Catharsis (Book 3): Catastrophe Page 7

  "Yes, but it has a large covered entrance and pull-through waiting area for vehicles or ambulances. From these blueprints and old online pictures, it looks like it is almost a fancy, covered tunnel on the front of the building. Most likely they can do business in there unseen by any passing motorists," he says before adding, "Not a bad plan, actually."

  "Thanks," I tell him a bit snarkily. "I'll be sure to let them know you were impressed by their ingenuity."

  "I am impressed," he tells me. "And you should be, too. They've thought this out and scouted locations to get exactly what they want and spread themselves around the city. These guys are sophisticated and intelligent. Remember that. We don't want to underestimate an opponent," he tells me and then adds almost under his breath, "again."

  "Noted," I tell him without responding to his barb. It wasn't needed, but I doubt it was malicious. I think the man is genuinely worried, and that means something to me. "Anything new on the chatter out there? Are they expecting me?" I ask him as I continue a slow roll down a street parallel to the building until the front of it comes into view.

  Ren was right about the place. They are using the covered entrance of the building to conceal their actions, and it’s quite an effective set up. They've kept their lights to a minimum and there are tarps thrown up around the edges to block any 'bleed' from the few they do have in use.

  There are a little over a half dozen cars waiting in a line in the parking lot, and all of them have their headlights and parking lights turned off. Aside from the occasional flash of a mobile phone light or a cigarette ember flaring up, there is little to let the surrounding neighbors know what is occurring just under their noses. Ren was right. These guys are impressive.

  The one bright spot here is that this operation doesn't appear to be as busy as the previous one. Maybe the upscale location cut back on the number of local creeps willing to cash in on the bounty. Regardless, I take it as a positive sign.

  "Not much, yet," Ren says responding to my question. "But I'm sure it's coming soon. I'd say we only have a few minutes before someone pulls the plug on this place and they liquidate it and move on."

  "Why?" I ask out of curiosity. "What's up?"

  "I believe we are just waiting for the news to travel through the ranks of the syndicate and for a top level person to make a decision. It’s been thirty-five minutes since you arrived at that warehouse and reinforcements were called in. And twenty minutes since you left there to head this way. The passage of that much time is bad news."

  "Is there good news?" I ask as I roll into the large parking lot and stop a hundred yards behind the closest truck in the back of the line. I want to be able to watch what they're doing while I listen to Renny and strategize my next move. "There has to be some good news, right?" I continue.

  "Actually, yes, there is," he tells me. "First is that the backup was never fully explained when it was called in. I believe you cut that conversation short when you shot the man outside the loading gate at the warehouse."

  "Yup," I say. "Viktor. Good."

  Ren doesn't acknowledge my comment, but moves on with the news. "And second is that there has been some confusion back there as to what happened. Or who was responsible for it. Or what specific precautions need to be taken." He lets that information hang for a moment as I realize he is refusing to acknowledge the fact that my having eliminated all the criminal witnesses has slowed down their response time to what happened. If I had left people alive, then they could have spoken up more quickly and alerted people that I was responsible and that they needed to be prepared. But since they are all dead, that’s no longer an option.

  In other words, my lack of Ren-cherished morals has benefited us and partially postponed a problem. He just doesn't want to admit to that.

  I smile at the realization, but I don't say anything. There's no need to gloat. Especially when I'm mentally preparing myself to commit the same act all over again in just a matter of minutes.

  "So you think it's only a matter of time before they err on the side of caution and shut the place down?" I ask. "Does that sound about right?"

  "Yes, it does. Someone is going to decide that the aborted call for backup was directly connected to whatever happened, and that there is a chance that the responsible party for that particular 'happening' might have survived and decided to continue it elsewhere. They're too smart to leave themselves exposed, so they'll burn their remaining locations and regroup."

  "How much time before that happens?" I ask.

  "Don't know. A few minutes? Any second? Not long, I’d imagine. We're operating on borrowed time to say the least."

  "And are the people here aware of what occurred elsewhere?" I ask while watching one of the armed men patrolling the entrance take notice of me in the parking lot and motion to another guy to look in my direction. "Are they going to be on alert and ready for an attack?"

  "From what I've been hearing so far, no. At least not for most of them. I'm sure whoever is running that location has been informed, but the syndicate has been trying to keep a lid on this as much as possible. I doubt they want their underthugs getting nervous and trigger-happy before it’s absolutely necessary."

  "Good," I tell him. "Because we're about to find out."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "What do you mean?" Ren asks me, and he sounds alert and a bit frightened. "How are we about to find out?"

  "Well,” I say gently and turn my attention to the two armed men slowly making their way across the parking lot towards me. "I've been spotted, and it appears the designated welcoming party is making its way out to greet me."

  "Be careful,” he tells me in a hiss before adding, "and make it quick. Spend as little time there as possible."

  "Copy that," I say and then turn my attention to the two large men walking slowly, yet confidently, towards me. Both of the men appear to be near carbon copies of each other: short, cropped blond hair, six foot tall, beefy, muscular build, and they are dressed in designer polo shirts and dark khakis. If it wasn't for the large rifles held at their sides, then they could pass for slightly underdressed valets at the local country club. Apparently the change in locale brought with it an upgrade in ‘thug quality’, too. These two are a step above the boys at the warehouse.

