Prime (Chess Team Adventure, #0.5)

Queen groaned at the pun. “Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”


Rook shrugged then gestured to the perimeter of the vineyard. “Do we go the long way around?”

“You’re asking me?”

“You’re the Queen.”

“Now that’s funny,” she returned, deadpan.

He chuckled to hide an unexpected feeling of embarrassment; he hadn’t meant it as a joke. Keeping his carbine trained on the vine tops, he struck out along the edge of the field.

He had gone only about twenty feet when something hissed through the air right in front of him, accompanied by the simultaneous report of a pistol. As he threw himself flat, he realized that the shot had come from the woods, behind him.

Damn it! They suckered me.

As he scrambled on all fours for the concealment of the vines, the ground all around him started exploding, bullets striking like lightning bolts to the accompanying thunder of gunshots. Dirt sprayed into his face, stinging like the bite of wasps, forcing him to close his eyes, but he nevertheless brought his carbine up and returned fire.

Someone grabbed his shoulder.

He gave a yelp and twisted around to meet this new threat, swinging the gun like a club, but through the ringing in his ears and the pounding of his heart, a female voice reached out to him. “Slow down, hero. I got him.”

Rook slowly unclenched, breathing heavily to damp down the deluge of adrenaline. He opened his eyes and saw Queen kneeling over him. “Which one?” he finally managed to say.

“Not Rainer.” There was a trace of disappointment in her voice.

“You saved the big fish for me? How thoughtful of you.”

“Fuck that. The asshole shot me, remember? He’s mine.”

Rook got to his feet and then flashed a grin. “Not if I see him first.”

With that, he wheeled around and sprinted headlong into the vineyard. It was a stupid, cocky thing to do, but so far, luck had played a more decisive role than caution in keeping him alive. Besides, Rainer was alone now.

In his peripheral vision, he glimpsed a flash of gold—Queen’s blonde locks, trailing behind her as she matched his pace in the next row over. He threw her a wink, and then reached down into his deepest reserves and put on an all-out burst of speed.

He spied movement ahead; Rainer had broken from the cover of the vines and was racing for the parking area where Parker’s rented Renault had been joined by two Volkswagen Eurovans.

Rook tried to get the fleeing man in his sights, but he couldn’t hold a bead while he was running, and if he stopped for a better shot, it might give Rainer the extra few seconds of lead time he needed to reach his van…

Rook saw that his quarry was going to make it to the vehicles anyway. He loosed a burst in the direction of he nearest van. It rocked a little under the impact of the 5.56-millimeter rounds and then lowered a few inches, as the air rushed from two of its tires.

Rainer threw up a hand in a reflexive, if futile, attempt to protect his head from bullets and flying debris, but he did not falter. He darted between the parked vans and disappeared from view.

Rook let his go of his XM8, allowing it to hang by the sling, and drew one of his pistols. Even if Rainer somehow got the other van rolling, one .50 caliber Action Express round would shut it down, and one more would shut him down. That was the great thing about the Desert Eagle—like with horseshoes and hand grenades, you didn’t have to score a direct hit to get the job done. The recoil was a son-of-a-bitch—he really needed to see about getting some kind of wrist brace—but it wasn’t nearly as bad as being on the other end when the trigger was pulled.

He expected to hear the van’s engine turn over at any second, but all was silent. He reached the parking lot, Queen still matching his full sprint, and charged toward the vehicles, the Desert Eagle thrust out ahead of him like a battering ram.

Something moved out from behind the furthest vehicle and Rook fired. The pistol bucked in his hands, and the round tore into flesh in a spray of red, but Rook kept his gaze steady on the target, waiting for Rainer’s dead body to hit the ground.

The shape did not fall.

It wasn’t Rainer.

With a howl of primal rage, the wounded creature stepped into full view. It was a frankenstein.

Rook skidded to a stop, not twenty feet away. His bullet had nearly taken the thing’s arm off; it would die eventually from shock and blood loss, but its rage would sustain it long enough for it to do some real damage.

Rook steadied the pistol in both hands, and fired again…and again. Beside him, Queen had likewise stopped, and she was emptying her carbine into the thing’s chest. The frankenstein pitched backward.

Then another one appeared to take its place…

And another…

And another…





FIFTY-TWO