Chapter Twelve
Time slowed to a standstill. That's how it felt to Jack, anyway. She saw Rob drop to his knees, saw the blood flowing from the wound and then everything around her just stopped moving. She turned to look back at the man who had fired the bullet. There was a rushing sound in her ears as she stood and moved toward the shooter.
Jack grabbed the man's wrist and twisted while pressing on the appropriate nerve bundle causing his grip on the gun to relax. Her martial arts teacher had been working on a pressure point technique with them for the past few weeks, and the move was almost too easy.
As he released it, she caught the firearm in her free hand and then stepped away from the guy. It was a small gun with some sort of cylinder on the front. A silencer? she thought; she'd seen them in vids but not in person. She felt the weight of the gun in her hand as she slipped her finger through the trigger guard and brought it to bear on the bastard who had just shot Rob... the fucker who had destroyed her world. She felt hatred for the man fill her being. Part of her was surprised that it was such a cold emotion. She would have expected more rage; however, she felt perfectly still and in control.
As though in slow motion, the merc made a lunge for her in an attempt to regain his weapon. She pulled the trigger, the gun kicked upward in her hand and the small man fell to the ground clutching his shoulder. She had aimed for his chest, but the kick had sent the bullet into his shoulder instead.
Suddenly, time started moving again. The merc scrambled backward frantically, whimpering for mercy. Jack glanced back at Rob who had crumpled to the pavement on his side. Pain contorted his face and he feebly lifted a blood-covered hand toward her. Now, the rage hit.
Jack felt a flood of heat as the image of Rob burned itself into her brain. There was a rushing in her ears as she turned back to the injured merc. She glanced at the gun in her hand and then deliberately aimed at the man. Her vision blurred and heat blossomed on her cheeks as tears began to slide from her eyes. She pulled the trigger again, this time trying to compensate for the kick of the weapon. She pulled it twice more and the man was knocked backward a bit with each shot. After the third shot, he lay still with an irregular triangle of wounds in his chest and abdomen.
As she fired the third shot, another man came barreling toward her. "You bitch! You killed Sanchez!" he shouted as he tackled her. Jack's training once again took over, and she rolled with the tackle, still holding the gun. The new guy wrestled with her for the gun. In the struggle, her hand tightened around the grip as she tried to hold onto it. Her finger tensed against the trigger and she felt the weapon kick again. There was a look of shock on her assailant's face and then he collapsed atop her. She felt a rush of warmth flow from him across her body and vaguely realized that he was bleeding on her.
The man was heavy, but she forced him off her and struggled to her feet. Blood covered her front and the gun was now slippery in her hand. Tasting salt from the tears streaking down her face, Jack scrambled to Rob's side. She knelt beside him and dropped the gun on the ground next to her.
He was in obvious pain and his face was very pale. He had one hand clasped over the wound and she could see blood and other dark fluid leaking around his fingers. He looked at her front and an expression of concern warred with the pain in his face. "Jack… you're… hurt…" he gasped as his hand weakly brushed at the red soaking her shirt.
"No, Robby, it's not my blood. But, you… Oh God, Robby! We gotta get you to a doctor!" she said. She reached to touch his face, but pulled back as she realized that her hands were covered with blood. She frantically wiped them against her pants trying to remove the offending substance. There's so much blood! What do I do? she thought. Her hands shook when she reached out to him. She stroked his face and her fingers left faint pinkish streaks where she touched him. "Help! Will somebody help me?" she pleaded to the empty street.
"Jack… I'm sorry, Jack," he said and his free hand found hers and squeezed weakly. "I love you… but… I… couldn't… protect you. Sorry… I'm not… not…"
"No. No, no, no. Robby, it isn't your fault," she bent and kissed him. "I love you, too. And, you're gonna be all right. We're gonna get you a doctor and he'll make you good as new." Her tears fell onto his face and made streaks in the blood smudges she had left when she touched him before.
"Love… you… Jack," he said and then Robby's eyes rolled wildly and he passed out. He wasn't dead, but his breath came in gasps. Jack cradled his head against her as terror ripped through her soul. A wordless sob tore from her throat and her tears splashed onto his face.
She felt a touch against her neck and experienced a rush of relief, thinking someone had finally come to help when she felt a prick of pain. She turned her head and saw a woman with dark, curly hair. Warmth spread through her numbing her system and then everything went dark.
Kyra bent to the now unconscious girl and pressed her fingers to the pulse in her neck. Strong reassuring thumps greeted her, and she was relieved that at least the tranquilizer seemed to be working as planned even through every thing else had gone to hell. The girl had collapsed over the young man that Sanchez shot and Kyra gently eased her to the side. She knelt and began checking the boy as Toombs came pounding up the street.
"Fuck!" he yelled as he surveyed the scene. She waved for him to check on Sanchez and Jones while she continued searching for the boy's pulse.
