Phoenix Rising (Book Two of The Icarus Trilogy) (14 page)

Jenkins brought down his rifle after garnering the giant’s attention.  He wasn’t going to let Abrams die like that; not when she could watch as he wreaked havoc on these men.  Three against one was going to make this interesting, at the very least.  Ryan had already let a few bullets from the rifleman pass by him.  The Bull had been nervous about trying to shoot Jenkins, as the artificial soldier had done what he could to place the oncoming melee fighter between him and the shooter.  It had allowed Jenkins a moment to think; he wouldn’t have much time as the man wielding the war hammer rushed towards him.

The artificial soldier looked at the man and instantly assumed he had to have grown up on Osmos or Demeter.  There was no way that these two melee fighters were not from one of the asteroids with lesser gravity.  Jenkins gave himself some time to figure out his strategy, but it wasn’t long before it all just clicked.  He smiled as he realized he might make it out of this in one piece.

Jenkins ran towards the melee fighter and could see that the Bull had not expected this change of events.  He had expected the Crow to run, certainly, but away from him.  Now Jenkins was rushing at him with his rifle at the ready.  The Bull felt a few rifle bullets strike the armor near his shoulders, but it did nothing but put him slightly off balance.  As the Crow crossed the distance there wasn’t very much room left for maneuvering and the Bull realized that he would have to swing very soon.  He brought up his hammer and swung it horizontally.  He hoped it would be enough to crush the small man and allow him a second strike into the man’s ribcage when he hit the ground moaning.

Jenkins smiled as the melee fighter did exactly what he wanted.  He fired one last round from his rifle into the man’s upper body and as the man swung the hammer in a horizontal arc, Jenkins rolled underneath the blow and past his legs.  He unclenched his hand and let the grenade he had been cooking for the last three seconds fall to the ground near the man’s feet and finished his roll past the Bull.  He was very pleased with himself and brought his rifle up while maintaining his momentum.  The rifleman was obviously confused and did not want to fire and accidentally hit his teammate behind Jenkins.  He didn’t realize that the man was already dead.

As the grenade exploded two meters behind him Jenkins pulled the trigger and watched as the arterial spray spurted out from the rifleman’s neck.  He felt a hundred tiny shards pelt his back and a dozen sink into the relatively unfortified joints of his armor.  It was painful, but as Jenkins spun around to his left and saw the Bull lying still on the ground missing his right leg he knew it was worth it.

Jenkins wasn’t smiling, but he was feeling content with his role in the fight.  He was still turning to face the last enemy when he realized he was too late.  The young Crow was still holding his rifle when he saw the blade coming down from above.  He stepped to his left in order to avoid the deadly strike, but only just avoided the end of his life.  Jenkins felt the blade tear through his shoulder and as he fell to his side he knew that he had been relieved of his arm.  He cursed the gods or whatever was responsible for his misery and rolled further in order to avoid the second strike that was surely coming.  It was painful to let the exposed stump of his arm touch the ground, but he was thankful for his actions; he could feel the impact of the blade on the dirt nearby.

Jenkins tried to pick himself up onto his feet but found it very difficult with just one arm. It also didn’t help when he felt the boot of the Bull strike into his side and knock him to the ground.  Jenkins gathered his wits and looked at the soldier.  The melee fighter had kicked his opponent only because the sword was still stuck in the ground from when he last attacked, but as Jenkins got to his feet he could see the man release the blade from its mooring.  Jenkins thought about getting his pistol but noticed that it was lying on the ground near his still-bleeding arm.  As he saw the red liquid he suddenly felt woozy.  He didn’t have much time before he was going to bleed out.

Abrams could barely see anymore because of the blood loss, but she did what she could to watch the fight in front of her.  She didn’t have the strength to crawl to her gun, only enough to lift her head.  The wounded Crow had watched as Jenkins had easily taken out his two opponents.  The only problem was the soldier he had stolen from Abrams; he would have been fine if he had let the swordsman kill her.  Jessica wondered why he was so willing to die.

She watched Jenkins duck and dive past the swordsman’s swings.  As her vision started to fade she thought every strike would be the last for the artificial soldier, but somehow he continued to avoid his fate.  Jenkins tumbled his way back to the corpse of the fighter with the chainsaw gauntlets and tripped over the man’s body.  She thought that would be the end of him, especially since the chainsaws were still running, but when the swordsman brought down his sword, Jenkins merely rolled away.

