Mega #02 Baja Blood (22 page)

“How will he know to hold his breath if he’s out cold, Sis?” Shane asked. “Didn’t think about that, did ya?”

“Oh, I did,” Kinsey said, placing her hand on Darren’s crotch. “A hard squeeze will bring any guy awake like that.” She snapped her fingers.

“Except he’s wearing a suit,” Max said. “He may not feel it.”

“We’ll deal with that when we need to,” Kinsey said. “But if the time comes, I’m picking my dad over Darren, got it?”

“Got it,” Max said.

“Got it,” Shane replied, giving a thumbs up as he looked at Darren. “Nice knowing ya, kite boy.”

***

Thorne’s lungs were ready to burst and he knew he was only seconds away from drowning when the shark suddenly let him go. He slammed into the whale sub that appeared before him on the ocean bottom and almost lost his lungful of air, but he was able to fight the urge to breathe and looked about.

He quickly saw he was right next to the cockpit hatch of the sub and he pulled himself down inside. His arms were heavy from the lack of oxygen, but he forced them to work as he searched the inside of the cramped cockpit for something, anything that may have had air trapped in it.

Then he saw the bright red cross of an emergency kit and he yanked it open, slamming his elbow into one of the control panels. Thorne almost cried when he saw the small canister of oxygen with a plastic mask already attached. He twisted the nozzle and bubbles spewed from the mask. Thorne pressed the mask against his mouth and nose and breathed deep.

It was like the first time he’d had a drink, the first time he’d had sex, the first time he’d killed a man, the first time for everything all rolled into one.

The oxygen went straight to his brain and the world clarified around him. He rocked back and forth and put out a hand to steady himself as he took another deep breath then twisted the oxygen tank closed. He knew he had to conserve the air.

He rocked some more despite the fact he was in a space that could barely hold his bulk and realized that he wasn’t the one moving, it was the sub. He debated whether to climb up and look or not. He knew the shark couldn’t get him in the cockpit, since he barely fit himself. But then the shark wasn’t exactly a problem solver. If it wanted a square peg to go in the round hole then it would damn well slam that peg through.

Thorne shook his head and cleared the lousy toddler metaphors from his oxygen addled brain and went on instinct.

Decision made, Thorne took a short pull off the tank then yanked himself up so his head and shoulders were out of the hatch, but the rest of him was still inside. He almost lost the precious breath he was holding.

The shark was ripping into the cargo hold and cocaine plumes filled the water.

He would have said, “Holy shit, are you kidding me?”, but without the rebreather that would have been a bad idea. Instead, he slowly lowered himself into the cockpit and turned to the controls, hoping maybe he could get the com system working. Otherwise he was going to be out of oxygen and dead very soon.

***

Beau, with both cleavers back in hand, swiped at the madman coming towards him, but Diego dodged then blocked and grabbed Beau’s arm, slamming it down on his knee. Beau cried out as he lost his grip on one cleaver and the knife went skittering across the floor. Diego didn’t stop there, his elbow came up and obliterated Beau’s nose.

Beau stumbled away and swiped with the other cleaver, but Diego bent backwards, letting the blade slice the empty air he just occupied. When he came back up, he sent two jabs into Beau’s shattered nose and down went the Chief Steward. Beau’s head slammed into the edge of the lab counter and his eyes rolled up as conscious thought took a vacation.

Gunnar came in fast with his knives, but Diego was faster, expertly blocking every stab, swipe, slash, and hook. Gunnar’s forearms were nothing but bruised flesh after the defensive moves Diego pulled off. Then his gut joined in the pain as Diego dropped and smashed both fists into Gunnar’s stomach. He stood quickly and jammed an open palm into Gunnar’s sternum, sending the doctor flying backwards over a table.

Diego, barely breathing hard, twisted his head and looked across the room to where Mike had wheeled himself. The double amputee grinned as he pulled the trigger on the AK-47 he held. Diego ran as fast as he could, keeping just ahead of the bullets that ripped apart the lab even more than it already was. He dove back behind the pallet of coke again as Mike’s rifle clicked dead.

