Highway To Armageddon Page 2

  I open my door and swing out of the car. My armored boots crush the yellow and brown leaves covering the ground.

  One of the other perverts rushes over and grabs a handful of my hair.

  “I love feisty redheads,” he says with a grin, revealing his three rotted teeth. “So how much for an hour?”

  I kick the pervert in the groin. Hard. He squeals and falls to his knees, clutching his crotch.

  “Why don’t you use your drug and hooker money to buy some soap and take a bath?” I deliver a roundhouse kick straight to the pervert’s left temple. He collapses into an unmoving heap. The pervert with the broken nose staggers to his feet and pulls out a gun.

  “Die you stupid cow.”

  Before I can move, the pervert pulls the trigger. The bullet ricochets off my chest. I’m unharmed, but the impact of the blast knocks me flat on my back. I lift my head a split second before impact so I don’t crack my skull.

  I quickly jump to my feet. The pervert is back on the ground, clutching his right shoulder. The shoulder is gushing blood. He must have been hit by the deflected bullet.

  The other three perverts whip out weapons and snarl. One of the perverts has a knife, the other has a tire iron, and the third douche bag has a chain.

  “We’re gonna beat you black and blue, then have our way with ya,” growls the moron with the knife.

  I glance around. Most of the pedestrians who, moments ago were strolling the streets, have disappeared. That’s smart. It’s too risky to stand around and watch an altercation on the streets. A street fight can quickly escalate into a massacre, especially in a hellhole like Cincinnati. It also makes it easier for me to cut loose and kick ass if I don’t have to worry about accidentally harming civilians. The pimp and his hookers have retreated into the alley by the pharmacy. I see them peering out from the darkness. If it’s a show they want, it’s a show they’ll get.

  I crouch into a karate stance and wave my hands.

  “Just bring it, bitches.”

  The pervert with the knife drunkenly lunges toward me. He tries to parry me with the knife, but he’s so hopped up on booze and drugs that he misses by a mile. I leap into the air and deliver a dropkick square in his chest. The pervert drops his knife and flies into the side of my Stratosphere XV. When he slides to the ground I see that he cracked my back rear window.

  “You prick, I just spent sixty grand on that car.”

  I kick the pervert in the head, sending him sprawling on his side.

  I turn back to the other two perverts. They’ve both stepped back a bit. Their arrogant swaggers have dissipated to cowardly retreats.

  “What are you idiots doing?” cries the first pervert who hit on me, the one with the broken nose. “She’s only one girl! Kill her!”

  The two armed perverts groggily stagger toward me as they attempt to frighten me by menacingly waving their weapons in the air. I could easily take both of them down with a few quick punches and kicks, but I don’t want to break a nail. Instead I whip out my taser and blast the guy with the tire iron in the chest. He drops like a rock and spazzes out on the ground as electricity pumps through his body.

  The pervert with the chain lunges toward me faster than I thought he would. I barely have time to turn my head when the end of the chain whacks me across my face. I yelp and drop my taser. The pervert hits me again, this time on the side of my head. Stars flutter across my eyes and I drop to my knees.

  This turns out to be a near fatal mistake. The pervert wraps his chain around my neck and pulls back. The cold metal digs into my throat, cutting off my oxygen. Every time I try to inhale, the chain digs in even deeper. I imagine this is how a rat feels when it is being constricted by a python.

  I try to stand up, but the pain is too great. I drop to my knees and lean forward as the maniac behind me cackles. My vision becomes blurred. It feels like there’s a ring of fire around my neck. A few more seconds and I’ll be a goner.

  I begin to panic. I’m not used to feeling so helpless. Out of desperation I fumble with my utility belt. I only have one chance. I’m bound to end up just as hurt as my opponent, but it’s the only play I have.

  My fingers fumble along the smoke bomb attached to my belt. I’m beginning to lose consciousness. I only have two seconds at best. My index finger miraculously slides inside the pin. I yank back as hard as I can.

  My vision just starts to turn black when the chain finally, mercifully loosens. I take a deep breath of delicious, luxurious oxygen.

