I broke through into the clearing and in a heartbeat, the bush all but came apart as the large form of my opponent crashed through after me, barely an arms length behind. He reached again, but this time with both arms. Going low to bring me down and he put on a burst of speed and dove for me.
Feigning a stumble to the left I sidestepped him, moving aside just enough that his tackle was wasted; his passing and the wind it generated only managing to ruffle my poncho and reveal my stump. He hit the ground and rolled, moving with practiced ease despite the weapons on his back, then popped up, loose leaves and soil scattering around him when he spun to face me.
I widened my eyes in mock surprise as I neared him. His eyes fixed on me in turn, not quite a glare but not focused. Gaze searching, I could almost see the gears turning while he assessed me before his attention shifted; zeroing on my right side, where my arm had once been, then to my left leg, to my fake hobble.
It was an effort keeping my expression schooled into panic. Because of a literal misstep, I'd given him a legitimate weak point to go after, but like hell was I going to let myself be some easy mark.
My heart pounded, roaring in my ears like a drum, almost hampering my concentration as I dug my feet into the loose topsoil and dragged them. With two steps I changed my footing and continued forward in a loose, stumbling gait that kicked up bits of leaves and rich brown soil. Each movement insecure and telegraphed to lull him into a false sense of security while I half reached my arm out as if to catch myself.
A clumsy feint, but a necessary one to bring my speed down to a more manageable level.
His feet spread and his arms went wide; a grappling stance, stable, good for grabbing someone and getting them onto the ground. He himself was telegraphing, but either he had seen through my ploy and was doing it intentionally, or he was taking the bait and was that confident in his ability to bring me down. Just feet away he stepped forward and his right hand reached toward me while the other went low, a move reminiscent of a judo grab, closing… closing… I ducked and shot toward him, putting my weight forward in spite of an awkward center of gravity to slip under his arm and for an instant, we were near enough he could've wrung my neck… could've, but he never had a chance.
My eyes snapped up, meeting his pale blues set beneath a heavy brow, and in the span of a moment multiple emotions flashed across them: shock and surprise, among others… expressive eyes. Then they narrowed and determination took hold, the bulk of his larger body moving to follow me. But I was too close, much closer than he'd prepared for and moving quicker than my feigned limp implied.
It was a dance. One that without the swarm to help choreograph it, I'd never have been able to pull off or even attempt. But riding high on adrenaline, my body practically humming, I moved how I'd trained to. With a set goal in mind to focus me... moving was easy as breathing.
Putting myself within his guard, I put my left foot forward and pivoted back clockwise on my heel to spin under his outstretched arm where. He could do little in the fractions of a second I was there. With just an inches between us though, I could do plenty: My hand brushed against his thigh as I turned around his body, the spin putting my hand into position for my fingers to brush against his BDU's and the stiff material of his holster before hooking on the strap that held his sidearm in place. My turn continued and pulled the snap free, undoing it with a minute click.
That's step one, I thought with only a little bitterness.
I was so close. Had I had my other arm this charade would've been a matter of simply unsnapping the strap with one hand, grabbing the weapon with the other, and escaping into the depths of the jungle. Simple, easy even… but simple was a thing of the past. I'd been sloth due in part to the weather, only scraping the surface of issues its absence would cause me, but I had little doubt it would complicate the simplest of things in the coming days, weeks, months or… or until I found something to drive me forward I suppose.
One step at a time though.
Slipping out of his shadow I reached back, my hand moving back beneath my poncho. The moment my hand slipped into my storage compartment beneath my back armor, I sent my swarm out, emerging from the trees around the marksman in a pale imitation of Brian's darkness. Through the spider I felt the man's pulse fluttered as he swallowed, his hands tightening around the rifle as he stepped back. He shook his head, muttering something as the big-guy began turning to follow me and the textured metal grip of my baton filled my hand.
I drew it out and swung, finding the release button as I pivoted on my right foot: My target, a mite at the base of his thumb.
With a series of sharp clacks my baton extended, telescoping out to its full length as the massive man reached for me with his right hand. His eyes locked onto the black length of metal suddenly encroaching on his personal space and tried to pull back, but too late. The metal ball at the tip connected with his hand and something gave with a sickening squelch.
Disable and Disarm.
That'll leave him disarmed, I observed, eying his outward bent thumb.
Now there was just to keep him from following! I stopped my spin and kicked out, the heel of my boot connecting square with the side of his knee pad.
And that'll disable—
His leg folded, but too smoothly. The big-guy twisted, mitigating the damage from my kick while my foot drove his knee into the ground and making me overextend. I tried to abort, but before I could get clear his leg snapped shut, his boot touching his thigh and locking my foot in place. His intact off hand snapped around to clamp onto my ankle and made me aware of just how badly I'd screwed up. A sharp yank made me regret it.
Blood rushed to my head as the world turned sideways and the swarm-clones staring at the marksman came apart; the first clone stepping behind a tree while the second collapsed into the ground and dispersed among the black tide as if it were oil. The marksman's rifle lowered until it hung loosely, the muzzle just above the ground.
I hit the ground side on, my stump taking the brunt of the impact and aggravating whatever damage had been done by my earlier fall. I kicked out, but the vice around my ankle jerked and the blow went wide as I fell onto my back and my head bounced off the ground. He drug me around and my glasses slipped down, my vision blurring and pinned my leg beneath his knee before I could kick again. Suddenly he released my ankle and loomed over me— my throat closed, his forearm pressing down on my windpipe, choking me.
