Dead Calm (37 page)

Tick-Tock would never know it, but in his excitement
to kill Brother Cal, George Day's first shot hit Brother William in
the side of the head. His other three rounds had missed both men
completely but the fusillade of bullets from Susan and him hadn't.
The damage they had done was readily apparent. Both of the Head
Ushers had been hit at least a dozen times and looked like they had
gone through a wood chipper face first.

Seeing that it was safe, Tick-Tock turned to Susan
and asked, “You okay? Are you hit?”

Susan stared blankly at him, in shock from what had
just occurred. Moving forward and taking her in his arms, Tick-Tock
could feel her start to shake as post-battle nerves kicked in. He
wanted to take some time and calm her but knew they still had to
help Steve. He couldn't hear shooting from the deck above but with
all the noise he and Susan had made it would have been masked
anyway. Unclipping his radio, he pulled slightly away from Susan
and was about to raise the walkie-talkie to his mouth when he
heard, “Anytime you two are done sucking face, do you think you
could give me a hand? I think I got shot.”

In the aftermath of the firefight, they had forgotten
about Mary.

Both he and Susan rushed to where she was sitting on
the floor behind one of the tables. Looking over the top, the first
thing they noticed was the blood.

Lots of it.

***

Steve was fifteen feet from what he considered the
optimal place to spring their ambush when he heard a series of
clicks issuing from his radio. The first three had barely sounded
when he also heard muffled shots coming from below. Recognizing
pistol shots instead of rifle fire, he feared for Tick-Tock, Susan
and Mary as he swung into action.

From in front of him, automatic weapons fire roared
as Heather opened up on her first target. Steve spun to his left as
he shouldered his rifle, aiming it into the cashier's cage.

Too late, his mind screamed as he saw the inside of
the cage light up from a muzzle flash. At the same time he felt an
impact on the chest as if a giant had balled up its fist and struck
him. The man inside the cage had been alerted by the sound of
shooting coming from below and had fired first.

Staggered by the impact of the .38 caliber bullet,
Steve brought his rifle back to bear even as he heard screams of
pain and more firing from his right. Squeezing the trigger, he
pumped it in multiple three round bursts as he watched his bullets
tearing up the security grill covering the front of cashier's cage.
Another muzzle flash erupted from inside even as his first rounds
hit home. This time, he felt the impact on his solar plexus. The
air rushed out of him. Gasping, he realized he'd emptied his
magazine so he dropped down behind a nickel slot machine and
switched it with a full one.

Crying out in pain as he levered himself back up, he
squeezed the trigger on his M-4 and sent another twenty-eight
rounds into the front of the cashier's cage. This time there was no
return fire.

Only able to take little sips of air and barely able
to stand the pain, Steve cradled his wounded chest as he dropped
into a fetal position and rocked back and forth on the floor.
Hearing Heather calling his name, he answered weakly as he felt a
little more lung capacity come back. Of all the ways to be injured,
getting the wind knocked out of him was the one he hated the most.
His vision was graying out when he became aware of Heather bending
over him, asking where he'd been hit.

He croaked out the word, “Chest,” which sent her into
a flurry of motion as she ripped open his shirt and started
frantically pulling at the Velcro straps that secured the Kevlar
vest to his body. Pushing back on Steve's shoulder to straighten
him out and lifting the front flap on the vest up, she reached down
and felt for any wounds since the dim light of the casino made it
difficult to see. Feeling wetness, a bolt of fear shot through her
until she pulled her hand back and realized that it wasn't blood;
it was sweat.

The Kevlar had stopped both bullets.

After checking the rest of Steve's body by touch, she
was relieved to find no open wounds. Even in the dim light, she
could see two dark bruises starting to form, one on the chest above
his heart and one at the sternum. Worried about internal injuries,
she told him to lay still and not to move while she took care of
something.

Calling for Sheila, she made her way to where Brother
Seth lay unconscious in a pool of blood. He had been her first
target but the only thing she’d been able to see of him was his
feet and lower legs. This is what she'd aimed for. She was
satisfied to see that her first, three rounds burst had hit him in
the left foot, almost severing it. Two rounds of her second burst
had hit him in the right calf. Blood oozed around bone splinters of
what was left of Seth's foot, so Heather grabbed an apron worn by
one of the dealers that had been left hanging from the back of a
chair and twisted it into a tourniquet. Seeing what she was doing,
Sheila said venomously, “Let the pig bleed out.”