  The bliss only lasts a few seconds, unfortunately. A cloud of noxious smoke enters my open mouth, gagging me. Tears stream down my cheeks. I cover my mouth and stagger out into the middle of the street. A speeding car nearly clips me. I collapse to the ground and lean against my car, on the side facing the street. Some of the smoke reaches me, but by now I’ve gulped down enough air that I can afford to hold my breath for the ten or so seconds it takes for the gas to disperse. Once it does I lean against the hood of my car to survey the damage.

  Two of the perverts are knocked out cold. The one with the broken nose, the one with the chain, and the one I tased are still gagging from the smoke. I run over and deliver roundhouse kicks to all three of their skulls. None of the perverts will be getting up for quite some time.

  I fall to my knees and massage my burning throat. Thankfully the adrenaline coursing through my veins numbs most of the pain. I almost forget why I attacked the perverts in the first place when the two teen prostitutes run over to check on me.

  The girl with dark hair cradles my head. “Omigosh, are you okay?”

  The girl with the blonde hair says, “Wow, you have a lot of weapons.”

  The black-haired girl says, “Sally, she’s hurt. Who cares about the weapons?”

  The blonde girl blushes. “Sorry Dorothy, I just think they look cool.”

  I stand up and stretch my bruised back.

  “I’m fine, ladies. Really.”

  The girls nod and step back. They stare at me with a sort of reverence, like I’m a celebrity or something. Now that they’re up close I can see the blonde girl is even younger than I thought. Both girls have lithe, slender bodies. They’re wearing spaghetti-strap shirts that showcase their thin stomachs. Their torn and tattered jean shorts are way too short, and their high-heeled boots are not meant to traverse the bullet-riddled, blood-splattered streets of Cincinnati.

  “You’re… you’re Boom-Boom, aren’t you?” the black-haired girl says in a barely audible whisper. I believe she’s Dorothy.

  I crack a slight smile. “Yes. Sounds like you’ve heard of me.”

  The blonde girl, Sally, quivers with excitement. “Of course. You and your hot friend Lance are legends in these parts. I mean, teenage bounty hunters? That’s so cool!”

  Dorothy grabs Sally’s wrist and whispers, “Calm down, you’re embarrassing us.”

  I burst out laughing. It’s my first laugh in weeks. It feels good.

  Sally’s bright, blue eyes suddenly turn sorrowful. “I’m sorry about what happened to Lance’s uncle.”

  My smile fades away. If I had any tears left to shed, I’d surely shed them now. But I don’t, so I just slump my shoulders.

  “Yeah, Dagger was a good man. He taught us everything we know.”

  I shake my head, sending my hair flipping back and forth. The cool breeze exaggerates the motion. For a brief moment my eyes are covered in a sea of red. The breeze finally dies down and the red sea falls to low tide.

  “Enough about me. I’m worried about the two of you.”

  I gently place my gloved hands on the girls’ shoulders. At first they jump back. When they realize I’m not about to hit them, they calm down. This is probably the kindest gesture they’ve ever known.

  I study the girls’ faces. All the mascara and lipstick in the world can’t hide their youth, or the bruises around their eyes. My blood begins to boil once more.

  The girls’ pimp swaggers over like he’s the hottest thing walking the face of the
Earth. He’s obviously a coward, since he hid during the entire street fight, but the way he’s strutting his stuff you’d think he took down 100 thugs bare-handed.

  “Well lookey what we got here,” he says with his head held high and his chest all puffed out. He’s dressed in a ridiculous purple suit, a black hat with a giant red feather, and shiny black shoes. A gleaming gold necklace with the words Big Daddy hangs from his neck. Sparking rubies and emeralds adorn each of his sausage-like digits. His outrageous bling contrasts sharply against the poverty-stricken neighborhood he operates out of. He resembles a deranged cartoon character.

  The pimp reaches out and twirls a strand of my hair around his finger.

  “I could use a redhead,” he says, flashing a golden smile. Literally, when he smiles all I see is gold. His teeth probably cost as much as my car.

  I slap the pimp’s hand so hard he stumbles backwards. Anger flashes across his brown eyes. He forces a smile and intrudes back into my personal space.

  “Ohhh, I like the feisty ones. They’re hard to break, but I enjoy the challenge.”

