Back to Gatefold
“Five of the most skilled bounty hunters are on your tail, sir,” the bartender told the man dressed in an orange jumpsuit that branded him as property of San Quinten Penitently. He handed him a shot glass of whiskey. “They were sniffing around here last night; said they’d be back at the end of opening hours to ask again.”
“Let me guess: they wanted answers or they’d start lynching folks in the street,” the escaped prisoner stated. “Typical behaviour. I wouldn’t worry about it because you’re about to get some information to give them.” He downed the shot before watching the bartender fish out a box from under the bar. “Is she…”
“Manhunter is dead. They shot her not three weeks past,” the bartender told him as the prisoner opened the box to reveal a cybernetic eye-piece and a pair of pistols. “She was able to get this here before she made her last stand, Mr. Cross.”
The man removed the eyepatch that covered his right eye and slipped the cybernetic implant in the empty socket. “Gillette will be avenged, but first tell me who they sent after me,” Cross asked as he checked the ammunition inside his guns before calibrating the mounted laser to his optics.
“Well, they didn’t announce themselves, but I recognise the nephew of your old friend, Leapfrog,” the bartender stated as he poured out another drink. “Calling himself Marine Toad ever since he got discharged, then there’s the German, not sure who he is but he seems to be in charge.”
“Nazi remnant perhaps?” Cross asked.
“No, I don’t think so. No more than the sharpshooter they had with them was part of the Peruvian communists a few years back. I think I heard his name, they called him El Condor.” The Bartender sighed as he handed Cross the glass back.
“I know him by reputation; he’s good at what he does,” Cross replied as he downed the drink once more before holding out a hand to stop the bartender from refilling his glass. “What about the other two?”
“There was another man. He had a sword. And then there was the dangerous one, the woman they had with them,” the bartender stated before gesturing for Cross to come a little closer. “She scared me. I see plenty of tough hombres. It’s part of the Bar with No Name’s appeal, but she was on a whole different level to anyone else I’ve seen. No weapons, but you could smell the decay rolling off of her.”
“Then I’ll stay away from her,” Cross replied before rolling up his sleeves and looking at the shard of glass embedded in there. “Now when they come in, you tell them that I’m right here.” He removed the shard, the surface covered by a map micro-etched by laser into the crystal. “And tell them I’m ready for them.”
# # # # #
It was sundown when the Jeep arrived and three men stepped out into the Texan ghost town, their weapons already drawn and ready for combat. The two men with guns, one holding an M16, the other a cut down version of the MP5, scanned the area while the third figure, dressed in a business suit, sheathed his sword and removed a forth figure from the back of the Jeep, his hands bound and his mouth gagged.
“Cross, come out with your hands up if you don’t want your friend’s throat slit!” the man with the sword yelled in a Hispanic accent, as the gunmen kept up their vigil. As he finished a man appeared on the balcony of the old bank, his hands clamped to the pistols he had received earlier.
“Espada, you forget that I know you!” Cross announced as he fired a shot at the bartender, the bullet impacting the man’s skull and killing him instantly. “Even if I gave you what you wanted, you would have killed that man, or worse, turned him over to the Great American for reprograming.”
“The man knows me.” Espada snorted as he dropped the body to the floor, before gesturing to his colleagues who opened fire almost instantly, forcing Cross back behind cover before he could get off another shot.
While the majority of the shots had gone wide thanks to the unsuitability of automatic weapons in long range fighting, at least two bullets had clipped his left arm, and one had entered his leg. And while as both a mercenary and prisoner, Cross was no stranger to pain, could even walk it off for a few hours, but eventually said pain would catch up and overtake him.
