Blackjack Wayward

Chapter Eleven

I couldn’t make it to the next floor without my legs acting up and had to one-step it up the rest of the way.

“Le haut,” she said, not bothering to lift her exhausted head. “Up, up.”

Looking up the stairwell, I saw that it led up four more floors. This particular one was where most of the gunfire was coming from. Whether from friend or foe, I had no idea. It did sound like a gunfight, with return fire from both sides and a lot of screaming. I might not have known who was fighting whom, but I knew for certain I didn’t want to get caught in the middle of Zundergrub’s forces, who were trying to kill me, and the security personnel, who wanted to put me away.

I kept going up the stairs one step at a time, laboring over each, having to amble up with one leg, and lean against the wall with my shoulder, angling away from her legs so I could drag my other leg up to the next step. Each step a chore, I crested the next floor. I was starting to feel the hollowing pit of my stomach, aching for food, and then I understood. This was more activity than I had put my body through in months, and what they fed me through the nose tube was probably a pittance. I was starving and my body was feeling the accelerated effects of the physical exertion.

But I couldn’t rest. I couldn’t stop until I got the hell away from here.

I didn’t know what I was thinking earlier, when I intended to rush and face Zundergrub. Not only was I in no condition to fight the man, in fact, I doubt I would have even gotten to him through his horde of followers. The doctor had been busy since Hashima, building an army of crazies, all eager to drink the Kool-aid. I had seen a lot of young faces, people new to the game, recruited for raw ability rather than skill, their inexperience protected by the mob. From the sounds of the facility coming apart, he easily had a hundred guys under his banner, ranging from aging psychopaths, eager for another shot at glory like Razor and Dreadmaster, to young fools, unaware of their power and potential, willing to risk everything for whatever reward Zundergrub was offering.

And all of them were looking for me.

No, I couldn’t face Zundergrub like this. If I could barely beat a guy like Dreadmaster, I was better off running, fighting another day.

We reached the top floor, and I shook Claire from her slumber.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, lady,” I said, thinking aloud.

She blinked with her good eye and motioned me toward the metal door leading out of the stairwell. I tried the handle with my left hand, but the thing was locked tight.

“Can you walk?”

“Oui,” she whispered, still half-asleep. I gently let her down, then put my shoulder into the door, only hard enough to break the frame while making as little noise as possible.

This floor was completely different than the labs below. It was hard metal and pipes, industrial and functional, everything painted in non-descript taupe, with each stretch of hallway compartmentalized and watertight. The metalwork was solid and hard, with thick plates and support beams, and a metal grid floor to allow drainage of water. It could only mean one thing; we were underwater.

I had always envisioned the prison as something idyllic, straight out of an Arthur C. Clarke novel, floating high in the North Atlantic: a buttress against the cold elements, beautiful and gleaming. In fact, this place was more wrought iron and bolted metal than polished white marble, and by placing us deep underwater, maybe thousands of meters below the surface, they were creating a prison that was truly impossible to escape from.

“Oh, man,” I muttered, taking a few steps forward. “We’re not going to be able to get out of here!”

“Yes,” she said, losing her patience with me almost instantly. “Just go. Go, go, go!”

“We’re under water!” I said, exasperated. Why had I trusted this woman? For all I knew, she was one of Zundergrub’s flunkies who had decided to dress like one of the inmates for a bit of fun with Dreadmaster, her favorite sexual position being anal sex after having her nose broken. She was a crazy, twisted bitch, that much I knew, and following her advice was only cementing something in my mind that I had for a long time began to suspect.

I’m a terrible judge of character.

But no. It couldn’t be. Dread was a wicked, ugly-looking man, and this woman had a delicate beauty, despite the broken face, with a sublime figure and timeless grace.

“Vous êtes un tel imbécile!” she spat, moving past me and through the darkened halls, leaving me no choice but to follow.

I’d had enough of this woman berating me in French, enough of having to follow some mad, half-naked crazy to my probable death. I rushed her and grabbed her arm.

