Havoc (30 page)

42

Death of a Cannibal

There was no time to waste. A few hours ago, they had gotten word of Katur's death, but nobody could spare a moment for a service right now. Too many attackers, not enough defenders, and still more coming in. Dred had put Jael in charge of some Queenslanders, kissed him hard, and gone to fight on the other side of the territory.

Dred could look after herself; she'd managed fine before his arrival. It was hubris to imagine she needed him to protect her.
Especially now. She's as tough as you are.

That thought filled him with both reassurance and unease. What need would she have for him once the fighting stopped? Like a magician with one poor trick, now that he'd taught it to someone else, the demand for his services was sure to drop. Deeper in the station, he heard sirens blaring. Things had gotten so chaotic that he was no longer sure where the main battle was. The fire-extinguishing system engaged, spraying the corridor with water, though this wasn't where the fires were burning. Men lay lifeless at his feet, but this was a momentary respite. The ones Dred had assigned to him were all dead.

Someone stepped out of the smoke, and he brought up his blades. He dropped them when he recognized Keelah. The female had been grim and uncommunicative since her mate's death. Blood matted her fur, but he didn't think much of it belonged to her. The water dripped through her pelt and came out tinged pink, running off down the faintly sloped metal floor.

“You all right?” he asked.

He told himself Dred was fine.
Don't worry about her.

She ignored the pleasantries. “Just mopping up. But there's a group ahead that's too big for me to handle on my own.”

“Is it what's left of Mungo's mongrels?”

Keelah nodded. “They're quite mad. Even more than they were if you can fathom.”

“Pretty hard to believe. I'm with you. How many?”

“About twenty, I think.”

“You think the two of us can take them?”

“I've seen you fight. As long as they don't have rifles, we should be fine.”

“Now there's a terrifying thought.”

“You're not afraid,” Keelah said. “For that, you'd have to fear death.”

He stared at her, astounded by her perspicacity. “You're wrong, I do fear death.”

Her liquid eyes held a weight of unwelcome knowledge. “Just not your own. It's worse when you lose someone you love.”

I don't love her.
But the words stuck in his throat, and there, they fluttered like the wings of panicked birds. Surely there was another name for the prickly barbs that twined him ever closer to Dred. Yet he couldn't bring himself to speak the repudiation aloud. Keelah turned away, apparently losing interest in the conversation.

“We should go mop up,” he finally said.

The mongrels were looting. They had found one of the stashes that had belonged to the Warren and were rooting through the crates like animals. Jael found them disquieting because they had devolved to the point that they mostly communicated in gestures and grunts. He'd heard a few of them form actual words, but most didn't bother. Their time in Perdition had turned them into lower primates.

Jael brought his rifle up and dropped two of them as quick as breathing. That alerted the others, and they spun as a mob, charging with primitive snarls. He shot another one as Keelah readied her weapons. His rifle beeped, indicating an imminent venting of heat, so he hurled it at the charging cannibal. The others bared their yellowed teeth in aggression and surrounded Keelah and him in a slavering pack. This group had sharp, untended nails with blood and filth caked beneath them, so long that they'd started to curve. A glimpse he soon regretted at their bare feet revealed toenails in the same state. And the smell alone was nearly enough to kill him. The plus side of these beasts was that they didn't waste time with threats.

One snapped at him with fetid teeth, while two more lunged. He'd seen how they operated before. Two held the prey while another tore out its throat. But that wasn't happening here today. He avoided the two grabs, then slammed the mongrels together. As one stumbled, Keelah's small blade lashed out and sliced from throat to thigh. Blood gushed from the wound, and the man fell. His comrades kicked his corpse out of the way.

They'd eat you later, mate. But that's not happening, either.

Jael had been afraid Keelah would get in his way, but she proved an able partner, finishing up when he disabled one. Her blade flashed again and again in swift, accurate kills.

Jael lashed out with a kick and followed with a wheeling blow that ended with a broken neck. Another enemy hit the ground. Though his reflexes weren't what they had been, it was child's play to anticipate their strikes. They seemed to be moving in slow motion, and Jael was everywhere. His hands and feet blurred into endless death, and when he finally stopped moving, there was a pile of bodies at his feet.

“You have the battle madness,” she said.

