Blowback, p.12
Blowback, page 12
part #12 of Nathan K Series
Dieter peeked back while Nathan kept his focus on Clay. Any wrong move, and Nathan would squeeze off all the remaining rounds in Maggie. Sounded good in his head, but the itch on the back of his neck and the wriggle between his shoulders called out the truth — he did not want to see Dieter’s face. Clay was right. Nathan had come for Robin and nothing more.
Though he did his best to maintain a cold, stoic expression, Dieter must have seen something. Some hint of the answer. Because this man who had suffered the loss of a child and suffered the abuse of torture, this man who had reached with ambition and failed in misery, who had sacrificed his honor, his name, and his own daughter’s life, this man finally sacrificed himself.
Calling upon any and all strength remaining, Dieter raced forward with his arms stretched wide. He screamed out the pain as his tortured body screamed within. His anguish fueled his fury, but both Clay and Nathan could see it would not be enough. Clay put out his hand to hold Dieter off by the head — a childish, bully move. Nathan decided to end that — he shot Clay in the thigh.
As Clay reached down to his bleeding leg, Dieter trucked through him. Like an out-of-control diesel, he pushed ahead with single-minded purpose. He clawed and bellowed. No matter what Clay tried, Dieter would not be stopped. Stumbling on his wounded leg, Clay floundered backward.
They hit the beautiful window full force. The stained glass cracked free. Both men sailed through amongst the tinkling, colorful shards.
Nathan did not have to look to know the results. He could picture them dropping to the ground and smashing apart. Besides, well out of reach, two gray souls floated upward, crossing the shattered window on their way to the Darkness.
Feeling the hunger for yet another missed soul, Nathan said, “I can’t get a break today.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Robin’s feverish typing halted as if hitting a solid wall. She jerked her fingers off the keyboard, and Nathan thought that she had been attacked — electrical shock, perhaps. But when she looked at the door Nathan had entered through, he saw a different reaction.
“More are coming?” he asked.
She swallowed hard. “They’re already here.”
On the laptop screen, Nathan saw that she had several surveillance camera feeds brought up. A flood of armed men poured through the front entrance of the house, stormed up a wide staircase, and thundered toward the office/torture chamber. Nathan ejected Maggie’s magazine — it still had a few more rounds, but he didn’t want to run out of ammo so fast. He pocketed the magazine. He could always use it later, if he had to.
With Maggie fully-loaded and ready to work, he snapped his fingers at Robin and pointed to the shadowed corner with the dead guard. She gathered the laptop, scurried over, and settled on the floor behind a potted plant with branches and leaves that reached halfway to the ceiling. Not much protection, but she might go overlooked.
The disorganized stomps and clumps and thuds grew louder. Nathan caught the metal clicks and shucks of weapons being readied. He lowered to one knee and raised Maggie. But then the thought flashed in his head — I’ve only got one soul.
He needed cover.
Nathan dove to the left. As bullets showered the room, he tucked into a forward roll and ended behind one of the perpendicular shelves. Heart pounding, mouth dry, he pictured every soul he had let slip away that day.
He shot rounds blindly, not expecting to hit anyone but hoping the threat slowed down his enemies. As he considered the viability of grabbing Robin and jumping out the window — maybe only a broken leg? — that option disappeared. With a mechanical whine, bulletproof safety shutters rolled down to cover every window. Emergency lighting clanked on, flooding the room and hall. With two final stabs of the keyboard, Robin looked over to Nathan with a triumphant grin.
He looked back dumbfounded. A dwindling supply of ammo and she just cut off all potential exits? There seemed little to be smiling about.
The sharp layer of gunfire continued, but no bullet holes appeared. Listening closer, Nathan’s lips trembled to rise. More gunfire. And the tortured howl of a man dying from a gut shot.
Octavia?
Pouncing on any potential advantage, Nathan rushed forward, pressing against the wall near the doorjamb. Heavy steps. Then the gunfire died off. Huffing, too. Or was that Nathan’s own breathing.
The unmistakable voice of Jake Barrett said, “Where did she go?”