“Hey,” I snapped. “I’m not going to take much more of this crap. You understand me?”

She cocked her head, bewildered that I would put my hands on her.

“Let go of me,” she demanded.

“I’m not kidding.”

Claire laughed, turning her damaged face away from me. “You are incapable of hurting me,” she said, her English forced and broken but far better than anything she had tried before.

I pulled her closer to me, snarling; “I’m big, bad Blackjack, lady. You don’t know what I might be capable of.”

My threat was met with more laughter. She tried to pull away, but my grasp was tight.

“I know you better than you know yourself,” she scoffed, ripping her arm away. “You think you can get out of here? Then go, go and die to the crazy men. I don’t care.”

“You’re not giving me much to work with here, lady.”

“My name is Claire, Monsieur Blackjack. Do not call me ‘lady’. I don’t like it. You want me to call you ‘man’? ‘Hey, man,’” she mocked in her best American accent. “Com’ere, man! What’chu doing, man? Vous êtes un singe.”

“Vous êtes,” I said, mangling the French. “That means ‘you are’ doesn’t it?”

She nodded, enjoying my frustration.

“What the hell does ‘singe’ mean? I’m guessing it’s not good.”

Claire just shook her head.

“I just need to know how we’re going to get out here, you know? Like, what you have planned. It wouldn’t cost you anything to give me a goddamned clue.”

“Magic,” she smiled and walked away.

The lab’s labyrinthine passages in the floors below were nothing compared to the confusing web-work of hallways on the topmost floor. Alleys shot off at angles in every direction, sometimes doubling back upon themselves in the direction you had just come, even arching up and down, as though this level was actually three sublevels for added confusion.

Claire led the way, with slow little steps and a nonchalance that bordered on arrogance. Didn’t she know that were being followed? My every attempt to hurry her was met with daggers from her eyes and an expression of utter contempt. Then she would return to her slow stroll through the facility, her hands touching the piping or doorways we would pass, though I had no idea what for.

The sounds of the carnage below were muted; the deck plating was at least three inches of steel. In fact, this part of the facility was entirely different than below. Not just in appearance, but in construction and function, as if two different structures were stacked one atop the other. This was a rugged underwater rig, built to withstand the pressures of depth and compartmentalized against any loss of containment. Every door was as thick as the deck, electronically controlled so they could be closed remotely. The hallways were narrow and of low ceiling, forcing me to hunch to avoid hitting my head on the overhanging lights. There was only enough illumination for functionality, allowing the crew to find their way through the interminable passages.

This was in contrast to the bright lighting and wide passageways below, a spacious feel like a hospital, with large rooms, a high ceiling, and painted, clean walls, though it was a much different place at the moment.

Below us, Zundergrub and his crew were killing everyone in sight, and try as I might, I couldn’t ignore the screams that filtered to my ears through bulkheads and stairwells. Up here, Claire, the crazy chick who was going to get me killed, wandered through the halls aimlessly.

“Where are we going?” I asked, trying to conceal my total loss of patience.

“You’ll see,” she said, playfully.

I stopped.

“What?”

“I need to know now,” I said, but my display was ignored, as she turned and walked away. I was about to start raging when I heard hushed voices behind me. Turning around, I saw two figures moving in the distance, just blurred shadows to my dysfunctional eyes. They saw us and were rushing our way.

“Why are you afraid?” she laughed. “You are Blackjack!”

“Not so loud, dammit!”

She shook her head in disgust, continuing her Sunday afternoon stroll, slow enough for our pursuers to catch up.

“You’re going to give me a heart attack, woman,” I said, backpedaling as our enemies got closer. They were three men. Two were smallish and cautious; the third was larger than me and hunched over with two massive draping arms, each as wide around as my waist.

One dug into his waistband pulling out a walkie-talkie and brought it to his face, no doubt reporting our location.

“Great,” I said. “Now they know where we are.”

“So,” she said, still moving away from me. “When they come, we will kill them.”

