Deathgame (12 page)

"Hello," a voice said from behind them.

Frank halted, glancing at Joe. "Did you hear that?"

"At least he didn't laugh. I really hate his laugh," Joe said, turning.

Brand stood at the end of the corridor they'd just come from. He held his machine gun at waist height.

"You ruined it all," he told them. His voice cracked with emotion. "Brand!"

The voice calling Brand's name sounded exactly as it had in the jungle. But in those close quarters, echoing off the stone walls, it raised goose-flesh on Joe's neck. It came from behind them.

The Hardys turned the other way. Hammerlock stood at the opposite end of the corridor, covered with sweat, grease, and blood. His shadow stretched nightmarishly behind him.

"I told you, Brand. You have to answer to me," Hammerlock growled. His guttural voice sounded more animal than human.

Frank and Joe looked back and forth. They were caught between two murderous men. In seconds the dimly lit corridor would be filled with bullets—and so would they.

These rough-hewn rock walls could easily be-come their tomb!

JOE SNAPPED HIS pistol up quickly and pulled the trigger. His target was the dim light bulb. When it shattered, the whole corridor went as black as the interior of a crypt.

The sound of the shot reverberated through the room.

The Hardys each dove for an opposite wall of the corridor, pressing against the cold stone. Sharp edges dug into their backs.

Rapid gunfire lit the blackness in sudden spurts from both ends of the corridor. Joe squeezed the trigger of his gun again. Click!

"Our cannon just ran out of ammunition," he whispered to Frank. "Now what do we do?"

Bullets ricocheted off the walls at the ends of the corridor.

"Let's go for Brand!" Frank whispered. Fortunately the racket of the gunshots kept them from being overheard by either of the men. "He's closer."

"And not as strong," Joe added.

They moved as quietly as they could along the corridor, trying to stay flat against the walls. Their luck held as the bullets continued to rip down the middle of the long hall.

The gunfire abruptly ended on both ends of the room, as if by some cue. With the absence of noise, the place became darker, more ominous.

Joe froze. He knew they must be close to Brand. But he couldn't even see Frank, who was only across the width of the corridor from him. He listened. Nothing, just silence as vast as the darkness. He could feel his hand growing sweaty on the heavy gun.

Brand cleared his throat.

The sound was so close to Joe that he almost jumped back. Instead, he flung himself into the darkness, trusting his ears. He rammed into Brand, both of them tumbling to the floor. Hammerlock heard the scuffle.

"Brand!" he shouted. "You want to know what I'm doing, Brand?"

The major whacked Joe with the machine gun in a desperate effort to get free. Frank managed to grope through the dark, guided by the sounds of struggle, and pried the weapon loose from Brand's hands.

"I'm putting on my light-intensification goggles, Brand! And you know what that means? It means I can see you in the dark. I can see your little friends! And you can't see me!"

Hammerlock's voice seemed to spur Brand into panic. His fists flailed wildly, but most of the blows he delivered glanced off.

"Ah, I see all of you. Having a good time down there?"

As Hammerlock's voice faded, they could hear him stepping quietly toward them along the stone floor.

"I'm going to have to kill you all," Hammerlock said. His voice sounded almost rational. Almost.

Frank managed to get a choke hold around Brand's neck. Gurgling, the man clawed at his hands. But Frank held tight. When Brand's arms went limp, Frank let go.

Joe jumped to his feet. "Let's get out of here!"

"My sentiments exactly!" Frank exclaimed.

They ran through the darkness, afraid that at any moment they might trip over some obstacle. Reaching the end of the corridor, they turned blindly. "Come on!" Joe called. He ran on for about ten feet.

Then he crashed into a wall.

"Dead end!" Joe said, as if he couldn't believe it. Desperately, he ran his hand along the obstruction. "Wait! A door!"

"Open it!" Frank urged as he caught up. Joe's fingers searched for the knob, found it, and his hand slipped on the metal. Locked!

"Ah! There you are!" Hammerlock said from somewhere in the darkness. "End of the game. I win."

"Break it in!" Frank shouted.

Joe hit the door with his shoulder. He yelled in pain. The door remained fast, but his shoulder felt as if it were broken in a dozen places.

"Not with your shoulder," Frank admonished. "Kick it in!" He came up beside his brother. "Together!"

They both kicked out at the same time, right at the door handle. There was a splintering sound, but the door held.

"Nice try," said Hammerlock, and his voice was frighteningly close in the dark.

They kicked again. Wood tore with grinding, splintering sounds. But still the door held.

"If you only knew how clearly these light-intensification goggles let me see your futile efforts." Hammerlock sounded as if he were right on top of them. "Of course, I could shoot you now. I could have shot you when I first rounded the corner. But I admire effort, even if it is hopeless. Too bad I'm going to have to call a finish to this little game."

They heard the click of a gun chamber.

"It really is the end of the game, you know," Hammerlock said matter-of-factly.

They kicked out again. This time, miraculously, the door rebounded inward, banging against the wall. Beyond were high windows, reaching to the roof, and through it the sun. The dark clouds had passed.

The Hardys blinked in the sudden brightness.

