The Circle of Eight (34 page)

Niner looked at Mickey, shifting uncomfortably, his ass numb from
the cold stone floor they were both sitting on.

“I really wish I hadn’t of worn these pants,” he
muttered. “I can barely feel my ass anymore.”

Mickey looked over at him then the pants.

“Me too, those damned things are so tight I can see the
pulse in your nuts.”

“It was part of the character.”

“Which once again you overplayed.”

“What are you saying, that it’s over? After all I’ve
done for you?” cried Niner. “I’ve kept in shape, I take care of your every
whim, and this is how you treat me?” He glared at Mickey. “It’s another man
isn’t it? Who is it? Spock? I know you get turned on by his eyebrow. Or is it
BD? I know you love taking orders from him!”

Mickey moved away slightly.

“Seek help.”

Gunfire erupted from somewhere in the structure and
Niner pushed himself to his feet, as did Mickey.

“You hear that?”

“I think Atlas heard that.”

“About time those guys showed up. I was getting a little
tired of our accommodations,” said Niner as he smacked his hands against his
ass, popping the zip ties, Mickey doing the same.

“Now what?” asked Mickey as he looked out the ancient
bars of their prison cell, nobody in sight.

“I don’t know, I was thinking of taking off my pants.”

Mickey mocked horror.

“Do you have any C4 in those?”

Niner’s eyebrows narrowed as he looked at Mickey.

“I barely have a pulse in these pants. Where the hell
would I hide a brick of C4?”

Mickey shrugged, eyeing the pants again.

“Are you staring at my ass?”

“It looks good in those jeans.”

Footsteps pounding down the hall ended their jibes as
they both ducked to either side of the bars and out of sight. Niner pressed
himself into the corner, Mickey doing the same as the footsteps skidded to a
halt, gunfire erupting as their cell was sprayed, bullets and shards of stone
ricocheting indiscriminately, Niner dropping to the floor in pain as he took a
hit in the thigh.

The barrel of the gun extended into the cell and twisted
toward him, their attacker finally realizing where they must be hiding.

Niner lunged forward but faltered, his thigh wound worse
than he thought, the trigger squeezing as he fell to the ground.

His eyes rose to meet Mickey’s to say a silent goodbye to his
friend but Mickey had already leapt.

Mickey suddenly leapt, his arms extending out in front
of him. The weapon began to fire as he grabbed it, pushing the barrel up then
his momentum twisting it out of the man’s hands. He hit the ground, rolled, the
gun now his and spun, firing at their attacker before he knew what was
happening.

Niner pushed himself to his feet, jumping forward on one
leg and reached out, grabbing the now dead man before he could fall backward
and out of reach. He pulled him toward the bars as Mickey slung the weapon over
his shoulder. Niner quickly found a set of keys, tossing them to Mickey, plus
several clips.

He let the body slide to the ground as Mickey unlocked
the cell door.

“Let’s get the hell out of here before more come,” he
said, draping Niner’s arm over his shoulders and helping him over the body and
out into the hall.

Niner winced with each step.

“Good thing I wore these tight pants. There’s no way I
can lose any damned blood since there’s none left down there.”

Mickey chuckled.

“I think the four horsemen of the apocalypse could
charge by and you’d have something funny to say about it.”

Spock popped back up, took aim and removed another target from the
census database. He was hidden behind the front tire of a large SUV near the
front of the line of vehicles, Wings doing the same at the lead vehicle but
from the rear, giving him a nearly full view of those guarding the front of the
castle. As soon as the gunfire had begun in the back they had started taking
out targets. At his count he had eliminated six before they even began
returning fire in any method other than blindly. Wings had counted out seven
kills.

There appeared to only be three remaining, all behind a
large fountain, now frozen, in the front of the castle. Three guards didn’t
bother him necessarily; he was certain more were inside. What concerned him was
the fact that their escape route was right past these three men. They had
expected those they didn’t kill to retreat into the castle, or around the other
side, but these three had either decided through bravery to stay outside and
fight, or through cowardice to remain behind cover.