“If only,” I said as we passed a bulkhead and door junction. I walked through the doorway and closed the heavy hatch behind me before ripping out the controls. The last I saw of them, Zundergrub’s men were rushing the door, trying to get to it before I slammed it shut. If there had been a window on the door, I would have blown them a little kiss.

There had to be plenty of ways around, but for now we had left them behind.

The metal door started to shudder at the impact of blows so strong that they shook the whole floor. I smiled bitterly, remembering the time I had to pound through a metal door. The big guy looked like he had some power, and that was assuming neither of the others had an ability that would allow them to bypass the door. The door dented once, and again, straining against the enclosing frame. He was strong enough to break through if he kept at it.

One thing was for sure: we didn’t have much time.

I rushed after Claire, still hobbling but able to move a lot faster now that Zundergrub had found us. Adrenaline was a hell of a thing. Everything felt crisper and I almost felt like myself. Behind me, the door buckled inward with a sickening crumple. What little patience I had was now gone. I grabbed her arm, turning her to me like a rag doll.

“Vous salir les mains sur moi,” she said.

“Enough! Are you with him?” I yelled, but it only confused her. “Are you with Zundergrub?”

She just smiled.

“You are a stupid, stupid man.”

I just stared hard at her, trying to decipher the woman, but there was no way to differentiate logic from whimsy. She was unafraid of me, and apparently unafraid of Zundergrub.

“Do you know what he’ll do to you? Because I do. I’ve seen the guy in action.” I said.

Claire shook her head, still unimpressed.

“Turn around,” she said, whirling her finger.

“What?”

“Behind you.”

A heavy vault door stood in our way, in effect barring our passage.

“Open it,” she said casually. “and we can get away.”

“You’re kidding me,” I said, because the hulking vault door looked like it would take a hundred guys to open.

I don’t know what it was made out of but it seemed made specifically to keep me out. I pounded on it with the fleshy bottom part of my fist and could tell it was dense and deep. The resounding thud was drowned out by the beating and slamming sounds of our pursuers knocking down the door behind us.

“You’re kidding me,” I repeated, feeling the vibrations of my blow reverberate through the bones, broken not so long ago while bringing down a wall that could similarly ‘not be broken.’

Claire sat atop a small compressor box and watched the relentless thrumming down the hall, oblivious to my difficulties.

I studied the edges of the massive door, which was maybe twenty feet in width and half as much tall, and found it flush, leaving no space for me to sneak my fingers under to get a good grip. The handles and hinge mechanisms were inside the door, unavailable to me. There was neither control panel nor radio receiver device to work with a hand-held remote. Not that we had the remote, or even a way to replicate such a thing.

I longed for my old watch, the Omega Seamaster I’d stolen and turned into a supercomputer. I missed the hell out of my old boots, covered in compartments full of valuable gadgets and goodies. For example: I’d carried a 150cc vial of strong acid, but to open this door I’d need gallons of the stuff, and the fumes from the acid would probably choke us to death in this small chamber anyway.

“There’s no other way in?” I asked, looking back but she shrugged. “What do we need inside there?”

“My things,” she said.

“Your things?”

“Yes.”

“What things?”

“What do you care?”

I lost it, punching the door and screaming, “Do you understand what’s going to happen when those guys get the doors down? Do you? If I can’t stop them, then you’re f*cked. You see what I mean?”

I paused, noting that she showed no fear or worry about my threat, no care for what was about to happen to us.

“What do you want me to do if you can’t open door?”

“It’s the biggest, strongest door on the f*cking planet. No one could open it.”

“Then they kill us,” she said definitively, utterly resigned.

“I don’t want that to happen,” I said.

“Then open it. Merde, it’s so simple.”

Turning back to the vault, I scratched my head, hoping to warm up my brain and looked at the edges again, seeing nothing new. The door had an upraised metal box in the middle, but it only edged out a few inches and was forged from the same single piece of metal as the rest of the door. It wasn’t bolted or soldered on so I couldn’t rip it off.

In fact, as I took a moment to study the door, it had no markings, no keyhole, no control panel and no handle to open the thing. Meaning it had to open remotely, and, barring that, it had to open magnetically.