Wheeling forward as fast as possible, Mike reached down to grab another rifle that lay in the dead hands of one of Diego’s men, but the bullet to his shoulder changed that plan.

Mike dove from the chair just before it was torn apart by gunfire. He rolled behind a table and searched for a weapon, but all he saw was a beaten Gunnar sitting there, eyes wide, nose pouring blood, shirt stained with more blood, and hands gripping knives that weren’t very effective against sub-machine gun fire.

“You okay?” Mike asked.

“Yeah! You?” Then Gunnar saw the shoulder wound. “Shit!”

“Fucking punta bitches!” Diego screamed as he kept firing. “I will do this all day until I have your heads on my dick!”

“Interesting choice of words!” Mike shouted.

“Fuck yourselves!” Diego replied. “Faggot ass fuckers!”

“So much hate,” Gunnar grinned then winced at the severe pain the smile caused.

“What now?” Mike asked.

The gunfire stopped and they both heard some very loud snorting.

“Jesus, he’s really going for it,” Mike said.

“Time to die, little maricónes!” Diego screeched.

“Why he gotta be gay hating?” Mike said as he held out a hand.

Gunnar gave him one of the knives, nodded then stood. Gunnar jumped and slid across the table.

Diego was waiting for him. He fired off round after round, hitting Gunnar in the left arm, but it didn’t slow the doctor as he hit the ground and pushed up, coming at El Serpiente in full fury.

Behind Gunnar, Mike pulled up onto the table and steadied himself. He watched as Gunnar dove at the Mexican madman, tackling the killer around the legs. But it only shoved the man back against the pallet and not onto the floor. Diego’s rifle clicked empty and he flipped it about using the butt to batter Gunnar between the shoulder blades again and again. Mike heard Gunnar cry out then took aim and threw his knife. But Diego saw it coming and batted it away like it was an insect, not 7 inches of deadly steel. The man stared at Mike as he hammered down on Gunnar over and over until the doctor collapsed in a heap at his feet.

“You think you can take me, cripple?” Diego asked. Half his face was coated in white powder and his eyes gleamed with manic evil. “You want to try? How about I come over there since you can’t come to me?”

Diego kicked Gunnar aside and casually strolled to the table Mike sat upon.

“Look at us!” Diego laughed. “With you up there we are the same height! Now it is a fair fight!”

The two men faced off, eyes studying each other, waiting for who would make the first move.

Then fists flew.

Diego hooked with his right and Mike brought up a forearm to block the blow, countering with his own right hook which Diego blocked also. They twisted their arms about, each trying to get an advantage, but their skills were too matched. Even with Diego’s drug fueled drive, he couldn’t get in at Mike since the man had been using only his arms for a long while. Likewise, because Mike didn’t have the stability of his lower legs, he couldn’t get the leverage he needed to take advantage of Diego’s mistakes.

Mike grabbed Diego’s wrist and twisted, causing the man to tilt to the left, but Diego jabbed two fingers in Mike’s armpit and he lost his grip. Diego then boxed Mike’s ears, but the ex-SEAL shook it off in time to counter the jabs that came at his face. He blocked and swiped one arm to the side then blocked the other as he brought his head forward, trying to head butt Diego, but the man used the momentum of Mike’s blocks to duck down and Mike only hit the top of Diego’s head, not the target between the eyes he’d been going for. Diego lunged up, slamming the top of his head into Mike’s chin. His jaws snapped shut and Mike tasted blood as he was pretty sure he just lost the tip of his tongue.

Rocked back by the blow, Mike was barely able to fend off Diego’s next attack as a powerful roundhouse kick came up over the table, aimed for Mike’s head. He got both arms up in time, but he was sent rolling down the table. He skidded to a halt just before falling off and tucked his shoulder, rolling back the way he came. Mike knew Diego would use that as an opportunity and he was ready when the fists came down at him.