Some hustling feet, jangling equipment on belts, and Jake’s impatient pacing. Nathan looked into the back corner. Robin had started to rise from behind that thick potted plant. He waved her back down.
Once she lowered, he readied to swing around that door, readied to open fire and take out a few men before seeking cover. But he noticed the shake in his fingers. Why? He had faced terrible odds in the past. He had done so with only one soul. The Darkness had crowded in on him so many times now that it must loathe seeing him, to know that though Nathan’s soul neared consumption, he would always escape its grasp, its maw, its emptiness.
Except nothing was always. Nothing was truly forever. Even the Earth, even the Sun, even the galaxy would all die eventually. Perhaps even the universe. As far as the Immortals went, Nathan’s own hand had ended a few of them.
“Spit it out or I’ll put a bullet in you,” Jake said.
Nathan focused on the noise of shifting feet and a shaking voice. The person standing before Jake finally said, “There’s a blood trail. We definitely hit her.”
A second voice, slightly braver, said, “We hit her a lot. It’s a lot of blood.”
“Yeah, but —”
“There ain’t no way she can survive that much loss.”
Jake snorted. “Then where is she?”
The second voice lost all bravado. “We followed her blood to a closet.”
“A closet?” Silence. “And?”
“Um, well, she’s not there. The blood just stops.”
With surprising force, Nathan heaved a short breath of relief. Octavia was safe. But he did not fool himself, either. As much as she valued his Immortal body, as much as she and the other Immortals would go through to retrieve it, they were willing to let it go. If they had to. Whether she cared or not about Nathan did not get consideration. Either she could figure out a way to take on all these men herself — or, at least, until Nathan could get a second soul — or she would have to walk away with one less Immortal in existence.
The sound of Jake’s steps moved closer. Others followed. When he spoke, Jake made it clear he now spoke to those in the office. “I know who you are,” he said, a touch of weariness gracing his words. “We met at the motel and went for a little ride together. I don’t know why you’ve got such a hard-on for causing us trouble but it’s over now. You got it? Your partner has run off. We outman you, and we outgun you. Don’t do anything stupid, and you’ll survive this. Try any more moves, and it won’t end so good for you.”
Some muffled motions and a whisper. Perhaps Jake called some of his men closer and gave orders. Careful sounds came next — like soft steps. He had sent one, maybe two, men forward.
Inching back to get a clearer shot, Nathan raised Maggie and waited. As the footsteps drew nearer, he could distinguish two separate gaits. The first man entered the office, 9mm leading the way, and passed right by. Never saw Nathan. The man focused on Robin, missing all else around him. As the second entered, the first finally started taking in the destroyed room. Before either glanced over far enough to spot the threat, Nathan launched a round for each of them. At such close range, their blood splattered behind them and they died long before hitting the floor.
Nathan snagged the leg of the nearest and tugged him close. No way would Nathan miss this soul. He breathed deeply as it slid through his eyes, and the universe froze long enough for him to feel full. Satisfied. Complete.
“That was stupid, Motel Man.” Jake whispered more to his crew, only this time those hushed words had an edge to them. Those words could kill.
A metal ball rolled across the door threshold and into the room. A grenade. Nathan sprang forward, snatched it up, and threw it back into the hall. He glimpsed the crowd of men waiting to kill him and spotted Jake right up front. Nathan’s chest tightened as he realized his mistake. The grenade still had its pin. It would never have gone off. But it flushed Nathan into full view, and Jake brandished his silver revolver.
A flare stretched out of the barrel, and Nathan slumped into the floor. Damn good shot. Side of the head. The new soul left, the healing began, and Nathan bellowed No!
But when he stood — one soul again — and Nathan’s thigh burned as he dropped to the ground. Then he heard the bang. His pulse raced as he tried to raise Maggie. But he had fallen on his arm, and in the clumsy time it took to roll to the side and take aim, Jake and his men swarmed into the room.
