Highway To Armageddon (3 page)

           
I fall to my knees and massage my burning throat. Thankfully the adrenaline
coursing through my veins numbs most of the pain. I almost forget why I
attacked the perverts in the first place when the two teen prostitutes run over
to check on me.

           
The girl with dark hair cradles my head. “Omigosh, are you okay?”

           
The girl with the blonde hair says, “Wow, you have a lot of weapons.”

           
The black-haired girl says, “Sally, she’s hurt. Who cares about the weapons?”

           
The blonde girl blushes. “Sorry Dorothy, I just think they look cool.”

           
I stand up and stretch my bruised back.

           
“I’m fine, ladies. Really.”

           
The girls nod and step back. They stare at me with a sort of reverence, like
I’m a celebrity or something. Now that they’re up close I can see the blonde
girl is even younger than I thought. Both girls have lithe, slender bodies.
They’re wearing spaghetti-strap shirts that showcase their thin stomachs. Their
torn and tattered jean shorts are way too short, and their high-heeled boots
are not meant to traverse the bullet-riddled, blood-splattered streets of
Cincinnati.

           
“You’re… you’re Boom-Boom, aren’t you?” the black-haired girl says in a barely
audible whisper. I believe she’s Dorothy.

           
I crack a slight smile. “Yes. Sounds like you’ve heard of me.”

           
The blonde girl, Sally, quivers with excitement. “Of course. You and your hot
friend Lance are legends in these parts. I mean, teenage bounty hunters? That’s
so cool!”

           
Dorothy grabs Sally’s wrist and whispers, “Calm down, you’re embarrassing us.”

           
I burst out laughing. It’s my first laugh in weeks. It feels good.

           
Sally’s bright, blue eyes suddenly turn sorrowful. “I’m sorry about what
happened to Lance’s uncle.”

           
My smile fades away. If I had any tears left to shed, I’d surely shed them now.
But I don’t, so I just slump my shoulders.

           
“Yeah, Dagger was a good man. He taught us everything we know.”

           
I shake my head, sending my hair flipping back and forth. The cool breeze
exaggerates the motion. For a brief moment my eyes are covered in a sea of red.
The breeze finally dies down and the red sea falls to low tide.

           
“Enough about me. I’m worried about the two of you.”

           
I gently place my gloved hands on the girls’ shoulders. At first they jump
back. When they realize I’m not about to hit them, they calm down. This is
probably the kindest gesture they’ve ever known.

           
I study the girls’ faces. All the mascara and lipstick in the world can’t hide
their youth, or the bruises around their eyes. My blood begins to boil once
more.

           
The girls’ pimp swaggers over like he’s the hottest thing walking the face of
the Earth. He’s obviously a coward, since he hid during the entire street
fight, but the way he’s strutting his stuff you’d think he took down 100 thugs
bare-handed.

           
“Well lookey what we got here,” he says with his head held high and his chest
all puffed out. He’s dressed in a ridiculous purple suit, a black hat with a
giant red feather, and shiny black shoes. A gleaming gold necklace with the
words
Big Daddy
hangs from his neck. Sparking rubies and emeralds adorn
each of his sausage-like digits. His outrageous bling contrasts sharply against
the poverty-stricken neighborhood he operates out of. He resembles a deranged
cartoon character.

           
The pimp reaches out and twirls a strand of my hair around his finger.

           
“I could use a redhead,” he says, flashing a golden smile. Literally, when he
smiles all I see is gold. His teeth probably cost as much as my car.

           
I slap the pimp’s hand so hard he stumbles backwards. Anger flashes across his
brown eyes. He forces a smile and intrudes back into my personal space.

           
“Ohhh, I like the feisty ones. They’re hard to break, but I enjoy the
challenge.”

           
I’m about to grab my gun when Sally steps forward and meekly says, “Don’t you
know who this is, Big Daddy? It’s…”

           
Big Daddy smacks Sally…
hard
. She collapses to the ground, clutching her
cheek. Dorothy kneels down to check on her.