“We can't let him die. He can tell us where Brain
is,” she replied and then said urgently. “Go find something to use
on his other leg.”

Sheila came back with a towel she'd found behind a
service bar and soon Seth's other leg was bound and the bleeding
slowed. Heather elevated his legs on a knocked over chair and sat
back as she considered her next move.

Before she could form her thoughts, Sheila
interrupted to ask, “I thought you were supposed to use direct
pressure on a wound like that. I mean, I took a Red Cross class
once and they told us to never use a tourniquet because it would do
more harm.”

In a flat voice, Heather said, “It doesn't matter,
because he won't live long enough for it to matter.” Gathering her
thoughts, she told Sheila, “Go collect their weapons. One's behind
the video poker machine and the other one’s in the cashier's cage,”
Pointing to the bolt-action rifle that Seth had carried, she said,
“Grab that too. Stack them up on a table.”

Heather was about to say more but was interrupted by
Steve gasping out from behind her, “Good shooting, Tex.” Looking at
the inert body, he said, “What do you know? It's our good friend,
Brother Seth.”

Heather saw Steve standing a few feet away and her
features darkened as she yelled at him, “What in the hell are you
doing up. Sit down right now or I'll knock you down. I told you to
stay where you were!”

Steve eased himself into a chair and said, “I'm okay.
Might have a cracked rib but the worst was getting the wind knocked
out of me. I hate that shit. First you think you're going to die,
and then you wish you would.” At this he laughed painfully.

“You could have internal injuries,” she told him.
“You could push a bone sliver into your lung by moving around like
that. And then what?”

Suddenly realizing that they had gone into this
without thinking about the fact that if one of them was seriously
hurt they would have only rudimentary medical help available;
Steve's good mood at their success went away. He imagined having to
do surgery to extract a bullet and the thought made him cringe. Not
that he couldn't do it if he had to, he was finding himself capable
of many things he never would have dreamed of doing before the dead
came back to life, but it was the fact that he didn't know how.
Making a mental note to find some first aid books, he hoped that
nothing had happened to Tick-Tock, Susan or Mary down in the
Sombrero Lounge.

A second later, his fears were brought to reality
when Heather's radio suddenly came to life and Tick-Tock said,
“Speak to me. You guys all right? Deck seven's secure and the bad
guys are dead but Mary got hurt. I’m on my way across the Centrum
right now, so don't shoot me, over.”

Heather replied, “We're secure here. How bad is Mary?
And Connie, don't cut the boat loose. We won, over.”

Down on The Usual Suspects, Connie jumped up and down
with joy when she heard this. Cindy bounced up from where she'd
been sitting on one of the bunks, and the two of them started
dancing around the cabin in celebration.

Steve held his breath as he waited for the reply
about Mary. Suddenly, Tick-Tock's voice called out loudly from the
entrance to the casino. “Mary's not too bad. A stray bullet hit the
table she was hiding behind and kicked up a bunch of splinters and
shit. Side of her head got cut up and it bled a lot, but it's not
as bad as it looks. Head wounds always bleed a lot.” His voice
towering as he neared, Tick-Tock continued, “Susan's with her.
There's a little aide station for the passengers on seven so she
took her there while I came up in case you needed help.”

Looking down at Brother Seth, he said, “Way to go
Annie Oakley. Is he the only one you let live?”

“Other two are dead,” Heather answered, “What about
yours?”

“Three up, three down,” Tick-Tock said. “Just like
baseball.” Noticing Steve's pale complexion, he asked, “You
okay?”

“Took two in the vest. Hurts like a bitch,” he
answered with a gasp.

Tick-Tock winced, “Be careful. Might have cracked a
rib or two.”

“I've heard that somewhere before,” he replied.

Sheila went to collect the weapons while Tick-Tock
related to Steve and Heather about gray hair shooting his own man.
He had just come to the part about hitting the Usher in the back
twice when they heard Sheila give a short yelp. All three spun
around and brought their weapons up at what they thought was a new
threat, but relaxed when they saw Sheila bent over near the
cashier's cage, gagging and dry heaving. She had found what was
left of the man inside. Despite Heather's protests, Steve rose
painfully and joined Tick-Tock as he went to her.

