Reckoning (56 page)

Gage
nodded his head faintly at the shock coming in, a red bloodless haze, as he recognized the massive overload of pain. Good, he thought, the greater the pain, the more confused the body would become. To a point, it would help him go farther.

Use it!

Gage felt himself centering, his eyes clearing, his balance re-turning. He stepped backwards, rightside forward, circling slowly to the right.

Sato gazed at him dumbly and reached into his coat pocket, searching, pulling his bloody hand out slowly. Then he squeezed, cracked something inside his fist.

Gage didn't move; he knew, and he watched with a cold, calculating gaze.

Frowning, the Japanese raised the bloody hand to his wounded face, sniffed,
and sniffed again. Then he stared at Gage as the drug took effect. Gage watched the Japanese's face and saw the energy, the strength returning fresh and heated as the seconds passed.

Sato laughed, lifting his hand again to sniff the last of the powder, rising internally, ascending above the exhaustion
and pain.

Gage didn't know what he had taken. Probably a PCP derivative, the worst. He knew that the drug would phenomenally enhance strength and endurance, increase blood pressure, kill pain and alter the nervous system's ability to perceive injury or even death.

He's got the advantage! ... Find a way to neutralize it! ... Put him in a position where he can't use his strength!

Mind scanning, Gage glanced behind him, searching for some tactic to neutralize Sato's sudden advantage. And he saw it; a desperate last chance, a final arena for this conflict.

When he looked back, Sato had taken a slow step forward, the knife held out again, waving, threatening. And the darkened face laughed, suddenly oblivious to the injuries and the blood loss.

In pain Gage retreated, luring Sato forward. He blinked to focus, backed more quickly as Sato continued to advance. In seconds he was at the entrance of a stone corridor, Sato only 20 feet away, still advancing, smiling, strength by strength building within him as the moments passed.

Gage backed until he stood well inside the hallway, and Sato advanced into it a dozen paces, also well inside. A single light, mounted low on the wall, was all that illuminated the subterranean tunnel.

Gage stood beside the lamp, glanced sideways at it. And
then the Japanese seemed to perceive his intent, and laughed.

Sato advanced with the knife held tight, controlled and focused. Unafraid.

Fifteen feet.

Smiling, advancing.

Frowning, Gage watched.

Ten feet.

Advancing.

Gage's fist lashed out to shatter the light
.

P
lunging them into darkness.

* * *

FIFTY-FOUR

Silence.

Gage moved quickly back to make more noise than necessary, scraping his blade along the stones, and then he leaped forward again, with a quick step to the side, crouching in blood.

Still.

Listening.

He heard nothing.

Gage strained, listening closer, silently twisting his head to turn his ear slightly forward. He almost completely halted his breathing, a difficult task, and he closed his eyes, knowing only the rushing sound of blood inside, his heart pounding, a faint ringing that seemed to echo within him.

Careful to hold silence, Gage turned his head to offer his other ear to the corridor, his sweating face grimacing with the encompassing pain of his wounds.

Only silence.

Don't move ... Don't panic ... Don't let him push you ... Let him make the mistake ... It's almost impossible to move without sound ... Let him come to you ... Wait ... Wait ... Don't move.

Searching hard, Gage glared into the darkness of the corridor, but it was only gloom, utter gloom. Not even the faintest gray shade could be seen in the blackness, only inky blackness. And Gage knew that if Sato had been standing directly in front of him, he could not have seen the Japanese.

Gage tried to feel the air on his face, the stillness of it, the faint movement of it. Hot sweat on his neck and face was sensitive to the cool touch, the faintest shifting of the subterranean stillness. And he used it, glaring into the death shadow, his face turned slightly for the feel of the current, and to provide direct access of sound to his ear.

Gage heard nothing.

What is he doing!

Where is he?

Panic rose up.

Cold sweat dripping off his face, stomach muscles tight in a crouch with legs dead, trembling from exhaustion, Gage forced himself to wait.

Sweat blinked out of his eyes. And, through his exhaustion, Gage slowly released a single, tightly focused breath, directed it downward, felt drops of sweat come off his chin, his lips.

He closed his eyes, focusing.

Wet leather cold on his skin.