“We need a magnet,” I said, but when I looked over to her, she made the same gesture I had earlier when she asked me for cigarettes, patting her non-existent pockets and shrugging.

The door was bending inward, moments away from collapsing, but they had paused their banging, and I could hear whimpering from the other side. Maybe the big guy had hurt himself as I had on Hashima Island. I had to remember that, maybe use it to my advantage.

Beside the door, within a metal frame bolted to the wall, was the control mechanism, and next to that, was the actual motor that turned the gears to close and open the door. That motor would generate a trace magnetic charge every time it turned. If I could rip it from the wall and time the polarity of the magnet right, my engineer’s intuition told me there was a chance, however slight, that I might get that big door open.

Before I knew it, I had ripped open the panel and torn out the motor assembly, something the size of a lawnmower’s engine. It was electrical, but the power cables were short. I didn’t need power, though. I needed the electrical coil, and a way to spin it. If I spun it hard enough, in the right direction, and placed it in the exact spot, the thing might open.

Maybe.

Hearing my ruckus made Zundergrub’s cronies start pounding the door again, ignoring whatever had ailed them. I didn’t wait, ripping off the motor’s top cover and digging with my fingernails into the coil assembly, which was a wrapped and threaded copper coil that rotated around a central base. I ripped a single strand of copper out and held it to the protruding spot near the center of the huge vault door.

“Here goes nothing,” I said, and for the first time I caught a hint of nervousness in Claire’s face. Her attention was squarely on the motor, and she was inching closer to me.

I pulled the wire as hard as I could, and the coil assembly spun madly, ripping off the extra amount I had used as a starter and spinning on, spilling sparks on my arm and chest, and all over the door, but nothing happened. Or at least, the door didn’t open. It was possible that during a security breach situation, the door went on lockdown, to prevent exactly what we were trying to do. It was also possible that the charge was too strong, too fast, so I held the spinning motor up to the door, even when it lit on fire, even when my skin burned.

“It’s not working, you stu-“ she began, but checked herself when she saw the flames, and my face as I fought to ignore the pain. My hair singed down my arm, spreading an awful odor through the room, and I could feel the heat through my bones. My skin might be tough and near invulnerable, but this thing was hot enough to cause me pain, to burn me.

I cringed and howled and almost dropped the damned thing as the motor began to slow, the magnetic charge changing in the process. All it needed was a chance, I told myself, repeating the words “just another second” under my breath. I was hoping to hear some loud clunking sound from behind the door, but nothing happened. The burning motor ground to a stop, and I threw it at the bent and misshapen door that was about fall from the pounding Zundergrub’s boys were laying on it.

“Dammit,” I screamed, taking a few steps toward our enemies, steeling myself for the fight that would come.

I had to live long enough to get Zundergrub, to get my hands on him. I didn’t care what else happened, or how many of his flunkies I had to get through. I was going to end it now. End it for once.

I cinched what was left of the robe tighter, flexing through the tight fabric, the width of my arms and shoulders popping seams along the sleeves and at the shoulder, hoping it would allow me a little more freedom. Each powerful blow bent the door further, each one coming closer to ripping the whole thing from its frame. Through the gaps, I could see the big guy, his skin covered in some weird pattern of fur, beating with all his might to break it down. He was appeared to be part animal.

“Stay behind me,” I told her, clenching my fists and cracking my neck. Then I mumbled under my breath, “This won’t take long.”

I looked down to the burning motor and was about to reach for it and use it as a weapon, when Claire shouted.

“Look!” she said, pointing at the door.

“What? It didn’t work.”

“I heard something,” she said, placing her ear against the cold metal. “Il est l’ouverture,” she added, stepping back.

I thought her mad as her veneer of nonchalance had long gone, but moving closer, I heard it too, a whirring sound, then a heavy shifting, as if a bar was moving across the door. It was opening. My stupid, impromptu plan had worked! The shifting ended and a successive series of thunks erupted from the edge of the door as the thing began to swing outward upon a great pair of internal hinges on the right side.