“I have
all
the madness. Shall we see if we can find the others?” He considered for a moment, wondering about something belatedly. “Why
were
you on your own?”

“I thought it would be better to die in battle,” she said quietly. “I miss Katur.”

“I don't think he'd be very pleased if you just gave up.”

Her muzzle pulled away from her teeth. “What do you know? Our faith teaches that lovers are reunited in death. He would be happy to see me.”

That seemed backward, but Jael had been courting death for a long time, enough to understand where she was coming from. It had taken being sent to a place like Perdition for him to learn how to live. Now he was fighting, not just to find a way out of here, but to do something other than kill people who deserved to be put down. That was a tempting idea, actually, but playing judge, jury, and executioner had gotten Dred sent here in the first place.

To Keelah, he finally said, “Then I hope you find a worthy death if that's what you're seeking. Do you know where the others are?”

She shook her head. “Dred was fighting on her own when I saw her last.”

Dammit.
Despite himself, he remembered what had happened to Einar. The Dread Queen might have half of his healing ability now, but neither one of them was invincible, and Vost had given them a hard fight; Mungo and Silence hadn't made it any easier. She had to be exhausted since she still possessed a full human's need for sleep.

“Hurry.” He tried to pretend he wasn't worried, but from the sharp look the female sent him, she wasn't fooled.

“I hear something . . .” The alien cocked her head.

Jael listened, but he detected nothing besides common station noises. It was unusual to find someone with sharper senses than his own. “What?”

“Combat. It seems there are a few stragglers who don't mean to surrender.”

“They're animals,” Jael muttered.

“I've heard your people say that about mine, more than once.”

“
My
people?” He smiled slightly. “You're mistaken. I have none.”

“You're human, aren't you?” She stepped closer, as if he'd piqued her curiosity, and she circled him, whiskers prickling as she investigated by scent.

“Not exactly.”

“Interesting. There's another layer.”

Do I smell different? Cleaner than Mungo or Silence's lunatics, definitely.
In any case, it wasn't the time for explanations. “We should move.”

Keelah led the way since he couldn't hear the battle. They ran two hundred meters, then the sounds reached him. Jael closed his eyes, listening for Dred's voice, but he heard nothing that made him think she was nearby. Then a muttered curse rang out.
That's Tam.

“It's Mungo, with the last of his holdouts,” Keelah said, as they closed the distance.

“You know what Mungo smells like?”

She shivered. “I could never forget. His people hunted us for food. With Grigor, it was hate . . . and sport.”

Before he could reply, the hallway opened up. This was abandoned territory, claimed by no one, and Mungo's crew had already soiled it. Scraps of flesh, bits of skin, and gnawed bones littered the floor.
I'll be so glad when this asshole dies.
At the moment, however, Mungo had a hand around Tam's throat and was squeezing the life out of him. Four of his men looked on with slavering anticipation. They were so focused on the kill that they didn't spot Jael or Keelah.

“I've had enough of this shit,” Jael whispered.

He dropped to one knee, got out his rifle, and shot Mungo in the face. His hands went slack as Tam dove away. The rest charged as Jael fired two more bursts.
One cannibal down.
Keelah killed one with a vicious swipe of her knife, and Tam jabbed his blade into another's back. The last one left alive tried to run, and Tam tackled him. The spymaster wasn't usually much for hand-to-hand combat, but from the bruises and bite marks on him, he wanted the pleasure of this death, so Jael stood back while he worked.

“That was a timely arrival,” the smaller man said a few minutes later, wiping his blade. “Thank you.”

“Thank Keelah. She heard the fight.”

A few seconds later, Dred ran into the room, covered in blood, but from what Jael could tell, she was in one piece. She seemed almost disappointed by the fact that Mungo was already on the ground. “I guess you don't need me after all.”

Jael crossed to her and leaned his forehead against hers. “That's a filthy lie, and you know it. Back to Queensland, love?”

43

Not So Quiet Riot

It should've been easy from there. With the enemy defeated and Vost in hiding, where he'd either starve or be killed by Silence's crew, Dred expected to stride home to a heroine's welcome. After the fight, Keelah had asked for solitude to mourn her fallen mate, leaving the others to return without her. Outside the checkpoint, they met up with Martine, who was bloody but not too badly injured.

