A Hole in the Sky (20 page)

Kawecki, who was well aware of the manner in which Howlers could absorb bullets and other projectiles, nodded. “I suggest that we make the rounds, Mr. President. You go left and I’ll go right. Please remind those with shotguns to hold their fire until the beasts are in close. We have a Splicer, a Bellock, and a Wraith. We’ll use those to keep the Howlers at a distance.”

The men split up, and had just started to circle the defensive wall, when a five-hundred-pound Howler came rushing out of the surrounding darkness. Hostler opened up on it with the Bellock, but he missed, and by the time the explosive round went off, the stink was already in the air. It landed on Shaw, bore her to the ground, and ripped her throat out.

Then Voss was there, firing into the monster with the Rossmore, and killing it with three loads of double-ought buck. But more Howlers were galloping towards the compound by then. Some tumbled end-for-end as tracers from the Wraith minigun found them, or a Splicer blade ripped through their muscular bodies.

Yet others seemed unaffected by a hail of Bullseye projectiles, rounds from M4A2 carbines, and lighter backup weapons. Then as a flare soared into the air, and went off with a gentle pop, the humans got their first look at the army of Howlers bounding towards them, and one of the scientists began to scream. Malikov ordered the man to shut up and was there to blast a stink as it soared in over the wall. It landed on a fire, produced an explosion of sparks, and lay in a smoking heap.

Unable to keep the monsters at a distance, the humans found themselves trapped in a horrible melee. Three stinks were inside the defensive wall by then. Two soldiers and a technician went down. Voss swore as his Rossmore clicked empty. There wasn’t enough time to reload as one of the beasts turned towards him and charged.

The Magnum came out of the shoulder holster smoothly enough, but Voss wasn’t sure if he could bring the heavy revolver to bear in time, as the Howler launched itself into the air. So he fired a second too soon and knew the bullet had gone wide. Then he pulled the trigger again, saw the hit, and barely had time to activate the secondary fire function as a quarter-ton of Chimera slammed into him.

Voss was falling backwards as the large-caliber bullet exploded deep inside the Howler’s chest, and blew chunks of bloody meat in every direction. But the crushing impact of the Chimera’s body drove Voss to the ground and forced all the air out of his lungs. And that’s where he was, gasping for breath, when Kawecki and one of his men arrived to roll the corpse off him.

“It’s over,” Kawecki said, as he pulled the President to his feet. “I think so, anyway.”

Voss was bent over with his hands on his knees. He felt like he was going to puke. “How many?”

“Four dead, counting Shaw. Two or three wounded.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“And Cassie?”

Aklin appeared out of the gloom. “I’m fine, but you look like hell. Come on! Let’s see if we can get some of that blood off you.”

Kawecki watched the President walk away. “We could do worse,” he said to himself. “Much worse.”

The private standing next to him frowned. “Sir?”

Kawecki looked at him. “What the hell are you doing here? Get Perkins and drag the stinks out of here. What do you think this is? A frigging picnic?”

The private nodded. “Yes, sir! I mean, no, sir.”
Officers. Who could understand them?
There was no answer, nor did he expect one, because some things simply are.

Capelli had been crucified. The cross consisted of a post from which the U.S. Route 81 sign had been removed—and a length of two-by-four scrounged from a nearby barn.

It was a little past noon. That’s what Capelli figured anyway, as the sun inched across the cloudless sky, and his shadow swung towards the east. His arms were tied to the crosspiece and about five feet of clothesline had been wrapped around both the upright and his legs.

Capelli had been there for hours by that time and he was cold.
Very
cold. Eventually, assuming that this day passed as the last two had, Bam-Bam and Inkskin would arrive with some hot soup.

Unless a group of Hybrids happened along, that is. Then, if there were more stinks than the circus performers could handle, the Chimera would be allowed to kill him. But if there were only two or three Chimera, Alfonso would pop up and stun one of the ’brids with a bolt from his crossbow. Meanwhile, Bam-Bam and Inkskin would cut the rest of the stinks down.

Once they had captured a replacement for El Diablo the circus would be back in business. And, according to Inkskin, Capelli was already slated to fight the new Hybrid. Without a knife.