“We need a tank!” yelled Wings, firing a few rounds to
keep their enemies’ heads down.

“One tank, coming up!” promised Spock as he eyed the SUV
behind him. He pulled his scanner out and hit the button for it to start
probing the frequencies, the vehicle quickly chirping as it unlocked. “Cover
me!” he yelled, and Wings fired off several more rounds as Spock pulled open
the door and crawled inside, keeping himself below the windshield. He hit the
start button in the dash and the vehicle roared to life. “You navigate!” he
yelled, using the comm as he put the vehicle in gear and let the automatic pull
him forward, one hand ready to push a pedal, the other up grabbing the steering
wheel. The vehicle moved forward, quickly gaining speed as he heard Wings’
voice.

“Hard left now!”

Spock spun the wheel one handed.

“Straighten out in three…two…one…now.”

He let go of the wheel and it spun above him, the
vehicle straightening out with a jerk.

“I’m behind you, using you as cover, turn right until I
tell you to stop.”

Spock turned the wheel, a little more gently this time
as bullets pinged off the hood, the windshield taking several hits, the safety
glass splintering into thousands of pieces still held together by the laminate.

“Straighten out!”

He let go of the wheel and felt the SUV slowly align
itself.

“Little to the left.”

He adjusted with a tweak.

“Perfect. Floor it!”

The gunfire the SUV was taking was now steady, and due
to their enemies’ restricted angle, either they didn’t have a clear shot at the tires,
or were just poor marksmen. Spock pushed himself up into the seat so he could take
advantage of the airbags, keeping his torso low, then pulled his right leg into
position, flooring it.

The vehicle surged forward, causing him to roll back
into the seat, the console painfully jabbing his ribcage, but he continued to
press on the accelerator. He felt the gears shift and he estimated he had to be
at thirty by now.

“Hold on!” he heard Wings’ yell and he braced himself as
best he could.

The crash was tremendous, far more jarring than he had
expected. The front of the vehicle almost came to a complete halt for a moment,
then the rear wheels, still with traction, pushed it up and over the fountain,
the gunfire stopping. Airbags popped, the engine cut off and he found himself
momentarily dazed as several bursts of gunfire erupted outside his window, then
suddenly the door was pulled open.

His foot drew back and he was about to nail whoever was
stupid enough to poke their head in when he heard Wings.

“Take it easy, it’s me.”

Spock breathed a sigh of relief as he felt hands pulling
him out. His feet hit the ground and it took him a moment to regain his
bearings. The SUV’s front wheels were propped up on top of one of the tiers of
the fountain, and three freshly bloodied corpses lay on the other side.

“Let’s get out of here before somebody decides to check
how the front is holding.”

Spock nodded and Wings helped him back to their original
position, Spock finally able to run on his own as they arrived.

The gunfire inside continued.

Acton popped Reading’s seatbelt and pulled him toward the center
console then handed him back as Laura pulled. Together they got him in the rear
seat just as the crowd enveloped the vehicle, fists pounding on every surface
as Acton climbed into the driver’s seat. The vehicle was still running and he
put it into reverse, flooring it, the sound of the rear smacking against
bodies, the tires bouncing as they drove over the villagers, disconcerting to
say the least.

He had no plan, he had no idea what to do, and at the
moment didn’t even know where to go. He spotted the chalet in his rearview
mirror and decided it might make a good destination, its position elevated. He
spun the wheel and shoved the stick into drive, hammering on the gas as the
four wheel drive pulled them through the snow and up the slippery lane to the
chalet, leaving the villagers behind.

Arriving at the drive in front of the chalet, he saw two
SUVs parked for a quick getaway, but judging by the chalet’s smashed in windows
and blown apart front door, there was no way the Delta team was there. He spun
the vehicle around, angling the front to point down the hill as he watched the
villagers racing toward them, slipping on the snow and ice.

He turned to the backseat.