  I’m about to grab my gun when Sally steps forward and meekly says, “Don’t you know who this is, Big Daddy? It’s…”

  Big Daddy smacks Sally… hard. She collapses to the ground, clutching her cheek. Dorothy kneels down to check on her.

  “Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to, you stupid whore,” Big Daddy roars.

  I’m stunned, which is hard to do. The hatred emanating from Big Daddy’s pores nearly overpowers me, as if I’m inhaling toxic fumes. Big Daddy turns back to me, his malevolent smile replacing the hideous scowl I saw just seconds before.

  “Now where were we?”

  “We were at the part where I bust your balls.”

  Big Daddy cocks an eyebrow. “Huh?”

  He doesn’t have time to say anything else. I swing my armored right leg directly into his crotch. Big Daddy screams in excruciating agony and leans forward. My right fist shatters his nose, splashing blood all over my brand new glove. Big Daddy falls backwards like a chopped down oak tree. Dorothy and Sally stare at me in wide-eyed wonder.

  At first the girls smile, as though they can’t believe I actually took down their hated tormenter. That brief moment of happiness soon gives way to fear. Dorothy gasps and hugs Sally to her chest, as if she’s trying to shield her from danger. I look up and soon see why. Three bling-wearing thugs appear out of a back alley and rapidly approach us, their guns aimed directly at me. I take it they’re friends of Big Daddy.

  I turn back to Dorothy and Sally. They’re shivering uncontrollably. I open up the cube-shaped buckle on my belt and grab all my remaining gold coins. I thrust the coins into Dorothy’s hand. Her eyes widen even further than they already are.

  In a rapid-fire whisper I say, “Go to the train station and purchase two one-way tickets to Sanctuary 7.”

  Sally gasps. “Sanctuary 7? But we can’t afford to…”

  “Lance and I live there,” I interrupt curtly. “Tell the guards you’re our guests. The password is Stalingrad. I’ll meet you there.”

  “But…,” Dorothy starts to say, but she’s cut off by the sound of bullets nicking pavement.

  I shove the girls out into the street. “Go! I’ll be fine!”

  Dorothy and Sally look at me one last time before stumbling toward the train station. I turn back to face my attackers.

  All three thugs begin firing at me. They’re so drunk and drugged up that they miss me by a mile.

  With that being said, they are using lethal force. So I respond in kind.

  I whip out my pistol and fire at the thug in the middle. He drops like a rock.

  I turn to the thug on the left and fire off another shot. He clutches his shoulder and falls to his knees.

  I barely have time to face the last thug when a bullet slams into my chest, right above my heart. My armor deflects the bullet fragments, but the force of the blast knocks me on my back. Unlike last time, I don’t lift my head. I crack my skull on the pavement.

  An ocean of pain washes over me. My vision becomes blurred and tears stream down my cheeks. I fight the urge to black out. If I do, I’m dead.

  I just begin to regain my bearings when two massive arms wrap around my waist. I’m hoisted into the air, above someone’s head. I’m so out of it I don’t realize who my attacker is until he speaks.

  “I can tell you’re gonna be a lot harder to break than I thought,” Big Daddy snarls.

  I fumble with my utility belt. All I need is one good weapon: a taser, a gas grenade, anything. Unfortunately I’m too dazed to think clearly. My fingers don’t work properly, as if the neurons in my brain aren’t firing correctly.

  Big Daddy lowers his arms back, preparing to throw me.

  “I may not be able to break your spirit, but I can certainly break your back.”

  I wildly flail my arms and legs, but it’s to no avail. Big Daddy propels his arms forward and I fly through the air, straight toward the pharmacy’s plate-glass window.

  I only have a split-second to act. I spin around in mid-air so that my armored back faces the window. I also clasp my hands behind my neck. An instant later I crash through the window. Thousands of jagged shards of glass rain down on top of me as I slam onto the pharmacy’s hard linoleum floor. I bounce once and roll all the way to the back. I finally come to a stop after careening into a triangular tower of glass jars filled with liquid elixirs. The jars fall on top of me, shattering when they hit the floor.

  Cascading waves of white-hot agony wash over me. I gingerly touch my neck and face. A few slivers of glass protrude out of my skin. Warm liquid oozes down my face. I’m not sure if it’s blood or the elixirs. It’s probably a combination of both.

