Chapter Sixteen
The room that would house the contest was large, oblong, and high-ceilinged, with the cone-shaped bases hanging in the northwest and southeast corners. The latter was on somewhat higher ground due to a built-in gradual incline in the lightly carpeted floor, making it more easily defensible. A coin toss awarded this base to Methos' team. He hoped grimly that this was a precursor to a run of good luck throughout the game.
Several barrels, a small length of six-foot wall with window-like openings, and a few smaller oddly shaped barriers offered some protection from easy invasion of the base. The base taken by Kronos had similar obstructions around it, although it had a longer wall and no barrels.
A catwalk, eight feet high, ran along the east wall of the room from the northern edge and stopped a couple of feet short of the Horsemen's base. The room was murky and a smoky haze hung in the air. Telling them to enjoy the game, Ken left by the door they had entered from and both teams reported to their bases.
"Okay, here's the plan," Methos said. "Cassandra, you are on guard duty, protecting the base. When you see one of them approaching, disable them before they get too close if at all possible. Try for the chest or back sensors; they'll be deactivated longer." Her eyes looked huge and sunken and he wondered if she'd understood anything he said until she nodded.
"MacLeod, start out on the catwalk by this near wall. It's a good position for sniper activity, and an excellent vantage point. Keep your eyes on the base and be ready to lend a hand if it comes under attack." As their eyes met, both men understood that Methos was talking not about the base but about Cassandra. Duncan nodded his agreement.
"What are you going to be up to?" Cassandra asked, her voice harsh.
"I'll work my way toward their base. Hopefully, I'll get lucky and draw first blood." He suppressed a wince at the choice of words. "But remember, we'll be in constant vocal contact. If anything goes wrong, sing out and I'll be back as soon as I can to help. And if you see a potential ambush or anything…worrisome," he turned to MacLeod, "be as succinct as possible when you warn me." He looked searchingly at his friend, hoping that he still had enough clout to rate such a warning.
Suddenly, the lights dimmed more and the room was filled with the raucous strains of Bon Jovi, "Living On a Prayer," at high volume. Impatient with MacLeod's affronted expression, Methos waved his hand and the Scot took off for the stairs to the catwalk. Turning to leave the base himself, Methos glanced over his shoulder at Cassandra.
"If you get into trouble, yell."
Her eyes narrowed and she gestured with her rifle for him to leave. Sighing, Methos moved away in a quick, crouching walk.
The instant he rounded the first barrier, the lights on his vest began flashing and an electronic alarm sounded. Looking all around him, he spotted Kronos about forty feet away, grinning and giving a wave before he ducked behind a wall. Taking advantage of being disabled, Methos rushed across the floor to a shelter about halfway between the bases and waited out his remaining seconds of deactivation.
He stuck his head out to glare at Duncan up on the catwalk. "Thanks for the warning." MacLeod started to shrug but suddenly had to dodge a laser beam, firing back at someone else on the catwalk. Methos saw Caspian throw himself over the catwalk railing to a rolling landing on the floor. That's a violation, he thought with satisfaction. Maybe they'll disqualify themselves and we can call it a day. He listened for the p.a. to announce the violation, but no announcement came.
His vest lights ceased flashing, and Methos peered through a window-hole in the shelter. Kronos was approaching their base and Methos had a perfect shot at his back. Kronos never even saw where the disabling shot came from. The old man chuckled and practically slithered out of the shelter.
Darting from one barrier to the next, Methos made it to the opposing base without further assault. As he'd expected, Silas had been appointed guardian. Keeping his head below the top of the wall in front of the base, the wily old immortal made his way to the end of the wall, crawled around it, and fired at Silas' back. The large man looked confused by the flashing and the noise from his vest, turning around to spot Methos walking calmly into the base area, grinning.
"How's it going, Silas?" Standing under the base, Methos fired six shots methodically into the sensor. An electronic tone and a strobe effect signaled the disabling of the base. Methos frowned slightly. Wasn't there supposed to be a p.a. acknowledgement of a base being captured?
"Well done, brother," Silas chuckled. "You always could fool me, couldn't you?"
"Well, you always had your own strengths, too," Methos answered distractedly. Part of him hoped that MacLeod was enjoying the exchange over the communications system, the same part of him that hoped the mike was picking up the increased volume he had to use so Silas could hear him over the music.
"Indeed I did. And still do." Smiling affectionately, the huge immortal stepped closer, blocking Methos from one exit. As Methos backed toward the opening he'd come from, Silas crowded him, steering him into the four-foot wall instead. The big man's vest was indicating it was activated again, but firing at him seemed superfluous at the moment.
The music stopped, and both men looked at each other in the sudden silence. "Kronos said you've forgotten how to be a Horseman, brother," Silas said compassionately. "I could help you remember." As he finished speaking, Guns 'N Roses' "Welcome to the Jungle" blared from the hidden speakers.
"That's very thoughtful," Methos said, a bit frantically. Through his forgotten earpiece, he heard Cassandra's voice scream, "Let go! Let go of me! Methos!" followed by MacLeod's yelling her name. He looked over his shoulder in time to see the Highlander jump from the catwalk, get up from the floor, and dash recklessly toward their base.
There was no p.a. chastisement.
Glancing at the nearest security camera, Methos noted with a sinking heart the lack of a little red light. The cameras were not even on.
"So," Methos said to Silas, resignedly, "your job in this is actually…"
"To take care of you," Silas finished happily. From his back, he drew a knife. Methos saw but one chance and threw himself backward over the wall, but before he could get to his feet, Silas had reached over the wall and hauled him back over it one-handed. Unable to escape the iron grip, Methos tried several kicks and punches, knowing that to Silas, his blows were like the wind batting weeds against his limbs.
Silas raised the knife to deliver the temporarily killing stroke, but his face betrayed his distaste. Even with the chaotic vocalizations of his teammates streaming into one ear, and the screaming of Axl Rose pouring into the other, Methos could almost hear the giant's distress at raising a blade to his favorite brother.
Releasing Methos, Silas moved the knife to his other hand. Before the old man could make a break for it, however, Silas raised his right hand again – knifeless, this time – and plowed it into the side of Methos' head, sending him sprawling, senseless about six feet away.
Lying crumpled against a barrier, Methos could feel himself seesawing between consciousness and unconsciousness. He struggled to get to his feet, but managed only to lift his head a half inch. The screams of Cassandra rang through his soul, but all he could think was… Rest. I just need to rest a minute.
His eyes closed.