Matt Hilton - Dead_s men dust

It wasn't just the pose that shocked me. In itself it was terrible. The way in which Cain had stripped the?esh from John's back, exposing the musculature, went way beyond awful. Yet that wasn't the worst. What made me shrink inside was that John still shivered with life.

Caught in a snapshot moment again, eternity was measured by the thrum of one heartbeat.

Then I was moving forward with no sense of volition.

One moment I was standing at the threshold, the next I was cradling John's head between my palms. My SIG was lying in the dust at my feet, forgotten in my urgency to help my brother. All that was in my head, my heart, my soul, was to give John a modicum of comfort. He wasn't conscious; not in the real sense of the word. He stirred. I didn't want to look at his wounds, but inexorably my eyes drifted down. My eyes screwed tight, blocking the image, but I knew I'd see it for a long time to come.

"Oh, my God," I moaned again. Beyond reason, the prayer was for my own mortal soul. I gently caressed John's head, and this time he responded.

He shrieked.

He pulled away from me, shrieked again.

"John. It's all right. It's me. It's Joe. Your brother."

John squirmed away from my touch.

"John. John." I couldn't?nd words to comfort him. To let him know that he was going to be okay. I was there for him. I wouldn't allow the beast to harm him further. I would save him. Find him medical care. I would do all those things. But I was useless. I averted my face and allowed my frustration to escape me in a ragged howl of fury and loathing. All the while, I hung on to John so that-if nothing else-he would know I was there.

I pressed my face to his shoulder, held him. I was talking to him, though I can't recall my words. They were nothing more than low, gentle platitudes that issued between wrenching sobs.

Finally, I reached across and tested the iron nails that had been hammered into the wall. The nails were slick with John's blood and I couldn't get a grip on them. I couldn't undo the chains without the key. So instead I started pulling free the cords that bound his head. Only distantly was I aware that the cords were the dried tendons and ligaments stripped from previous victims. I managed to pull them free, and John's head lolled on his shoulder.

The resilience of human nature is outstanding, the terri?c injuries bodies can endure before life?nally?ees. That John was not only alive but in charge of his faculties was truly remarkable.

"Joe?" he croaked.

"Yes, John." I almost burst out crying again. "It's Joe. I'm here to help you."

And just as I said it, I heard the gunfire.

I spun from John, stooping for my SIG and lifting it toward the door. The gun?re was from somewhere outside. Rink, I thought. Killing Cain. Or being killed. I took three hurried steps before catching myself. I turned back to John.

"Everything'll be okay, John," I promised. "I'll be back."

"No," John moaned. "Don't leave me."

I shook with indecision but my training took over. "I'll be back. I promise."

And I started for the steps leading out. I had to defend this place. If Cain had taken Rink out, then he only had to keep me penned inside with no recourse but to watch my brother perish. If there was any way possible that he'd survive his horri?c injuries, John required immediate medical help.

Even as I reached the steps, I heard gun?re again. A second of nothing, then one last shot. Then silence. I quickened my pace up the steps. I took them in three bounds, then I was out. Searching for targets,?nding none. Immediately I set off in the direction of the narrow cleft between the rocks.

I shouted one word: "Cain!"

The cleft was a dark slash between the towering boulders, but I thought I could see movement there. Instinctively I pulled the trigger. And as reactively, someone shot back. I felt the wind of its passing as the bullet punched through the air next to my head. In midstep I dropped and rolled, came back to one knee?ring again. A return shot tugged loose cloth at my elbow. I didn't let it stop me, kept on?ring. Six shots in rapid succession, directly into the narrow passageway where I just had to get at least one killing shot into Cain's body mass. I heard him curse and knew that I'd hit him.

I dropped to my belly,?red the remaining two rounds in my gun, snatched backward at my waistband for a fresh clip even as I ejected the spent one.

It was a practiced movement I could achieve in less than two seconds, but it's surprising how much ground a determined man can cover in less than two seconds. Even as I pushed the clip into my SIG, Cain came charging at me out of the gloom.

Point.

Shoot.

The bullet caught him. It struck his left arm. But he didn't recoil; he fired back. Kept on coming.

Bullets punched the earth in front of me, spraying me with salty dust. I felt?re sear my left calf. I grunted. Fired again. And this time Cain doubled over. Though it didn't stop him. He launched himself at me.

Prone, I was at his mercy.

I had to move.

I twisted sideways, barely avoiding the elbow that Cain thrust at my skull. Then I twisted back toward him,?ring at point-blank range. Only Cain had also twisted away and my bullet missed him. He slashed at my gun hand, and the stiffened edge of his hand struck the nerves on my forearm. The SIG fell from my lifeless?ngers. Cain's gun swung toward me. I kicked at his chest and his aim went wide. Then we'd thrown our bodies together, and even as I thrust at his throat with my left hand, Cain jabbed his knee into my groin. I head-butted him in the face, reached for his gun, and wrenched it from him. He chopped at my wrist and I allowed the gun to drop so that I could return the blow.

We rolled across the sand, and there was no reason behind the strikes we aimed at each other, only that they were vicious and aimed at vulnerable points. Delivered with evil intent. Neither had the advantage. We were both wounded. Both of us were insane with hatred. Both of us wanted only to kill. At any second one of us would get what we wanted. Then the earth gave way beneath us and we were falling into space.

Somewhere deep inside I knew that our battle had taken us to the lip of the stairs leading to Cain's lair. We caromed against the steps, each taking the bone-jangling force as we somersaulted downward. Hitting the bottom we were forced apart, scattered on the?oor.

I pulled myself to my knees, my teeth bared as I spat blood from my mouth. Cain was in a similar pose. There was a wound along his scalp that made his pale hair stick straight up. Another wound above his right hip leaked blood. His eyes were pinched; pinpricks of fury.

"I'm gonna rip your fucking head off," I promised him as I pushed up from my crouch.

"Come on." Cain beckoned. But even as I stepped forward, he spun on his heel and charged into the chamber. I half expected him to throw the door shut, and I primed myself to throw my shoulder against it. But Cain did nothing of the sort. He took half a dozen running steps into the chamber, then turned to face me. Almost languidly, he drew a knife from his waistband, held it up before his eyes, grinned at me. "Come on. If you think you're up to the challenge."

I stooped, drew my KA-BAR. Nodded. Stepped into the chamber. "Ding, ding. Round two." Cain looked like he was enjoying himself.

I pointed the KA-BAR at him, a matador taunting a bull.

"Sanctimonious shithead," I called him.

Cain's lips pinched. "I can see where John gets his colorful language." I swung my head. "Let's leave John out of this. It's between you and me, Cain."

He jerked forward. I feinted at his gut, and we both skipped back out of range. Cain prowled to my right. I turned with him. He hopped to the left. Ten feet separated us. Beyond him, John hung on the wall, an unwilling witness to our duel. I spared him only a glance. Cain also glanced John's way.