Twisted City (20 page)

“Bra-
vo
!”
Pan says, clapping his hands
halfheartedly. “Bravo on a job well done, eh.”

Mongoose
stops cold in his tracks, giving Pan the once over and then scanning the area
around him, not so much surprised to see the brute but surprised to see him
without his sidekick in tow. Normally when you see one, you see the other.

“Yeah.
Piece of cake.
So where’s your minion?”

“Who?
Bruno? Oh, he’s around,” Pan responds
a little too casually. Pan’s smile is also a little too
broad,
he ambles toward him a little too slowly, swaying arms to and fro, acting a
little too disinterested in all that’s happening around him and being a little
too friendly. And then he makes a huge mistake, it only takes a fraction of a
second but Mongoose catches it; Pan averts his eyes from Mongoose to something
behind him and then back to him again.

Mongoose
reacts on pure instinct; in one complete motion he snatches a knife from his
belt, turns and launches it behind him with a hard overhand throw. The blade
plants itself perfectly into Bruno’s solar plexus, which is the height for the
average man’s neck, where Mongoose was actually aiming for but this works out
as well. It instantly takes Bruno’s breath away. He looks at Pan as if to say,
This
wasn’t in the plan.
The big man’s face contorts with rage.
He lifts his club skyward and charges ahead. Pan grabs his knives and goes for
the boy
.
With no time to snug the crossbow into
his shoulder and take aim Mongoose pulls the trigger from his side. The arrow
sinks into Pan’s leg. He drops the crossbow and grabs his lead pipe and swings
it around, deflecting Bruno’s club which would have smashed his head in had it
found its mark. Mongoose follows through by thrusting his palm into the butt of
the knife’s handle still stuck in the big man, driving it through to the blades
hilt. Bruno’s mouth gapes wide, closes shut, and then he coughs a fountain of
blood that sprays on Mongoose. Bruno drops to his knees, clinches his hands
into tight fists, acts as if he is going to roar something aloud but the effort
is too much for him, and falls over dead. Pan is trying to pull the arrow from
his leg when Mongoose walks up. Pan smiles weakly and says, “Come on, now, we
were just
foolin
’ with
ya
.”
The smile disappears along with any aspirations of conquering the city when he
sees what the kid means to do.
“To hell with you then, you
miserable little bastard!
To hell with y –” the last word is lost as the
short pudgy man’s eyes cross up into their sockets, the ax blade dividing his
forehead into two halves.

Mongoose
calls for Max and the dog comes running out of the siren room’s doorway where
he told him to stay put until he was sure that the coast was clear.

Time
now for redemption.

A
half a dozen men who act as Vincent’s personal escorts advance into the city.
Every group of Maddick has specific orders but a few certain groups have one
primary target: The arsenal.

The
masked man trails behind the dark swordsman like a heat seeking missile,
running through flocks of men teeming in the street, avoiding those he can and
easily taking down the fools who get in his way. His own team of men, who now
number five, stay with him in a protective force-
fieldlike
circle as they progress.

In
the distance Lathan plows through Maddick’s like bowling pins before stopping
to get out, guns blazing.
Maddick’s roll in from all sides,
through alley ways of livestock, through the back ways of buildings, slashing
their way out into the street.
The Pinnacle fights them relentlessly but
the Maddick’s are a breed that borders insanity and their ruthlessness makes
them an almost unstoppable force, fighting like only crazed men fight, without
fear of death or pain, beasts who know of only one thing – to spill blood.

Lathan
reloads his hand-cannons three times before running out of ammunition and then
reaches for his sawed-off pump. He blows a hole through someone’s mid-section,
guts fly out behind him like wet ribbons in the wind. He shoots another’s arm
smooth off at the shoulder and then blows away his head in bits of bone and
gray brain matter. Lathan takes cover around the
SUV,
deftly working around it, cutting down Maddick’s as fast as he can pump a new
round into the sawed-off. Soldiers of The Pinnacle come to his aide when they
notice that he is in a growing cluster of Maddick’s.

