Extensis Vitae (11 page)

A huge form suddenly lunged out of the smoke. Reznik jumped back, just avoiding the grasp of a meaty hand. His attacker was nearly seven feet tall and probably weighed close to four hundred pounds. His face was covered in a black leather mask with ragged cutouts for his eyes and mouth. He was shirtless, and his body was soft and flabby looking and covered with numerous scars. One huge hand held a wicked looking machete.

Reznik thought he looked like a professional wrestler that had stepped out of someone’s twisted S&M nightmare. The huge outlaw advanced, eyes dull and slightly unfocused behind the mask. He took a leap forward and swung the machete. Reznik ducked and backed away, his back scraping the stone wall.

The outlaw swung the machete again, forcing Reznik to the right. His foot caught on some debris and his ankle turned.
Shit
, he thought.

The man was on him, surprisingly quick for his size, chopping downward with the machete. Reznik managed to keep his footing due to his boosted reflexes and parried the machete with the baton. The blade cut a deep gouge in the shaft of the baton.

A huge fist slammed into his side and knocked Reznik off-balance. He staggered a bit, and the outlaw grabbed a fistful of his uniform and lifted him off the ground.

Reznik hit him on the upper arm with the baton—hard. The man just grunted and shrugged it off. He swung Reznik around and slammed him against the stone wall hard enough to make his teeth rattle, but his dermal plating seemed to absorb any damage from the impact. Reznik keyed the button on the baton and electricity arced from the end. The outlaw slammed him into the wall again before he could hit him. Reznik stuck the charge against his chest, but his attacker seemed unfazed, other than a grunt of annoyance. Again he was pounded against the wall, the back of his skull cracking against the stone.

“I see you’ve met Brute already,” came a familiar voice from nearby. The voice was guttural, with the rasp of a lifetime smoker. The man known as Haze stepped out of the dispersing smoke. “That was pretty slick, using our mine against us,” he said, looking unamused. Haze was tall and lean with a mohawk that was dyed the blood red. He wore a leather vest and pants, and his arms were covered with sleeve tattoos. Pale blue eyes were set in his cruel face.

The huge man known as Brute had paused when Haze had come forward. He still held Reznik off the ground in one hand as easily as he might hold a beer bottle.

Reznik took advantage of the pause in the action. He hurled the baton at Haze, and with his left hand, grasped Brute’s forearm. He jammed his right hand up into Brute’s elbow, popping the joint out with a
crack
, causing Brute to grunt in pain. At the same time, Reznik coiled his legs behind him and pushed hard off the wall. His uniform tore in Brute’s hand and he was free, tumbling in a somersault across the floor. The big man staggered backward, looking surprised as he was left holding only a scrap of clothing. Reznik saw a long knife that one of the attackers had dropped, and he snatched it up as he rose to his feet.

The outlaw leader held the baton in his hand as he watched Reznik. “Nice move,” he said as he began circling around. Reznik saw Brute moving to flank him, machete held high. His left arm hung useless at his side.

Haze darted in surprisingly fast and feinted with the baton. Reznik dodged the swing and slashed with the knife, but Haze easily evaded.

“These things are fuckin’ worthless,” the outlaw rasped, tossing the baton aside. At the same time, his left hand whipped around from behind his back.

Reznik’s HUD tracked the incoming objects. He was able to identify them as
shurikens
in the split-second he had before they struck him. He deflected one with the knife and ducked as another sailed overhead. The third
shuriken
hit him in the right forearm. His dermal plating reacted and deflected it, which
clinked
against the wall.

Brute attacked, trying to blindside him. His machete slashed at Reznik with enough force to cut him in half, but Reznik dropped into a crouch and swept his leg around, catching Brute behind the knees. The big man stumbled forward and dropped to one knee as Reznik darted behind him. Reznik stabbed out once, twice, into Brute’s kidney area. Blood spurted as he pulled the knife free and stepped back. Brute grunted again, but started climbing back to his feet.

Reznik was forced to defend himself as Haze attacked with a knife in each hand. His HUD was able to track each attack, and he slashed and parried with his own blade. Faster and faster their blades met, steel ringing and sparks flying. Their hands and knives became a blur, so fast was the deadly exchange.

Haze forced him back, knives twisting and slashing inhumanly fast, his dual blades an advantage over Reznik’s single one.
He’s as fast as I am
, Reznik thought, having to work to intercept and turn aside each blow. Then he felt the blade cut into his fingers where he held the knife. If it hadn’t been for his dermal plating, his fingers would have been severed and he would have been disarmed.

Another slash cut across his midsection, and Haze cursed at him as he saw the lack of damage he was inflicting. “Got some fancy tech, do ya?” he snarled.

Reznik hurled the knife at the outlaw and followed with a lunge. Haze instinctively went to deflect the thrown blade. Reznik grappled with the outlaw and grasped him by both wrists. He sharply twisted Haze’s arms down and inward, causing him to lose his grip and drop the daggers to the ground.
He has the speed to match me, but not the strength
, he noted. He could see the track marks along the inside of Haze’s forearms.
Must be better living through chemistry
.

Haze cursed and spat in Reznik’s face as he fruitlessly tried to break his iron grasp. He lowered his shoulder and tried to drive into Reznik, attempting to throw him off-balance. Reznik took a step back and was about to counterattack when he backed into a wall of flesh.

Brute’s hand went around Reznik’s throat. Haze tried to knee him in the groin, but Reznik blocked his strike. He yanked Haze forward and drove an elbow back into Brute’s stomach, but his fat seemed to absorb the impact. Haze struggled to free himself, but Reznik tightened his grip, crushing Haze’s wrists.