But behind them, Hammerlock screamed. "The light! Noooooooo!" The colonel clutched at the goggles, trying to rip them off. He dropped the machine gun he had been carrying.

The intensified sunlight seared through his eyes, incredibly brilliant. Bellowing in pain, Hammerlock tore the goggles off, crushing them in his big hands. He staggered around—arms groping—blind.

Joe walked up to the colonel, who was flailing desperately with his arms.

"Hammerlock?" Joe said quietly.

Hammerlock lunged for him. And missed!

Joe whacked him over the head with the butt of his gun. Hammerlock hit the floor. He didn't seem to mind that the floor was stone. He appeared to be asleep.

"Good night," said Joe.

Terry looked at the radio equipment and said, "No problem. Give me five minutes and I'll have this baby humming." He started flipping switches. "Who do you want to call to come and rescue us?"

"Some rescue," Biff moaned. "I'll be free only until I get home. Then I'll be grounded for the next nine years—if my father doesn't kill me first."

"I think your mother has first dibs on killing you," Joe said comfortingly.

He walked over and patted Frank on the back. "Well, Frank, you might be kind of a nerd sometimes, but you always come through in a pinch."

"Is Frank really a nerd?" Lauren asked, her eyes merry now that the danger was over.

"Well, he loves to play with his computer and he can't dance and he has no sense of humor at all," Joe replied. "Ask Biff."

Frank threw up his hands. "I don't know why I'm so misunderstood. I'm a fun kind of guy." He brushed his hand through his dark hair and saw that it came away covered with chunks of crusting mud. "Why should I get this flak just because I have superior intelligence?"

Joe brushed away some more of the dried mud from Frank's shoulder. "That's not flak. That's flakes!""

They stepped outside, onto the battlements of the old fortress. Sitting side by side, tied hand and foot, were Brand and Hammerlock. ]

The last rays of the sun threw alternate bands of orange and black over Hammerlock's face. He almost looked like a human tiger.

"Looks like your eyesight is back," Frank said.

"Oh, I recognize you." Hammerlock's voice was a low growl in his chest.

"Hey, lighten up, Colonel," called Joe from the doorway. "At least you're out here in the fresh air. The rest of your boys are locked up in the dungeons."

The hate in Hammerlock's eyes was terrifying. "Why do you leave me with this traitor?"

"To keep an eye on you," Lauren said. "I wouldn't trust either of you alone."

"The next sound you hear will be that of helicopters," Joe cut in, "coming to take old Orville here to jail. And as for you, Colonel — well, I don't know where they'll put you. Some kind of — "

"Enough!" Sweat broke out on Hammerlock's forehead as he wrenched against the ropes holding him. The muscles on his arms bulged, his snake tattoo writhed. Then, unbelievably, Joe, Frank, and Lauren heard a snap! The ropes tore loose from Hammerlock's wrists.

Frank and Lauren darted a glance at the doorway. None of them had thought to bring their weapons out there. They had thought the prisoners were bound securely.

Obviously, they had thought wrong. Hammerlock ripped the ropes loose from his ankles as if he were tearing the string off a parcel. He rose to his feet, eyes glittering. "Now we'll see."

Despairing, Frank went into a karate stance. No way could he stop this man mountain, not when Hammerlock was in this enraged state.

"Colonel, what about me?" said Brand.

Hammerlock's answer was a vicious snap-kick that left his ex-subordinate groaning.

In that brief moment of distraction, Joe darted inside the doorway. He stepped out again. Even in the gathering shadows, everyone could see the outline of a pistol in his hand.

"Hold it right there, Hammerlock," Joe shouted.

The colonel froze. "You think that popgun can kill me?" he said.

"It won't have to kill you," Joe said. "All it has to do is blow you off this wall. It's a long fall to the rocks down there." He gestured with the muzzle. "And don't think about jumping me. I'm just a little too far away."

Hammerlock glared around in frustration. Then his tensed muscles sagged as Biff came out to join Joe, his M-16 aimed and ready.

"Look what we just found," Biff said, holding out several pairs of handcuffs.

"Put them all on the colonel, here," said Joe. Again he pointed his pistol. "Colonel, on the ground, please. On your belly. Hands behind your back."

A few minutes later Hammerlock was trussed like a turkey. But Joe still wasn't satisfied. He had the colonel wrapped in so many layers of rope that he resembled a mummy.

"Don't you think you're overdoing it?" Frank asked as Joe tied the finishing knots.

"I don't want to go through this business ever again," Joe said.

"Why?" asked Lauren. "You handled it so well with that pistol."

"That's precisely why I don't want to do it again." Joe picked up the pistol, aimed it at Hammerlock, and snapped off a shot.

"Joe!" shouted Frank.

His cry almost drowned out the pock of the gun. Then a smear of magenta paint appeared on the wall over Hammerlock's head. It dripped down on the colonel as he yelled in inarticulate fury.

Biff stared in disbelief. "That's a paint-pellet gun from one of their games!" he said.

"You bet it is," said Joe. "Now you know why I'd never want to face him down again with one of those."

He grinned, then turned to Biff. "And you can do me a favor, pal. Next time you take up a game, make it checkers."

The End.