Suicide Squad (19 page)

The thing was dead but she wasn’t wasting time congratulating herself.

She ran toward Boomerang and jumped over another creature’s head. Her sword slashed straight down on it. The thing spilled to the ground even as Katana went after the final EA terrorizing the Australian thug. She cut through its crusted flesh. The thing fell back. Her sword lodged in a thick bone and stuck. She tried to pull it free, but it was wedged in tight.

The EA grabbed her throat and squeezed. She raised her legs, knees to her chest, then jackhammered her feet into the thing’s center. She did it again. Her third kick sent the thing toppling back, off balance, but the EA still held onto her.

Desperate, she tried to use her legs as leverage to pull the sword free, but she was losing strength. Katana felt her breath giving out, but then she saw Flag standing just behind the creature, his .45 inches from its ear. He squeezed the trigger, and a second later its head shattered. The thing crumpled into broken bits of thick black crust and collapsed to the ground, dead.

Katana put her leg on the fallen EA’s chest and used it to gain leverage. Her sword slid out without any further problem.

Waller watched the battle from the window of her penthouse ops center. From its height she could see miles in all directions. There were fires everywhere, consuming fancy retail centers and small, private homes.

She saw creatures running wild in all directions—EAs, they had called them. Every street seemed to have two or three that were breaking into buildings and dragging out survivors. Waller bit her lips as she wondered how many dead they had left behind?

There were even cars tearing through the streets, trying to distance themselves from the madness, but then an EA, armed with grenades or a rocket launcher, would fire at the escaping vehicle, demolishing it.

So they know how to use technology.

Pockets of Navy SEALs and other soldiers were fighting throughout the city. Unless Flag and his crew could contain the creatures, this could be the beginning of World War III. It didn’t matter how many might die here, if they could prevent the conflict from expanding. In every war, “acceptable losses” were a part of doing business.

She watched as her soldiers fell, and she cringed as triumphant creatures marched past them, or dragged away their victims.

Even so, staring out through the windows that circled the ops center complex, Waller could tell her SEALs were working together. Each had his partner’s back.

That wasn’t the case with the Squad.

They still fought as individuals. The war had started sooner than even she had expected, and there hadn’t been enough time to train them to work as a team. They didn’t believe in cooperation, and they sure as hell didn’t believe in sacrifice.

The war, Amanda Waller knew, was not going well.

Sadly, she feared it wouldn’t get any better.

* * *

Harley Quinn was afraid. She believed in the concept of chaos, and she should have been overjoyed with the creatures’ insane attacks. But destroying an entire world, one she still wanted to screw around with?

Not so good.

More than that, Harley had come to the conclusion that, despite most everything she had done in the past, she didn’t actually want to die. At least not yet. Not until she and Mister J were reunited, and could enjoy their last moments on Earth together.

So Harley decided she would run away until her Puddin’ was back. After that, if they both wanted to drink the Kool-Aid, well, start pouring.

An EA, crouched behind parked cars, suddenly lunged at her. She stared at it, whipped out her gun and fired a round into its face, blowing a large hole in the creature, letting her see through to the other side.

Even then it was still alive, and still scrabbling to kill her. She slipped her last mag into the pistol and shot at it again, blowing even more of its head away.

The EA didn’t seem to care. It tried to kick her, but she darted to the side, and avoided its feet. It pulled itself inside the car, getting uncomfortably close to her, and she fired the last of her ammo into its face.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

It was still moving.

What the hell is with this thing?
she wondered furiously.
Why won’t it just die?
It grabbed her by the leg, then the waist, then the shoulders as it pulled itself on top of her until its disgusting thousand-eyed face was staring directly into hers. It roared, and got ready to do whatever it intended to do to her.

Then it collapsed. Face down. Bleeding all over her.

Ewww…

She tried to push it off her but it was dead weight and her strength was gone. So she closed her eyes and tried to roll back and forth, to edge out from under its disgusting body. It swayed a little and slid off her as she struggled to her feet.

Then she shouted.

“Croc!”

