Hunters: A Trilogy (31 page)

For one second, Ken saw Red consider firing into Mike, maybe to blow off some steam, blow the back of Mike’s head off, too. Taking a chance, Ken flicked the butt of his smoke into the dawn. The sudden disturbance caused Red to focus his attentions somewhere other than the back of Mike’s head.

He waggled the Glock in Ken’s direction. ‘Just watch yoreself there, boy,’ he said, ‘because I maybe’s will plug you right now, just for the hell of it!’ Grinning like a madman, he spat into the dust once more.

Mike’s cold voice interjected. ‘What about the device, what condition is it in, Red? What did you do to it a while back?’ He hadn’t taken his eyes of the glowing silver object since all this had begun.

Ken saw those eyes, they were transfixed upon the sphere, its pulsing light reflected in their depths. Even in the dim half-light, Mike’s face was ashen as he sat with his fists clenched into white knuckled balls. Ken was petrified that Mike might do something stupid – he needed him to wait, wait a little longer until Red was off guard.

Red looked at Mike incredulously, staring at him as though he was stupid. ‘That lil’ ol’ thing is armed right now, armed-and-dangerous, yessir!’ he snarled. ‘We have about eight more minutes o’ this here pleasant chit-chat and then I am outta here and yo’all can go to hell! Go an’ take a wild ride in the fire!’

He giggled – it was right then that Ken saw Red’s madness and recognised what George had said to them. This was the end-game, no turning back. The awful rush of reality rolled over him, no escape, only time to act.

He coiled himself and prepared for the Dragon.

Red’s voice stopped him. ‘Did ol’ George tell you how much I knew?’ he said. ‘Did he tell ya that I’ve been to his lovely, little world, his fuckin
parallel
? I know it all and I am going back!’

Ken’s nose wrinkled as he caught a whiff of the giant’s unwashed body. He truly was the Dragon, Ken swore he saw an insane ignition...the flames of madness...sparking from Red’s eyes.

Their huge adversary continued. ‘Don’t yo’all worry, cos as soon as they see this …’ Red pointed the pistol at the Light Maker, ‘they are gonna drop you boys like a fukin hot potater!’

Almost as he spoke, his awful prophecy seemed about to fulfil itself.

Ken felt himself sway. He felt the ground move beneath him, smoothly and as though on castors, he began to feel like he was being pushed downhill. It was as if he was on a go-kart, his eyes shut, rushing down the hill, sliding. The sensation stopped abruptly but left him so disorientated that he very nearly staggered. He lurched forward with the world spinning in front of his eyes, only just stopping himself from falling.

Red saw Ken’s movement. ‘Felt it did ya?’ he said, ‘Yeah, that’s the end, boy, any minute now is gonna be the time to leave, my man!’ He stopped, looked upwards and listened for a moment. With a slight nod, he said, ‘Right, gimme yore key fobs, the one fer the trucks, hand ‘em over right now!’ He beckoned with his hand in a hurry-up manner. ‘Yeah, any second now they are gonna eject your ass and hightail it right outta this here universe. It’s gonna be bye-bye world and bye-bye you – yo’all are goin down the black shit-hole, that’s for sure!’

He rotated his head as if to stretch the neck muscles, his vertebrae crackled ominously. Red looked back at them, saying: ‘Right, it’s time to git – now gimme yore keys, bitches!’

Mike held up his zapper without a word, Ken deliberately flicked his into the dirt at the side of Red’s stupid shoes. Red stared at him in such a way that Ken almost saw the bullet leaving the end of the pistol’s barrel and spinning its way into his face, it felt like a premonition.

‘Don’t fuk with me, mister!’ the ponytailed one whispered as he bent down to retrieve the zapper, his weapon never moving from Ken’s face as he stooped downwards. ‘Get up,’ he said, to Mike. ‘Stand up and go to yore vehicles – move now!’ He motioned with his weapon and waited until Mike was standing.

Mike rose wearily to his feet; Ken saw that he was having severe problems in tearing his eyes away from the spherical Light Maker. Its dull glow had become brighter now, more urgent. Tiny splinters of incandescent green light had started to needle their way out of its gleaming shell.

With a low moan, the Australian lurched towards it.

‘Mike!’ Ken screamed.

Red fired two rounds, the hollow-points hurtled into the ground just inches in front of Mike’s desert boots, their smashed warheads screaming away into the crimson dawn. Mike jerked back into some sort of reality, he had been totally out of it and his expression was that of a man who had only recently awoken.

