Dead Six

“Everybody okay?” I got a chorus of nods in response.

I looked out a window just in time to see Lorenzo enter the mess hall building.

“Where’s he going?”

“I don’t know,” Reaper said. “He just took off.”

“Let’s go!” Jill said, a fire in her eyes.

Holstering my Smith & Wesson, I pulled a fresh twenty-round magazine from my vest and locked it into my FAL’s magazine well. I looked back at my companions and was out the door.

LORENZO

Valentine was a killing machine.

The last of Gordon’s SWAT team were gone, shot to death through the barracks walls. Bodies twisted into unnatural positions, hands curled into claws, staring blankly at the beams overhead. I stepped quickly through the mess, shell casings spinning away underfoot. Hawk had been firing from the window, hammering his Para FAL at someone in the northern buildings. Reaper and Jill were back toward the entrance.

I crouched near the rear door and scanned the last building. There was no visible movement, but there had been earlier, and none of the men that we had killed were Eddie or Gordon. Process of elimination left that one.

Elimination. Sometimes I make myself smile.

There was a noise, high pitched and repetitive over the ringing in my ears. It was coming from the cafeteria. The noise seemed out of place in the ghost town.

Barking. It was Eddie’s poodle.

I’m by nature a cautious man. You do not live long in my business by charging into situations, but caution went out the window when I heard that sound. Eddie’s presence here tonight was like a gift from heaven, and I wasn’t going to leave without sending him to hell.

“I’m going in,” I said into my radio, took a quick look, didn’t see any obvious threats, then sprinted for the cafeteria, realizing halfway across that I didn’t have a working radio. Too late to turn back. I covered the last bit of distance and slid to a stop in the gravel next to the open doorway.

The old mess hall was a huge building. I rounded the corner and activated my flashlight. The interior was a mass of old tables, most of them broken and sticking up at odd angles. The light created horrific shadows dancing on the walls. Nothing moved, but you could have hid an elephant in here and I wouldn’t have seen it.

That annoying barking came again, a high-pitched yipping, louder now, off to the side. My light illuminated another door, probably to the kitchen. I moved through, using what cover was available, ready to shoot at any second. The kitchen was empty also, just some dust-coated countertops, old bottles, and a rusting industrial-sized stove. There was another door, and the barking was coming from inside.

I kicked the door open, the old bolt tearing right through the age-softened wood. Rickety stairs descended into the darkness.

Man. What I’d give for another grenade.

The yippy dog was really freaking out now. I cracked the vertebra in my neck. This was it.

I swept around the corner, light stabbing into the darkness. Below was a small pantry, filled with empty shelves, probably sunk into the ground to keep the food from the desert heat. Eddie’s poodle was in the center of the room, its leash tied around a beam.

The dog was snarling at me. I moved the light around, but there was nobody else in the room. There was a dusty tarp hanging in one corner, big enough to conceal a man.

I started down the steps, gun up, finger on the trigger, Aimpoint dot floating on that tarp. My heart was pounding. Was that Eddie behind there? I took aim and stitched a line of shots up it. The AR moved slightly under recoil as something shattered and fell behind the tarp. The poodle yelped in surprise and whimpered.

If Eddie was hiding in there, he wasn’t happy.

The first gunshot struck me low in the back. I stumbled forward, accidentally discharging my weapon as another round tore down my arm. I tried to turn back toward the kitchen, but as my boot landed on the next step, the ancient stairs broke and gave way under my weight. Windmilling, off balance, another shot sparked off my AR’s receiver and I crashed halfway through the stairs, legs dangling over the pantry, jagged wood stabbing into my arms. The door to the giant stove was open now and a hand with a pistol extended out of it. I saw the muzzle flash, and something tore along the side of my scalp, snapping my head back. Another shot thudded into my armor as the rest of the staircase collapsed around me.

The air exploded from my lungs as I landed hard in a pile of dust and wood. I lay there for a split second, lights exploding behind my eyes. I had walked right into it, focused on the noise, and waltzed right past Eddie’s ambush.

Choking, gasping, I pushed myself deeper into the corner under the broken stairs as I drew my pistol. My body was on fire with pain, and blood was running out of my hair and into my eyes. My protesting lungs wouldn’t fill with air at first, but I forced back the rising tide of panic. The bag containing the prince’s treasure had somehow spilled free and was resting on the floor a few feet away, just out of reach.

“Lorenzo, I thought you were supposed to be good at this,” Eddie said from above. He peered over the edge at me, smiling, H&K P7 in one hand, his silk shirt filthy with old rust, puffy hair matted with cobwebs. He moved back over the threshold as I raised my gun and fired. The bullet smashed into the ceiling.

I kept the shaking front sight aimed at that doorway and tried to breathe. The basement was dark. My AR was smashed on the ground beside me. I had no cover. At least that dog had shut up. I glanced over at the Precious’s last position. It looked like I’d accidently shot the poodle before the stairs had fallen on it. Ouch.

“You know you’re not the first one to come after me. Did you really think it would be that easy? You probably did. I try to cultivate a certain manner. It tends to cause men like you to underestimate me.” Eddie’s effeminate voice was safely out of sight above. “Where’s the scarab, Lorenzo?”

“Sorry about your dog.” I coughed and used my sleeve to wipe the blood out of my eyes. If Eddie was going to finish me, he needed to stick his gun over the edge. So I only had one shot. The STI slowly quit shaking. Blood trickled down my lacerated arm and pooled inside my armor.

“I’ll buy a new dog. The scarab is irreplaceable.”

Come on, Eddie. Just a peek. “It must be worth a fortune.”

“It’s not the money. It’s the sentimental value. The man that wants that thing is far more dangerous than me. He’d crush the prince like a bug. But if I have it, he’ll do anything I ask. You have no idea how important that bloody thing is. This is your last chance, Lorenzo. Where is it?”

It was sitting right there in the dust, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Someplace you’ll never find it,” I answered, and it wasn’t a stretch of my acting ability to sound injured. “So let’s get this over with.”

Eddie was quiet for a moment. “You realize, of course, that I’m still going to kill your family. It’s a matter of principle now.”

“Of course,” I answered as I blocked out the pain, the throbbing in my head, the ringing in my ears, the blood in my eyes, and focused on that glowing front sight. One shot. Just one shot.

Then there was a gunshot, not from a handgun, but the thunder of a .308 round, followed by several other deep booms from Reaper’s Benelli. They were close.

“Sounds like your mates are here. I’m afraid our time together has come to an end.”

“Yeah, that’s too bad.” Front sight. Front sight. Come on.

“Farewell, Lorenzo.”

I was waiting for it. Please, God, just one shot. But Eddie didn’t appear at the edge. Rather, there was a scratchy clicking noise. A lighter? Then a glass bottle with a flaming rag stuck in the top flew through the doorway. I watched in horror as the Molotov cocktail sailed across the room and shattered against the far wall. The liquid inside spread across the walls and wooden shelves, ignited, and bathed the tiny room in heat and flames.

I pushed myself to my feet, scrambling, searching for handholds to get out of the deathtrap. The fire was