Starship Revenant (The Galactic Wars Book 3) (12 page)

D
eclan dragged
the crates into the airlock. He grunted and groaned and damn near threw his back out pulling them across the deck and over the lip of the inner airlock hatch.

He stood up and wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

“What you planning on doing there, Chief?” Jaxon scowled at him. He stood in the corridor about 20 feet away. He was a towering hulk of a man.

“Just doing a little housecleaning, that’s all.”

“You wouldn’t be planning on throwing those out, would you?” Jaxon’s menacing eyes fixed on Declan.

“I know, on the surface, it doesn’t make a lot of sense. But I think there’s a good reason for it.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, Skipper.”

“You planning on stopping me?”

The two squared off for a moment.

Jaxon charged Declan. He looked like a ferocious beast. His angry face twisted up, and he snarled. He was like a freight train barreling down the hallway. He slammed into Declan, knocking him from his feet.

Jaxon crashed down on top of Declan. His cinder block of a fist reared back, and he hammered Declan in the jaw.

Declan’s molars carved into his cheek. Blood spewed from his mouth, splattering across the deck. That was just the first hit. Several more followed in rapid succession.

Each hit was like two—first was Jaxon's fist, and second was the back of Declan’s skull mashing against the deck. Jaxon kept pummeling him with brain jarring, skull crushing blows.

Pinned to the ground, Declan reached up and dug his fingers into Jaxon’s eyes. The big oaf screamed in agony. It gave Declan enough leverage to worm out from underneath Jaxon.

Declan grabbed the lid from one of the crates and ripped it from its hinges. He smacked the plank over Jaxon’s head as he stood. Wood snapped and splintered.

Jaxon staggered for a moment. But it only seemed to piss him off. He was seething now and breathing through his mouth. His teeth were like the fangs of a ravenous beast. His head was down, and his dark eyes were partially occluded by his brow. He looked utterly, and completely, insane.

He charged at Declan once again.

The skipper dropped down and ducked under just as Jaxon swung a right cross. He felt Jaxon's fist graze the top of his head. Declan knelt down and scooped up a sharp shard of wood. It was the closest thing to a knife he was going to get.

Jaxon spun around to face Declan. The two squared off again. Jaxon almost seemed like he was enjoying this.

Declan’s eyes surveyed the big hunk of muscle. He had fought side-by-side with Jaxon in plenty of bar fights. He’d never seen the man lose.

“Jaxon, just calm down. There’s a reasonable explanation why—“

Jaxon had no intention of listening. He charged Declan again.

The skipper sidestepped.

Jaxon clotheslined him. His arm was like concrete. It caught Declan right in the throat.

The skipper felt his windpipe collapse. His back smacked the deck, knocking the wind out of him.

Jaxon wound up and planted his boot right in Declan’s ribs. He heard them snap. The pain shot through Declan’s torso. Each breath was agonizing.

Jaxon kicked him again in the gut.

Declan squirmed in pain, still gasping for breath.

The big meathead towered over Declan’s helpless body. Jaxon was an ex Special Forces killer. Operational detachment X-ray.
X Force
, as they were often called. A good way to start a fight was to ask who was tougher,
Reapers
or
X Force
. Each outfit had their own reasons why they were the most elite combat force. They were both the crème de la crème of special warfare, each with their own particular specialties. Declan didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of winning this fight.

Jaxon knelt down and snatched the wooden shard. His deranged gaze surveyed the pointed fragment.

Declan tried to climb to his feet.

Jaxon reached down and grabbed Declan by the throat, and slammed him against the bulkhead.

“Hey, buddy. I can see you’re a little upset.” The words came out harsh and raspy as Jaxon squeezed Declan’s throat.

Jaxon’s soulless eyes blazed into Declan. Jaxon was never a particularly warm or friendly person, but the man Declan had once known was gone. This wasn’t Jaxon anymore. His mind was unhinged. There was no compassion. No remorse. No empathy whatsoever.

Was it the ship that caused him to snap? Was it the curse of the Numarian treasure? Had he just spent too long in space?

Declan knew the answer. It was all the more confirmation he needed to get the treasure off the ship. How long would it be before the others went batshit crazy as well, he thought? How long before he lost his own mind? He was already hallucinating.

“Look, why don’t we just take a minute and sort this whole thing out like reasonable adults?” Declan said, trying to smile.

Jaxon's empty eyes stayed fixed. There was going to be no reasoning with him. There was going to be no negotiation.

W
alker pilfered
every magazine and thermal grenade he could find on the two Decluvian guards. He took a tactical vest from one of the guards to store the extra ammunition.

Stripped of the Saarkturian battle armor, Walker was wearing nothing but his skivvies. He stole a pair of pants from the guard. But the boots were useless. Decluvian feet, with their three toes and an opposable digit, weren’t even close to human feet.