Toombs quickly checked the other men and then stepped up beside her. At her questioning look, he shook his head and said, "They're both dead. Kid's a damn lucky shot. What about him?"
She shook her head sadly: "No pulse. From all the blood, bullet probably nicked an artery. I think it got his liver, too. It's a wonder he lasted as long as he did."
"Fuck! This was supposed to be a clean op. Now, I've lost two men and I've got a dead bystander… a motherfucking civilian! Why the fuck can't anything about this job go as planned! What the fuck was Sanchez thinking… I fucking said no shooting!"
"Toombs, we gotta get out of here," Kyra interrupted before he got any further into his rant. She stood and stepped aside so that he could pick up the girl.
"Damn! I hate this shit!" he said as he tossed the limp form over his shoulder and headed down a convenient alley. "I'm heading to the ship. You go take care of the motel. Check Jones' and Sanchez's room too. No need to grab their shit, but make sure there isn't anything to link us to them."
"What about the bodies?" she asked as she fell into step beside him.
"Fuck 'em. Let the local cops deal with their worthless asses," he snarled. As she started to slip away to retrieve their gear from the hotel, he called after her, "Kyra, be quick. I wanna get out of here before anything else gets fucked up."
She nodded and then quickly made her way back to their lodgings. She grabbed the few things from the room she and Toombs had shared. She was thankful that they had checked in separately from Jones and Sanchez. Hopefully, it would make the cops less likely to link them to the other two mercs. She pulled on a pair of gloves and slipped out the back window of the room. She scaled to the next floor then jimmied the latch to enter into the other mercs' room.
She did a quick search of the room and retrieved a couple of items that might have aroused suspicions. She also found a small box full of plastic tubes and a metal auto-injector among Sanchez's things. Son-of-a-bitch! The motherfucker was a hype! No wonder he seemed high-strung, she thought as she tucked one of the vials into her pocket. Toombs is gonna love this!
With her search complete, she slipped back out the window and re-latched it. She checked out of the motel, making polite conversation and even flirting with the young, male desk clerk, even though her insides screamed for her to hurry. When he had finished totaling her bill, she paid him and left, making sure to keep her demeanor as casual as she could. Once she was out of site of the office, she broke into a ground eating trot and swiftly made her way to the Purgatory.
Toombs carried the girl back to the shuttle and securely restrained her in the back. He had to readjust the restraints to fit her small frame because they were designed for much larger convict types, but he was taking no chances. This kid had taken out two of his men, sloppy, unprofessional men who'd royally fucked up to be sure, but still two men.
The girl slumped bonelessly in the restraint chair. She was covered in the boy's and Jones's blood, which had started drying making her clothing stick to her in odd little ripples as the fabric stiffened. He almost felt sorry for her, but pushed the emotion away. It's just a job… Do the job, get paid and put this shit behind ya.
He abruptly turned away from the kid and moved to the front of the ship. He started prepping so that he could take off as soon as Kyra got back. True to form, she didn't waste any time.
No more than 30 minutes later, she came on board, sealed the hatch and then dropped into the co-pilot's seat. He immediately pressurized the craft and took off. Once they left the atmosphere, he laid in a course for Helion 5 and engaged the autopilot.
When he at last turned to look at Kyra, she frowned and said, "Sorry, Toombs."
"Yeah, me too," he agreed. "That could have gone a lot better than it did."
"No, I mean I personally am sorry. You asked me to watch Sanchez, but I… I don't know, maybe I wasn't paying enough attention. I don't really have an excuse, but I am sorry I fucked up."
"Shit, Kyra. It wasn't your fault. I wasn't feeling solid with Sanchez myself. I shouldn't have let him make the grab. I just can't figure out what the fuck the little prick was thinking, pulling a gun like that."
"I may have some insights into that," Kyra told him as she pulled the drug vials from her pocket. She handed them to him and continued, "I found these in his stuff. He was a fucking hype."
"Son-of-a-bitch! So, that's why he was so jittery! How the hell did he get around the piss test you gave all the new crew?"
Kyra shrugged. "Maybe he pulled a swap or something. That's some pretty exotic shit, there; maybe the doc just didn't look for it. Or maybe it don't show up in a piss test. I'll look into it. Check my records. Maybe retest the new crew. But ultimately, it don't really matter now; does it?"
"Not to that poor kid back there," he growled. He wasn't sure if he meant the girl in the restraint chair or the dead boy back on the planet; fortunately, she didn't ask for a clarification.
"So what now?"
"We finish the job," he said wearily. "Then we try to put this shit behind us. Hopefully, those robed bastards will be able to tell us where Riddick is and we can get back to some real bounty hunting."
A/N: Sorry about the cliffhanger in chapter eleven. Evil Grin Well, not really, but still... I am really glad that all of you are enjoying my story. I know I have thoroughly enjoyed writing it. And thank you so much for all the positive feedback. It's nice to hear that the story resonates for other people as it does for me.
