy didn't do much that I could tell. We needed something more... and then I remembered the effect from the tracers in the last fight.