Walker pulled on the pants and stepped into the corridor. He shot out the security camera that loomed overhead. He continued down the hall, heading toward the detention center.

The Decluvian crew seemed unprepared to deal with a situation like this. Walker advanced down the corridor, blasting out security cameras and putting holes in any crew members that threatened him. Most turned tail and ran.

Unlike a conventional weapon with a magazine that held 30 rounds, the plasma rifles fired projectiles the size of toothpicks. Each magazine held 500 rounds. It was a hell of an advancement over the weaponry the UPDF possessed.

Soon the hallways would be flooded with security personnel. Walker stormed through the corridors as fast as he could, hoping to beat the security details that were most likely being dispatched.

It was complete pandemonium as Walker blasted his way through the hallways. As he approached the detention center, he rolled a thermal grenade around the corner. The two guards in front of the detention center tried to dive out of the way, but the blast incinerated them. The hatch was blown to shreds.

The corridor was filled with smoke. Alarms blared, and klaxon’s sounded. Walker sliced through the haze to the detention center. He opened fire at the dazed officers behind the command station. Within seconds, they were piles of mush on the floor.

He cleared the room and dashed to the console. He tabbed through the display screen and deactivated the containment beams.

Nearly a thousand prisoners were now free. They spilled out of their cells. Walker grabbed the dead guards’ weapons from the deck and tossed them to Malik and Saaja as they emerged.

“Remind me never to underestimate you,” Malik said.

“Yeah, what he said,” Lu added.

“We’re not out of this yet,” Walker said. He marched back toward the entrance.

Security forces were taking positions at both sides of the corridor.

Walker threw a grenade in each direction.

The Decluvians were reluctant to use grenades, or anything heavier than a plasma rifle. They didn’t want to damage an exterior bulkhead. But Walker didn’t give a shit. Let the hull get breached—it would almost be worth it to see those slimy bastard’s sucked out into the vacuum of space.

The blast rocked the ship. But it didn’t rupture the exterior bulkhead. It was enough to set the security forces reeling back on their heels. It had taken out several of them. Malik and Walker were blasting at the rest.

Lu was right. There were hardly any terrestrial infantry on board. Just a handful of security forces, and half of those were now lifeless on the deck.

Behind Walker was almost a thousand hungry and pissed off refugees. They had seen their own world destroyed. Their loved ones killed. They had nothing left to lose. And they wanted revenge.

They flooded into the corridor. Some of them were immediately gunned down. But there were too many of them. Soon the refugees overtook the security forces—stripping their weapons and shooting them with their own rifles. It was like a dam had burst. Angry refugees flowed throughout the hallways, exacting revenge on every Decluvian in sight.

“Brilliance,” Lu said with a mischievous grin on his face. “This is sheer brilliance.” He took in the chaos with absolute glee. His big eyes were red and glazed. He was totally baked.

Refugees were finding escape pods and jettisoning themselves into space. Others were too caught up in the act of revenge to even think about escape.

“If we want to get out of here, we better grab an escape shuttle before they’re gone,” Lu said.

Walker arched an eyebrow at him.

“Hey, I ain’t gonna stay here. They want to send me to the mines, or worse.”

The hallways were filled with haze and rioting refugees. Lu led them through the labyrinth of corridors to one of the many escape shuttles. Lu opened the hatch and Malik and Saaja filed in.

“I can’t leave Bailey,” Walker said. “I’ve got to find him.”

“This may be your only chance,” Malik said.

“I know.” Walker’s face was grim. Bailey was part of the squad, as far as he was concerned. He was more than that. He was family. And Walker never left a man behind.

Walker and Malik shook hands.

“Get yourself to safety,” Walker said. “Thank you for everything. I hope we meet again someday. And not on the battlefield.”

Malik nodded.

Saaja hugged him. She kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear. “Take care of yourself.” Her dark eyes were pensive. She owed her life to Walker. It didn’t seem right to just leave him there.

“You sure you don’t want to get out with us?” Lu asked.

Walker nodded.

“Good luck, my friend.” Lu hopped into the shuttle and closed the hatch behind him.

Walker dashed down the corridor toward their berthing compartment. He hoped Bailey was still there.

T
he last of
the meteors blasted against the hull. At least, Mitch hoped it was the last of them. He poked his head over the ridge. It seemed clear.

5 minutes of oxygen left.

He was on the port side of the ship. He barreled as fast as he could toward one of the airlocks. It was like trying to run with superglue on your feet. The magnetic boots clanked and clamored against the metal hull.

But you didn’t want to get too much lift in your stride. Too much separation and the magnetic boots might not be able to grasp the hull. Then you’d be in a world of hurt.