Ryan couldn’t believe his luck.  He had only just avoided three deadly blades with that last tumble and he knew he was getting close to passing out.  Whatever he was going to do he had to do it quickly.  He thought about the grenades on his belt but then he realized that as soon as he tried, he would probably end up with a sword in his midsection.  He laughed as he thought about how the soldier in front of him was just better-armed; he could appreciate the pun even as he was dying.  The Bull in front of him must have thought he was crazy.

As the soldier brought his weapon sideways to catch Jenkins at his side, the young soldier rolled forward to his enemy.  As he rose he picked up the arm of the fallen Bull by his feet.  The swordsman’s last blow had cleaved off the man’s chainsaw gauntlet, which was still rotating the spiked chain.  Jenkins thought it was very clever of him to take advantage of it.

Abrams gasped as Jenkins brought up the Bull’s detached arm and sank it into the swordsman’s ribcage underneath the shoulder.  Even with her fading consciousness she could hear the man’s bones grinding into chunks and see the blood spraying onto Jenkins’ armor.  It was gruesome and she wouldn’t wish it on anyone, but she was glad that Jenkins had been able to take the man out.  It seemed fair to the woman.  Jessica let her head fall and laid her helmet against the ground.  She wouldn’t wake again.

Jenkins looked into the man’s helmet as the chainsaw ground up the man’s insides.  He knew the man was cursing him with his dying breath but he couldn’t get the words out; the chainsaw was wrecking everything that was responsible for speech.  Jenkins watched as the man sank to his knees and then fell onto the ground.  The artificial soldier smiled as he realized he had just killed three men by himself. 

As he stood there with blood seeping out of the stump that used to be his arm he realized the true horror of it all.  The old Jenkins would not have smiled at the carnage that he just caused.  He would have just seen it as something necessary for his survival or the survival of his friends.  That’s what the real Jenkins would have thought.  Ryan looked at his arm and realized that he was going to die anyway.  He had just wanted the challenge; he had just wanted the glory of the kill.

He hated himself standing there in that field.  He hadn’t even saved Abrams.  The only thing that he had caused by shooting the swordsman was to gain an audience member.  He realized that he was never going to be like the old Jenkins.  He was just going to have to accept that he was always going to be this monster.

As he stood there over the bodies of his fallen foes he finally succumbed to the loss of blood.  The blackness swept in from the edges of his vision and as the world disappeared Jenkins fell down onto his back.  It was time for him to go.

-

 Carver didn’t enjoy cleaning the blood off of his rifle.  Not only was it entirely too messy, but it meant that he had gotten way too close to his opponent.  He looked down to see the Bull with his head turned to the side and a pool of blood gathering on the broken ground beneath him.  He and Templeton had been patrolling the area when they came upon the lone Bull.  He had already started to turn his head and Carver didn’t have time to back away; instead he rushed forward to meet the man.  He had grabbed hold of the Bull’s throat before shoving the rifle’s barrel into the man’s back.  It was a coward’s kill and Carver knew it.

The two Crows had encountered only a few of the opposing team.  There had been a few melee fighters that went down from Carver’s rifle and a few more long distance fighters.  Templeton had only been good as a distraction for the old Crow.  The soldier had killed just one of their opponents; the rest of the time he had fired wildly in their direction.  The veteran would have cursed him if the younger soldier had been holding him back, but there had been no harm done.  Carver didn’t even have a scratch on him.

Comms had been quiet.  Either his teammates were falling down before they were able to cry for help or there had been no difficulties.  Carver hoped it would be the latter option; he didn’t want to deal with a batch of freshly-resurrected soldiers during the next game.  Morale wasn’t exactly high in the Crows’ barracks and Carver didn’t want it any worse.

Carver continued to wipe away the blood from his rifle.  He had tried to avoid a spurt like that, but he must have hit an artery or vein with that last shot.  When he was finished wiping down the weapon he picked himself up from the hull plating he had been sitting on and looked at his comrade.  The old Crow had no idea why the thin man was still with them but Roth had been traded away.  They joined at the same time; they should have left at the same time.