“How’s he doing?”

Laura had already ripped off Reading’s shirt and tied a
tourniquet.

“He’s losing blood. We need to get him to a doctor.”

“That’s not happening soon,” said Acton, turning back to
see the villagers were now halfway up the hill. “Do what you can, and buckle
up. This is going to get rough.”

He gunned the engine and braced his arms against the
steering wheel.

Here goes nothing.

Lacroix, being at the head of the table with Number One, had been
amongst those to hear the news first. But rather than stand and stare out the
window like most did, he had spun out of his chair, and at a crouch ran toward
the nearest exit. Gunfire had torn into the massive windows that looked out
upon the mountains and he had hit the floor, covering his head as the shattered
shards scattered in every direction including his.

His robes had proven useful in protecting him from the
glass, the hood having flipped up and covered his head as he hit the ground,
his hands tucked into his long sleeves. The gunfire was far more terrifying
than the glass. He looked back as he crawled toward the door and already saw
several of The Circle on the floor, or still in their chairs, dead. Guards
poured into the room from the side areas, adding to the deadly crossfire he
found himself under.

“Help!” he yelled, and three of the guards advanced
toward him, their weapons belching lead toward the window, their attackers
still unseen. He felt hands grab his shoulders and then his body being pulled
toward the line of guards slowly advancing, determined to reach whoever might still
be alive, their own lives inconsequential to that of The Circle.

He felt one hand let go, the sound of a body dropping to
his left, then the grip on his other arm lost as the other guard was felled. He
looked up and saw two more rushing forward, both gunned down within inches. He
pushed against the marble floor with his sandaled feet, using his bare hands to
try and create some traction, pulling himself along, the tiny shards of glass
ripping at his hands. Within moments he was in agonizing pain, a bloody trail
slowly being left in front of him as his robes then mopped up the mess. The
guards had advanced past him now, rushing toward the table where dinner had
just finished minutes before, aperitifs being enjoyed as they all spoke of what
they might learn from the Catalyst when it arrived.

A servant darted from a nearby alcove and grabbed his
arm, pulling him the final few feet to safety.

“Thank you, my son,” said Lacroix as he was helped to
his feet. “We must get out of here, quickly.”

The young man nodded, pointing at a door on the other
side of the area they were tucked away in. A door that lay out in the open.

Lacroix cursed, poking his head out to see what was
happening. The line of guards had reached the table, two of his brothers being
pulled back to safety, but there were less than a dozen men left, and they were
dropping like flies as they tried to save The Circle.

“Let’s go!” ordered Lacroix, grabbing the boy and
positioning him between himself and the attack. They made it half way before
the boy took a hit, crying out. Lacroix grabbed him, holding him up as a human
shield as he continued for the door. He tossed the body aside as he burst
through to safety.

Dawson popped up from below the window, firing another spray of
gunfire at floor level, taking out a retreating guard and the now bloody corpse
he had been dragging. They hadn’t expected this many guards on the inside, so
their plan to charge in and eliminate the soft resistance had been halted, and
instead they remained outside using the castle wall itself as cover while those
inside willing to die for their masters did just that. If their opponent had
been smart about it, they would have sent most of their team outside and around
the castle to engage the enemy.

Instead, they were clearly either poorly trained, or
poorly motivated. If you don’t value your own life, and instead believe
another’s is more important, you don’t take the necessary precautions to
protect yourself so that you can actually fulfill the mission to save the
other.

As a soldier Dawson was willing to die to protect
another, but that didn’t mean he ignored the value of his own life. If he did,
he would have died years ago
trying
to save someone, rather than
surviving, and actually
succeeding
.

The gunfire quickly dwindled, then stopped.

“Clear!” yelled each of his team.

“Spock, report.”

Spock’s voice came over the comm.

“Front is clear for the moment, over.”

“We’re heading inside now, out.”

Dawson flipped up onto the floor as did the others.
Glass crunched under their feet, blood soaked the marble.