He turned as an EA leapt at him. The thing wrapped it arms around the reptilian’s neck, and squeezed. Croc reached back with his massive hands and pulled it away. He held it up in front of him, grabbed it with both hands, and ripped its head from its neck.

The thing gurgled and finally died. This time for good.

Angrily pacing back and forth in the darkness of a nearby alleyway, George “Digger” Harkness grumbled as Lawton approached.

“Fighting these bloody alien barnacles isn’t my fight, mate,” he raged. “’Sides, when push comes to shove, you know the U.S. Army will probably just nuke them all and deal with the crap later.”

“There’s no easy way out,” Deadshot responded. “Not with our heads still attached.”

“Yeah, tell me, but you know just as much as me. Most of the ordinary mugs have already left, so maybe only a few thousand no-hopers—if that—would fry, and the Army couldn’t care less about a handful of whackers who don’t have the sense to hightail it out when they have the chance. I’m not sayin’ we run or leave, just that this sucks. Big time.”

“Yeah, I know,” Lawton hissed. “But hell, we don’t have a choice, so let’s do what’s gotta be done and do it fast.” He turned to leave. “Later, ‘mate.’”

Harkness watched as Deadshot walked off. “Yeah. I know we gotta do this,” he muttered. “My home down under won’t be much fun if those eyeball things decide to move in.” He looked around one last time, took a long, deep breath, reached into his jacket, and took out a beer.

“Shitty day,” he growled as he took a sip. “But then they all are.”

That was when he saw a shadow move. It skittered closer. What was it? It didn’t belong to his Squad or the SEALs. Suddenly Boomer was staring directly into the face of one of those bloody monsters, hanging upside down from a building ledge like some alien bat. It had at least a thousand damned eyes, and Boomerang was certain they were all staring at him.

He started to back out. The EA dropped down, unfolded itself, and somehow landed on its feet. It positioned itself between Harkness and the street, so that if he wanted out, he would have to go through it. It dove at him, throwing punches and executing kicks like a martial arts superstar. Harkness was a decent fighter, but by no means a pro. His expertise was boomerangs.

The thing clawed at him, ripping into his jacket. A small pink stuffed unicorn slipped out of the pocket Boomer kept it in for good luck. He freaked. Pinky had been with him since he was a kid. No thousand-eyed crazy was going to take it away from him now.

So he let the EA hit him, throwing him to the back of the alley—which was where he wanted to be. The thing moved in, but Boomer had time to grab his weapons. He took out two very wicked-looking ’rangs, razor sharp and deadly as hell.

The EA lunged again, but this time Harkness dodged the thing’s punches. When it took another shot at him, Boomer sliced one of his boomerangs across the thing’s face and chest, digging chunks of black crust from its body. The creature howled, but charged yet again.

Boomer treated the EA like it was a bull and he was the matador. It came at him, but he darted to the side while cutting wide gashes down the thing’s back. More bone and burned crust flew off of it.

He didn’t waste a moment’s thought wondering if this thing had ever been a person. Perhaps even a SEAL Boomer had drunk coffee with. All he saw was an enemy. It was kill or be killed.

In Boomer’s mind there wasn’t much difference between this creature and Flag and Waller. The only thing those two had going for them was that they could give him his freedom. The EA only wanted him to die.

It lunged again. Boomer stepped to the side and jumped on the thing’s back. The EA reared like a bucking bronco while Harkness kept slashing its skin with his razor-edged weapons. He grabbed the creature’s neck and sliced upward, cutting through what should be its hyoid bone and anterior longitudinal ligament, finally severing its head from the rest of its body.

The thing sprayed black shards, but Boomer was on a high he didn’t want to lose, so he whooped and hollered. Then he saw Harley, Croc, and Deadshot staring at him. He jumped off the thing and let it crash to the ground, then bowed theatrically to his audience.

“I’ve been taking down wankers for a long while, mates,” he bragged. “Now you bloody know how.”

Boomer looked around him then grinned. Pinky was lying on the ground just fifty or so feet ahead. He scooped it up, looked around to see if anyone still was watching him, then gave it a quick kiss and stuffed it back into his jacket. It was safe once again.