           
“Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to, you stupid whore,” Big Daddy roars.

           
I’m stunned, which is hard to do. The hatred emanating from Big Daddy’s pores
nearly overpowers me, as if I’m inhaling toxic fumes. Big Daddy turns back to me,
his malevolent smile replacing the hideous scowl I saw just seconds before.

           
“Now where were we?”

           
“We were at the part where I bust your balls.”

           
Big Daddy cocks an eyebrow. “Huh?”

           
He doesn’t have time to say anything else. I swing my armored right leg
directly into his crotch. Big Daddy screams in excruciating agony and leans
forward. My right fist shatters his nose, splashing blood all over my brand new
glove. Big Daddy falls backwards like a chopped down oak tree. Dorothy and
Sally stare at me in wide-eyed wonder.

           
At first the girls smile, as though they can’t believe I actually took down
their hated tormenter. That brief moment of happiness soon gives way to fear.
Dorothy gasps and hugs Sally to her chest, as if she’s trying to shield her
from danger. I look up and soon see why. Three bling-wearing thugs appear out
of a back alley and rapidly approach us, their guns aimed directly at me. I
take it they’re friends of Big Daddy.

           
I turn back to Dorothy and Sally. They’re shivering uncontrollably. I open up
the cube-shaped buckle on my belt and grab all my remaining gold coins. I
thrust the coins into Dorothy’s hand. Her eyes widen even further than they
already are.

           
In a rapid-fire whisper I say, “Go to the train station and purchase two
one-way tickets to Sanctuary 7.”

           
Sally gasps. “Sanctuary 7? But we can’t afford to…”

           
“Lance and I live there,” I interrupt curtly. “Tell the guards you’re our
guests. The password is Stalingrad. I’ll meet you there.”

           
“But…,” Dorothy starts to say, but she’s cut off by the sound of bullets
nicking pavement.

           
I shove the girls out into the street. “Go! I’ll be fine!”

           
Dorothy and Sally look at me one last time before stumbling toward the train
station. I turn back to face my attackers.

           
All three thugs begin firing at me. They’re so drunk and drugged up that they
miss me by a mile.

           
With that being said, they
are
using lethal force. So I respond in kind.

           
I whip out my pistol and fire at the thug in the middle. He drops like a rock.

           
I turn to the thug on the left and fire off another shot. He clutches his
shoulder and falls to his knees.

           
I barely have time to face the last thug when a bullet slams into my chest,
right above my heart. My armor deflects the bullet fragments, but the force of
the blast knocks me on my back. Unlike last time, I don’t lift my head. I crack
my skull on the pavement.

           
An ocean of pain washes over me. My vision becomes blurred and tears stream
down my cheeks. I fight the urge to black out. If I do, I’m dead.

           
I just begin to regain my bearings when two massive arms wrap around my waist.
I’m hoisted into the air, above someone’s head. I’m so out of it I don’t
realize who my attacker is until he speaks.

           
“I can tell you’re gonna be a lot harder to break than I thought,” Big Daddy
snarls.

           
I fumble with my utility belt. All I need is one good weapon: a taser, a gas
grenade,
anything
. Unfortunately I’m too dazed to think clearly. My
fingers don’t work properly, as if the neurons in my brain aren’t firing
correctly.

           
Big Daddy lowers his arms back, preparing to throw me.

           
“I may not be able to break your spirit, but I can certainly break your back.”

           
I wildly flail my arms and legs, but it’s to no avail. Big Daddy propels his
arms forward and I fly through the air, straight toward the pharmacy’s
plate-glass window.

           
I only have a split-second to act. I spin around in mid-air so that my armored
back faces the window. I also clasp my hands behind my neck. An instant later I
crash through the window. Thousands of jagged shards of glass rain down on top
of me as I slam onto the pharmacy’s hard linoleum floor. I bounce once and roll
all the way to the back. I finally come to a stop after careening into a
triangular tower of glass jars filled with liquid elixirs. The jars fall on top
of me, shattering when they hit the floor.