He ignored the clamminess, breathed quietly and shallowly through his nose to slow his respiration, his heart rate. But he didn't know how long he could control it; the oxygen strain was building, intensifying fast. He trembled, holding position, muscles cramping, tried not to move at all because the leather would sound so easily in the stillness.

And the thoughts came to him again.

Where is he?

Did he retreat?

No
, something told him,
the answer is no. He's there. Waiting. He wants to claim you. To claim the joy of killing you.

This is to the death
... He won’t be retreating
.

Gage poised in silence, beyond silence, and only silence sur-rounded him, a corridor of silence, of nothing; darkness. And what he did next was simply done, without real thought, his inner being knowing, while his mind watched.

Get him to move
!

Not so faintly that it would have been made on purpose but to indicate an accident, the rare mistake of a true professional, Gage purposefully made the slightest, faintest sound, shifting his boot delicately on the stone; a sound that would not have existed at all if someone were not poised in the dark, crouching only feet away, waiting for it, prepared for it.

Then, unmoving enough to become part of the darkness him-self, Gage listened, fingers tight on the hilt of Dragon, waiting. And he lowered his free hand in front of him to touch the floor, palm and fingers facing out, feeling the dark air against his blood-soaked hand, relaxed to catch the cool current. He held the position, knowing nothing, frustrated.

He waited, knowing more air would stir on the floor than at any other level.

Still, nothing.

Sweat rained from his face, silent against the stones. He stifled a moan at the agony of his wounds and hoped that the chemicals Sato had taken would cause an adverse reaction, provoking the powerful Japanese to grow impatient and move first.

Maybe …

Gage estimated the depth of the corridor, imagining how Sato would advance. He tried to perceive what was beyond him in the darkness when a sudden, thrill-charged instinct made him freeze.

Gage held his crouch, his muscles instantly knotting in unendurable pain at the fatigue, the vivid fear. Something... had happened.

A touch had passed him.

It had been along the floor, but also somewhere else. With his bloody hand he had felt the wind stirred by a close footstep. What-ever else he had felt could not be discerned; it was too faint.

Face freezing in sweat, Gage strained desperately to understand, using every sense to perceive, to search out what it had been.

There!

Close again.

Gone!

Gage concentrated frantically, face grimacing in cold, sweating frustration, faint.

What was it?

Then he felt again
– the ghostly stirring of air along the floor, and he knew that Sato was close, maybe directly in front of him, searching.

Eyes wide to stare through the gloom, Gage froze in fear and trembling rage, his skin open to the slightest brush of wind. Reflexively his hand tightened even more on the knife. And he understood suddenly that Sato had, indeed, been closing on him since he had made that first, faint scraping sound. And the Japanese had c
ome upon him without a whisper of warning. Now they were face to face, Sato searching for his exact location so he could launch a final attack.

There
!

Something faintly moved a thin ribbon of air, the stirring not strong enough to indicate a body. And then Gage knew it completely and at once, understanding finally the reason for the faint stirring of wind, what it was
and what it had been.

Sato’s
blade …

It was a blade; the cold steel almost at Gage's face, moving slowly through the air, its coldness emanating through the stillness to faintly touch the chilled air which, in turn, brushed the sweat of his skin; a ghostly caress.

Tensing violently against a trembling that threatened the stillness, Gage stiffened. An overpowering panic almost compelled him to leap forward, stabbing blindly, but training instantly shut down instinct.

Cold … The blade closer now … A whisper of wind.

Sato had moved a silent step forward, slow enough to only barely stir the air. And he was crouched only a step away, was searching the space before him with the tanto.

Gage knew that, on the first faint contact of the blade, Sato would lunge forward, impaling him, willing to match his superior, drug-induced strength against Gage's failing endurance. And Gage knew that if he himself struck too soon and missed a vital area, Sato would simply throw him down and, in series of short, brutal blows, stab him to death.

Sweat-soaked face tight in a terrible tension, moving with imperceptible slowness, Gage cautiously raised his left hand to his chest, holding it close. And his right hand froze in a blood-grip to the hilt of the Dragon, holding the blade low for an upward sweep.

A faint stirring of wind.

Coldness passing.