He picked up the beer he’d dropped and finished it off. Things weren’t quite as bad as he’d thought.

* * *

Diablo stood watching the battle. The sounds of warfare screamed around him, but these were other people’s battles, not his. Let them believe that killing accomplished something. It didn’t accomplish crap. He would no longer mine that well.

After a few minutes he found himself walking through the rubble of a once-thriving library. On the ground he noticed the torn dust jackets of several novels he had read as a kid, when books offered him an escape to worlds, times, and places he knew he’d never get a chance to experience firsthand.

He picked up one of them and flipped through the pages, remembering what it felt like to be eight years old and reading his very first pirate story. Maybe, he thought with distracted amusement, that was what set him off on his wayward life.

Tossing the book back into the rubble, he slogged on. Diablo remembered the parents in his city fighting to keep their library open. Ultimately it had been a waste of time and energy. Most battles were like that, he thought—not worth fighting for.

Definitely not worth dying for.

He saw Flag being swarmed by multiple creatures. He watched as they downed him and dragged him off. He could try to stop them, but why bother? It wasn’t his fight.

Then he saw the SEALs go after Flag, hoping to rescue him, and he saw Harley and Deadshot about a hundred yards away from him. Harley was laughing.

“Good riddance,” he heard her say. But Deadshot wasn’t laughing. He started to follow the SEALs, then turned back to her.

“He dies, we die. Remember?”

“Oh, hell,” Harley squealed, and she raced to catch up.

* * *

Deadshot rounded the corner expecting to see the things dragging Flag away while the SEALs were moving in to stop them. It felt oddly comforting knowing the SEALs were there. One man with a gun—especially when Lawton was that man—was good, but an entire army was needed to put down those things.

He climbed over a mound of debris to get a better view, but didn’t see the EAs, SEALs, or Flag. He slipped his monocle into place to pick up their heat signatures. At first there was nothing.

Then suddenly he heard a muffled beep, and saw a blinking dot. It was to his left. He spun, his gun ready, but nothing was there. Four more dots appeared in front of him. He looked, but again there was nothing. More dots appeared, scurrying around him, taking positions.

He was surrounded. The EAs were here—but where?

He looked up then, and saw them. Perched on rooftops. He scanned the area again, and realized they were hiding in alleys. They had tunneled underground, and were behind him, too, cutting off any escape.

Well
, he always told himself,
when you can’t run away, the only place to go is straight ahead.
Deadshot ran toward the signatures, his carbine spraying them with bullets. He was screaming as he fired.

“That’s it!” he shouted. “Come to me. Bring your questions, ’cause I’m the answer.”

* * *

An EA grabbed Flag by the leg and dragged him across the ground. Stone and debris cut through his uniform and ripped his back. Warm blood spread over the gouges, but he ordered himself to not feel the pain. Not yet. There’d be time for that later.

He hoped.

He struggled to reach his gun, still in its holster. After several failed attempts, his fingers found it. He pulled it out and emptied a full magazine into the face of the thing that was pulling him.

Click!

He grabbed a second mag, slammed it into the gun, and fired point-blank into the creature’s head. It screamed and fell, releasing its grip. The EA, its face blown open and leaking flesh and crust, stood up on its feet and staggered toward him, weak but refusing to die.

Oh, damn!

Flag fired the last of the mag into the thing, but it wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t let his enemy kill him, though.

Suddenly the street exploded with gunfire. Two SEALs came running in, shooting at the creatures. Two of them approached, sandwiching him in place. He heard more gunfire, more impacts, then they dropped.

Harley was behind them, holding two rifles almost as big as she was. Flag didn’t understand how, but she had saved him.

“Thanks,” he said. He was getting used to acknowledging others, but he wasn’t sure he liked it.

Harley glared at him. “Shut up,” she said, and he laughed. She wasn’t losing perspective.

* * *

Deadshot kept firing, no longer concerned with dying. Perhaps he even welcomed it, at least as long as he took down nearly everything else that moved.