The
arsenal is a hundred yards away; the Maddick’s come out in swarms, pushing
toward it. Pinnacle soldiers pull together in battle formation and attack as
one. A rocket soars by and hits an oncoming truck, blowing it up into a
fireball.

Vincent
whistles and motions for one of his vehicles to come pick him up. He hops on
the vehicles side step and as it moves ahead he gets hit by an arrow in the
back of the shoulder. He turns to see Mongoose reloading his crossbow. Max in
hot pursuit.

Vincent
knows he’s a sitting duck, too close for the boy to miss yet too far for him to
do anything about it, so he waits until the last second and jumps off of the
moving vehicle, the arrow misses him by inches.

Mongoose
notices a shiny flash in Vincent’s hand but it is already too late.

Max
makes a sickening yelp like all dogs are apt to do when seriously injured and
he crumbles to the ground. Vincent stands menacingly over the dog lying
helpless at his feet, malice written all over his face, the knife in his hand
streaked red with Max’s blood, wielding it as if ready to strike again.

Mongoose
yells out in agony and anger and madness. In all of his fights up until now
he’s always kept a clear head and balance, never losing his cool and knowing
what to do before acting on it. But not this time, all he sees is a sheet of
red pulled across his eyes and he lashes out on it blindly, swinging his
crossbow wildly about and never really coming close to striking Vincent.
Vincent capitalizes and slashes Mongoose across the face with his knife,
cutting him from cheek to chin. Mongoose seems not to feel this and comes at
him again but only to receive the same results, this time he is cut on the
other side of the face across the cheek to the nose. Vincent catches the
crossbow, snatches it away, and smashes him in the nose with a fist, putting
him to the ground. Mongoose lays splayed on the ground as if he’s about to make
a snow angel. He lifts his head up, feeling so
heavy,
his face is a bloody mess, to see Vincent’s smiling face.

“Well,
boy, you gave it your best shot, but you are no match for me. I’m going to
shoot you down like the filthy dog you are. And no need to worry about that
sweet little bitch of yours. I left her all hot and bothered, and when I’m
finished here, I’m going to celebrate first by chopping her up into little
pieces.” Vincent bends backward and laughs uproariously.

Mongoose
takes advantage of Vincent’s averted attention and acts quickly; he yanks his
hand ax from his belt and chops it down onto one of Vincent’s feet. The laugh
turns into a stunned inhalation of breath. Mongoose lunges upward, seizing
Vincent’s hand and with all his might drives Vincent’s own knife up into his
chest. The pain racks Vincent’s body, his eyes, full of shocked surprise at the
turn of events, bore into those of the boy’s standing before him. A slight grin
of triumph touches Mongoose’s lips, and with several quick hard shoves of his
hand the knife severs the ventricle of Vincent’s heart. The Maddick leader
collapses into the street.

Max
lays on his side, his mouth hanging open, tongue lolled out,
his
midsection rising and falling in slow, strained breaths. There is no more time
for fighting, he scoops up Max and runs for the gate. Finding a vacant vehicle
at the back of a long line of others he gently puts Max in the back seat and
peels out, hoping he will make it back to Jizell in time.

The
rockets clear out dozens of men. Some of them are The Pinnacle’s own but many
are Maddick’s. None of it fazes the masked man and his men. They come through
billows of smoke on the street like wicked entities from hell. They spread out
on the street as they approach the SUV, taking on those among Lathan. Lathan
recognizes the one in the black mask and stands at his full height, drawing the
masked man’s attention to only him.

The
masked man stops short of the vehicle, his search has just ended.

The
masked man tosses his rifle to the side, then reaches around his back and
tosses the pistol with it. Reaching over both shoulders he unsheathes the twin
short swords strapped to his back, twirling them and then crossing them.

Lathan
pitches the sawed-off away, it is empty anyway, and reaches over his shoulder
to unsheathe his katana.