From outside a scuffling sound alerted him to the next onslaught, the bald-headed man in military fatigues, one Eugene Pattillo AKA Marine Toad, had sprung up to Cross perch ready to storm the inside of the bank. Almost on cue, a flashbang grenade tumbled into the room and detonated, the onslaught of light and sound stunning Cross as Pattillo entered the room. Tinting his optics, Cross opened fire his shots hampered by his temporary blindness although he knew he had hit his target at least once, as he ducked out the window, a detonator clamped in his hand. As he fell the bank exploded, the old timber building collapsing in on itself as Cross hit the ground hard.
Recovering as fast as he could, Cross limped into the drug store just as the German, dressed in a helmet, SWAT issue ballistic vest and black trousers, opened fire from off to his left. Checking his ammunition in his pistol, Cross reached for one of the bottles under the counter of the drug store, before listening as cautious steps sounded on the sand outside as his opponent advanced on his position. Slipping through the door, the German saw the glass bottle fly towards him and blasted it out of the air, the liquid inside splashing over him with little effect, save for making him riddle the counter and space behind it with what was left of his magazine.
“Move in; I got you covered, Markus,” Espada stated as the sound of two magazines clipping echoed through the drug store. Heading behind the counter, Markus looked down at the bottle on the floor, before looking up at the board with nails that was tied by a trip-wire to the lure Cross had left on the floor.
“He went out the back,” Markus stated as he backed off to where Espada was standing. “El Condor, do you see him?” he asked as the two hunters retreated out of the drugstore. “Okay, push the advantage. We’ll be on him in minutes.”
Eugene dug himself out of the debris, a long gash on his arm. “Ain’t doing nothing with this arm,” he moaned as the trio of hunters returned to the Jeep, with Espada opening the boot to reveal a red-haired woman dressed in an ebony bustier and attached skirt that went down to her knees, lying inside.
“Heinman, time to earn your fee, fix Pattilo up,” Espada ordered as the woman sat up, her lids flicking open to reveal soulless black eyes, before grabbing Pattilo’s arms and pouring liquid flame into his wound. Grimacing in pain, Pattilo watched as his wound was sealed up by a row of ugly boils that oozed a thick white pus. Taking the pistol that Espada handed him, Pattilo moved his injured arm before checking the magazine and getting in the Jeep.
“Now you’re fixed let’s go kill this basted!” Markus snarled as Heinman lay back down and he closed the boot over her.
# # # # #
Cross slipped down into the gulch that led to the mine shaft, seemingly oblivious to the shadow of the quad-rotor copter overhead. Following his target, the man dressed in cowboy leathers, fedora hat and poncho, known as El Condor fired a shot off with his rifle, the round catching cross in the knee and sending him stumbling to the ground. Fighting through the pain, Cross pulled himself behind a rock, before looking up to try and track where the shot was coming from. As he did, a second shot slashed in close to his face, chips of stone flying as El Condor missed his mark by a few inches.
Detecting the quad-rotor, Cross cycled through his frequencies to match the drone, and then tracked the signal back to its controller, as another shot slashed out, this one stabbing into Cross’s foot and smashing his heel. Unfortunately for him, El Condor was too technophobic to synch up his scope to the drone, but that didn’t matter and in fact worked in Cross’s favour. Hacking into the drone, he sent the machine crashing to where El Condor was lying prone, the incoming projectile forcing the enemy sharpshooter to roll to avoid being hit, just as Cross opened fire, emptying his magazine into the hillside. When El Condor didn’t respond Cross knew he’d taken one of the hunters off the board, but silently he cursed himself that it had taken almost thirty rounds to do what he had once been able to do with one.
As he tried to get to his feet, he heard a car pull up and doors open. Tapping into reserves of resolve he hadn’t had to tap for years, Cross got to his feet and limped off to the mine entrance as the enemy hunters advanced on El Condor’s sniper nest.
“The old man killed him.” Markus sighed as he closed his partner’s eyes.
“Have to give him credit,” Patillo stated as he ran his fingers over the two bullet holes in El Condor’s forehead. “He landed two close shots at a range of 800m, not a lot of guys can do that,” He added as Heinman walked over to the body and removed a knife from seemingly thin air.
