The Blood Order (Fanghunters Book Two) (21 page)

Vincent's eyes widened in horror. "Rufus!" he shouted. "No, you mustn't!"

Rufus ignored the warning. Instead, he kept up his father's honor of protecting Vincent at all costs. He sprinted across the grass like a hungry cheetah, catching all of the thugs by surprise. One of them pulled the trigger, spraying bullets at the small blur tearing across the grass. The ground behind him erupted in a row of small dirt puffs.

Vincent watched on in bewilderment. Rufus was too quick for them.

He watched him descend upon another thug, leaping off the ground like an attacking tiger. He landed both feet down on the thug's head, sending him crashing to the ground. In his mind, Vincent punched the air.
"Go get em!"

He rolled his eyes to the side. The silver–haired thug accosting him--who Vincent realized was the team leader--lifted two fingers up and whirled them around, giving his crew a signal of what to do next.

"Rufus!" Vincent shouted once more, his alarm ratcheting upward. "Enough now!"

Rufus still didn't listen. He was in the zone. He raced toward the next merc, who was swiftly joined by two of his friends. They encircled him, trapping him in. Rufus showed them no fear. Instead of surrendering, he sized them all up, his eyes slits.

They all stood off against one another, waiting to see who moved first. Rufus kept his eyes on them all.

One of the thugs raised his gun.

Rufus snapped into action.

He swung into a spinning roundhouse kick, catching the thug in the neck before he had a chance to shoot. His momentum whirled him around to the second thug who had already dived in. Rufus evaded his attack, connecting his opposite foot with the side of the thug's head. The merc slammed into the ground, his face left in the mud. Rufus landed back on the ground, just as the third thug descended upon him. He barely had time to think. He thrust his leg up skyward in an axe kick, missing the advancing thug by inches. He brought it back down, crunching his heel down on the thug's nose, obliterating it across his face. Blood spurted like a burst water main. The thug smashed into the grass in an unconscious heap, joining his friends.

Vincent punched the air. "Yes!" he cheered, unable to hide his joy. He caught the silver-haired merc's hard stare and his grin vanished.

Silver Hair put his fingers up to his mouth and whistled. He then pointed at Rufus, who was lounging, tweaking the bones in his neck.

In the next instant, all the other thugs moved his way, encircling him, penning him in. They lowered their guns, obviously fearful of missing their target and hitting one another. It looked like a case of overwhelming and ensnaring the prey the old fashioned way.

They moved from side-to-side, ready to pounce. Rufus eyed them hawk-like.

Vincent's hope melted into despair. There wasn't a cat's chance in Hell Rufus could dispatch all of them, even with his honed skills. "Okay, enough, now, Rufus. You've had your fun," Vincent said out loud. "You can't take them all."

Rufus gave it his best shot. He sent one down before grabbing another and slinging him over his shoulder. Another merc screamed and rushed in like a crazed bull. Rufus kept his cool; he waited for the opportunity to hook an arm around the thug and use his wild momentum to send him steaming into another. They crunched into each other head on before falling separate ways in a comical fashion.

Without hesitation, two more rushed in, fists flying. Rufus' eyes widened in surprise. His reaction was instinctive. He threw out a stiff palm, jabbing it into the face of the nearest onrushing thug; he came to an abrupt halt before falling flat on his butt. At the same time, Rufus chopped away the second thug's punch with his free hand, deflecting it away to harmless safety. The thug lost his balance, his momentum sending him sprawling into the arms of his colleagues.

Then, from nowhere, a whole bunch stormed in from all angles.

Vincent's eyes widened. "Rufus! Behind you!" he shouted.

But, it was too late. Rufus was overwhelmed. His head snapped left and right, his eyes and mind desperate to take in as much information as possible. He went into a frenzy of defense, dodging, swerving, deflecting as punches and swinging arms rained on him.

Vincent watched proceedings in grim anticipation. There were too many. Far too many.