I blinked, eyes squeezing together before opening wide as my mouth opened and I tried to draw breath. My heartbeat rose to a thunderous roar in my ears as adrenaline flooded into my bloodstream and the world slowed. His face inched closer as he pressed down a little more, face less than a foot away, grim resolve etched into his features.
It was hard to think, but in the heat of the moment I called out and my swarm answered. More leafcutter ants bit through his uniform and mandibles dug into his flesh over and over again; though the strength of their bite was dulled by his clothing. The pressure on my throat abated, clarity rushed back as he pulled back and I considered faking unconsciousness for a moment before discarding the notion. I couldn't count on him falling for that. This guy was a professional, not a psychotic Tinker.
I dropped the baton and it hung from my wrist by its lanyard. I punched him in the side twice, but eliciting little more than a faint grunt I reached for his holster; my fingers straining to touch the back of the slide. They brushed over the grip, the slide, the rear sight— Hooking my fingernails on the protrusion I managed to pull it out a bit while butterflies flew overhead carrying lengths of silk around branches and termites chewed through dead wood.
My hand brushed his hip and he jerked away, putting the pistol out of reach with one leg going between mine as while shifting position. He lifted off a bit to leverage his weight and darkness crept in at the edge of my vision. My swarm roared, taking flight as his waist brushed my thigh and— He wasn't wearing a cup.
My knee smashed into his groin hard enough that it moved him and his forearm let up again. Again and he groaned, lips pulling back in a grimace as a pained noise leaked between clenched teeth.
His other arm smashed down, just below my stump as I jerked it away and— he pulled off a little more and air! Sweet glorious air! I breathed deep and cool air flooded into my lungs but a burn followed, igniting in my throat as if I'd swallowed sandpaper drenched in gasoline and lit on fire.
Teeth still bared he bore down on me, and in spite of the blows he'd taken to his manhood, his arm began pressing down once more. It was a hesitant hold though, he didn't commit all his weight to crushing my throat. He'd left me room to breathe, if barely, and a bit of room to maneuver. It was an inch I could turn into a mile. I kicked my heels, digging through into the soft topsoil and into the firm, compact dirt beneath. Again and I kicked myself far enough I was able to pull my legs into my stomach and mule kick into his chest.
It was like kicking against a rock, but something seemed to give beneath my feet. He jerked, lifted up, and I rolled away as his elbow came down.
I not-quite bounced back up some ways away and raised my baton, shifting my weight from one foot to the other as he rose to his feet. Although, swaying might have been more accurate. I was just a little disoriented. Absently, I adjusted my glasses and watched the big-guy stand as the world came back into focus. He was wide open and stood somewhat bow-legged. I wasn't in the best of shape either, and the shadowed glower he sent my way dissuaded me from attempting anything just yet. Instead, I used the pause to catch my breath while he brushed away the leafcutters, muttering in what I was increasingly sure was Russian.
However, even as he and I recovered, my attention was drawn to what the marksman was doing. That was to say, doing nothing but staring at the ground and murmuring to himself. I suppressed a grimace as I monitored him, something about what I was seeing that felt… unsettling.
I brushed it off. So long as he didn't interfere what he did or didn't do was of little matter, and as the big-guy's back straightened my attention shifted back to him. I stared back when his eyes locked on me, a slight grimace on his lips as he shook his head. "I try make quick for you girl," he rumbled, his voice a deep timbre. "Would be clean, no blood to draw animals. Give burial. But that not—" Breath catching, he winced and shifted his hips. "That not very nice."
I blinked. Well, that was… nice of him? But more importantly, he now represented someone else I could question.
Before I had a chance to form a response, maybe negotiate or try de-escalate, he suddenly grabbed the hand I'd smashed with my baton. Gripping the outward bent thumb he aligned he arm parallel and— realizing what he was doing and I leapt forward as he shoved the thumb in back into place, though even as I closed I was too far to do anything. Making a quick fist, his hand flashed down to his hip. In a move almost fit for a western he drew his sidearm and aimed from the hip. I stared down the barrel at the center of an odd gear component as it centered on me.
The gun was deactivated, I'd locked it up as best I could... but then, so had his shotgun.
I dove to the right, rolling and forcing to him to adjust his aim, giving me time to pop up and slip my arm into my poncho and cover my face while closing the distance between us. It wasn't armor, but it was something. His finger tightened, the mechanism moved, but the trigger clicked impotently. Pivoting on my toes I dropped my poncho and shot toward him, baton arcing through the air as I swung for his temple.
He jerked back, ducking away to avoid the blow and dropping the pistol his hand moved to his back. I followed as he retreated, briefly pausing to kick the gun away— though in reality to where I needed it —while rearing back for an exaggerated follow-up swing.
Everything was in position now. But with his speed I didn't fancy turning my back to him, I just needed a few moments more to break off safely. Reaching to his hip his fingers quick, their movements deft and practiced as he touched at webbing, snapping the buttons on flap holding his… spade?