“No!” Markus snapped as he pointed his MP5 at the woman. “You are not cannibalizing him, I don’t care what your crazy belief involves, you’re not having his eyes.”
“I only want his eyes.” Heinman replied sweetly. “His vision was unmatched, even when he was younger.”
“No…means…NO!” Markus stated, as Espada picked up El Condor’s rifle and watched as Cross slumped down in the mouth of the mine shaft.
“You want eyes, take those of the man who killed him,” Espada suggested as he put the rifle down and walked back to the car. “Markus, let’s get evil.” He added.
# # # # #
Cross heard the car start up again, and smiled slightly as he pulled the electrical detonator along the length of the wire attached to the bluff wall and into the mine shaft. The hunters were using the Jeep as cover, advancing as close behind it as they could manage. As the vehicle approached, Cross activated the detonator and watched as the explosives he’d set out the night earlier exploded, debris slamming down around the car, as the driver leapt clear, whilst his allies behind the vehicle scattered.
“Hey, cunt!” Pattillo snarled as he landed next to Cross, and aimed a spring-loaded kick at Cross, the coils on his boots ripping open his enemy’s chest and knocking him to the floor. “That was for El Condor!” He snapped as he swung at Cross again, this time aiming low and slashing across his enemies’ groin, blood coating the bottom of his leaping coils. “And that was for my Dad! You left him to die, but it didn’t take, the Warden took him away and tortured him for fucking years!”
“I’m sorry, kid.” Cross stated as he got back to his feet only for Pattillo to elbow him in the face with a powerful blow.
“You can kill a worthless hick, but you couldn’t kill him, put him out of his misery!” Pattilo snarled as he went to stomp on Cross’s face only for his opponent to aim a knife chop at his leg, the blow staggering him. “Mum and I were sent that torture porn the sick bitch who hung around with Warden and Fist made! You have no fucking idea how I wished you had been the hero you said you were, or at least enough of a villain to end him! But no, the Hero for Hire couldn’t stop fucking up and letting his friends suffer!”
“You think that’s doesn’t kill me inside?” Cross hissed as he grabbed Pattillo’s leg and pushed him to the floor, the big man going down hard. Struggling to get to his feet, Cross removed his pistol from its holster and aimed it at the ex-marine’s head. “It does,” He announced as he shot Pattillo in the head, “you’ve suffered for too long.” He groaned as he limped into the mine shaft.
# # # # #
“Crap, he got Pattillo!” Markus growled as the three remaining hunters, after almost half an hour of digging, reached the mine opening.
“Indeed.” Espada sighed as Heinman sat down on the floor and let out a thick whimpering howl, one that was answered from up and down the bluff, the wind whipping up the sand until it formed into a trio of wolves with red fur and glowing yellow eyes.
“Flush him out,” Heinman ordered as the wolves galloped into the mine-shaft after their wounded prey.
“Markus stake out this entrance, I’ll take the one up top,” Espada ordered as he spied the scaffolding that led up to the mine’s upper entrance. “He’s wounded and that make him the most dangerous kind of animal so I want no more pissing around, shoot to kill before he can return the favour!”
# # # # #
Cross slumped down next to an old mining cart, the pain of his multiple wounds coupled with blood loss beginning to bite down hard on what was left of his endurance. And while time wasn’t on his side, he had brought some breathing space by taking a difficult, noisy and convoluted route through the tunnels and shafts, but he knew it wasn’t enough, not with the death of two of the hunters on his hands.
