Havoc (Dred Chronicles 2)

Please don’t let them be mercs. We’re not ready to take on an armored unit.

Dred felt naked without her chains, but she swung around the corner with a blade in each hand. She was relieved to see four of Silence’s killers, even odds. These men were dressed in black from head to toe, blood-whorl patterns on their forearms and their faces made up like skulls. Possibly they had broken off from the larger group and been sent on some dark errand.

A hunting party. Time to make them prey.

Like all of Silence’s crew, this lot didn’t speak. There were no growls of rage, no threats; the enemies just readied their weapons. Each one of them faced off against an opponent, though Dred knew from prior experience that Jael could’ve taken all four by himself. But she didn’t like revealing his inhuman prowess, even to her inner circle. If anyone else figured out his healing trick, they’d cut him open just to watch him seal the wound. Queensland still had its share of sadistic bastards. In a place like Perdition, it couldn’t be otherwise.

Dred’s opponent was tall and gaunt with a spidery quality to his limbs. His long face, painted like a skull, along with yellowed eyes, gave him the look of a man who was already dead. As they circled, he flashed her a glimpse of his tongueless mouth, likely to intimidate her with his commitment to Silence’s madness; his tongue had been severed at the base, so there was only a pink scar at the back. Revulsion did creep down her spine like scuttling, segmented legs, but she didn’t let it affect her determination to kill the bastard.

When he lunged at her, she spun to the side, nearly slamming into Martine, who aimed a scowl at her. Dred was better with her chains than close-up with knives; she knew better than to let the man grapple. He had better reach, and Silence’s crew was fast with their garrotes. He could slice clean through her throat if she gave him an opening.

She lashed out, first with her right hand, then her left, but he blocked both strikes. He nearly snagged her wrist, but she twisted out of the attempted hold and came out with her knife still in her hand. You’ve gotten sloppy, relied on the chains too much. Dred tried to remember old techniques and circled her knives so he’d be watching those instead of her feet. When she was sure he was waiting for a blade strike, she kicked him in the crotch. Silence’s men still had testicles apparently; he flinched enough to give her an opening and she slashed a line across his throat. The skin peeled back in a wet red bubble, then he toppled.

Martine and Jael had already dropped theirs, but Tam was still working. He said without turning, “Feel free to wade in. We need to get those supplies back.”

Jael ended the fight with a closed-fist blow to the man’s temple. He didn’t look strong enough for that to be a one-shot kill, but the enemy dropped like a stone. Martine regarded him with a speculative expression, gaze skimming down his lean frame, taking in the ropy musculature and the deceptive breadth of his biceps.

“Secret technique?” she asked with a raised brow.

Dred wasn’t sure if the other woman could be trusted, but her options for lieutenants had shrunk with all the dying, plus Wills’s betrayal after the massacre on Grigor’s turf. The fact that they’d won in the end didn’t change how many men she’d lost, and there would be no reinforcements. She was watching Martine, for sure, but she couldn’t afford to cut her out of the loop. The woman was fierce and ruthless, and she wasn’t psychotic, which was more than could be said for most of Perdition’s inmates.

“I studied for decades with a bunch of monks,” Jael said, straight-faced.

“I’m sure. Because our people are known for discipline.”

“Our people?” Tam asked.

“Convicts. The lawfully challenged, if you prefer.”

Jael laughed. “Lawfully challenged. I like that.”

Dred interrupted, “The longer we stand here, the likelier it is we run into more trouble. Let’s get these supplies back to Queensland before they decide we’ve abandoned the place, and Ike’s facing a revolt.”

“You think that could happen?” Martine wanted to know.

Dred shrugged. “In here? Probably. We need to be there, reminding the men that they can’t believe that merc’s promises. Otherwise . . .”

“It would be a massacre,” Tam predicted.

She couldn’t look directly at the threat of complete eradication without the shakes setting in. Though Tam had built the mythos of the Dread Queen, she wasn’t a leader and never had been. Outside, she had been a solitary killer, a vigilante who hunted in the shadows. And she didn’t know if she had the strength to hold Queensland together.

Not through this. But I don’t know how to give up, either.

4

Echoes in Darkness

Queensland was in an uproar when they got back. Long before they reached the first checkpoint, Jael made out shouting voices, arguments raging in multiple corridors. Too much to hope that they’re all clever lads. Though a few of the big brutes who had built the barricades might’ve seen through the empty promises, others weren’t so savvy. If this rot runs too deep, we’ll have to cut our losses and run. But Jael understood well enough that it would be the same as admitting defeat. While a smaller group might be able to hide longer, they’d have even less chance at taking out Vost’s crew.

Dred wore a thunderous scowl as the sentry stopped them though they were obviously laden down with provisions. “Is what the merc said true? People have been saying it might not be a bad idea—”

“If you fight us,” Dred cut in, “then you stop being a Queenslander. You can go join Mungo or Silence. They’d kill their own because an outsider said to. We don’t.”

“Artan did,” the man muttered.

“And he’s dead now. Maybe you want me to end you, too.” Dred took a step closer, and even without her chains, she was both terrifying and beautiful. She pulled a blade from her thigh sheath and set it gently to his throat. “Just say the word.”

Dred flicked her wrist, and a pinprick of red appeared on the man’s throat. Neither Jael nor Tam would dream of intervening. For her part, Martine looked downright eager.

The guard gulped and dropped his eyes. “No. Sorry. I’ll man my post.”

“See that you do,” she said.

They pushed past with the supplies, then had to pass them across the barricades; the debris was piled nearly to the ceiling, with just a meter or so clearance, barely enough space for the crates. The last two containers, Jael shoved from the other side until the carton left scrapes on the ceiling.