‘Fukin move to the vehicles, right now!’ Red hissed the words out and then fired another shot. The round only just missed Ken’s left ear, the bullet was so close that he felt the
‘Whaapp’
of its passing velocity.

‘Okay, okay!’ he shouted, raising his hands. ‘Mike, come on, man, let’s move!’ He grabbed his friend by the arm and propelled him towards the Spears.

Mike stumbled and looked back over his shoulder, the sense of longing oozed from his every pore and Ken heard his short panting breaths. He sounded like a leashed dog straining to break free and leap on the bone – leap on the Light Maker. Ken gripped him tightly and together they moved toward their vehicles.

As they trio neared them, from about fifty feet away, Red used one of the fobs and zapped Ken’s Spear. With a gurgling roar it disappeared briefly before reappearing in Dinky Toy mode. The miniaturised monster sat crazily next to its huge sister. Red snarled at them again. ‘Sit the fuk down!’

They did as they were ordered.

He hissed: ‘Put your hands on your heads!’

The still-warm Glock waving in their faces made this particular game of ‘Simple Simon Says’ much easier to play. Both men sat crossed-legged with hands on their heads and watched as Red made his way over to the last Spear. He turned to them with an awfully-knowing leer smeared across his face.

‘I have also had my blood, and bone and DNA scanned!’ he said. Then, whilst laughing manically, reached out and touched the glass.

It was no surprise to Ken when the huge door swung open for the ugly one.

‘I damn well knew as much,’ he thought. ‘George has a lot of answers to come up with here; Red seems to be one bastard step ahead with everything at the moment…’ His brain started to boil again.

Red said, ‘Now, I’m going back to the hole and back to George – I may even give myself the ultimate pleasure o’ kicking his goddamned teeth in when I get there!’ He snapped his mouth open and shut so rapidly that his own, yellow, donkey’s teeth clashed together with a chiselling sound. Spittle ran down his chin and he giggled again. Bending down, he picked up the miniaturised Spear and threw it into the passenger seat. ‘You, boys, can stay here and play with yore toy. I hear that yore purtty good at fixing thangs,’ he said, staring at Mike. ‘Well, go ahead and try if you want to. I’ll be watching your ass dance with the devil when he comes a sliding in on that big old fireball! You go right ahead, Mistuh MJDoublya, go on now, boy, git over there and do yore fuckin job!’ He shooed Mike with his pistol.

Needing no second invitation, Mike scrabbled upright, then turned and staggered towards the shining sphere. Red laughed and slithered into the driving seat of the Spear. As soon as his back turned, Ken jumped to his feet and started to run towards him.

Then with his tone almost pleasant, Red turned back to Ken’s staggering form and smiled. Once more, Ken felt himself almost floating, frozen in an unreal situation. He saw Red’s lips moving and for a second there was no sound at all, total silence surrounded him. Then the rush came and he found himself just feet away, lurching forwards with the sound of Red’s voice filling the air around him.

‘Like I said before,’ the giant said, ‘I have a flight to catch. I am outta here right now, and since I don’t want you chasing me around forever, no sirees, because you, Mistuh, are one dangerous muthafuka!’ He looked at Ken and winked. ‘So, I guess that I have this, it’s just especially for you, okay?’

With his eyes never leaving Ken’s face, and with the speed of a Cobra, Red raised his arm. Ken saw the gun, watching in disbelief as Red pulled the trigger.

His action sent a vicious spurt of flame, leaping like white-hot venom from the pistol’s one-eyed mouth. Ken had seen it coming and jerked violently to one side, diving downwards and hitting the dust on his left shoulder, the rapid movement saved him from Red’s bullet – the round barely skimming his shoulder. In a flash he was on his feet and bulldozing into the cab, his wild shoulder-charge sending the man’s next shot hurtling into the raised door of the Spear.

Red brought the pistol down onto Ken’s shoulder with the force of an executioner’s axe. Pain flared up his neck and exploded in his head. Ken grunted and shoved Red’s flailing arm to one side, and then, as hard as he could, head-butted his opponent in the face. The impact was fearsome. Pinwheels of light erupted in Ken’s vision, the world turned black and he held on tight. With hands like claws, he latched himself onto Red’s face, thumbs gouging into the giant’s eye sockets, his arms pulled tight to force Red’s gun arm against the side of his body.