“I’ll be with you soon, men.” Cross sighed as he brought out a photograph of his team standing outside an old Turkish restaurant. Besides Cross, was Gillette ‘the Manhunter’ Wilkinson a striking woman dressed in red, the rotund Vincent Portillo, Curtis Carr the Chemical Maestro, M’Gula the Mighty and finally his wife Wendy. Gillette and M’Gula had been killed by the regime, Portillo had been tortured into insanity, ironically by his best friend Curtis, who had turned traitor years before the final takedown of the team. As for Wendy, he death had been devastating for Cross, tortured at the hands of Barton, his oldest and deadliest foe, before finally being killed. He knew all too well what Eugene had gone through, having experienced it for himself.
A howl broke him out of his reminiscing as a wolf charged him, its body exploding as Cross fired a defensive shot at it. Before he could fully comprehend anything other then being under attack, a second wolf attacked, this one bowling him over before he dispersed it. The third construct suffered no such hardship, the sand from the previous attackers jamming his weapon as it latched onto his hand and dragged him through the mine, each bump enhancing his pain before he was dragged blinking into the sun.
“Any last words?” Espada’s mocking voice asked, as Cross finally kicked the wolf hard enough for it to disperse. Almost immediately afterwards he could feel the cold steel of Espada’s sword against his throat, an electrical discharge arching up and down its length.
“Let’s settle this like men!” Cross announced. Laughing Espada picked Cross up and stepped back, his opponent striking as fast as he could, the butt of his pistol his chosen weapon. Gracefully Espada disarmed him of his crude bludgeon, before slicing open the arm of the jumpsuit Cross was wearing.
“It is a shame to see you like this, William,” Espada stated sadly as Cross reached for a pickaxe leaning against the scaffold and severing it at him, only for the trained fencer to slice through the handle of the tool, its head plummeting to the floor below. “Broken, bleeding and barely the challenge you used to be.”
“It’s a shame to see you too, Montoya. You could have been a great hero,” Cross retorted as Espada lunged at him, Cross catching the blade with his hands, the skin sliced off by the path of the blade. Refusing to let go, Cross felt electricity arc through him forcing him to his knees.
“And be like you?” Espada taunted as he kicked Cross in the face, knocking him onto his back. “You have been forgotten old man, twenty years with the CIA, twenty-five more playing hero and all it’s entitled you to is death at my hands.”
“Not at yours.” Cross coughed as his hand flicked slightly, the pistol strapped to his back drawn and fired within less then a second, the impact sending Espada flailing backwards off the scaffold and through the roof of a suspended pulley elevator loaded with iron ingots. “Never yours!” he called as he recovered the dropped sword and cut the cable suspending the platform. Screaming as it descended Espada had what seemed like an age to comprehend what had gone wrong in this operation.
Down on the ground, Markus looked up as he heard a scream and then crossed himself before leaping clear as the elevator slammed into the ground, Espada’s flopping body rolling next to him. That leap had caused him to be pinned by an ingot, his fingers just about on the trigger of his MP5. Markus was no stranger to pain, life as first a soldier then a bounty hunter prepared you for that, so he remained stoic as Cross limped down the scaffold towards him. Reaching the ground, he opened fire, a short burst slashing through Cross’s abdomen and causing irreparable damage.
“You bastard…you killed my team,” Markus groaned as Cross clumsily kicked the MP5 away. “Do it, end me.”
“I need you alive,” Cross groaned as he dropped his gun, and removed a thermobaric shell and a knife. “But only barely alive.”
# # # # #
Heinman stalked back to where Markus had been situated, drawn there by the smell of blood and flesh. Espada was dead, Cross was bleeding out against a bolder, his life ebbing away and Markus was pinned and close to death.
“I only want your hand,” Heinman purred as she bent over Markus and sliced through the bone and flesh. “A skilled hand can be transferred to the eater.” She added, as she overlooked the mechanical tube under the German’s body. Markus groaned a warning, blood oozing out from the point where Cross had cut his tongue out of his mouth. It wasn’t enough, the resulting flash took both Markus and Heinman, the heat and pressure melting the spilled ingots and charring their flesh off their bones.