Pulling the wooden-handled tool from its holder he knocked the baton aside and swung as I neared. He was too far away to reach me, though, and shifting my feet I— His grip loosened and the blade slid out, extending his reach. The point of the small shovel slashed across my midsection, tracing an invisible line across the dull yellow-grey of my poncho. My eyes followed the spade as it arched back and caught on its gleaming sharp edge.
His feet parted a spray of dark soil and he leaned forward while adjusting his grip hold the spade at the base of the blade; his hand wrapped around the sleeve connecting it to the handle. His offhand came up and he held it forward while bringing up the spade as one would a knife while using a saber grip. Except it was bigger, and heavier, and longer...
And it looked like he knew full well how to use it as such.
This wasn't good.
With little recourse, I retreated, and he followed.
I was on the back foot now literally, keeping away as he made probing jabs and parrying stabs that got a little too close. I was forced to keep backing away, staying out of range while looking for a way out and weighing whether to call on my butterflies and end this permanently. I held off though, simply keeping away from him and holding off— He lunged forward, getting within striking range while I was in mid-step and the spade went up. Again his grip loosened, the blade sliding out in an instant, then brought it down in a sharp downward strike— like it was a hatchet.
My left foot jerked back in an arc and I turned sideways on, my stump toward him, and the blade slashed past. He flowed into a follow-up, turning toward me as I stepped back while his fingers twirled, the short wooden shaft spinning and his grip reversing in a flash.
He stepped forward and reached across himself, holding the blade at its base with the blade in line with his arm he stabbed down at my neck. This close, the sharpened edge gleamed among dozens of little wear marks.
Death by a glorified gardening tool? Fuck that, I thought.
Blood pulsing and rushing in my ears, deafening me to the world, I stepped into his swing and threw my weight forward. My left shoulder smashed into his chest, body checking him, while I threw out my arm to catch his swing before it could connect and— Catching his wrist on my stump, I leaned forward and the blade scraped down my upper back as his lips moved and blinked at my stump. My bicep began burning almost immediately under the strain of holding his arm up as I stuck my leg between his. He pinched his thighs, his knees knocked together to block and upward strike, no doubt leery of another blow to the groin. The precaution worked against him, shifting his center of gravity, and hooking his ankle with mine, I pushed.
It took a hard shove to destabilize him, and another to overbalance him even as he realized what was happening. But as he fell away he kept going. His grip on the spade reversed and he pulled while falling, hooking the back of my neck with the back edge of the blade.
The spade dug deep as his weight added to the strength of his pull and he almost dragged me down with him. The reinforced collar of my costume saved me, but it hurt and turning my neck as I ducked away to unhook myself sent shooting pains down the side of my neck. The tool dragged against my back before passing harmlessly through my hair with a sharp tugging in my scalp— nothing but hairs torn out at the root. A small cost for what could've happened.
But the way he'd tried hooking my neck like that…a chill ran down my spine and the dampness in my armpits and sweat soaking into my bra became more pronounced. I made tracks despite him only just standing before glancing behind him to the pistol, then to the spade again. He could've torn out my carotid with that move. He could've killed me.
Between heartbeats, the realization struck home and my teeth practically creaked as they ground together. The fear evaporated, the cold replaced by the hot flush of indignant rage: rage at myself for underestimating him, rage at the hunter, rage at the whole clusterfuck of a situation.
They had started this! They had shot first! All I had wanted was to ask a few questions but instead, they shoot at me. Instead of answers, I had to deal with to this bullshit!
Almost seething inside, it was a struggle to maintain a placid facade, to preserve my composure and control. I breathed out slowly, watched the mercenary as warmth suffused through my aching limbs, forcing myself to calm down lest I do anything brash.
That was twice now though, twice where I'd be dead were it not for my costume… Restraint was well and good, discretion until I knew more was simply being prudent... but there wouldn't be a third time. My knife or his knife, a silk noose lowered from the canopy with a falling branch as a counterweight, a garrote, or even a direct attack with my swarm— whatever it took. If I wasn't leaving immediately afterward, then he wouldn't be leaving at all and damn the consequences.
However, even as I contemplated his murder, he was slow to re-engage. He simply stood there, watching… waiting? Being more cautious perhaps? I took a tentative step to the right, toward the pistol and my exit, he stepped left. I stepped right again and he stepped left again, mirroring... Circling.
Was he waiting for me to make the first move? Recuperating? Unlikely, as his chest steadily rose and fell and pulse steady.
Or... perhaps he was re-assessing? Lips pursing I narrowed my eyes. I'd surprised him twice now by my count; first with my feigned limp, and the second with blocking his blow. Although I'd been reaching with my forearm, not my stump. That I actually caught him at all was a minor miracle. And hell, if his swing had connected he might very well have broken my collarbone in two.
So could that be it? Maybe he was hesitant after being caught off guard one time too many?
Though it may have just been my imagination, for a split-second I could've sworn his eyes lingered on my right side. That was... unfortunate, if so, but understandable. Though with any luck he was simply stalling, thinking his partner would catch up soon. But unfortunately for him, the marksman was all the way back at the clearing and… and what the hell was he doing?
The marksman's muttering tapered off and his heartbeat had slowed. Not to normal levels, not even close, but nowhere near as frantic as it'd been. Whatever he'd been muttering it seemed to have calmed him down.
Calm though? The edge of the spade caught the light, glinting at me. I rolled my fingers, adjusting the grip on the baton.