Mitch finally reached the airlock and flipped open the fairing to access the keypad.
Now what was the goddamn code?
He had watched Zoey punch it in, but he didn’t pay it much attention.

He knew it was a string of four numbers that were all the same. He started with
1111
and worked his way down. By the time he got to 3333, he remembered the code was
0000.

He had a minute of oxygen left, if he was lucky.

The outer airlock hatch opened. It seemed to move agonizingly slow. He was starting to get a little lightheaded, probably re-breathing his own CO2. He climbed inside and closed the hatch. Then pressurized the airlock. He was on the opposite side of the
Revenant
from Jaxon and Declan.

Mitch took off his helmet and filled his lungs. It was a sublime sensation. He wiped the sweat from his brow and grinned. He deactivated his magnetic boots, then opened the inner airlock hatch.

He stepped into the hallway and headed toward the CIC. He was going to give Jaxon an earful.

He staggered through the corridors and caught a glimpse of Jaxon and Declan by the starboard airlock. Jaxon still had Declan pinned against the bulkhead.

At first, he thought maybe they were just having a small disagreement. That thought soon vanished.

Jaxon reared back and stabbed the knife-like splinter of wood into Declan’s abdomen. The wooden blade punctured his skin, slicing through muscle and fascia. Jaxon angled the blade upward through the inferior aperture of the rib cage, puncturing the diaphragm. The tip of the blade incised the right ventricle of Declan’s heart.

Jaxon pulled out the wooden blade. A torrent of blood flowed from Declan’s thoracic cavity. The wooden shard was stained red. Jaxon’s face was crazed. He plunged the makeshift weapon back into Declan’s abdomen several times. It made a sucking, sloshing sound with each retraction.

Declan gurgled and gasped. The color drained from his face. Blood dripped down his torso and splattered on the deck.

Jaxon pulled out the makeshift knife for the last time and released his grip from Declan’s throat.

The skipper’s knees went weak as the life drained from his body. He slid down the bulkhead, leaving a smear of blood behind. His body crumpled on the deck.

“It’s a 5 way split now,” Jaxon mumbled as he towered over Declan’s body.

Mitch was horrified. His eyes were wide and his jaw was slack. He was frozen stiff. He wanted to scream but couldn’t make a sound. He couldn’t believe what he had just seen.

Jaxon’s psychotic gazed turned to Mitch. The big, hulking killer charged down the corridor.

Mitch turned and ran. He dropped his helmet and sprinted down the corridor. He rounded a corner and pumped his legs as fast as they would go. He was already worn out from marching across the outer hull. His heart thumped, and his quads burned. He ran hard, moving forward toward the CIC.

Jaxon was twenty paces behind him, and closing in.

Mitch dashed for the ladder to the next deck. He sprang up the rungs, but Jaxon grabbed his ankle. Mitch stomped a heel in Jaxon's forehead, tumbling the big lug to the deck.

Mitch climbed to the next level and took off running. He zigged and zagged through passageways, trying to lose the crazed hulk.

Jaxon sprang to his feet and scaled the ladder. The corridor was empty when he surfaced, but he could hear the clanking of Mitch’s boots against the deck as he ran. He took off, following the sound.

Mitch glanced back over his shoulder. Jaxon was out of sight.

Mitch opened a hatch and ducked into a compartment. His heart was thundering. His pulse throbbed in his temples. His chest heaved for breath.

He was in a small crew compartment. It was as good a place to hide as any, he figured. He peered out through a small viewport in the hatch, looking to see if Jaxon had followed. But the hallway was empty.

He backed away from the viewport and surveyed the compartment. There were three bunks on each bulkhead—each had a privacy curtain. There was also a small storage closet. Life aboard a destroyer was certainly not for the claustrophobic. You lived and worked on top of one another. And the majority of the crew had to
hot bunk
it (sharing a bunk with one, maybe two other people in rotation).

He glanced back through the viewport one more time. He caught a glimpse of Jaxon trudging down the hallway.

Mitch backed away and climbed into one of the lower bunks and pulled the privacy curtain shut. It was a tight squeeze, especially with the upper and lower torso assembly of the space suit. The central locking ring was flush with the ceiling of the bunk.

He tried to steady his breathing. He felt like he was going to hyperventilate. Lying in the bunk felt like being inside a coffin.

He was breathing so loud, he worried Jaxon would be able to hear him out in the hallway. Slow, deep breaths, he told himself. Breathe in, hold it, breathe out.

Mitch clutched onto the laser cutter. He figured it would be his last line of defense. He couldn’t hide in this compartment forever. He needed to warn the others. Let them know that Jaxon had completely flipped his lid.

With his fingertips, he tugged on the privacy curtain so he could peer around and see the hatch. His heart jumped into his throat as Jaxon's face appeared in the viewport.