“Not by your hand either.” Cross groaned, as he fumbled with the pistol. “By mine,” he added as one last shot rang out through the gulch, the setting sun casting the shadow of a man slumping to the floor, his last battle fought and his struggle finally over.
“Let me guess: they wanted answers or they’d start lynching folks in the street,” the escaped prisoner stated. “Typical behaviour. I wouldn’t worry about it because you’re about to get some information to give them.” He downed the shot before watching the bartender fish out a box from under the bar. “Is she…”
“Manhunter is dead. They shot her not three weeks past,” the bartender told him as the prisoner opened the box to reveal a cybernetic eye-piece and a pair of pistols. “She was able to get this here before she made her last stand, Mr. Cross.”
The man removed the eyepatch that covered his right eye and slipped the cybernetic implant in the empty socket. “Gillette will be avenged, but first tell me who they sent after me,” Cross asked as he checked the ammunition inside his guns before calibrating the mounted laser to his optics.
“Well, they didn’t announce themselves, but I recognise the nephew of your old friend, Leapfrog,” the bartender stated as he poured out another drink. “Calling himself Marine Toad ever since he got discharged, then there’s the German, not sure who he is but he seems to be in charge.”
“Nazi remnant perhaps?” Cross asked.
“No, I don’t think so. No more than the sharpshooter they had with them was part of the Peruvian communists a few years back. I think I heard his name, they called him El Condor.” The Bartender sighed as he handed Cross the glass back.
“I know him by reputation; he’s good at what he does,” Cross replied as he downed the drink once more before holding out a hand to stop the bartender from refilling his glass. “What about the other two?”
“There was another man. He had a sword. And then there was the dangerous one, the woman they had with them,” the bartender stated before gesturing for Cross to come a little closer. “She scared me. I see plenty of tough hombres. It’s part of the Bar with No Name’s appeal, but she was on a whole different level to anyone else I’ve seen. No weapons, but you could smell the decay rolling off of her.”
“Then I’ll stay away from her,” Cross replied before rolling up his sleeves and looking at the shard of glass embedded in there. “Now when they come in, you tell them that I’m right here.” He removed the shard, the surface covered by a map micro-etched by laser into the crystal. “And tell them I’m ready for them.”
# # # # #
It was sundown when the Jeep arrived and three men stepped out into the Texan ghost town, their weapons already drawn and ready for combat. The two men with guns, one holding an M16, the other a cut down version of the MP5, scanned the area while the third figure, dressed in a business suit, sheathed his sword and removed a forth figure from the back of the Jeep, his hands bound and his mouth gagged.
“Cross, come out with your hands up if you don’t want your friend’s throat slit!” the man with the sword yelled in a Hispanic accent, as the gunmen kept up their vigil. As he finished a man appeared on the balcony of the old bank, his hands clamped to the pistols he had received earlier.
“Espada, you forget that I know you!” Cross announced as he fired a shot at the bartender, the bullet impacting the man’s skull and killing him instantly. “Even if I gave you what you wanted, you would have killed that man, or worse, turned him over to the Great American for reprograming.”
“The man knows me.” Espada snorted as he dropped the body to the floor, before gesturing to his colleagues who opened fire almost instantly, forcing Cross back behind cover before he could get off another shot.
While the majority of the shots had gone wide thanks to the unsuitability of automatic weapons in long range fighting, at least two bullets had clipped his left arm, and one had entered his leg. And while as both a mercenary and prisoner, Cross was no stranger to pain, could even walk it off for a few hours, but eventually said pain would catch up and overtake him.
From outside a scuffling sound alerted him to the next onslaught, the bald-headed man in military fatigues, one Eugene Pattillo AKA Marine Toad, had sprung up to Cross perch ready to storm the inside of the bank. Almost on cue, a flashbang grenade tumbled into the room and detonated, the onslaught of light and sound stunning Cross as Pattillo entered the room. Tinting his optics, Cross opened fire his shots hampered by his temporary blindness although he knew he had hit his target at least once, as he ducked out the window, a detonator clamped in his hand. As he fell the bank exploded, the old timber building collapsing in on itself as Cross hit the ground hard.