Gage's toes curled silently within his boots. And he held a trembling high tension, leg muscles bunching, coiling.

Any
... second!

A razored edge touched his face.

Roaring Gage swept the blade aside with his left hand and leaped forward to stab, and he collided solidly with Sato's massive form and the Japanese went backward before the assault. Gage came down on top on him, instantly trapping his knife arm.

Sato yelled out to throw him off, tried a head
butt, missed. And Gage reversed his knife grip, stabbing downward to plunge the nine-inch steel blade through the ballistic shirt and inside Sato's ribs, pushing deep on the blade, wrenching, driving, twisting the steel through flesh and bone to savage a mortal wound. Screaming in pain, Sato kicked him in the chest, hurling Gage back. But Gage held onto the blade as he fell, drawing it free to continue the damage.

Gasping he collapsed to one knee, and through a misty red haze he heard Sato stagger up, stumbling, moving away from him, out of the corridor.

Rising on will and the dying fire of an exhausted rage, Gage stumbled after him. And together they entered the deserted cathedral again, shuffling with exhausted slowness into the gray light. There was only a small distance between them, but Gage no longer cared about distance, no longer needed it.

This belonged to him now; he owned it,
he would finish it.

Swaying, Sato turned, face slack in pain, staring back.

Gage waited, breathing heavily, watching. Then with a guttural laugh Sato reached slowly into his bloodied coat to remove another crystal.

Beyond caring, Gage waited. He knew what was coming; knew it would make no difference
.

It was too late.

Sato cracked the crystal, raised it to his face, sniffed, and sniffed again. Instantly the chemical hit his system and he shook his head violently, glaring at Gage with fresh strength. He shouted something indiscernible, eyes vivid and bright.

With a wary expression Gage widened his stance, coming onto the balls of his feet. His grip shifted slightly on the blade, tightening.

"Ai Uchi!"

Sato screamed and with an explosive leap to bridge the gap he stabbed straight with the tanto to deliver a suicide blow but Gage sidestepped, slashing down
with dead accuracy at Sato's unprotected wrist to hit a hard, straight blow.

The tanto clanged to the floor and Sato staggered forward another step, propelled by the momentum of his thrust before he wildly regained his balance, straightening, glaring at his
half-severed hand with an unfocused strangeness.

Gage suspected that he didn't even feel the wound; knew he would never stop.

As if in sullen disbelief, Sato gazed back at him, eyes red. Then the massive Japanese blinked angrily and glanced toward the bloodied tanto at his feet, as if measuring his chances. Gage followed the gaze. Made no move to stop him.

Sato laughed.

Impassive, Gage blinked sweat from his eyes.

With surprising speed Sato had crouched
and grabbed the blade with his left hand. Then he leaped forward, stabbing with the long steel tanto, but Gage had stepped inside the blow, moving with almost casual speed to swing the Dragon from left to right in a two-hand power sweep.

Pivoting hard, Gage felt the blade bite deep into Sato's right side, smashing through bone, and he finished the blow, the fight, roaring and sweeping the blade completely through the rib cage. When the blade hit Sato's left ribs Gage violently tore it free, on fire with the savage effort, and then they separated, standing close for a moment, leaning with shoulders touching, face to face, eye to eye, before Gage stepped slowly, angrily, to the side.

Sato made a choked, strained sound, then glanced down strangely at his chest, his ribs. Face contorted by pain, he looked up, focusing on Gage.

Gage stood a step away and his face softened in a strange and exhausted amazement, eyes narrowing in disbelief. It was incredible that the Japanese was still standing. Then the amazed
expression was gone, replaced by a bitter and grim resolve and Gage remembered that he would go as long as he had to go to finish this fight.

But he
would
finish it.

Forever.

A silent, crazed stare and Sato suddenly staggered, falling to one knee. But he still held the tanto in his left hand, and, glaring insanely, struggled to strike again, to fight, to kill.

And Gage stepped close, his face dark with something more than blood. Slowly, he reached out to grab the hair of Sato's head.

His voice was chilling.

"
Enough
!" he rasped. "
There will be an ending
!"

Gage brought the blade, the Dragon, back on a line horizontal with Sato's neck.

Sato screamed.

Dragon roared.

* * *