Havoc (Dred Chronicles 2)

I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes.

He imagined creeping through Perdition, not knowing where the traps were and constantly finding deadly surprises. They had to know to stay sharp by now—that bad shit could come jumping out at any minute. Which meant his ambush had to be even tighter, timed down to the second. He had to drop one before the rest located him; and they were well trained, so it wouldn’t be long.

When the heavy footsteps resonated throughout the room, he popped out of cover. A quick count confirmed what his hearing had predicted, and as they strode in, one of them gestured. The rest spread out to check different parts of the room. Jael did a quick sweep of all the men’s locations and decided to take out the one standing guard by the door.

He’s the farthest from the rest, so it’ll take longer for them to notice when he drops. Then they still have to find me.

He crawled down the beam to get a better angle. After getting into position and setting up his gun, he took aim in the middle of the merc’s visor. Once he was sure, he confirmed through the autosight. The gun’s computer chip confirmed the trajectory, so he took the shot, and a red burst snapped from his perch to the visor, shattering it on impact. Another snap shot exploded the glastique and fried the merc’s face. His armor hit the floor with a noisy thunk when he dropped, alerting the rest of the men.

Two of them ran toward their fallen comrade while the rest spun, searching the ceiling for the shooter. Jael pushed to his feet and ran along the beam. The movement alerted them, but there was no other way to escape. Burning shots sizzled along the metal behind him, filling the air with the scent of melting steel. Part of him wished he could square off; he desperately wanted that fragging armor, but he had no chance of snagging it. Sparks sprang up behind him as he leapt from the ceiling to the wall. He hit hard enough to break some ribs; the snap sent pain down his spine like a lightning strike, but he ignored the gouge in his side and threw himself out the doors on the other side of the room. Merc shouts followed him, and the sound of pounding feet, but there was no way he was stopping. Nine men all with rifles identical to this one didn’t add up to good odds, even for an inhuman bastard like him.

A drone cam zoomed past and this one, he couldn’t catch but he eluded it by diving down a sanitation chute. Desperation drove him; if Vost was able to follow his movements, then the mercs would be on him in seconds. He fell with terrifying velocity, and he only caught himself a few meters before the recycling unit by jamming his feet as hard as he could against the opposite wall. His side gave, sending another wave of agony over him until his vision bled red. Jael hovered above the chopping blades, his entire body trembling.

Horror washed through him in a rushing wave. Will I come back if this thing carves me into soup meat? The worst part was, he could imagine it—being bound to the mutilated carcass with no way of dying. A deep breath, another, while his thigh muscles trembled and burned. Fear made him sweat, and his back slipped; he dropped a few centimeters, so the fans clanged against his boots.

No way out but up.

Winded, he shoved back up to where he had been and hung there, his body feeling like one huge bruise. The burn on his back must’ve split open like a smashed fruit, and hot blood slicked the metal behind him, making it damn near impossible to get any traction. With a stifled curse, he arched his back to use his shoulders instead and worked upward with his boots. He crooked his arms, shoved with his legs, and scrabbled with all his strength. Sweat broke out on his brow as he worked upward by the centimeter, conscious all the while of the disposal facilities beneath him. If I slip, I go to pieces. The joke didn’t seem as funny when he couldn’t get a deep breath, and the pain was constant, each time he shoved his body upward. It was worth it. I dropped one. Forty-nine to go. Red trickled down the wall, spattered by the whirring of the fan.

You can get out of this, mate. You’ve been in worse fixes.

But for the life of him, he couldn’t remember when.

9

Tough Love

Dred wrestled with a colossal wash of rage as she stared at the sentry who had told her, unwittingly, about Jael’s illicit departure. “What time was this?”

“Seven hours ago, give or take.”

She couldn’t let the guard know how far out of his jurisdiction Jael was operating, or it would look like she couldn’t control her damned champion. When I get my hands on him . . . She nodded as if he’d had authorization to vanish with the best weapon Queensland had ever acquired. A small, bitter voice whispered, You should never have trusted him. He’s ripped you off and gone to join Silence or Katur. She didn’t think he’d be stupid enough to team up with Mungo. Silence, too, seemed unlikely, but maybe Jael thought he’d have a better chance of survival with Death’s Handmaiden. Determinedly, she shook her head. Bullshit, whatever he’s doing, it’s not that.

The man went on, “But he should be back by now, right?”

“Probably,” she said tightly.

“He’s a tough bastard. I’m sure he’s all right.”

She offered an icy smile. “I’m more worried about the rifle. Inform me immediately if and when he returns.”

Dred strode off to see if Tam or Martine knew anything, but they were both genuinely surprised to hear Jael had taken off. Their facial expressions were unstudied, and their emotions echoed what they said aloud. Sometimes her gift was useful though she never forgot it was also a bomb waiting for a chance to explode. Control was a tenuous, fragile thing, one reason she tried so hard to go numb and not feel anything at all.

Safer that way, for more than the usual reasons.

She was about to go searching when the sentry shouted, “The champion’s returning.”

With a soft curse, she jogged to the barricade, intending to verbally yank out his spine, but when he fell more than landed, she moved forward and pulled him to his feet. His face was pale and sticky with sweat, his eyes shining with incredible pain. He used the rifle as a crutch, something she’d deal with later. Frustrated, she dropped an arm around his shoulders. Queensland watched them go silently; it took all of her self-control not to tear into him in front of everyone. Rage throbbed in her head. Silently, she took the weapon from him and dragged him to her room.

“I should kill you.”

His smile was shaky. “Just make it quick, love, I beg you.”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Jael’s face tightened under what Dred took as a fresh onslaught of agony. “That something had to be done, and I’m the one to do it.”