Recovering as fast as he could, Cross limped into the drug store just as the German, dressed in a helmet, SWAT issue ballistic vest and black trousers, opened fire from off to his left. Checking his ammunition in his pistol, Cross reached for one of the bottles under the counter of the drug store, before listening as cautious steps sounded on the sand outside as his opponent advanced on his position. Slipping through the door, the German saw the glass bottle fly towards him and blasted it out of the air, the liquid inside splashing over him with little effect, save for making him riddle the counter and space behind it with what was left of his magazine.
“Move in; I got you covered, Markus,” Espada stated as the sound of two magazines clipping echoed through the drug store. Heading behind the counter, Markus looked down at the bottle on the floor, before looking up at the board with nails that was tied by a trip-wire to the lure Cross had left on the floor.
“He went out the back,” Markus stated as he backed off to where Espada was standing. “El Condor, do you see him?” he asked as the two hunters retreated out of the drugstore. “Okay, push the advantage. We’ll be on him in minutes.”
Eugene dug himself out of the debris, a long gash on his arm. “Ain’t doing nothing with this arm,” he moaned as the trio of hunters returned to the Jeep, with Espada opening the boot to reveal a red-haired woman dressed in an ebony bustier and attached skirt that went down to her knees, lying inside.
“Heinman, time to earn your fee, fix Pattilo up,” Espada ordered as the woman sat up, her lids flicking open to reveal soulless black eyes, before grabbing Pattilo’s arms and pouring liquid flame into his wound. Grimacing in pain, Pattilo watched as his wound was sealed up by a row of ugly boils that oozed a thick white pus. Taking the pistol that Espada handed him, Pattilo moved his injured arm before checking the magazine and getting in the Jeep.
“Now you’re fixed let’s go kill this basted!” Markus snarled as Heinman lay back down and he closed the boot over her.
# # # # #
Cross slipped down into the gulch that led to the mine shaft, seemingly oblivious to the shadow of the quad-rotor copter overhead. Following his target, the man dressed in cowboy leathers, fedora hat and poncho, known as El Condor fired a shot off with his rifle, the round catching cross in the knee and sending him stumbling to the ground. Fighting through the pain, Cross pulled himself behind a rock, before looking up to try and track where the shot was coming from. As he did, a second shot slashed in close to his face, chips of stone flying as El Condor missed his mark by a few inches.
Detecting the quad-rotor, Cross cycled through his frequencies to match the drone, and then tracked the signal back to its controller, as another shot slashed out, this one stabbing into Cross’s foot and smashing his heel. Unfortunately for him, El Condor was too technophobic to synch up his scope to the drone, but that didn’t matter and in fact worked in Cross’s favour. Hacking into the drone, he sent the machine crashing to where El Condor was lying prone, the incoming projectile forcing the enemy sharpshooter to roll to avoid being hit, just as Cross opened fire, emptying his magazine into the hillside. When El Condor didn’t respond Cross knew he’d taken one of the hunters off the board, but silently he cursed himself that it had taken almost thirty rounds to do what he had once been able to do with one.
As he tried to get to his feet, he heard a car pull up and doors open. Tapping into reserves of resolve he hadn’t had to tap for years, Cross got to his feet and limped off to the mine entrance as the enemy hunters advanced on El Condor’s sniper nest.
“The old man killed him.” Markus sighed as he closed his partner’s eyes.
“Have to give him credit,” Patillo stated as he ran his fingers over the two bullet holes in El Condor’s forehead. “He landed two close shots at a range of 800m, not a lot of guys can do that,” He added as Heinman walked over to the body and removed a knife from seemingly thin air.