“You all right?” Dred asked.

The other woman nodded.

By now, Cook should be preparing a welcome feast. Instead, the chef was up on a table, using up all the words he'd saved over long turns inside.

“The time is now! Join me and be among the lucky five. I'm not dying here.” The huge man's eyes focused on her, and he leveled a finger in her direction. “Stand with me and kill the Dread Queen.”

Dammit.

She tried to shout, “Vost's men are dead, the transport's blown,” but the growing shouts of agreement drowned her out. She cursed the need for secrecy now, the fact that the men wouldn't have understood Tam's decision to sabotage the ship. In trying to prevent a mutiny, she'd ended up causing one. Some things were, apparently, inevitable. The nearby Queenslanders looked at her small group speculatively, violence brewing in their eyes. Then someone threw a knife. It sliced past her ear and embedded itself in the wall behind her. As if that was the spark the kindling needed, the fighting broke out in earnest. It was hard to tell who belonged to what faction unless the men attacked her directly.

“Mary curse it,” Tam spat. “Are they truly this stupid?”

“Most are.” Jael ducked a punch and threw one of his own.

“We have to rally the defenders,” Dred said.

“How?” Martine asked.

“I'll clear a path,” Jael said.

True to his word, he hurtled like a madman into the teeming crowd. Now and then, men lashed out at him, but most of them had learned not to mess with him. He didn't carry the title of Dread Queen's champion for nothing. Dred charged after him; the armor she wore would protect her from most attacks, but Queenslanders were dying left and right in the scrum. Blood spattered from a man's mouth, scenting the air with a coppery tang. The noise was overwhelming, snarls and screams overlaying whimpers from dying men, and those who were being trampled underfoot.

“This keeps up, it'll be a handful of us against Vost and the rest of Silence's crew,” Tam growled. It was the first time she'd heard such obvious temper in his voice.

“It's not your fault.”

Jael pushed through the melee and headed down the hall to her quarters. At first, she wasn't sure why, but then the answer became obvious. While the four of them were armored and had good weapons, they were too few to put down a rebellion without the body count becoming astronomical. Silence would swoop in and mop up. Dred couldn't let that happen; everyone had fought too long and hard for the tale to end that way.

Tam shook his head, not letting himself off with the absolution she offered. “I'm in charge of intelligence. I should've seen the betrayal coming. There were likely signs among the men—”

“Cook was always too quiet for anyone to know what was going on in his head,” Martine put in. She sounded breathless from the run, and her blade was slick and red with blood. The drops spattered on the dented floor as the other woman dragged it against the wall to scrape it clean.

“Keep the hall clear if you can,” Dred said.

There was no point in assigning blame. It was possible Cook had always been crazy—or at least desperate to escape—he just didn't communicate his feelings. She ran off down the hall, leaving Jael to stand watch with Tam and Martine. She lost precious seconds keying in the security code on her door; she'd taken to locking it while she was out, mostly because she kept spare weapons and ammo in here.

Along with the remote for the Peacemaker.

Without Ike to maintain it, if the thing was damaged in this firefight, Dred wasn't sure if anyone could put it back together again.
But that's a risk I have to take.
There was no other way to shut down the riot fast enough. The Peacemaker delivered shock and awe along with heavy ballistic rounds. When it stomped into a room, men took notice.

Vost's voice came over the loudspeakers, as if he
knew
about the riot. When a drone cam zoomed by, Dred realized he probably did. “My offer's still open. When your numbers dwindle to five, I'll take you with me.”

Cheers rang out, then Cook shouted, “See? We made it to the final round. Now it's time for sudden death.”

“Lying bastard,” Jael bit out.

“Which one?” Tam asked.

Dred understood the question. Did Cook
really
believe the bullshit he was peddling? There was no question that Vost was stirring things up, hoping more convicts would kill each other, so he stood a better chance of getting out of this alive.

Got news for you, asshole. Nobody else has so far.

Jael ignored the spymaster's question. “Look there, he's with Pietro. I knew there was something off about him—”

“Who the hell is that?” Dred demanded.

“One of Grigor's. He's been slipping around, stirring the pot. I had an . . . odd encounter with him, but there was so much other shit happening, I didn't think to mention it.”