The front crew moved with trained precision — Jake’s top men. They spread across the office, checking every spot for threats, and examining the dead. Robin had the sense to stand with her hands up. They would have discovered her anyway, and they might have shot her out of surprise. Still, Nathan’s head fell back and he swallowed down the urge to scream.
She must have noticed, because when he opened his eyes, she gave him a look he had seen before. It screamed, too — don’t you give up on me. He never would. She knew that. She had to. But she sure looked uncertain.
Waving his handgun, Jake ordered his men to get Nathan into a chair. They took Maggie but didn’t bother tying him down. No point when they had ten armed men standing around. Other men hauled Robin out. Jake pointed to a new man who grabbed the laptop and immediately started typing. Seconds later, the safety shutters rolled back up, revealing the destroyed stained-glass window.
Jake spun fast and cracked Nathan hard in gut. To another of his men, he said, “Get my brothers.” Then to Nathan: “You better pray they’re not hurt.”
Nathan thought no amount of prayer would help.
CHAPTER TWENTY
He floated in darkness — but not the Darkness. He knew the difference by the warmth, the comforting warmth. Like nestling under three blankets on a cold winter night. A hand emerged, and before he saw it, he felt it. Knew it. Her. Reaching towards him as if she could pull him back through time, return him to that New York City deli, warn him to leave before things turned bad. If he could do that, if he could change things so simply — just take her hand, just slip away through the years. Smell the flowers of her perfume. Or was it her soap? They would be married by now. She would probably be pregnant. Maybe they already had a child.
The chill rolled up his spine. To have that — all of it — meant leaving that deli before the violence began. Meant not protecting a little girl’s life. Trading one life for another. But why should that bother him? Isn’t that what he did all the time?
The hand in the dark faded away. She was gone. If she had ever been there to begin with.
Ice water drenched over him, shocking him awake. He still sat in that chair. Still in Clay Barrett’s office. Still surrounded by all those guns and one furiously large man.
Nathan’s right eye had swollen shut and the left side of his face pulsed with every beat of his heart. When he inhaled, daggers dug into his chest — broken ribs — scratching his lungs, his muscles. Blood drooled from his mouth.
His head listed to the left, and he spotted Robin. She watched, unable to move because of the 9mm pointed at her head. He tried to smile for her. Tried to let her know — there was no going back in time. He was here. Now.
“You with us again?” Jake said. “Try to stay around this time. It’s not any fun if you keep going unconscious.”
Walking back-and-forth like an agitated gorilla, he cracked his knuckles against his palm — first one hand, then the other — before whipping around and sinking a fist into Nathan’s chest. Nathan spewed blood over his lap.
“I know you feel like you’re going to die. But you ain’t got a clue what that really feels like. Not yet. Not for a long time. You’re going to hurt for both of my brothers.”
Nathan attempted to brace himself for the oncoming punch, but his muscles would not react. A low strike took out another rib while the other fist followed up with a hard clobbering to the head. More blood fell from his mouth, and he wondered if he suffered internal bleeding or simply the loss of teeth and damaged inner-cheeks.
Jake hopped back, a gentle balance in his step — a trained boxer, indeed. Before he laid in another brutal sledgehammer punch, he tapped his forehead with two fingers. “Help me out here. I’m trying to understand why you got involved in the first place. Because it doesn’t make any sense. Neither of my brothers said they knew you. I certainly don’t know you. I can understand you coming here for your lady, but really, all this was over Dieter. Why? He’s nothing. A nobody.”
Nathan offered an answer, but with so many teeth missing, swollen lips, and a mouthful of blood, the words came out as a garbled mess. Jake looked to Robin.
She translated. “Your man killed Dieter’s daughter. She was an innocent in all this. Nathan isn’t happy when people like you hurt the innocent.”
“People like me?”
The next several moments blurred together like watercolors swirling in a violently shaken glass. Nathan saw Jake’s furious red as he blustered on and on about respect. He watched slashes of yellow when Jake slapped Robin. Each attack pierced a brilliant orange through Nathan, stoking his own outrage. A snaking brown slithered down the damaged stained-glass window — a rope.