“No!” Markus snapped as he pointed his MP5 at the woman. “You are not cannibalizing him, I don’t care what your crazy belief involves, you’re not having his eyes.”
“I only want his eyes.” Heinman replied sweetly. “His vision was unmatched, even when he was younger.”
“No…means…NO!” Markus stated, as Espada picked up El Condor’s rifle and watched as Cross slumped down in the mouth of the mine shaft.
“You want eyes, take those of the man who killed him,” Espada suggested as he put the rifle down and walked back to the car. “Markus, let’s get evil.” He added.
# # # # #
Cross heard the car start up again, and smiled slightly as he pulled the electrical detonator along the length of the wire attached to the bluff wall and into the mine shaft. The hunters were using the Jeep as cover, advancing as close behind it as they could manage. As the vehicle approached, Cross activated the detonator and watched as the explosives he’d set out the night earlier exploded, debris slamming down around the car, as the driver leapt clear, whilst his allies behind the vehicle scattered.
“Hey, cunt!” Pattillo snarled as he landed next to Cross, and aimed a spring-loaded kick at Cross, the coils on his boots ripping open his enemy’s chest and knocking him to the floor. “That was for El Condor!” He snapped as he swung at Cross again, this time aiming low and slashing across his enemies’ groin, blood coating the bottom of his leaping coils. “And that was for my Dad! You left him to die, but it didn’t take, the Warden took him away and tortured him for fucking years!”
“I’m sorry, kid.” Cross stated as he got back to his feet only for Pattillo to elbow him in the face with a powerful blow.
“You can kill a worthless hick, but you couldn’t kill him, put him out of his misery!” Pattilo snarled as he went to stomp on Cross’s face only for his opponent to aim a knife chop at his leg, the blow staggering him. “Mum and I were sent that torture porn the sick bitch who hung around with Warden and Fist made! You have no fucking idea how I wished you had been the hero you said you were, or at least enough of a villain to end him! But no, the Hero for Hire couldn’t stop fucking up and letting his friends suffer!”
“You think that’s doesn’t kill me inside?” Cross hissed as he grabbed Pattillo’s leg and pushed him to the floor, the big man going down hard. Struggling to get to his feet, Cross removed his pistol from its holster and aimed it at the ex-marine’s head. “It does,” He announced as he shot Pattillo in the head, “you’ve suffered for too long.” He groaned as he limped into the mine shaft.
# # # # #
“Crap, he got Pattillo!” Markus growled as the three remaining hunters, after almost half an hour of digging, reached the mine opening.
“Indeed.” Espada sighed as Heinman sat down on the floor and let out a thick whimpering howl, one that was answered from up and down the bluff, the wind whipping up the sand until it formed into a trio of wolves with red fur and glowing yellow eyes.
“Flush him out,” Heinman ordered as the wolves galloped into the mine-shaft after their wounded prey.
“Markus stake out this entrance, I’ll take the one up top,” Espada ordered as he spied the scaffolding that led up to the mine’s upper entrance. “He’s wounded and that make him the most dangerous kind of animal so I want no more pissing around, shoot to kill before he can return the favour!”
# # # # #
Cross slumped down next to an old mining cart, the pain of his multiple wounds coupled with blood loss beginning to bite down hard on what was left of his endurance. And while time wasn’t on his side, he had brought some breathing space by taking a difficult, noisy and convoluted route through the tunnels and shafts, but he knew it wasn’t enough, not with the death of two of the hunters on his hands.
“I’ll be with you soon, men.” Cross sighed as he brought out a photograph of his team standing outside an old Turkish restaurant. Besides Cross, was Gillette ‘the Manhunter’ Wilkinson a striking woman dressed in red, the rotund Vincent Portillo, Curtis Carr the Chemical Maestro, M’Gula the Mighty and finally his wife Wendy. Gillette and M’Gula had been killed by the regime, Portillo had been tortured into insanity, ironically by his best friend Curtis, who had turned traitor years before the final takedown of the team. As for Wendy, he death had been devastating for Cross, tortured at the hands of Barton, his oldest and deadliest foe, before finally being killed. He knew all too well what Eugene had gone through, having experienced it for himself.