She bit back the urge to swear. It was certainly understandable that Jael might've had other shit on his mind . . . or maybe he hadn't realized just what Pietro was up to. Either way, they had a hell of a situation to handle.
It only needed this.

Someone shouted, “They're breaking into the armory.”

“I'm on it,” Martine said.

The dark-haired woman shouldered her rifle and took off at a dead run, leaving Tam and Jael waiting for orders. She made a snap decision. “Back in the common room. Get me to the throne. I need people to
see
me send in the Peacemaker.”

Tam nodded. “Remind them who the queen is.”

Theoretically, it shouldn't be too tough, but there were only three of them amid a roiling mass of bodies. Jael shoved toward the large, scrap-metal chair, but men quickly surrounded them, makeshift weapons in hand. Dred thought for a few terrible seconds that she could make them turn away, tear into each other with mindless violence, but—

I can't do that to my own people. If I do, I truly am the monster everyone said I was back on New Terra.

“Defensive posture,” she ordered. “Ready weapons, but try not to kill any of our men.” She cut a look at Jael. “If you say ‘I was born ready,' I'll shoot you.”

“We don't have time for sex-pain games right now, love.”

Tam made an uncomfortable noise in the back of his throat. “How are we supposed to know which ones are still loyal?”

“They'll be the ones
not
trying to pull our heads off,” Jael replied cheerfully.

She drew her laser pistol but before she had to fire it, loyalists attacked the men facing her and the circle faltered. “Go,” one of them yelled. “Get clear!”

It wasn't a question of whether she could win the fight, only that some of these men still believed in her right to lead. That had to be enough. Quickly, Dred scanned the room. They had to fight to the throne without killing or maiming too many loyal Queenslanders. Just as she was trying to figure out how to make that happen, Jael grabbed her gloved hand and towed her toward the throne. The remote felt heavy in her palm; this would probably be a massacre, one that could be laid directly at her door.

What kind of person are you if you can lose track of how many you've killed?

Jael and Tam laid down fire behind them, keeping the men from pushing too close. The warning shots were effective, as most people couldn't absorb a laser blast—one shot, and the target went into shock. It was rare for a victim to die of the burns.

A man lurched into her path, and she tried to move around him, but he lunged at her eyes with a knife. No helmet. Damn. She pistol whipped him in the face, then kicked him back so she could shoot him. She unloaded while taking hits from behind. Jael tried to block for her, but she shouted at him over her shoulder.

“I'm wearing armor, you idiot.”

“Ah, your words of love and dulcet tones never fail to enchant me.”

Tam's voice was dry. “Should I leave you two alone?”

A hard shove rocked her, and she stumbled forward. “Please don't.”

Before her loomed a man with broken yellow teeth and a mad look in his eyes. He looked strong enough to snap her neck, so when Jael called out, “Get down,” she dropped without hesitation, giving him a clean shot, and he took the bastard through the head.

Bodies shoved against her, and she tried not to think how many of them were trying to kill her. She just had to press forward until she got to the throne. Someone had started a fire somewhere—that always seemed to happen during a riot, and if the station emergency system didn't kick in soon, they'd all asphyxiate. Her eyes burned from the chemical fumes wafting in lazy spirals, but she couldn't spare the time to dash away the tears. They collected on her chin, dripping down to her armored chest. Four wounds burned in a low, constant throb: shoulder, left arm, thigh, right flank, but she could feel a tickling tingle from where they were starting to heal.

Thanks, Jael. Leg still hurts like a bitch.

She lashed out with a kick to clear the rest of the way—so close now—but her weak leg buckled. She went down hard. Somehow, she held on to the remote, even with three enraged Queenslanders who were ready to rip her apart attacking, so she popped the closest one with her laser pistol. The red power meter on the side said she had fewer than five shots left. As Jael and Tam took aim at the other two, one of them cracked her in the head. The blow made her head wink black spangled with the old gold of ancient stars interspersed with white-hot sparks.

She kept the pistol in her hand, even on the ground. Dred swept with her good leg and knocked one of them down. Prone, the enemy was clumsy, buying her time to shoot. He died writhing like a worm on his back. The other lunged, and she rolled, then crawled toward the scrap-metal throne.