Yeah, he was calming down, which was something I did not need that right now, especially while being occupied with the not so minor concern of getting brained or bludgeoned to death with a shovel. My suit could take the blow if it connected, sure, doubly so if he hit my armor plates, but the force of it had to go somewhere.
And of course there was how familiar he seemed with swinging the damn thing, not the work of an amateur. It was a shovel, though, not a knife, yet he was using it as such and its odd shape was turning out to be stupidly versatile in his hands. Christ, I'd have preferred it if he used a knife! At least then I would be going up against something I was more familiar with and not a fucking shovel.
I inhaled and breathed out through my nose. But I was just getting worked up over a non-issue. He was an obstacle, and the spade a complication, but everything was in place, I just needed to grab the pistol and go. Drop the branch on him? Could work, there wasn't much wood left for the termites to chew through. I'd need to get him into position, but it could work. Though for now, simply circling seemed to be working just fine.
With that in mind, I took another step to the right, now some twelve feet from the pistol and my escape route.
Meanwhile, the bugs I'd massed in throughout the jungle surrounding the marksman rose up, forming into a series of clones while even more worked to make the foliage rustle at their appearance. I took another step toward the gun, almost putting the big-guy and I at equal distance to it as the marksman's head rose. He stared at the assembled figures, then turning to take in all the clones scattered about… his pulse began to slow.
What?
The rifle lowered as the marksman held it loosely in one hand while the other went to his vest. Unbuttoning a breast pocket his fingers extricated a rectangular, rattling container that I'd figured tic-tacs'. But now... he put it to his mouth and shook,, the container rattling a bit before he replaced it.Buttoning the pocket, he glanced around before behind him and retrieved one of the two canteens at the small of his back and took a short swig. Replacing it was well and took up his rifle… but he just stood there, staring.
The unsettling feeling returned as he just stood there and I stepped right again, needing to do something. A moment later the marksman put a hand to his radio and leaned in.
"Yur'yevich na svyazi. Tsel' ne podtverzhdena, vozrashchayus' k presledovaniyu. Priyom."
"Yurievich here, negative contact. Returning to pursuit. Over."
My eyes snapped to the big-guys radio as the words came out then back to his face and his head cocked to the side.
"O? Mne kazhetsya, ty ponimayesh' russkiy luchshe, chem pytayesh'sya pokazat', ne tak li, devon'ka?" Keeping his eyes on me his free hand moved with intentional slowness to the radio and my hand tightened around the knurled metal grip until it tingled.
"Oh? I think you understand Russian more than you let on, don't you little girl." Keeping his eyes on me his free hand moved with intentional slowness to the radio and my hand tightened around the knurled metal grip until it tingled.
He was baiting me.
Touching at the radio he tilted his head toward the device while still staring at me. I wanted to keep him from responding if only to give myself more time, but a lack of response could be even more conspicuous and backfire. The marksman was already on his way and I had at least two minutes... two minutes plenty of time.
But still.
He touched the radio and spoke. "Mikhaylov na svyazi. Nakhozhus' v kontakte s tsel'yu primerno v chetverti kilometra na yugo-yugo-zapad v storonu zdaniya upravleniya. Priyom."
He touched the radio and spoke. "Mikhailov here, I am currently engaging target approximately a quarter kilometer due south south-west toward control building. Over."
The commander and his employer exchanged looks but continued walking up the drive. On the other end of the spectrum the marksman perked up, his back straightening and he leaned in to answer with what must've been an affirmative. There, the backup was on his way and now I was on the clock. He began picking his way through the clearing even faster and dispersed dispersing my clones as he went. Not that it seemed to have mattered much, he barely gave them a sideways glance and seemed content to consciously ignore them as they disappeared.
Why though? What would make a person ignore something as abnormal as the presence of my clones? And furthermore, what would cause them to not even react when they disappeared? Why would— Unless he thought they might not have been there at all. Unless he thought they were in his head.
Recalling what he'd done, the tic-tac container stood out. For a mercenary to have something like that on them, something that might make unwanted noise… and then chasing it with water from the canteen. Was he taking medication? If that's what had been in the container… it would make sense. Someone conscious of their issues would want their meds on hand in case they had an episode, and depending on what kind of combat he'd seen…
My clones were faceless, but to someone with some sort of battle trauma? What had they looked like to him? I could've been bringing his nightmares to life for all I knew. A sour taste rose up in my throat as what I'd been doing sunk in. It wasn't quite guilt, but close enough.
I hadn't been doing it for kicks— they were trying to kill me.
But what had I been trying to do?
I'd just been trying to keep him occupied, but what I'd been doing had gone beyond a distraction. Was that really what I'd been doing, though? Thinking back make actions were more akin to pulling at a loose thread and seeing if he would unravel… And all so I didn't have to deal with him? So he wasn't a complication? And for what reason, because it was expedient?
My stomach churned as my mind drew connections and parallels, imagined or otherwise.
Irrational as it was I cut all swarm activity around the man; dissipating the bugs into the surrounding foliage and silencing the chorus. It barely garnered a sideways glance and that reaction... That was chilling, more so than the touch of the spade on my neck. Enemy or no, this was just his job, and trying to kill me aside his actions hadn't warranted… that. I didn't need to go as far as I did, yet I had, and without a moment's hesitation...
I swallowed.