  As they cross the parking lot towards me, they separate from each other so that they aren't walking side by side. They keep an easy gait as they walk, and their demeanor never changes, but I can recognize that they are attempting to flank me and come at me from two different angles in case this encounter goes south for them. They have no desire to make this easy on me.

  I can respect that. I don't like it, but I can respect it.

  "Excuse me, sir," the clone on my right says in slightly-accented English. "Would you mind pulling up to the line with the others? We'll get to you as soon as we can, but it's easier on everybody if we all stay together. I hope you understand."

  He is smiling as he speaks, and the gun never wavers or moves from its position at his side pointed at the pavement. I can sense that he's ready for trouble if it happens, but he isn't expecting it. I'm just a lost customer who needs to be politely guided back to the rest of the flock, and he is a simple shepherd doing his duty. Sheep don't revolt, so there is no need for him to worry.

  Except this sheep is a wolf. And he has every need to worry.

  Unfortunately I was only able to salvage two pistols from the warehouse and they are both packed safely away in my saddlebags. I hadn't planned on being approached upon arrival, so I figured I would have time to pull them out and prepare myself before encountering anyone. I was wrong. I'll have to plan better next time. Which means I need to ensure there will be a next time.

  For now I need to find a way to quickly and quietly incapacitate these two so that I can move on to the others under the canopied front area. I don't want to alert their friends as to what is happening, but I don't want to take too long, either.

  Considering my options while the man waits for my reply,
I see three ways this can proceed. I can ignore them, and just take off on my bike towards the covered entrance and leave these men to deal with later. I can dismount from the bike and attempt to grapple with them hand-to-hand and hope I'm fast enough to prevent them from getting a shot off or making a noise. And finally I can try to dismount the bike and stall for a moment so that I can get into my bags and pull the pistols.

  Option one seems to end with my taking multiple rifle rounds to the back as I speed away from them, and I don't like that at all. Plus it gives up the element of surprise as the gunfire will alert everyone to my presence.

  The second option has the benefit of silence, but also means I have to worry about taking a point blank round from one of those rifles into the already stressed armor. Although Ren assures me it should withstand such a barrage, I'm not thinking that is the most ideal option. Plus, I'm a bit tired from the warehouse, and I haven't had a chance to drain my last two lampreys, yet. I could really use an energy boost before attempting that. Again, their approach has thrown off my schedule and frustrated me.

  The final option is the one I decide upon as it gives me the best chance of quickly ending this before I get shot even though it might mean sacrificing a bit of silence and surprise. Sometimes a girl just has to err on the side of caution. And this is one of those times.

  "Sir, can you hear me?" The man addresses me and shoots a quick look at his partner as both their rifles begin a slow climb up and away from the safety of the pavement.

  I guess I was taking too long to respond to their question. That's what I get for trying to think on an empty stomach.

  I'm afraid that if I speak up, then the soft tone of my voice will alert them to my distinct lack of male-ness, and that could be bad. Fatally bad. So instead I just nod my head twice and raise my hands up to shoulder level in the universal sign of "please don't shoot me".

  Their rifle ascension halts, but they don't retreat. "Sir, that isn't necessary," the more vocal of the two tells me. "We don't mean you any harm here; we just want you to move the bike over to the line, ok? Can you do that?"

  Nodding my head at him and keeping my hands raised, I swing my right leg up and back over the bike so that I easily dismount my ride and stand next to it. The saddlebag that contains two loaded semi-automatic pistols and my salvation is only inches away from my knee. I just need them to believe in my innocence for a moment longer.

  But that moment doesn't come.

  As soon as my right leg makes contact with the pavement, both men rocket into a blur of motion that takes me by surprise. The rifles don't so much as rise, as the men drop to their knees into a shooter's stance and rotate the massive guns so that they are pointed straight at me. Center mass. They are both in position and ready to shoot me before I even realize they had started moving. And that's impressive. These men are more formidable than I had expected.

  "Sir!" The talkative one now stationed on the far side of my bike barks at me from behind the glint of his rifle's scope held to his face. "Please get back on your bike immediately. I repeat," he tells me in a firm voice that is just a shade below a yell. "Get back on your bike. If you do not, then we will fire on you. Do you understand?"

  This is both unexpected and unfortunate. How am I supposed to get to my guns in this situation? I'm fast, but even pulling on the Darkness I might not be fast enough to outrace both these men and their rifles. Maybe if I hadn't just seen them move at the speed of a jungle cat on a caffeine and sugar binge, then I might have believed it possible. But after seeing how quickly they dropped? Not so much.

  "On my count," Ren breathes into my ear, and I have to smile. He has a plan, and it is one that can't come too soon.

  "Three," he tells me, and I nod my head at the man speaking to me.

  "Okay," I tell him in my fakest, deepest voice and hope that those two syllables aren't enough to give me away.

  "Two," Ren whispers, and I wonder what he has in mind, but I know he doesn't have time to explain it to me. I'll just have to trust him.