“Get him off me, you stupid fuck,” Haze screamed. Brute lifted Reznik in the air again, the big man’s massive hand trying to crush his throat. It became harder to breathe, but the nanites in his body hardened in response to the pressure and kept his airway open.

From his position in the air, it was easy to drive his knee into Haze’s face. The outlaw’s nose flattened and blood sprayed out. Reznik released him as he cried out, probably more in shock than pain, due to his chemical enhancement. Reznik turned his attention to Brute.
I should have finished this one off already.

He couldn’t see his assailant, as the man had him by the throat from behind, but he could see the machete Brute had dropped in order to grab him with his good arm. Reznik grasped the fingers around his throat and strained to loosen them. Brute’s grip was like a vice, but Reznik’s enhanced strength allowed him to pry the fingers loose one by one. Brute hissed in anger as Reznik snapped the little finger. After he snapped the next one, Brute bellowed in pain and dropped him.

Reznik dropped down and snatched up the machete. He turned and darted past Brute’s grasping hand, slashing out and severing the tendon behind his knee as he went past. The big man dropped like an avalanche, roaring in pain as he crushed the remnants of one of the crates. Reznik was on Brute’s back in a flash. He grabbed Brute by the forehead and pulled his head up enough to get the machete around and hack through his thick neck, opening his jugular vein.

Hot blood spurted out onto the floor. Brute bucked beneath him at first, as if he was trying to get back up again, but then he shuddered a couple more times and was still.

Remembering Haze, Reznik got back to his feet, scanning the area as he wondered where the outlaw leader was. He got his answer in the form of a shotgun blast that hit him square in the back. The force of the buckshot threw him onto Brute’s corpse.

He rolled free and saw Haze standing a couple yards away. The outlaw held an antiquated sawed-off double-barrel shotgun. The lower half of his face was covered in blood from his smashed nose, and his mouth was twisted into a snarl as he stepped closer.

“Die, you fuck,” he rasped as he fired the second barrel at Reznik’s face. Anticipating the move, Reznik could feel the surge of either adrenaline or augmentations—or a combination of the two—rush through him, boosting his reflexes. He grasped Brute’s massive arm and twisted, pulling the corpse up as a shield between him and Haze.

He was partially successful, as the blast blew off Brute’s arm at the shoulder. Reznik’s head and neck were peppered with buckshot and gore.

Shaking his head to get his bearings, he wiped the blood out of his eyes. Haze was reloading. With a cry, Reznik hurled the beefy arm at Haze. The arm clubbed the outlaw in the chest, and he cursed as shotgun shells spilled onto the floor.

Reznik sprung back to his feet and came at Haze with a sweeping slash of the machete. Haze backpedaled, spilling more shells on the ground from the pouch on his belt. Reznik swung the machete again, and Haze deflected it with the shotgun. He feinted with a slash of the machete and kicked out at Haze’s knee. The outlaw’s kneecap shattered under the blow, and he went down with a cry.

His next attack slipped past Haze’s desperate attempt to parry again with the shotgun. The blade hacked deep into Haze’s forearm. Reznik twisted and wrenched the machete free. With his enhanced strength, the thick blade tore the rest of the way through his forearm. This time, Haze screamed as a fountain of blood spurted from the stump of his arm.

Reznik stepped on the wrist of the severed hand and pulled the shotgun from its clutching grasp. The outlaw sagged back against the tunnel wall, and his eyes began to roll back in his head as a rapidly growing pool of blood spread out beneath him. Reznik leaned over and backhanded Haze across the face to keep him coherent.

“Where are the prisoners?” Reznik could tell he was almost finished.
Harsh interrogation will be pointless on this one. A couple minutes max, and he’s a goner.

Haze’s face was pale with shock and his eyes focused on his blood draining out onto the floor. He fumbled in his pocket with his remaining hand. Reznik held the blade to his throat, but he only pulled out a crushed pack of cigarettes and a book of matches.

“Ah shit, you jacked me up good.” All the fight had gone out of him with his lifeblood. He put a crumpled cigarette between his lips and fumbled weakly with the match, trying to light it one-handed. The matches slipped out of his hand.

Reznik picked them up and lit one. He held it up and Haze inhaled, lighting his final cigarette.
Sometimes all it takes is a minor show of kindness in their final moments to make them decide to cooperate. No matter how sorry a piece of shit they might be.

Haze blew out a long stream of smoke, and his face softened slightly. “Ah, thanks, mate. It was nothing personal, you know,” he rasped, slumping back against the wall. “It’s what we do—‘survival of the fittest,’ and all that shit.” He closed his eyes.

“The prisoners,” Reznik repeated. He thought Haze was gone, but after a moment, the man took another draw on the cigarette.

“Most of them we sold to the skin traders. We kept the old doctor around, and a few of the women, too, for our own enjoyment.”

“How many more of you are there?”

Haze exhaled a large puff of smoke and coughed weakly. “Just a couple more of my people in there.” He clutched at an object chained around his neck. “This—I meant to set her free…I did…” He looked like he wanted to say more, but he gasped weakly and his eyes rolled back. Reznik yanked the chain from Haze’s neck. It was a small, cylindrical object about the size of a AAA battery with some type of interface on one end. A logo of three intertwined triangles was the only marking on it.

Reznik stuck the object in his pocket and surveyed the carnage.
What a mess
, he thought. It looked like the set of a horror movie, with butchered corpses and buckets of blood.

He wondered if it would be possible to draw the others out, or if he would have to hunt them down. They hadn’t come out to investigate the sounds of what was obviously staunch resistance to the ambush, so he assumed they had been commanded to stay at their posts and guard the prisoners.