  I look up through tear-filled eyes. Big Daddy stares at me through the shattered window. He points a gun directly at my head.

  A thundering gunshot rings out through the lobby. At first I think Big Daddy fired the shot. But then I see Big Daddy grab his shoulder and stagger out of view. I spin around and watch two middle-aged pharmacists hop over their front counter. Both pharmacists are wearing Kevlar vests over their white lab coats. They’re also clutching machine guns.

  “I’m tired of you scumbags shooting up our business and scaring away all of our customers,” the silver-haired pharmacist grunts as he dashes after Big Daddy. He leaps through the shattered window like an Olympic gymnast.

  “When we’re done with ya, you stupid thugs will be crapping bullets for a week,” the dark-haired pharmacist shouts, taking off after his partner.

  I shake my throbbing head. You know you’re in a bad part of town when the pharmacists are more heavily-armed than the military.

  I slowly climb to my feet and pick out the shards of glass stuck in my face and neck. If it wasn’t for my body armor I’d resemble a bloodied porcupine. I swipe a bottle of painkillers from a shelf and pop a handful of pills in my mouth. It won’t do much to numb the pain shooting through my veins, but it should make my head a little less foggy.

  I clumsily lumber outside. A cool breeze whips my hair in front of my face. It’s about to rain. I can taste the moisture in the air.

  Gunshots ring out in the distance. Flashes of gunfire illuminate a back alley on the far end of the street.

  I gaze at the carnage all around me. The pharmacy has been demolished. Other businesses are riddled with bullet holes and broken windows. One of Big Daddy’s thugs lies motionless in a puddle of blood. I realize it’s the first dude I shot.

  The dirty old perverts I took out before Big Daddy showed up are still sprawled out on the ground. One of the perverts, however, is missing.

  The revving of a turbo car engine causes me to snap my head around. I’m astonished to find my brand new, $60,000 Stratosphere XV levitating off the ground, with its wings fully extended. In the driver’s seat is the pervert who started all this mess, the one who first hit on me.

  “Get out of my goddamn car!” I scream.

  I whip o
ut my handgun and fire off several shots, taking out my back windshield. But I’m just wasting my ammunition. The pervert slams on the pedal and hurtles through the darkening sky at close to 100 miles an hour. I fire off several more shots, just because I’m pissed, but none of them hit the pervert.

  Another excruciating wave of pain washes over me, forcing me to my knees. It’s so bad I can’t breathe. I probably have fractured bones and bruised organs. It’s the story of my life. I pop off my cube-shaped belt buckle and open it. The buckle doubles as a small container where I stash my pain pills. These pills are even stronger than the ones I grabbed in the pharmacy. I grab a couple and pop them in my mouth. As soon as I swallow them my pain recedes.

  I hate the fact that I’m addicted to the damn things. I swore I would never become a drug addict like everyone else I know, but that’s proven to be an impossible task. When you’re getting punched, shot, and stabbed on a daily basis, you need something a bit stronger than Tylenol to get through your day.

  With my head beginning to clear I suddenly remember why I’m in Cincinnati in the first place. I retrieve my goggles from my belt and slip them over my eyes. I gasp when I see what has become of my friends. Lance and Krystal are being beaten to a bloodied pulp by a pack of heavily-armed orphans. The orphans mercifully stop the beating a few seconds later. Maxwell directs the orphans to load my unconscious friends onto the back of an aerial pickup trick.

  I glance around the street see if there are any cars I can steal. I don’t see any. That means I’m going to have to go after my friends on foot. I need to hurry. I’ve heard the horror stories of what Caesar and his goons do to their captives.

  I check the coordinates flashing across my goggles. Lance and Krystal are a good two miles away.

  I gulp down another pain pill and dash through a blood-splattered alley.

  Chapter Three: Lance

  I’m not sure how long I’ve been out, but I wake up to darkness. At first I think I’m still unconscious, but then I feel a sharp stabbing pain in my arms… and my legs… and my chest… and my back… and my head… even my freaking hair. A warm liquid oozes down my forehead and enters my mouth. It tastes salty. Blood. I spit it out.