The
masked man wastes no time attacking first. He is fast with sharp, precise
movements, using his whole body to make each strike strong and deadly. Lathan’s
defense is strong and confident, blocking each strike, but the twin swords are
an intimidating challenge.

The
masked man’s attack ends as fast as it started and both now circle one another,
their eyes locked onto one another, waiting for the next move. Then Lathan
attacks and it doesn’t stop and after seconds that feel like long minutes the
masked man is finally able to hurt his adversary; he blocks his sword in an
overhead swing and locks in a hold to keep his arms held high as he brings his
other twin sword around, slicing the open area of the dark swordsman’s side.
The cut is deep, to the bone of his ribs
.
Lathan stumbles backward,
clutching his arm to his side but the masked man allows him no time for
recovery. Lathan gets hold of his bearings and springs back, this time swiftly
slinging one of the swords from the masked man’s hand and bringing the katana
across his face, not enough to kill him unfortunately but enough to hurt him
and throw him momentarily off balance.

The
masked man puts his fingers between the cut fabric of his mask, touching his
face, and gazes at the blood that covers the tips of his fingers. A rage like
no other Lathan has ever encountered explodes within the masked man’s eyes. He
charges after Lathan and crosses swords with him. Both men hold each other’s
gaze before pushing away and striking again.

The
masked man keeps a steady attack, causing Lathan to inch backwards until he’s
pushed against his vehicle. The masked man strikes down hard and pushes the
edge of his sword onto that of Lathan’s, inch by inch closing down on his face.
Lathan strains beneath the strength and weight of the masked man, blood from
his face dripping down on him, the masked man’s mouth is partially exposed and
he can smell his breath.

Lathan
kicks his knee upward, stunning him. He kicks twice more before he is able to
push him off. Lathan jumps forward, sword raised high, seeing in his mind’s eye
the masked man’s head being split wide open.

A
rocket shoots by and demolishes the exterior wall of a building close by.
Chunks of debris crash to the ground, dust clouds pollute the whole area,
blinding the two. Seconds stretch into eternities. Lathan waves through the
dusty haze, searching. He hears the roar of an engine and turns in time to see
his vehicle heading straight at him. With no time to move to either side he
does the only thing he can do, he jumps high, rolling over the hood and
slamming into the windshield. The masked man swerves to the side, throwing him
off and he lands hard on the pavement, hitting his head and knocking him out.

A
fumigant mixture of spent gun powder, rocket and bomb explosions and debris,
and ash hovers in a stagnant smoky gray haze over The Pinnacle. Hundreds lay in
massacre. The rapid popping of gunfire is reduced to a few shots every so
often. War cries manifest to death cries and of loss. The Pinnacle’s armament
proves stronger. The remaining Maddick’s either run and hide or surrender or
keep fighting until their inevitable deaths. Those who hide are hunted down
throughout the day, leaving no corner or crook and cranny overlooked or stone
unturned, until the very last of them is found and executed.

There
is no feeling of victory.
Only the ache of loss.

Lathan
went in and out of consciousness as he was taken to the hospital. He was then
sedated,
his side stitched up and was diagnosed with a mild
concussion. He awakes the next day with an enormous headache but recognizes the
room he’s in.

“Tell
me this is still my first visit in here, and that last part had all just been a
big nightmare.”

“Sorry
babe, but this is visit number two,” Taya says, squeezing his hand,
then
leaning forward to kiss his lips.

“Everything okay?”

“We
beat them, if that’s what you mean.”

“Many
people hurt?”

Tears well in Taya’s eyes.
“Yeah.”
She
wipes a finger over the tears threatening to spill. She’s cried so much already
and she can’t imagine how she’s able to produce anymore tears. “The hospital is
full. Lots of deaths, but there are much more who are injured.”

“James?”

“He’s
fine. He’s helping with the injured. I’m supposed to send for him once you’re
awake. You want me to go get him?”

“Not
yet. Let me just be for a minute.”