Red screamed like a child. ‘You Goddamn muthafuka!’ he howled, whilst starting to writhe violently. His strength was immense.

Ken heard the pistol firing again, the noise of two shots, muffled and below him, joined with the hot sting of flying gravel, burning into his shins. Ken, aware that the bullets had missed his legs and feet by only a few inches, wrenched his arm inwards. The action pulled Red’s face down whilst enabling Ken to lock the pistol even tighter against his hip bone. He knew that if he didn’t do something in the very near future, then he was going to have a severe problem on his hands. There was only one thing for it: time to go crazy. Ken growled with anger, putting all his strength into those steel fingers.

Red made a soft whining noise and started to do his own share of ‘going crazy’. The power in his bucking torso was the most Ken had ever encountered, he felt himself being shoved out of the door. He dug deeper with his thumbs, feeling the right one curling into the eye socket beneath, warm fluid flushed over his hand. Red went nuts, and Ken held on tight.

Then they were out, Ken holding on like a limpet and Red pushing him backwards. Their struggle was extremely violent, but very slow. Almost as though enacting a well-rehearsed dance, the two men slipped from the interior of the Spear and stood locked together in their deadly embrace, the panted breath rasping from their throats being only sound they emitted whilst engaged in this, their most desperate of struggles.

Red lashed out with his free hand. Ken ducked, managing to block the blows by pulling his arms downwards, locking his elbows together and keeping the gun hand trapped. The heavy punches thumped into his shoulder and rib cage. It felt as though he was being struck by a lead-filled wooden club. Each blow reverberated through his chest like a base drum, and he knew it wouldn’t be too long before at least one of his ribs decided that enough was enough.

Ken dug his thumbs deeper into the huge face before him. He felt Red pushing, trying to manoeuvre the pistol. He countered, feet slipping and sliding as he fought against the unbelievable weight and strength of the man. Red screamed and pushed again, struggling for dominance, desperately trying to gain some forward momentum. Ken yanked downwards as hard as he could. Red positively shrieked, all thoughts of his weapon now gone, only the desire to release himself from the agonising pain of Ken’s vulture-like grip upon his face remained. Sensing the huge man’s desperation, Ken let him have some momentum. He feinted slightly; a short step backwards was all it took to get Red to overbalance. Ken used the movement and the man’s weight to his advantage. Rotating his hips, he turned sideways and pulled like a carthorse on Red’s face. His adversary emitted another scream, a thin, high-pitched sound of agony.

Ken stuck his leg out and rolled his shoulder.

Red had only one choice, and that was to follow his own face.

Ken flipped the huge man into the dust. Red hit the dirt with a thud, Ken on top of him, still grasping his face, fingers knuckle-deep in flesh. He felt Red’s arms moving, gun hand gaining freedom. Ken instantly released his grip on the howling man’s face, and went for the hand. Knowing what was coming, Red tried to avoid the attack. He was too slow.

Ken stamped on his wrist. The bones crackled and Red screamed again. Ken kneed him to the side of the head, and then, using the outside of his palm in a chopping motion, landed a vicious blow to the bridge of his nose.

Red collapsed onto his back, screaming in anger and pain. ‘What the fuk...you muthafuka, I’m gonna kill your ass!’ He spat blood and tried to sit up.

‘No, you’re not, dick-head – you’ve had your chance!’ Ken snarled, kicking him in the face. The toe of his desert boot caught his target on the upper lip, he felt the teeth snapping. Red’s head jerked backwards. Without stopping to check if the man was toothless, Ken stamped on the giant’s hand again. This time something gave, Ken felt it through the sole of his boot. He stamped down once more, hard. Red screamed with pain. The Glock fell from his broken hand and Ken was on it like a terrier. Clambering over the heaving and blood-spitting body below, he grabbed the pistol and tried to roll away. He didn’t quite make it.

It was a boot knife, American by design and extremely sharp. Sharp and very finely pointed. Ken knew because it was currently impaled in his right thigh. Somehow, Red had stabbed him. The pain was immense; he cried out and jerked his leg away, feeling Red’s grasping hands clawing the knife back out and then stabbing repeatedly at his legs. Ken lashed out in reflex, feeling his boot connect with something hard. Red grunted in pain.

Ken staggered to his feet, hopping to one side as the torture of his wound nearly made the leg collapse. He looked down, blood was pouring out of his thigh – but it wasn’t pumping and it wasn’t bright red. Dark red and pouring, that was good. At least it wasn’t an artery…