The door was so big it was going to close off the far end of the room almost entirely, so Claire and I had to move across the room, closer to the door that Zundergrub’s men were nearly finished breaking. The vault was dark and musty inside, but I could see a large chamber, maybe thirty feet deep and twice again wide, the walls lined with secured shelving and locks. When the vault had completely opened, it basically formed another wall, cutting off the room in half and leaving us no way to escape.

In that instant, a few feet from whatever Claire had in mind to escape, the damaged door gave and Zundergrub’s three men spilled into the room.

“I need some light,” Claire complained as she entered the darkened vault, but I had no time to help her. I had other things on my mind.

They were Zundergrub’s hired dogs, men with no honor and no compunctions about killing for pay. The first one through the crushed door was a small, mousy Asian fellow, wearing a suit splattered with blood that also colored his mouth, neck, and chest. His teeth were jagged, filed down sharp points, and he had a large-caliber revolver in his left hand. Coming into the dark chamber, he took one quick glance at me and at Claire, his gaze settling on her with rapacious longing. He aimed his hand cannon at her and fired.

I stepped in the way of his gunfire, taking bullets meant for Claire, noting a flash of frustration cross the newcomer. But he wasn’t alone.

The next man into the room was an impressive mutation, a man-creature with the muscled lower torso of a wrestler and the shoulders and head of an eagle. This wasn’t a mask or helmet dedicated to the Egyptian god Horus. No, this guy had the head of an eagle, with yellow-white feathers, spreading around his head and across his broad shoulders, and with a loud keening cry, he rushed me and threw a swing intended to take my head off. I backed up, avoiding the blow and then the follow-ups; a front kick with his right leg and a spinning kick with his left. While I managed to avoid the first couple blows, he twisted and threw his back leg at my face, using too much speed and force for me to react. The booted foot connected with a solid thud across my jaw, and my world exploded as I staggered back, losing my footing and falling to the floor.

Horus didn’t wait for me to get up, closing the gap and grabbing at my arms. Once he had a good grip, the gigantic beak flashed open and he brought down the sharp weapon on my neck. The tip pressed through the robe and into the fleshy part of my shoulder, and I felt it penetrate the skin. Blood welled around it and soaked the remaining robe to my skin in an instant. Wrenching my arm hard, I broke his grasp and crossed my arms around my upper body. Instead of ripping my throat out, he bit into my left forearm, grabbing the limb with his maw.

Looking into the darkness of the vault, I could see the Asian goon moving closer to Claire’s shadowy form. She was fumbling through the boxes that lined the walls, throwing them aside in frustration, oblivious to the threat.

“Claire!” I yelled, but Horus growled, drawing my attention to his burning eyes. He was stronger than I was in my present condition, and heavy enough that he could exert his leverage on me, keeping me pinned. He opened his beak and released my arm, then dug his three-inch claws at my eyes. I shot up my arms defensively, but he grasped and scratched at my cheeks through my guard.

I brought my right knee up, but it just slammed against his buttocks no little effect. In the moment’s pause, I looked again at Claire, but she still ignored her approaching attacker as she frantically searched. She stopped at one small box, her face illuminated by something within when she cracked it open. She had found what she was looking for.

“Behind you!” I shouted, but she made no move to defend herself as the squirrely man rushed up to her and kicked her in the midsection. She clutched at her abdomen and sank to the ground slowly, first falling to her knees, then toppling over onto her side. He hurled himself on her, leveling the gun at her head. Slamming his free arm across her neck, he pinned her with the forearm, angling the hand down to grope at her breasts. She continued to struggle for the box, which had fallen just out of her grasp.

Horus could feel my desperation and exerted himself to keep me in place, trying to turn my face toward Claire and his companion, as if he enjoyed watching me suffer. But he forgot one thing.

I’m Blackjack.