Capelli attempted to generate some body heat by flexing his muscles. The result was a little bit of warmth. It was a small victory, but it made him feel better nevertheless. The afternoon wore on.

It was mid-afternoon by the time Alfonso, Bam-Bam, and Inkskin emerged from their various hiding spots and wandered out onto the two-lane highway. There hadn’t been any traffic, Chimeran or otherwise, which meant the effort to capture a stink would resume the following morning. Unless Ringmaster Jack decided to pull up stakes and go looking for another site, that is.

All three of the circus performers were carrying canteens and blankets in addition to their weapons, and Capelli figured that at least a couple of them had been napping. The clown’s makeup was badly smudged, which made him look even more sinister than usual. “What a waste of time,” Bam-Bam complained, as he loosened a knot. “You couldn’t draw flies, much less a Chimera.”

There was no point in answering, and Capelli didn’t as loops of rope fell away. His arms were next, and as Capelli lowered them, Inkskin was there to reattach his collar. Except that as the tattooed man opened the device, and was about to clamp it in place, a high-velocity bullet blew the top of his head off. The report was like an afterthought.

Capelli felt something warm wash across his face as all of the strength went out of Inkskin’s body and he collapsed. There was a momentary clatter as both the collar and the guard’s weapon hit the pavement.

And then Capelli’s training kicked in. He was already in motion, sprinting for the side of the road, when a slug snatched Bam-Bam off his feet. With a thump, he landed facedown on the white line.

By then Capelli was in the ditch and trying to figure out what was happening. Two bullets—two kills. A pro,
then. Or a talented amateur. But why? And more importantly,
who
? Not the stinks, because they would have shot him. Or, failing that, would be surging out onto the highway.

Capelli heard the distinctive sound of a Marksman firing a three-round burst.
His
Marksman. Which meant Alfonso was firing back.
The rotten sonofabitch
. And there was Master Jack to consider, not to mention Leena, who could use a weapon when called upon to do so. What were
they
up to?

Capelli raised his head for a second, spotted the Bullseye Bam-Bam had been carrying, and wondered if he could make it. The weapon was a good fifteen feet away—and there was the return trip to consider. Say ten seconds out, five on the scene, and ten back. Twenty-five in all. Plenty of time for the mysterious marksman or Alfonso to shoot him. Except they were focused on each other. A notion that gained credence as another shot rang out. Capelli got up, scrambled onto the highway, and made a beeline for the weapon.

Susan felt a sudden stab of fear, and rolled away, as a bullet nicked the top surface of her right shoulder. It didn’t hurt. So chances were that the projectile hadn’t broken the skin. But the return fire was completely unexpected. Yes, there was a third man stationed next to the road, but he was armed with a crossbow.
And
a rifle, as it turned out. Something she had missed.

That was bad. But what made matters worse was the fact that the bastard was a very good shot. As good as
she
was? Yes, Susan thought that was possible. She elbowed her way down off a slight rise, and snaked towards the pile of rocks where her pack was hidden. A farmer had painstakingly removed the stones from his field and she was grateful.

No sooner was she behind the pile of rocks when a
bullet spanged off the rock in front of her. Had the shot been an honest-to-God attempt to nail her? Or was the projectile supposed to freeze her place? Giving the third man an opportunity to reposition himself?

Suddenly Susan regretted the impulse that caused her to follow both the circus and the man with the SRPA tattoo on his back. He was free though, and that was a good thing, or would be so long as she managed to survive.

Susan was kneeling behind the pile of stones with two inches of the Fareye’s long, slender barrel poking out through a gap. A really good sniper could put a bullet through the hole. Hell, she had met one Freedom First operative who could have shot her through the telescopic sight, but he was dead. Not from a sniper but a massive heart attack.

As Susan watched a light breeze play across the grass, she noticed a spot where the feathery stems were leaning in the wrong direction. She made a tiny allowance for the breeze and squeezed. The rifle butt nudged her shoulder, and as the bullet sped through the air, it broke the sound barrier.