Leaning over while propping herself against the side
of the cashiers cage, Sheila spit out a wad of saliva and gasped,
“That guy in there. He doesn't have a head.”

Tick-Tock looked inside the cage and asked, “What did
you hit this guy with, a chainsaw?”

“Two full clips,” he answered with a twisted
smile.

“A little bit of overkill, don’t you think?”

Steve shrugged, wincing at the pain in his chest and
replied, “He shot me. I got a little pissed off.”

“I’m not going near that mess,” Sheila exclaimed as
she pushed herself away from the cage and staggered over to a
nearby service bar. “You're gonna have to get that last gun by
yourself.”

Tick-Tock looked into the cage again and said, “Well
buddy, you shot his ass, so I guess you get to do the honors.”
Steve was reluctantly reaching for the door handle when Heather
interrupted by calling out, “Seth's coming to.”

“Saved by the bell,” he said with a grin.

The two men hurried over to find Seth rolling his
head back and forth as he moaned in pain. He kept repeating,
“Hurts,” but no one in the group seemed to care.

Pissed off at being shot and seeing someone to focus
his anger on, Steve grunted in pain as he crouched down next to
Seth and un-holstered his Glock.

“Quit moving around, Steve. You're hurt.” Heather
ordered him. He ignored her, focusing only on Seth.

The Head Usher closed his eyes tightly and twisted
his head away when Steve started tapping him on the forehead with
the barrel of his pistol. When he saw this wasn't having the
desired effect, he switched to rapping him on the bridge of the
nose. At this, Seth opened his eyes slightly and rolled them around
until they finally came to rest on Steve before opening wide in
shock.

Seeing he had the man's undivided attention, Steve
asked sharply, “Where's Brain?”

Looking at him in wonder, Seth croaked out, “I saw
you take two in the chest from Jackson. You're supposed to be
dead.”

Sarcastically, Steve responded, “And you're supposed
to be a Christian, so just think of it as a resurrection thing. Now
where's Brain?”

Seth closed his lips tightly and shook his head,
refusing to answer.

“The hard way then,” Steve said flatly.

Pointing his pistol into the air, he fired six rapid
shots into the ceiling and then locked the slide back on the
Glock.

Reaching down, he pressed the burning hot barrel
across Seth's lips.

Blisters rose instantly and Seth let out a cry of
pain as he wrenched his head away. The faint smell of burning flesh
rose into the air.

“Next one goes against your right eye,” Steve warned.
He told Tick-Tock to hold Seth's head as he pointed the pistol into
the air again.

This was enough for Seth who blurted out, “Deck ten,
room fifteen thirty-eight.”

“Good answer. Now where's Ricky?” Steve growled.

“I don't know,” Seth cried. “He's waiting to hear
from us. He might be on the bridge.”

Steve made as if to point his pistol in the air again
so Seth screamed, “I don't know where he is, honest!”

Steve nodded to Tick-Tock who released Seth's head
and backed away, knowing what was coming. Standing was painful for
Steve and Heather rushed forward to help him.

Seth pleaded, “You can't leave me like this. Where
are you going? Please don't leave me like this.”

“I won't,” Steve said as he took four steps backward
so he wouldn't get splashed with blood. He fired once into the
center of Seth's face.

Turning toward Sheila who was standing with what
looked like a triple shot of whiskey, he ordered, “Lay off that
stuff. We've still got things to do. Take the weapons and go down
and find Mary and Susan. Stay with them.”

To Tick-Tock and Heather he said simply, “Let's
go.”

***

Brain heard the door bang open and the sudden light
coming into the darkened room blinded him. His mind flashed to the
old cop shows of the black and white era. How having a light shined
in their face disoriented suspects while they were questioned.
Thinking that Ricky or his men had come to interrogate him about
his friends, he steeled himself to resist. Waiting to be beaten
with a rubber hose or have his fingernails pulled out one by one,
he was surprised to hear Tick-Tock's voice say, “What the fuck,
Chop. How do you rate a grand suite while I sleep on a mattress on
the floor?”