Shadow Box. James Axler
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the shoulder blades again as they rushed through the narrow streets. “Keep moving,” he growled, his finely tuned senses alert, warily watching for signs of possible attack.
“Oy,” Carnack yelled behind him, “careful, fella. I can’t see, remember? What the bleeding eff was that thing, anyway?”
“Just keep quiet and keep moving,” Kane told him sullenly. “Your eyesight will come back soon enough.”
“That’s reassuring,” Carnack muttered, rubbing at his eyes as he rushed forward. “Right now it sounds like everyone’s underwater, too, you know? You’re a bunch of frackin’ idiots.”
They had reached an intersection and Brigid had stopped, looking down each of the routes, trying to fit them together with the map in her mind.
“Come on, Baptiste,” Kane urged as he glanced over his shoulder, checking for pursuit, “let’s hurry it up.”
“This way,” she decided, her long legs kicking out as she raced off to the left.
Carnack just stood there, refusing to move. Kane shoved him once more while Grant covered their backs with the Heckler & Koch.
“All right,” Tom Carnack yelped, “keep your hair on. I’m disabled, remember?”
“About that,” Kane said, checking his wristchron. It had been three minutes since they had exited Carnack’s lair, almost five since Brigid had unleashed the flash-bang. Ample time for Carnack to recover, at least enough to see shapes and blurs. “How’s your vision?” Kane asked him.
“Completely scragged,” Carnack complained.
“You’re faking,” Kane told him. “You should have recovered by now. If you’re deliberately slowing us down I’m going to shoot you in the foot and carry you the rest of the way.”
“Genius,” Carnack said, snidely. “That’ll only slow you down more.”
“That’s my problem,” Kane growled, whipping out his .44 Magnum pistol and pointing it at Carnack’s stumbling feet.
There was a loud report as he pulled the trigger and buried a slug in the ground between the trader’s feet. Carnack leaped aside, pulling his hands over his ears.
“That’s your warning shot,” Kane told him. “The next one hobbles you.”
“All right,” Carnack cried, hands up in the air. “I can see colors and shapes. It’s still a bit messed up, though, so I’m going to go slow. Okay?”
“Speed up,” Kane responded, “and keep moving.”
They turned another corner into a wide thoroughfare, stepping past a man with a burned face and a begging bowl who was lying in the middle of the street. Between the tightly packed shanty buildings Kane saw a glint of sunlight reflecting off water.
Brigid waited while her companions caught up. “We’re close,” she told Kane as he grabbed Carnack’s collar to halt him. “There’s a series of jetties down there. It’s where the ville folk fish from. Or they used to.”
Kane nodded, peering behind and checking to see if anyone was following.
“There’s an unmanned motorboat off to the left,” Brigid pointed when Kane turned back. “Just a little way along from the pier.” Her finger pointed to a small fishing scow with a tiny covered bridge.
“You’ll never make it.” Carnack laughed fiercely. “My people will ex the lot of you the second you step out there.”
Brigid grabbed the man’s stubbled chin. “Sorry, Tom. We’re home free,” she told him. “Didn’t you hear—they’re not coming for you. There’s no honor among thieves.”
“Scratch that,” Grant chided from the rear of the group. “We’ve got company.”
Brigid and Kane looked in Grant’s direction and saw four dark shapes weaving along the narrow street at high speed: three motorcycles and a quad bike followed by a billowing plume of dark exhaust.
Carnack looked at Brigid and laughed. “Before the end of the day I’ll have you right where I want you, red,” he said, “bunny hopping across my lap.”
“Keep moving,” Kane said, ignoring the man’s vile comment.
More people were milling where the streets opened up onto the waterfront, and Brigid looked back at Kane as she took them in. “It’s too crowded, Kane,” she told him. “Someone’s going to end up getting hurt.”
Kane checked behind him for the approaching gang members, then shoved Carnack toward Brigid. “Cover him,” he instructed. “I’m going to clear us a path.” With that, he strode forward and raised his pistol in the air, pumping three shots into the sky in quick succession. “Everyone get out of here,” Kane shouted over the frightened cries of the crowd.
They didn’t need to be told twice. Everyone ran to the edges of the ramshackle street, ducking into doorways and clearing a path for Kane and his team.
Behind him, Kane heard gunshots as Grant began firing at the approaching marauders. He refilled the chambers of the .44 Magnum pistol and turned to face the enemy.
Beside Grant, Brigid raised her TP-9 pistol and blasted off a stream of shots down the street as the motorcyclists and quad riders approached.
Seeing his chance, Tom Carnack took a step away from her, his bloodshot eyes fervently looking around for an escape route. Suddenly, he felt Brigid’s elbow slam into his gut and he doubled over, his breath exploding out of his mouth in a coughing whoop.
“Stay still,” she told him, thrusting her free arm around his throat and holding him against her hip in a headlock. Carnack continued to cough and splutter as Brigid pumped the trigger of her pistol, firing shots at the approaching gang members.
Their attackers were the same guards they had seen in Carnack’s trading pad. The velvet-coated Señor Smarts sat on a motorcycle behind one of the guardsmen from the main room, a spooky-looking man wearing a bandanna across his head and goggles over his eyes to protect them from flying grit. Beside him, his partner was riding alone on his own motorbike, spinning a chain in one hand as he powered the throttle. A pace behind them, the dark-haired dancing woman rode her own bike. There was a scabbard attached to the side of the bike, the shining hilt of a sword sticking out beside her right knee. Bringing up the rear of the group, the two large guards from the anteroom shared a quad bike that belched a thick cloud of black exhaust into the air around them. While one drove, the other raised a Kalashnikov autorifle and aimed at the Cerberus field team. The muzzle flashed as the guard launched a stream of bullets into the narrow street.
Kane, Grant and Brigid each pulled back, finding what little cover they could at the sides of the street, backs against the walls, with Brigid and her prisoner standing close to Kane. On the other side of the street, Grant took careful aim and his bullet clipped the shoulder of Velvet Coat, almost toppling the bike as he reeled in pain.
Then the vehicles were upon them.
Kane held the .44 Magnum pistol in a two-handed grip, steadying his aim as he blasted three shots into the driver of the quad bike. The man slumped in the saddle and the bike veered off to the side, crashing through the flimsy walls of one of the ramshackle huts that lined the street.
Brigid took aim at the second bike, the one with the guard wielding the chain, as it bore down on her. Carnack’s struggling tipped her aim, and her shots skewed wide. Suddenly, the bike was next to her, zipping past at a ferocious speed, the guard’s chain spinning through the air with an audible thrumming. She ducked back as the bike passed, and her eyes widened as she saw the chain whip out and snag Grant’s ankle, pulling the big man off his feet.
“Eyes front, Baptiste,” Kane’s bellowing voice warned from behind her as Grant was dragged off onto the pier. She looked back and saw the dancing girl’s sword cleave the air at waist height, just barely missing her while the other bike skidded to