He was draped all over me, much like the other fellow laying atop Claire, but my feet were free, and though I couldn’t strike at him effectively, I could still use them. Bringing both my legs up, I wriggled my knees above his groin, and before he could react, my feet were at chest level. I kicked out, knocking him off me and to his feet, reversing my momentum, rolling along my spine as I coiled my body, my hands and head on the floor behind me, and my knees back against my chest. Like a snake striking its prey, I unleashed the kick, throwing my heels straight at his beaked face. I stretched my body to its fullest, hurling myself so far that I came off the floor entirely, my lower body’s rotation allowing me to land on my feet.

Horus flew backward, and though he was half-bird, he lacked wings to slow his impromptu flight. He crashed hard into a bulkhead, dropping with a bloody, immobile thump on the deck.

I rushed over to Claire, who was oblivious of her assailant’s attempts to violate her. She was trying to free herself, not to avoid the indignity of what Zundergrub’s crony had planned, but to reach the fallen case. What could possibly be so important? Grabbing the man, I lifted his whole frame off the ground and was rewarded with him putting his revolver right up to my face and firing.

I may be tough and strong, but that was no normal gun. Besides, getting shot just a few inches from my eye caught me off guard with sudden, sharp pain, the blinding light and ear-rattling noise. I dropped the guy and stumbled backward, covering my face.

He came to his feet and emptied his weapon into my frame, but the damage was already done.

“F*ck with the bull and you get the horns,” he spat, throwing open the chamber and spilling the spent rounds at my feet. He snapped in a speed-loader, emptying the shells into the six chambers, and slammed the revolver closed. He stepped back at Claire, whipping off his belt and hurling it aside, then kicking the box out of her hands, spilling a wrapped swath of cloth, a sheathed dagger, and a few pieces of jewelry to clatter on the deck. She flashed a murderous look at him, as he stepped between her and the box, reaching around him to get to the dagger.

“Je vais vous tuer,” she screamed, almost in tears, and spat a glob of blood at his feet.

He laughed, rearing back his foot and kicking her in the midsection again, taking the fire from her belly. She curled up in a ball, holding her pained stomach.

Something snapped. Anger boiled in my gut, flooding out pain and discomfort, and I found the strength to get to my feet. I hobbled over to them, the man bringing down his pants, unaware of my approach. I grabbed the back of his neck. When he swung around with his pistol hand, I caught the wrist and shattered every bone in the joint.

He screamed, releasing the weapon, and turned his head, fear lighting up behind those almond brown eyes. I didn’t relent, lifting him off the floor and swapping my grip from his neck to his other arm. Then I ripped him apart. His yelling became a howl, as bones and tendons popped and ligaments shredded, before he withered to my overwhelming strength. His right shoulder gave, his ribcage cracked apart, and blood exploded from of his mouth in a gurgling death cry.

I hurled his shattered body aside, dropping to my knees beside her.

“You all right?” I asked, but she kicked at me, a gesture that I barely felt. Claire’s right arm covered her face, keeping her shame from me, and her other hand was wrapped around her aching stomach. I reached over to the dagger which lay in a black leather scabbard, inlaid with silver, alongside a bronze amulet with a beautiful orange jewel that pulsed with power, and a metal bracelet etched with Celtic marking. These items lay atop a fine black cloak, edged with green sigils I couldn’t identify. I grabbed the dagger and wrapped the rest in the cloak, handing the bundle to her. At first she fought me, but catching a glimpse of the knife, she reached for it, bringing it closer to her chest, pressing it tight against her skin. For the moment, the pain in her body was gone, and she clenched the weapon as one would a dying child.

I placed my hand on her shoulder, wrapping her body in the cloak. She flashed a thankful glance in my direction, but we had no time for niceties.

I had beaten two of our attackers off, but more were coming. Before I could say a word, try for a reassuring lie, the third monster stepped into the room.

It was the big bastard. He had to wedge his massive bulk through the narrow opening in the ripped doorway. He eyed his two dead companions, then glared at me. A feral roar erupted from the beast, so primal that my lizard hindbrain recoiled, screaming for me to find shelter. Then it rushed us.