A rope? A flutter filled Nathan. He knew it was Octavia. It had to be. And her arrival marked the sign he had been waiting for.
Whatever happened now, Nathan had faith in Octavia. She would drop in and snatch Robin away. She had to.
Closing his eyes, trying to blot out Jake’s raging words and repeated slaps, Nathan attempted to move his arm, his leg, anything. But he had endured too much abuse for his muscles to respond. Which left one option.
Except no. He could not lie to himself. There were other options, alternatives less extreme. He chose this course because he wanted to. Admitting that much, his soul warmed to the idea of focusing on the Darkness.
And the Darkness arrived. Creeping in, sensing Death nearby and all around. But Nathan knew better now. The Darkness never had to creep in. It always hung over him. Waiting. He had just failed to notice its presence before.
But he could feel it now.
It held the same hunger for souls that an Immortal craved when down to one. That similarity made it easier for Nathan to sense the Darkness as it widened throughout the room. In the past, he had to wait for his near-death, wait until he could see the Darkness closing in, and only then, usually in a protective fury, he could reach out, take hold, and ride it. Steering the unwieldy thing was another matter.
Except he had done so several times. He had managed to guide the Darkness to what he needed. This time, he had a sensation of coming home. A familiarity that bred comfort. Rather than attempt to hang on like a bronco rider, an act he felt too weakened by Barrett to even attempt, Nathan instead put out his hand. He reached forward into the Darkness with a promise — give me the strength I need, and I’ll give you souls. A lot of souls.
The temperature dropped several degrees. Enough so that Jake noticed. He ceased his abuse of Robin and looked to his men for an answer. For Nathan, it was all the answer he needed.
Riding the Darkness had become familiar. But this — this was different. This was floating within and without simultaneously. This was soaring alongside like a partner, not a traveler. This was being part of the Darkness.
It enveloped him like an ice blanket — both soothing and terrifying. The agony of his brutally damaged body drifted away as if on the mist of a soul, yet he could still see the blood and bruises covering his limbs. A sudden aroma infiltrated his breathing. A subtle smell — sweet, warm. It clicked. Freshly baked cookies. Perhaps his brain trying to compensate for the connection with the Darkness.
Jake pointed toward Nathan, his body moving at a decreasing rate, his words lowering several registers in pitch. This much Nathan had undergone before. Time had slowed.
He moved at a normal speed, however, and had no trouble assaulting the guard at his right. Though his muscles had become loose and limp, the Darkness filled his limbs with its frozen strength. When he punched the man in the jaw, Nathan expected to knock him out. Instead, he fractured the bone into a dozen fragments. He followed with a chest strike that cracked the sternum and sent bone shards into the heart. The man died as his convulsions continued.
While Nathan pulled the man’s soul out like snagging tissue from a box, Jake and his men turned their eyes on the sudden death of their mate. Nathan dispatched the next closest man with a single blow to the head that splashed the brain against the skull. Grabbing that soul, Nathan forced it inside.
He had learned to do this is Korea — well, learned was a generous term. He still could not hold it for long, but in this case, he did not want to. The moment he felt this third soul lock within, he allowed it to leave, and in doing so, he triggered his Immortal body’s healing.
The pain did not come fast — too much damage to his nerves. But as those nerve-endings healed, the stinging, the burning, the agonizing relief ignited in his body. Muscle reformed, real strength returned, and with it, a stronger connection to the Darkness. As if they had tightened their grips while holding hands.
Jake’s eyes betrayed his fear. His men lifted their weapons, aiming in all directions. The Darkness must have become visible. It surrounded them, engulfed the room, shrouded all light. While for Nathan, the Darkness moved with a dancer’s graceful, controlled flow, he knew that for Jake, all of this happened in an instant.
Nathan swept by several men, shoving and punching his way through. Two died from the impact. Others scattered — far too slowly, but Nathan’s focus was not on killing them all. Not yet.
He reached Robin and scooped her into his arms. This part required more concentration, more control. He forced his body to be gentle. As he carried her toward the window, he poured his attention into not crushing her bones.