On his back, Mike brought his forearms up again to block the blows Diego hammered down at him. If he’d had legs he would have been able to twist and kick the man. He just fended off the attacks, not quite as helpless as a turtle on its shell, but not as agile as he wished he was.

A fist got through and Mike gasped as his solar plexus exploded in pain and the air left his lungs. He tried to breathe, but the blow stunned his diaphragm and the wide muscle only spasmed, refusing to do its job and draw in breath.

“Little fishy can’t breathe?” Diego laughed. “Maybe I can help with that.”

Mike started to move, but Diego hit him in the same spot again and again, keeping him in place.

El Serpiente looked about then smiled. He reached down and picked up one of Beau’s meat cleavers. Looking Mike up and down he finally settled on grabbing him by the wrist, immobilizing the stunned man’s left arm.

“You are a little out of balance,” Diego smiled. “I like symmetry, don’t you? Let’s take care of that for you.”

Mike thrashed, fighting through the lack of ability to breathe, but Diego slammed the handle of the meat cleaver right between Mike’s eyes and the world went fuzzy and swam before him.

“Hold still,” Diego said. “This will be over in a second. Then we can take care of that other pesky arm of yours.”

He raised the meat cleaver over his head and laughed.

***

“I can see it,” Moshi said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“What did she say?” Max asked.

“She said she could see it!” Darren yelled, suddenly wide awake. “I can hear everything! I can hear the WHOLE UNIVERSE!”

“Jesus!” Max jumped. “The guy won’t stay down!”

“Okay, I’m tired of the batshit nuts routine,” Shane said. “Just want that officially out there.”

“It isn’t his fault,” Kinsey said. “Darren is a lightweight. He only drinks and he’s no good at that either. I don’t know what this shit is doing to his brain, but sane Darren isn’t in there right now.”

Darren grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. “Sane Darren is a pussy.”

“I’ve been saying that for years,” Kinsey smiled as she pulled her wrist away.

“I think you’re digging this a little too much,” Max said. “Not cool to take advantage of the stricken.”

“The shark is eating the whale,” Moshi’s voice said.

That got their attention and they all looked up at the tiny speaker.

“What?” Shane finally asked.

“The shark is eating the whale,” Moshi repeated. “The whale sub like this one.”

“Oh,” Max nodded. “Uh, can it do that? I’ve heard of tiger sharks eating tires and license plates and crap, but can a shark eat a freakin’ sub?”

“It wants the candy center,” Darren said. “The sweet, sweet candy center. Swimmin’ down to Crystal Candy Coke Mountain!”

He moved his hands in a weak air banjo imitation.

“We should just keep him high and sell him to the circus,” Max said.

“That’s a good idea until he snaps and thinks some overweight housewife is another shark and goes all rodeo on her,” Shane countered.

“Good point,” Max replied.

“I will get you close,” Moshi said. “Then open the cargo hold and you can kill the shark.”

They sat there for a second.

“We’re gonna need a way better plan than that,” Shane said.

“Give me your pistol,” Kinsey said.

“Do what?” the brothers asked.

“Give me your pistol,” Kinsey said. “I go out and kill the fucking shark. I’m the best with a pistol. You two are rifle jockeys, not pistoleros.”

“Pistoleros?” Max laughed. “You’ve been in Mexico for a day and you’ve gone native.”

“It’s been a big day,” Kinsey said, holding out her hands. “Give.”

Shane checked his channel pistol’s magazine then handed it over to Kinsey. Max looked about and smiled.

“Looky here,” he said, picking up another channel pistol. “Ditcher must have still had one on him.”

“Good,” Kinsey said, taking the pistol from Max

Kinsey tucked the two pistols into her belt, made sure they weren’t going to fall out, and then looked up at the hatch.

“Ready, Moshi,” Kinsey said.

“This will not be fun,” Moshi replied as the cargo hold’s hatch started to open.

The three members of Team Grendel felt the change in pressure instantly.