Yet Templeton continued to wear the crimson Crow on his shoulder.  Carver sighed as he watched the man.  There was nothing impressive about the slave soldier.  The veteran wondered how much longer the game would last; how much longer he would have to deal with the useless man.  As he pondered the question he saw Templeton check something from his pack.  It raised Carver’s suspicions; soldiers didn’t bring anything important into the field.  It would be far too easy to lose it for eternity.

It was only a moment after the soldier checked the mystery item when he turned and waved his hand for Carver to follow.  Then, without waiting for the senior soldier the smaller man took off at a sprint away from his compatriot.  Carver cursed the man’s name and followed.  The veteran wasn’t going to let the man run off on his own and kill himself, but he hated that he was following him in the first place.  Carver had just wanted a nice, simple game; Templeton wasn’t making it easy.

“Templeton, what the fuck are you doing?  Stop, you idiot!”  Templeton didn’t pay attention; he just kept running.  Carver started to breathe heavier as the minutes wore on.  He could keep up for now, but soon enough his bones would rattle and his ligaments would groan.  Carver half-expected to be shot at any time.

Abruptly, the soldier stopped after reaching a small clearing.  Carver was going to give him a piece of his mind before Templeton tapped a button on the mystery item, brought out his pistol and shot five rounds into the empty air all around them.  Carver ducked instinctively and wondered when the soldier had gone insane.  Then he heard the cracks and fizzles and the impacts of machinery hitting the ground.  He looked in the directions of Templeton’s shots and found three broken camera drones, all shot through the lens.  The veteran slowly turned his head to look at the younger soldier, who had taken off his helmet and dropped it to the ground.

Carver felt as if he was seeing the man for the first time.  The soldier’s face full of friendly features had disappeared and revealed a hardened and weathered man.  The eyes had changed.  They were dark and powerful; not the shifting eyes of the weakling Carver had known for the last month.  His aim had improved, as well.  Templeton was not known for hitting visible enemies, much less three perfectly-cloaked machines.

Carver rose to his feet, unclasped his helmet and brought it up over his head.  He set down the expensive piece of machinery by his feet and looked at the thin man in front of him.  Templeton nodded and beckoned for the old man to come closer.  Warily, the veteran stepped forward and tried to size up this new man before him.  Whoever Templeton really was, he had taken great pains to hide his true self.  Carver had a hunch that he wasn’t hiding anymore. 

The old Crow stopped two meters from the man and crossed his arms.  If the younger soldier had wanted to kill Carver he would be dead already; the old man didn’t need to be ready for an attack.  Templeton shrugged and laughed before waving at the camera drones surrounding them.

“So I guess you’re gonna have a few questions.”

“A few, but I have a feeling you have more than enough to say, first,” Carver said while keeping eye contact with this secretive soldier.  He would let the younger man tip his hand before asking anything.  Templeton sighed and holstered his weapon.

“I didn’t want them to watch us while we talked, Jonathon,” the mysterious soldier said before looking back at the veteran.  Carver’s eye twitched at the mention of his first name.

“I wasn’t aware that we were on a first name basis.  Is your name really Templeton?”  The man standing in front of him shrugged.

“Yeah, actually.  Put myself into disgrace for this.  Do you really mind if I use your name?  I’m sure before you were a soldier people called you ‘Jonathon’ all the time.”  Carver shifted his weight to his left foot and stared at the man.  He wanted to know what this was all about.

“Keep using it, but don’t expect me to like it.  So what’s the game?  Who are you?”  The thin man paced a few steps at a time.  He looked at Carver over his left soldier before staring off into the distance and sighing.

“It’s not a game, Carver.  We’re finally acting on everything.  I’m part of the Eris Freedom Initiative,” he said before turning to face the veteran.  Carver scoffed at the statement.  This man was marked for death and if Carver was unfortunate he would be dragged right along with him.

“Oh, so you play in the games, now?  Just so you can empathize with us poor soldiers?”  Carver hated the resistance groups that had popped up every decade or so.  They were always kids from rich families who wanted to play politics.  All they ever did was get people arrested or killed and they didn’t change a thing.  The veteran didn’t have the patience for them.