A howl broke him out of his reminiscing as a wolf charged him, its body exploding as Cross fired a defensive shot at it. Before he could fully comprehend anything other then being under attack, a second wolf attacked, this one bowling him over before he dispersed it. The third construct suffered no such hardship, the sand from the previous attackers jamming his weapon as it latched onto his hand and dragged him through the mine, each bump enhancing his pain before he was dragged blinking into the sun.
“Any last words?” Espada’s mocking voice asked, as Cross finally kicked the wolf hard enough for it to disperse. Almost immediately afterwards he could feel the cold steel of Espada’s sword against his throat, an electrical discharge arching up and down its length.
“Let’s settle this like men!” Cross announced. Laughing Espada picked Cross up and stepped back, his opponent striking as fast as he could, the butt of his pistol his chosen weapon. Gracefully Espada disarmed him of his crude bludgeon, before slicing open the arm of the jumpsuit Cross was wearing.
“It is a shame to see you like this, William,” Espada stated sadly as Cross reached for a pickaxe leaning against the scaffold and severing it at him, only for the trained fencer to slice through the handle of the tool, its head plummeting to the floor below. “Broken, bleeding and barely the challenge you used to be.”
“It’s a shame to see you too, Montoya. You could have been a great hero,” Cross retorted as Espada lunged at him, Cross catching the blade with his hands, the skin sliced off by the path of the blade. Refusing to let go, Cross felt electricity arc through him forcing him to his knees.
“And be like you?” Espada taunted as he kicked Cross in the face, knocking him onto his back. “You have been forgotten old man, twenty years with the CIA, twenty-five more playing hero and all it’s entitled you to is death at my hands.”
“Not at yours.” Cross coughed as his hand flicked slightly, the pistol strapped to his back drawn and fired within less then a second, the impact sending Espada flailing backwards off the scaffold and through the roof of a suspended pulley elevator loaded with iron ingots. “Never yours!” he called as he recovered the dropped sword and cut the cable suspending the platform. Screaming as it descended Espada had what seemed like an age to comprehend what had gone wrong in this operation.
Down on the ground, Markus looked up as he heard a scream and then crossed himself before leaping clear as the elevator slammed into the ground, Espada’s flopping body rolling next to him. That leap had caused him to be pinned by an ingot, his fingers just about on the trigger of his MP5. Markus was no stranger to pain, life as first a soldier then a bounty hunter prepared you for that, so he remained stoic as Cross limped down the scaffold towards him. Reaching the ground, he opened fire, a short burst slashing through Cross’s abdomen and causing irreparable damage.
“You bastard…you killed my team,” Markus groaned as Cross clumsily kicked the MP5 away. “Do it, end me.”
“I need you alive,” Cross groaned as he dropped his gun, and removed a thermobaric shell and a knife. “But only barely alive.”
# # # # #
Heinman stalked back to where Markus had been situated, drawn there by the smell of blood and flesh. Espada was dead, Cross was bleeding out against a bolder, his life ebbing away and Markus was pinned and close to death.
“I only want your hand,” Heinman purred as she bent over Markus and sliced through the bone and flesh. “A skilled hand can be transferred to the eater.” She added, as she overlooked the mechanical tube under the German’s body. Markus groaned a warning, blood oozing out from the point where Cross had cut his tongue out of his mouth. It wasn’t enough, the resulting flash took both Markus and Heinman, the heat and pressure melting the spilled ingots and charring their flesh off their bones.
“Not by your hand either.” Cross groaned, as he fumbled with the pistol. “By mine,” he added as one last shot rang out through the gulch, the setting sun casting the shadow of a man slumping to the floor, his last battle fought and his struggle finally over.