           
Cascading waves of white-hot agony wash over me. I gingerly touch my neck and
face. A few slivers of glass protrude out of my skin. Warm liquid oozes down my
face. I’m not sure if it’s blood or the elixirs. It’s probably a combination of
both.

           
I look up through tear-filled eyes. Big Daddy stares at me through the
shattered window. He points a gun directly at my head.

           
A thundering gunshot rings out through the lobby. At first I think Big Daddy
fired the shot. But then I see Big Daddy grab his shoulder and stagger out of
view. I spin around and watch two middle-aged pharmacists hop over their front
counter. Both pharmacists are wearing Kevlar vests over their white lab coats.
They’re also clutching machine guns.

           
“I’m tired of you scumbags shooting up our business and scaring away all of our
customers,” the silver-haired pharmacist grunts as he dashes after Big Daddy.
He leaps through the shattered window like an Olympic gymnast.

           
“When we’re done with ya, you stupid thugs will be crapping bullets for a
week,” the dark-haired pharmacist shouts, taking off after his partner.

           
I shake my throbbing head. You know you’re in a bad part of town when the
pharmacists are more heavily-armed than the military.

           
I slowly climb to my feet and pick out the shards of glass stuck in my face and
neck. If it wasn’t for my body armor I’d resemble a bloodied porcupine. I swipe
a bottle of painkillers from a shelf and pop a handful of pills in my mouth. It
won’t do much to numb the pain shooting through my veins, but it should make my
head a little less foggy.

           
I clumsily lumber outside. A cool breeze whips my hair in front of my face.
It’s about to rain. I can taste the moisture in the air.

           
Gunshots ring out in the distance. Flashes of gunfire illuminate a back alley
on the far end of the street.

           
I gaze at the carnage all around me. The pharmacy has been demolished. Other
businesses are riddled with bullet holes and broken windows. One of Big Daddy’s
thugs lies motionless in a puddle of blood. I realize it’s the first dude I
shot.
            The dirty
old perverts I took out before Big Daddy showed up are still sprawled out on
the ground. One of the perverts, however, is missing.

           
The revving of a turbo car engine causes me to snap my head around. I’m
astonished to find my brand new, $60,000 Stratosphere XV levitating off the
ground, with its wings fully extended. In the driver’s seat is the pervert who
started all this mess, the one who first hit on me.

           
“Get out of my goddamn car!” I scream.

           
I whip out my handgun and fire off several shots, taking out my back
windshield. But I’m just wasting my ammunition. The pervert slams on the pedal
and hurtles through the darkening sky at close to 100 miles an hour. I fire off
several more shots, just because I’m pissed, but none of them hit the pervert.

           
Another excruciating wave of pain washes over me, forcing me to my knees. It’s
so bad I can’t breathe. I probably have fractured bones and bruised organs.
It’s the story of my life. I pop off my cube-shaped belt buckle and open it.
The buckle doubles as a small container where I stash my pain pills. These
pills are even stronger than the ones I grabbed in the pharmacy. I grab a
couple and pop them in my mouth. As soon as I swallow them my pain recedes.

           
I hate the fact that I’m addicted to the damn things. I swore I would never
become a drug addict like everyone else I know, but that’s proven to be an
impossible task. When you’re getting punched, shot, and stabbed on a daily
basis, you need something a bit stronger than Tylenol to get through your day.

           
With my head beginning to clear I suddenly remember why I’m in Cincinnati in
the first place. I retrieve my goggles from my belt and slip them over my eyes.
I gasp when I see what has become of my friends. Lance and Krystal are being
beaten to a bloodied pulp by a pack of heavily-armed orphans. The orphans
mercifully stop the beating a few seconds later. Maxwell directs the orphans to
load my unconscious friends onto the back of an aerial pickup trick.