One bad day, I reminded myself; my mind unconsciously recalling the darkness, the rancid, cloying smell of rotting blood and the claustrophobic closeness of walls, the piercing ache in my hands from beating at the metal door and the hoarseness in my throat... All it took was one bad day.
I didn't know what the situation was like, now with Scion dead, but that didn't really matter. It was the principal of it, and whatever the case may be I wasn't going to be that bad day… no matter if it made things more difficult for me.
But that said, the marksman was coming and I was still here. I didn't have time for introspection.
The tip of my baton snapped up and I sidestepped again. Not much further though, I just needed to grab the gun and go. Easy, clean, simple.
Even as the next steps played out in my mind, the large mercenary threw a spanner into the works and stepped left; reversing direction. Reacting I mirrored, stepping left to keep the distance and play along, seeing if he was simply testing me. However, when he stepped left again his eyes flicked to the discarded pistol.
Crap. He glanced back, we made eye contact, and after a pregnant pause, I lunged for the gun with him moving less than a heartbeat later. He was still closer though, his legs longer, and when it was little more than three strides away he put himself between the pistol and I.
Retreat and reassess? But that would mean giving up the initiative, and if he'd really realized I was after the pistol then he could easily complicate things. He could stall long enough for the marksman to get here... No, there was nothing to do about it. I'd just have to go through him.
Continuing forward the distance between us disappeared and in a split second his stance shifted; feet spreading, he simultaneously crouched and rose on his toes. Outwardly, little changed as his hands rose and the spade pointed toward me, but his movement betrayed that notion and he rocked back and forth on his toes; left, right, left, right. A minute sway that others would've missed.
He appeared stationary when in reality he was probably just as more mobile as if he were moving. The way he stood, the way he held himself, I was almost reminded of someone doing sprints. Trying to lure me in then, just inviting me to try and slip by and intercept me… I was committed though, too far in to back out.
His reaction times were good, but he was still well within margin for a human and his size would work against him; I was smaller, more maneuverable. I just needed to make him overreach and it didn't matter how quick he was if he couldn't touch me.
Looming over me his off hand closed, reaching to grab when I feigned to the right. But the move was sluggish, almost a half measure as the arm went wide when his body swayed to block my passage. Exactly as I wanted though. Moving my feet, locking them, I reversed and juked back to his right side to duck beneath the spade— just as it spade snapped down to hip level and stabbed at where my stomach was going to be.
Digging my feet in I snapped my baton out between us, just barely catching the spade at its base and using the force of his stab to redirect it over my shoulder.
Protecting myself from the spade had been costly, holding back his arm had taken my momentum and my initiative. In the end, though, I had only been delayed. Gritting my teeth, I took one single breath to brace myself for what was about to happen, and released my hold against him. I twisted out of the way. He had been wide open before, but now so was I. He took the bait for what it was.
His offhand closed into a fist and he jabbed out, hammering into my lower stomach. It was a full-on kidney shot that sent dull shocks through my lower stomach. But the pain was distant, tolerable, and not the knockout blow he must've thought it would be. It still hurt, and releasing my block and turning I just knew I'd be peeing blood—
The pressure against my baton suddenly disappeared and he pivoted on his toes, turning with me. And the spade, still grinding against my baton while pushing it down, suddenly twisted and hooked; the hand holding it contorting as his off hand came up to seize on my shoulder.
The tool shot up the length of my baton to stab past my elbow before turning sideways on and the sharpened side pressed into my sleeve on the underside of my arm. With a savage pull, he jerked back from elbow to wrist, slicing diagonally down the length of my forearm like he was trying to open it up like a filet and nicked my palm as he pulled back. A simple move that would've severed my radial and ulnar arteries.
That was the third time.
An absent realization, one that came even as his arm tensed. He was stabbed in, faster than I could fully move away and the spade smashed into the left side of my chest before skipping off. It hit my armor, fortunately, but the armor wasn't enough to stop a band of molten metal from igniting beneath my skin and flaring up as I breathed in.
Distantly, while clamping down on the pain, I recognized the spot he'd hit on as the one that'd been bothering me since the T.Rex had snuck up on me. The same. Fucking. Spot!
The ribs had been bruised before, but at the minimum, they were now fractured. Without the silk and armor though— All too easily my imagination provided a graphic visual of the spade slipping between my ribs and tearing into my heart and lungs.
And that was the fourth time.
This time the acknowledgment came with cold acceptance of what I was going to do if I didn't get away from him. Two times in as many seconds. Two times to many. Sloppy.
I stumbled back when his hand released my shoulder and shot down, grabbing at my wrist. I pulled it into my stomach as butterflies descended from above and came in from the surrounding bush, a kaleidoscope of colored wings that choked the air and carried silk.
His fingers closed before I could escape put his foot between mine he swept my foot out from under me. The world lurched. I scrambling to catch myself and he stepped around to my back and twisted my arm to pin it between my shoulder blades. His fingers danced around the spades handle and his arm arced up, the point of the spade turning downward as my shoulder joint began to burn; the muscles aching as they were stretched and pulled almost to their limit while his hold simultaneously agitated my ribs.
But the pain was only relative. It was a thing I had learned to ignore in order to survive and in the two years spent preparing for Jack I'd figured out just how far the effects of Bakuda's pain bomb' could let me go beyond normal limits. His hold was good, he was only a few more pounds of force away from him dislocating my arm, but it wasn't enough.