Rufus gave it his best. He dodged and swerved like a nimble cat until the inevitable happened. Vincent admired his bravery, but it was foolhardy. He watched on in despair as Rufus ran out of steam. He didn't have enough time to react to an attack with the butt of an assault rifle; it smacked him on the back of the head. Rufus went reeling across the grass and into the arms of a thug, who playfully pushed him back into the arena, where more were waiting for him. In his now groggy state, he didn't notice the first punch heading his way. He caught it square on the chin. A swift follow
-
up to the stomach sent him staggering backward. He stumbled but managed to hold onto his balance. Another thug took the initiative to step forward and crunch a fist on Rufus' nose; his head snapped back before he finally collapsed onto his butt to a loud cheer.

Vincent winced.

A round of laughter rang through the air; in Vincent's mind it was like nails on chalkboards. "Please, Rufus. Surrender," he said in a meek voice, willing his trusty servant to just give in. He was forced to watch on in anguish as they kicked dirt in his face while he writhed on the ground in agony. Vincent shook his head, the sensation of helplessness overwhelming.

Oh, Rufus, no. No, no, no...

Every jibe and kick was like a stake in his own heart.
Please leave him be. He's just a boy.

But, they were in no mood to stop. Instead, they kicked him harder.

Silver Hair then turned his head to the side and spat on the ground. He stormed off toward the circle of men and stopped behind them.

One of the thugs spotted him. 'It's Nixon!" he said out loud, making the others turn.

"Clear the way, faggots!" Nixon grunted.

Playtime was over. The thugs bowed their heads and spread out. Now free of them, Rufus rose gingerly to his feet. His face was a bloody and bruised mess. He stared out of his unswollen eye at the silver-haired Nixon, who was now facing him. Silence descended over everything bar the whir of helicopter rotors up above.

Rufus bravely raised his tired arms in an attack stance, but it was a token effort. He had nothing left to give.

Nixon's response was to turn his head to the left and spit. With an air of nonchalance, he pulled out a sidearm, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

Vincent gasped.

Nixon let off four quick rounds, each one hitting Rufus in the chest. Rufus jolted with each impact, the guttural sounds bolting out of his mouth scraping at Vincent's mind like rusty scalpels. The final bullet sent Rufus flying back. He slammed into the mud and became motionless.

Vincent watched him with anxious eyes, his breath bated. He was half-expecting Rufus to get up. He licked his dry lips, his unblinking eyes remaining on Rufus' prone body.
Come on, get up!
Vincent urged in his mind.
Get up, Rufus! Stand up! You've got to! You have the power to.

Rufus remained where he was. As the seconds ticked by, Vincent's hope diminished like a flickering candlelight. Rufus stayed down. And Vincent's head fell down. His eyes welled, his heart lurching in his chest in painful spasms. He wished to almighty God there was something he could do, some way he could save the boy. To swap places with him.

Take me! Take me, and not him, Lord! Take me! Please!

He looked back again, just in the slim hope Rufus was actually alive. But, alas, he was still. Dead. Vincent's head fell in his hands.

Nixon then turned to the side and spat one final time. He looked his men over with hot eyes. "See how you do it?" he barked. "Idiots!"

The others put their heads down and trudged off. Nixon then turned and marched away from Rufus' corpse back to Vincent, whose head was bowed in utter despondency.

"You! Get in," Nixon ordered, poking a finger at the helicopter.

Resigned, Vincent trudged up to the waiting open door of the helicopter. Before he climbed in, he took a final glance back at what remained of his loyal servant, a boy that had been with him for so long. "Goodbye, my friend," was all he said before he was shoved into the helicopter and the door slammed shut behind him.

CHAPTER TWENTY

"
G
et to the fire exit!" Trixie ordered, pointing down the thin, dark corridor they were in. Dom got moving. He led the way, racing along the corridor while Trixie's flash guided him along. Somewhere in the distance, boots were stomping; how far away they were was hard to tell. Dom's mind was spinning, his mouth bone dry. Fear and panic juddered through him. He scampered along the corridor like a scared rat, his heart smashing against his ribs.