The wagon and the humans who had to pull it were hidden inside a barn that was located two hundred yards off the highway. And that’s where Ringmaster Jack, Leena, and her daughter were. Having heard the gunshots, they knew something was amiss. Otherwise Alfonso, Bam-Bam, and Inkskin would have returned by then.

So Jack was faced with a dilemma. Should he venture out in order to provide his employees with some fire support, or remain in the barn and guard the donkeys? They were lined up against the south wall staring at him. He frowned. “What the hell are
you
looking at? Keep your eyes on the floor.”

“They aren’t looking at you. They’re looking at
me.
”

The voice came from behind him. And as Jack turned, he saw a man silhouetted in the side door and felt a gentle nudge. A tag! The Ringmaster knew what that meant and shouted, “No!”

But the projectiles were already on the way. They sparkled like jewels, swarmed the Ringmaster like angry bees, and tore into him. His corpulent body shuddered as if afflicted by some terrible disease, wavered uncertainly, and slumped to the ground.

“Capelli!” the man called Bar shouted. “The hayloft!”

Capelli brought the Bullseye up and took a step sideways as Leena fired her pistol. The bullet kicked up dirt just beyond where he’d been standing.

It was relatively dark up in the loft, so Capelli couldn’t see his assailant, but he had a pretty good idea of who it was. The same rotten bitch who’d suckered him into the trap weeks before. As he pulled the trigger and held it back, a dozen beams of sunlight appeared as projectiles punched holes in the wooden floor and the roof beyond. Leena uttered a cry, took two uncertain steps, and toppled forward.

Her body hit the dirt with a thump and threw a cloud of dust into the air. It was still settling as Capelli hurried up the ladder and onto the platform above. That was where he found the little girl. She was dead, having been hit by at least two projectiles, and Capelli swore softly. That hadn’t been his intention. Far from it. But there was nothing he could do. She, like so many before her, had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

His captors had been sleeping in the loft, which meant their belongings were spread about, an opportunity too good to pass up. Capelli took a moment to select a good pack and spent the next ten minutes filling it with carefully chosen items. He also appropriated Leena’s Colt
Commander and took an adjustable shoulder holster from her sleeping bag.

Then, as Capelli went through Master Jack’s belongings, he came across what he recognized as Locke’s money belt. It felt lighter than before but still held a small fortune. So he buckled it around his waist before returning to the ground.

The prisoners yelled at him, rattling their chains, and trying to break free from the tractor to which they were tethered. Capelli raised a hand as he stood before them. “Listen up.”

The noise stopped and they stared at him. “I’ve got good news for you. As soon as I finish collecting the things I need, you’ll be freed. And since there’s a limit to how much I can carry, there will be plenty of stuff left for you. How you divide it, and what you do next, is up to you. So please take it easy and I’ll turn you loose shortly.”

The prisoners
didn’t
take it easy. Some of them shouted demands and others pleaded with him as Capelli took what he wanted from the wagon. Once Capelli was fully equipped, he retrieved the key from Master Jack’s vest pocket. It was slippery with blood.

Capelli shouldered his pack and checked to make sure that the Bullseye was full up before going over to turn the donkeys loose. They grew very quiet, their eyes following his every move, as the big padlock fell free and landed in the dirt.

Capelli was backing away by then—with the assault rifle raised. “I’ll leave it to you to find the key to those collars. Bam-Bam and Inkskin are on the highway. That’s where I would start if I were you.”

Because the prisoners were hooked to the master chain, and Capelli was armed, they couldn’t prevent him from leaving. Bar said, “Thanks,” but the rest were yelling insults as Capelli paused to confiscate Jack’s Bullseye before backing out through the door.

Once outside, Capelli paused to check his surroundings. Where was the mysterious sniper? And more important yet, where was Alfonso? Especially given all of the gunfire. That seemed to suggest that Alfonso was wounded or dead.

But Alfonso was a cagey bastard, and a crack shot, so he couldn’t take anything for granted. Capelli crossed the open area between the barn and the highway in a series of short dashes and flopped onto his belly after each sprint. But even as the prisoners exited the barn and shuffled his way, no one shot at him.