The spade stabbed down and I threw myself back, his wrist hitting against my collar bone and the blade stabbed at air. I pulled away again and bent my knees, ducking beneath the spade when he tried to catch on my neck with its edge grazing my chin. Flexing my arm I, used the whole of my body to force my wrist to turn in spite of his grip and the wrenching ache the move created in trying to face him. I ignored it, I ignored his look of consternation at my refusal to die, and I ignored the spade stabbing toward me as my lips parted in a silent snarl.
His grip was still tight, an unforgiving vice, but pulling hard enough to throw off his stab I kicked at his knee. He moved with the blow as he'd done before, trying to pull me down with him, but fool me once… The instant he was at eye level I stiffened my shoulders and snapped my neck forward in a sharp, rage-fueled headbutt that left the bridge of his nose deforming beneath my forehead and eliciting a muffled grunt.
The hold on my wrist loosened enough for me to turn and remain standing as my foot drove his knee into the ground. But he didn't let go, his grip tightened as blood poured down from his nose to splatter across the ground and his vest.
I used that tenacity against him to pull him back around toward me while twisting, at the same time turning on my toe and bringing my knee up in time with my pull to smash it into his head.
It failed to connect with his temple, impacting just above as he jerked away and he went limp. He still hadn't let go though.
"Let. Go!" Heart thundering in my ears, lips pulling back in a snarl, my foot snapped up as he glowered up at me and I stomped square into the center of his chest. Something gave way in his vest and his grip finally slipped.
With a pained, breathless wheeze the big-guy fell back and rolled onto his side as I spun, collapsing my baton against my hip and stowing it lunged for the gun and stooped. My fingers locked around the pistol and I threw myself into the bushes.
A moment later the big-guy slapped at the ground and weakly propped himself up. His grip on the spade shifted, and with his arm arching back he threw it, before falling to his side and hacking. It was last-ditch effort a clumsy throw, and the blade went went high, spinning over head like some sort of improvised Tomahawk. Emerging from the bushes in a clumsy roll I saw it stick into a tree a little ways ahead with a light thunk. I scrambled up as the big-guy sat up, stumbling as my legs a untangled before breaking out into a full sprint.
My attention fixed on the spade in a moment inspiration as I neared, and seeing it as the axe it could be I slowed even as the big-guy started getting back on his feet. My fingers contorted, turning the gun in my hand until I hooked my middle finger in the trigger guard and resting it against the back of my hand I ripped the spade from the tree as I passed.
With my hard won loot in hand I started running full tilt down the path. And it was an actual path, a small game trail of some kind.
Rounding a bend my eyes snapped to a ragged tree stump further down the trail, and the remains of its fallen— or perhaps pushed —moss covered trunk lying alongside. Old, but still somewhat recent as the canopy had yet to fill back in with a beam of light shining down on a patch of thick underbrush beside the trail.
I made for it, just barely remembering to keep my steps light and irregular; as if I were jumping along river rocks. In action it was a little awkward, but it allowed the bugs I'd pre-positioned to work more efficiently in disguising my tracks with leaves and bits of detritus. Slowing to a stop I turned to where tall ferns, some kind of broad frond palm, and some orange bird of paradise flowers in full bloom had grown up in the light.
All of it parted to expose the overshadowed underbrush beyond so I could pass without disturbing it, masses upon masses of bugs pulling at silk threads. I stepped high to get over the log to keep from marring it and my ribs pulsed beneath my skin. There was nothing to do but ignore it as best I could though, and continuing through the portato the darkness beyond. With barely a thought I released the lines as I went to let the foliage rebound behind me while redirecting the swarm.
Quickly enough, the spot where I'd stopped was obliterated and my bugs swarmed over me. The big-guy stood, somewhat unsteadily but after taking a few deep breaths he he crashed into the bushes I'd fled through and immediately fell in a tangle of branches and limbs, a tripwire cutting him down at the knee.
I knelt beside a tree trunk, and pulling my hood up leaned against the rough wood to let the swarm begin covering me in full. With thousands upon thousands of insects working in concert, I became nothing more than a rock with patches of dirt and spots of moss scattered about to complete the illusion. It wasn't entirely perfect, namely in that my posture did little good for my ribs and adjusting had little affect, but I settled for biting my lip and suffering through it.
The big-guy lurched from the bushes and crumpled to the ground, just barely taking a knee. Fumbling, he touched at his radio and I started forming up a series of swarm-clones with the first in line just a little ways down from where I'd stepped, a clear target for him to go after.
"Mikhaylov na svyazi. Kontakt poteryan, povtoryayu, kontakt s tsel'yu poteryan, takzhe primite k svedeniyu, chto tsel' nakhoditsya vo vladenii moim pistoletom." gritting his teeth he turned away from the radio for a moment. "Kakiye budut prikazy? Priyom."
"Mikhailov here. Contact lost. Repeat, contact lost with target and be advised that the target is now in possession of my sidearm." gritting his teeth he turned away from the radio for a moment. "Orders? Over."
The old-hunter and commander exchanged glances and dumped their cargo, the older man snapped something as he slung his heavy rifle and snapped something as he brought out his cut down Kalashnikov.