  "One," he breathes, and I make the decision to go for my guns when whatever will happen happens. I can only hope he buys me enough time to allow that to not be my last action I ever take.

  "Now," he says simply, and as his words tickle my ear I can hear a small, horrible screeching sound erupt from both of the men pointing rifles at me. Their heads whip back and forth as if they're being electrocuted, and I relish the moment of their attention not being focused on me.

  Plunging both of my hands into my saddlebag, I grab a heavy pistol in each fist and bring them back out and swing my body around so that I am facing the man closest to me.

  The screeching is coming from the small speaker pushed into his ear, and I realize Ren found a way to generate a feedback loop with their radios and create a distraction. A perfect distraction, and one I don't plan to let go to waste.

  Squeezing the triggers of both pistols as rapidly as I can, I cycle off ten rounds into the man's chest and watch as he stumbles backwards and sprawls awkwardly onto the pavement.

  Well, I think. That pretty much does it for the element of surprise. But at least I'm still alive.

  With the first man incapacitated, I spin back around and pop up so that I can get a better angle on the man behind me. I figure I'll hit him while he's also distracted, take both their rifles and storm the place in the confusion. Not my best plan, but the best when given the worst of situations.

  But as I spin back into position and stand up to bring my vocal little friend into sight, he manages to surprise me. He isn't as distracted as I had originally assumed he'd be. In fact he is very much focused on me as I pop up from behind the bike I had been using to shield my body. He's grimacing in pain and squinting at me in an attempt to keep that focus, but his horrible little eyes are deadlocked on me as I bring my pistols up and towards him.

  But I never get the chance to fire them. His gun erupts into a horrifying flower of fire, and I watch as the bullets tear through the air towards me.

  At this distance, even the slowing of time isn't enough to prevent them from hitting me. They are moving too quickly and are too close for me to get out of the way. Gritting my teeth in preparation of the impact, I turn my body to try and minimize the damage. It won't be much, but I hope it will be enough to save my life.

  As I manage to get my chest turned away from the incoming barrage of lead, I feel the first bites as they begin to tear into Ren's armor and split it open. The pain is overwhelming and I can feel the Darkness rushing up through me in an attempt to keep me conscious and alive so that I can finish this fight. But as more of the slugs burrow into the fiber weaving and make their way through it and pierce my skin, the Darkness gives up on keeping me conscious and I go limp as a wave of blackness chases the pain through my body.

  Giving into the release the Darkness brings, I retreat away from the pain that I'm not used to feeling. Whatever happens next thankfully won't be up to me. I'm done participating in tonight's activities.

  I hope I wake up from this, I think, but that thought is quickly followed with, actually, maybe I don't.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I'm surrounded by darkness.

  Not the “capital D" Darkness, like the deliciousness that fuels my body at night, but the lower case "darkness". As in I can't see anything. Everything around me is various shades of black, and that is not a sensation that I'm used to.

  Death? Have I finally died? If so, then it is not nearly as bad as I had expected it to be. This is almost pleasant.

  Except it's really stuffy here and hard to breathe. Somehow I doubt Death involves having a hard time getting air. Well, maybe the "before you die" part, but not the "after you're dead" part. I'm definitely having a tough time getting oxygen into my body. It feels like I'm trying to breathe through a wet blanket.

  And if I'm trying to breathe, then I'm not dead. Only living people have to breathe. So that means...

  With an effort, I inhale as deeply as I can to pull as mu
ch air into my lungs as possible...and immediately start coughing as something flies down my throat and chokes me.

  Hacking out a cough, I sit up and tear at my face and neck. The blanket that was apparently wrapped around my head quickly comes free, and I spit out the bits of worn cotton and ratty clothing that I had managed to suck into my wide pipe. The cold rush of air that fills my lungs is exhilarating, and it restores my faith in the belief that I am alive. I am definitely alive.

  Then I stifle a screech as a bright ray of sunshine blasts across my eyes both blinding me and sending shards of raw pain shooting through my optical nerves. I think I just figured out why I had a blanket over my head. Ripping that off and flinging it away was a poor choice.

  Squenching my eyes shut and covering them with my left hand, I begin groping around on the dirty floor of wherever I am for the salvation that was my nasty blanket I had so recklessly hurled to the side. After a moment of frantic scrabbling, my fingers brush a frayed edge of it and give a yank and pull it up to my eyes and wrap it around my head in one fluid motion.

  Ahh, that's better, I think to myself and sit back in an attempt to gather my thoughts. I'm alive. That's a start. Now why am I alive? And where am I?

  The last thing I can remember is feeling bullets tear through Ren's armor, and the horrifying thought that I had drastically underestimated my enemy. That gun was close enough for me to feel the heat from the muzzle blasts, and those bullets were large enough to put a hole in a car door. Their impact should have killed me and shredded by body like fresh pork carnitas. Somehow, though, that didn’t happen.

  Gingerly, and with more than a small burn of worry in my throat, I reach up and run my fingers across my torso and chest where I remember those angry lead slugs biting at me. If there were still holes in me, then I would surely feel them or the pain associated with them, but I don't. My skin is completely intact, although it’s a bit tender as I probe it.