Man, I didn't sign up for this crap.

He made it to the end of the corridor where it widened into a more spacious room.

"There!" Trixie said, aiming her flashlight at the double doors over to their right, illuminating the neon sign hanging above them reading 'EMERGENCY EXIT'. Dom rushed over, while Trixie spun left and right, her dart gun at the ready.

Dom pushed down the panic bar and shoved against the door. It didn't budge. He tried again, harder this time. A jarring pain pulsed through his shoulder. The door still didn't move. "It's locked!" he declared without any joy.

Trixie shone her flash over the doors. Through a tiny gap between them, a thin sliver of steel was visible. It was boarded over from the outside.

Dom thumped one of the doors. "How are we gonna get out of here now?"

"The way we came in," Trixie coolly answered.

"Yeah, the way that's filled with masked crazies with Uzis!"

"You got a better idea?" Trixie retorted, checking her dart gun.

Dom went to answer when a door at the end of the corridor they'd just traversed slammed open.

"Here!" the first merc shouted.

Trixie pulled a smoke grenade from her belt, set it off, then threw it back along the corridor. The whole passage instantly filled with thick, milky plumes. She then let off a round of tranqs into the white wall of smoke. A body slumped in amongst choking coughs.

She spun to face Dom. "That way!" she said, throwing a finger toward the door to the left. Dom set off for it, Trixie his shadow, her flash bouncing off every corner. Dom slammed the door open to jump into yet another corridor that ran into darkness. Trixie joined him inside and shone her flash along it; she illuminated more signs, the nearest reading '3', with a '4' in the distance. Her smoke bomb had blocked the corridor behind them, which meant the thugs would have to double back on themselves. It bought them time to make a clean escape out the front. All they had to do was get there alive.

"Get to screen three!" Trixie ordered. Dom set off along the corridor, adrenaline fueling him, his legs trembling under the pressure. He made it to the sign reading '3', and faced the door beneath it, Trixie's flash lighting it up. Dom took a second to wipe the grimy sweat from his brow before he reached for the handle. His hand gripped nothing but fresh air as the door abruptly swung open in the opposite direction, taking the handle with it. He gasped
,
his back straightening. He caught a glimpse of the thug's clenched teeth and the muzzle of his submachine gun.

Dom's eyes bulged.
OH SH--

Something swift thrust past his ear from behind. His eyes flicked to the right to fix them on Trixie's hand now resting on his shoulder. In her grip was her dart gun. He flinched at the ensuing phut! A coarse groan leaped from the thug, just as he reached for the dart jabbed now in his neck. In the following second, he dropped.

Dom watched on in frozen terror, his heart hammering.

Trixie pulled her arm back from his shoulder. "In there!" she then ordered, pushing him through the doorway. Dom barely had time to catch his breath. He staggered into screen three, almost stumbling over the thug's prone body. His ears then pricked to the sound of boots back in the corridor. A round of shots went off, just as Trixie dived into screen three with him. She spun and threw a smoke bomb back out into the corridor; it soon overflowed with thick smoke.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take!" Dom declared, grabbing his heaving chest.

Trixie backed up level with him. "You wanna stay here? Be my guest!" She spun away and aimed her flash at the mass of seats in the center of the theater. Splitting them was an aisle that led to the exit. "Get to the center aisle," she said, grabbing Dom's forearm for a brief moment and running ahead of him along the sodden carpet between the stage and the first row of seats. Dom looked around him in a haze. Trixie's flash was bouncing off everything; the ceiling, the screen, the seats. It was a strobe-like panic-stricken dash for the center aisle. Trixie made it there before him and turned a sharp right. She dashed along the aisle like a whippet while Dom struggled to keep up.

She noticed him lagging and spun to face him. "Come on!" she urged.