The commander pressed at his radio. "Sleduy za ney, no derzhi distantsiyu. Yesli budet vozmozhnost' - strelyay, ne ekonom' na patronakh. Priyom."
The commander pressed at his radio. "Follow her but keep your distance. If you have a shot, take it. Don't be conservative. Over."
"Yest', komandir. Presleduyu tsel'. Konets svyazi."
Acknowledged, Commander. Moving to pursue. Out."
Grasping for his thigh holster he growled something. and spat to the side. In single furious movement, he reached back and unslung the cut-down Kalashnikov. Cradling it, he thumbed down the safety cover and rising to his feet he stormed down the trail, making only the occasional misstep while the marksman picked up his pace to rejoin his partner.
Quickly enough he came charging around the bend, forcing me to I freeze in place. I sat back watching him sprint toward the fallen tree and my hiding spot… then run right past. He zeroed on the swarm-clone and gave the assault weapon's trigger a firm touch but let go when the clone broke line of sight. He gave chase and the second in a long series of clones moved through gaps in the foliage to keep him occupied.
As his presence fled further down the path my bugs had led him down, I released the burden of my newly acquired loot to check myself over. Removing the armor plate his spade had connected with, I tentatively put my fingers to the spot it had covered my breast and pressed. With each prod, my bones flared up enough that the pain threatened to take my breath. However, I kept pressing and found one band that was more sensitive to my probing than the others. Pressing along its length, the pain had my hand repeatedly flinching away and teeth digging into my lip, but the end result left me comforted with the fact that nothing seemed to be broken. Heavily bruised and definitely fractured, yes, but that seemed to be the extent of the damage.
Kneeling there and actually getting a moment to breathe was an easy reprieve. Too easy. I was loath to keep going, but the marksman was on his way and in spite of him beginning to limp again, he hadn't really slowed. I could rest later.
Replacing the section of armor I jammed the pistol into my belt at the small of my back and lashed the spade to my hip, holding it in place while the orb-weavers laced the thread around it and the belt. Then easing onto my hand hands and knees, I crawled deeper into the underbrush; moving through a tunnel made by my swarm.
After almost a minute of crawling on hand and knees, I came out onto a narrow trail where nearly everything green had been stripped away. The cause, thousands of leaf-cutter ants milled about, moving around me as I exited onto their superhighway, stood and immediately regretted it. Pain flashed through my ribs and had me doubling over, which in turn aggravated whatever damage I'd taken from the kidney punch.
I could do nothing but swallow the pain, not allowing myself a moment of weakness. I was off the path, I'd lost the big-guy and the tree wasn't far, but the marksman was still nearby and I rather not be caught by him again. Improbable as that may be. I'd also prefer to be off the ground when he rejoined the big-guy and pointed out that there were only one set of tracks on the trail. Or something to that effect. That the big-guy hadn't already realized though… well, thank god for tunnel vision. Although him trying to keep an eye on his surroundings while chasing the swarm-clone probably helped with that. Also, running with his broken nose, and whatever else my knee to his head and parting kick might to his chest might've done.
Forcing myself upright, I began moving down the path before turning onto another, then another, and another; zigzagging through the thoroughfares and between the larger clumps of plant life with little issue save a tense moment when the marksman limped by on the game trail. Soon, the jungle started to thin as I came under the shadow cast by the canopy of a single, massive tree. It was a pale, ancient thing. It's thick trunk overgrown with vines and many of the branches were half dead, riddled with termites where parts of it had died. It stood strong though, its core solid, with roots as high as my hip in places that spread from its base like an irregular web while hair-thin roots ran just beneath my feet like capillaries.
Standing at the edge of the clearing it sat in, I stared at a veritable forest of pale shoots descending from the lower branches of the same color that merged with the roots or ran into the ground while others hung like streamers. A light breeze blew through with a rustle of leaves, shifting them ever so. The cool air prompted goosebumps to spread across my skin and scalp where sweat cooled at the winds' touch, it was a sudden but not unwelcome relief.
Minding the whinging in my neck from where the spade had dug in, I craned my head back and briefly scanned the upper branches some sixty feet up where I was intending to hide.
I activated my flight pack, insects within the internal channels manipulating the necessary control surfaces and my feet hung beneath me the anti-grav took me aloft. Almost as an afterthought I reached back and pulled out the pistol I'd gone through so much effort to get; wouldn't do to lose it at this point. Looking down to it though, I saw it shake in my hand. The adrenaline was runnings its course and the exertions of the flight and fight were beginning to take its toll. I was crashing, and hard— this tree may very well be where I sleep the day away.
Despite that, and despite knowing the big-guy and the marksman couldn't see me, I was twitchy and focused as I rose higher into the air. However, in spite of that, I was still mindful of being as frugal as I could be with however much power I had left. After everything, I'd put it through just to get around after losing locomotion… well, like any Tinker Tech it would die without upkeep, but still. Best to just use it while I could, but no need to be wasteful.
Looking to a bed of brown and green leaves, situated in the crook of several thick branches as thick as my chest., My wings came out and the propulsion pods moved me toward the tree as I absently called on the whiptail to retrieve my thermos which, fortunately, was still within range and idly observed the arachnid as it crawled into the canopy at my direction and began racing along the upper branches; using its low weight and reach for all was worth.
Watching it move as it was though, also made me wonder how much of the Green I'd need in order to for it to walk among the treetops with me on its back… My cheeks warmed and I began weighing how long it would take to refine my control to get it to such a size, the amount of Green it would take regardless.
It was tempting, very tempting. But, rotating in place and settling into the bed of leaves, I only needed to think of everything else I needed to do to put a damper on the prospect of it carrying me around.
Easing back into the branches though, I cradled my ribs as they flared up, my breath hitching and I adjusted my breathing. I needed to get some padding and wrap them. I forced my attention elsewhere. I looked down to my new pistol and the prospect of the things I needed to do became a little less daunting.
My thumb traced along the curve of the knurled plastic grip, eyes following the black metal slide and its worn silver edges along the flat sides and mouth of the barrel— marks from where it had been holstered and drawn untold times. It had a good weight to it, beyond its actual heft, and fit comfortably in my hand.
Thumbing the magazine release, I saw a cutaway in the side and examined the oddly pointed cartridges within.Turning it over I found a counter on the back, going from ten to eighteen with some lettering at the bottom. It was also full, so… assuming there one was in the chamber, that meant I had nineteen rounds. More than enough.
Working the magazine back into place I pressed it against my thigh and ramming it home my eyes were drawn to a notch at the bottom of the grip; a crescent of exposed magazine. It was enough space that I could grab with my teeth were I to acquire another magazine… were I to acquire another magazine... The question wasn't if I acquired one, but how many.
A weak giggle escaped my lips before the sound truncated into a low groan, my ribs making themselves known. I slowly shuffled back until I touched the branch. The movement was practically murder on my ribs, but it actually helped in a way. It cut through the post-adrenaline haze and forced me to take shorter breaths, letting me think a bit more clearly while focusing my attention toward how my current state had come about.
Not exactly my best performance, almost on par with going after Lung on my first night out if I was being honest with myself. The way I'd held back as I had… stupid. Prudent, but stupid. I'd come out of what should've been a simple engagement beaten and battered. However, all things considered… I glanced down to where my stump lay beneath my poncho. Well, a few hiccups could be allowed. For now at least.
I was missing an arm, had been shot in the head, dumped on an island and left to fend for myself... But I still had it, I thought.
My lips turned up in a wan grin and I leaned my head back.
It was a reaffirmation of my abilities.
Ego stroking aside, the list of things I needed to do before my position on the island was secured was... lengthy. And that was putting it lightly. But with the pistol… my hand momentarily tightened around its polymer grip before placing it in my lap and directing a few orb-weavers to emerge from my hair they set about cleaning out the rest of the webbing.
Now that I was armed though, I could easily check off a number of them and get some answers at the same time.
I closed my eyes and let my mind wander, half listening to my heartbeat fade from my hearing while questions I wanted to ask came and went alongside ideas for various projects I had in mind for the radio bunker; things that simplified or accelerated with the gear and materials the mercenaries had brought with them. The rope alone… it'd be bulky, but getting ahold of that would save me production time that could be dedicated to everything else I'd be making.
But, supplies aside, the people in possession of them were still a problem. Something I couldn't simply disregard.
Dissipating my final swarm-clone in a small clearing a (relatively) short ways away, I left the big-guy with neither a target in sight or trail to follow. His quarry gone.
He stood within the small clearing, the stock of his cut down Kalashnikov pressed against his shoulder as he looked for where my clone might have gone. He all alone, though, or so he thought.
I descended into my swarm and watched him mull about. He was only alone for a short while, however, when the marksman caught up. Conferring, they took one last look before making their way back to the drive.
Furthering immersing myself, focusing as best I could, I watched while they regrouped so I could bask in the aftermath of their failure. Mind, I was still hurting, but if there was one thing that could give me a reprieve, it was the schadenfreude of watching some pricks' day go south.
Through my bugs I watched, I listened: I observed.
I watched the mercenaries regroup back on the drive, the old-hunter immediately moving to set the big-guys nose before quietly tearing into them and all but interrogating them on what had happened. Unfortunately, after whatever had been said they cleaned their weapons of my machinations, gathered up their gear, and returned to the jungle at their employers' direction; marching for where I'd dissipated the last clone.
I listened to the mercenaries explain what had happened and the old-hunter further berate them, his voice easier to pick up now that he was surrounded by my swarm. The language was still incomprehensible, which was getting annoying, but the tone said plenty: he really wasn't happy, however, at the same time there was understanding. Little signs, hand gestures, and other bits of nonverbal communication gave me enough of a picture that I could take away that much at least. It was something I was more familiar with, the attitude of a boss; disappointed, but accepting that they'd tried their best.
I observed the old-hunter examine the ground, even looking to the trail the big-guy had left before standing with a palpable anger that all but radiating off him while the other three men stood guard. After a few moments he seemed to calm himself and turning to the commander he retrieved a brickish radio— or perhaps phone —from the other man's pack, and folding out a thick antenna he pressed at the keypad before putting it to his ear and speaking. His conversation quickly became heated and he snapped at whoever was on the other end of the line. At the same time as he barked a response, though, a fly left to its own devices landed on a warm, pebbled surface only to be blown away by a blast a hot, wet air.
My eyes snapped open as underbrush the fly had been in rustled and a long shape surged forth, emerging from within the foliage before letting out a sonorous, honking call that echoed through the jungle.
—————