Robert Ferrigno - Sins of the Assassin

A beefy raider leaned against the front porch, staring up at the stars, barely listening. Rakkim remembered him…had seen the man tear the wedding ring off Florence Tigard’s finger that night. Nelson, that was his name. Gravenholtz had yelled at him, said, Come on, Nelson, get your ass in the bird. “Okay, Lieutenant, sir.” Nelson insolently set his assault rifle down, waved at the other raiders to do the same. He smiled at the lieutenant, flicked his cigarette at him, but it landed short, scattered sparks across the officer’s boots.

The chopper rose a few feet into the air, its spotlight pinning the lieutenant and his men. Then its Gatling machine guns opened up, and the soldiers looked like marionettes dancing on invisible strings, hit so hard and so fast they couldn’t even fall over until the guns finally stopped firing.

Rakkim put three shots from the sniper rifle into the windscreen of the chopper, but it was armored acrylic, bulletproof. The spotlight wasn’t.

Blind in the sudden darkness, Nelson and the other raiders stumbled around, tripping over the dead. The helicopter moved higher, its motion erratic as Royce, surprised by the attack, overcompensated.

Taking fire! shouted Royce.

Rakkim put his next bullet through Nelson’s left eye. Shot four more men before the last three tumbled through the front door of the house. Rakkim raced to the porch, squatted beside Nelson’s body. The chopper’s thermal imaging system would be confused by the double image. For a few moments anyway.

Royce, what’s going on out there? said Gravenholtz, using the man’s name now, abandoning all com discipline.

Rakkim darted around the side, shot out the electrical relay, and the lights inside went out. As he rolled under the house, the chopper’s guns blasted away, tearing up the ground and the siding, shattering a window.

Motherfuck, Royce, you trying to kill us all?

Somebody’s making a move on your position, but I can’t see for shit, said Royce. You got some kind of radiation inside that’s fucking up my sensors.

I’ll handle it, said Gravenholtz. You just be ready to get us out of here.

Rakkim heard footsteps approaching overhead, the floorboards creaking. A chair was knocked over in the darkness, and Gravenholtz cursed. He heard Baby’s voice and others too, but not Leo or Moseby. Rakkim scooted farther under the house, the crawl space littered with mouse droppings, cobwebs veiling his face.

No visuals yet, said Royce. He might be under the-

Bullets tore through the floorboards, the raiders inside emptying their automatic weapons, then reloading and firing again and again. A couple of near misses but the only blood drawn was where a shard of wood cut his arm. He smelled gunpowder and heard coughing from inside the house, voices complaining they couldn’t breathe and couldn’t see, while Gravenholtz told them to shut the fuck up. Rakkim waited. Flashlight beams filtered through some of the gunshot holes in the floor, dust motes dancing in beams of golden light.

A boot stomped on a section of floor that had been chewed up and weakened by gunfire. Kept on stomping until the boot crashed through and was quickly withdrawn.

Rakkim bellied over toward the opening. He had left his sniper rifle outside-no room to use it under the house-but his knife was in his hand.

“Do it,” said Gravenholtz.

Mumbles from above. A flashlight beam flickered across the broken floor. Another round of gunfire tore chunks out of the floorboards.

“Fucking do it,” said Gravenholtz.

Rakkim lay in the darkness beside the hole, ears ringing, waiting. A spider crawled over his hand and continued on its way.

A flashlight jiggled in the opening, then a pistol. A man’s head and shoulders followed.

“See anybody?” said Gravenholtz.

The flashlight swept under the house, its beam reflected back by sheets of cobwebs hanging from the old wooden supports. “No…not yet.”

“Keep looking,” said Gravenholtz.

Rakkim lunged out of the dusty shadows, jammed the knife into the side of the man’s neck, and pushed forward. The man died in silence, any last words lost in a gush of blood. Rakkim took the flashlight from his hand, tossed it toward the front of the house. He tucked the pistol into his belt, even though it wouldn’t be of any use against Gravenholtz, and he preferred the silent killing of a blade anyway. The personal touch it offered.

Groups of the Colonel’s men are converging on the house, said Royce. Machine-gun fire echoed in the distance. Doing what I can to slow them down.

“Well?” Gravenholtz demanded of the dead man. “Is somebody there or not?

Rakkim retreated into the deeper darkness. He had heard Baby’s voice, surprised at how calm she sounded, but still nothing from Leo or Moseby. Gravenholtz would keep Baby alive to use as a bargaining chip, but he didn’t need them.

“Hey?” Gravenholtz jerked the man back out of the opening. “I asked…Fuck.” The man’s body hit the floor. No one fired his weapon. No one made a sound. Listening.

Their initial surprise and disorientation had passed; they were ready now. Rakkim heard fingers snap. Heard footsteps move cautiously toward where he had thrown the flashlight. The opening in the floor was dark now as the raiders gathered near the other end of the room, thinking he was using the flashlight to find his way.

As the raiders blasted the floor with gunfire, Rakkim slipped up through the hole, lost in the noise. He moved low across the floor, the air thick with gunsmoke, almost impenetrable in the faint light from their flashlights. Slumped in the middle of the room were two bodies…Leo and Moseby.

“Is he dead?” One of the raiders peered through the holes in the floor. “His light’s off…”

All units not engaged, close in on my house, said the Colonel, his voice tired. My wife is in there, so avoid hostilities. Repeat, my wife is in there.

Royce, get your ass down here for dust-off, said Gravenholtz.

One of the raiders again unloaded his weapon into the floor.

Baby put her hands over her ears.

Through the security windows, Rakkim could see the flashing red and yellow position lights as the helicopter descended.

Gravenholtz grabbed Baby’s wrist, pulled her toward the front door.

One of the raiders hoisted the canister from the underground lake onto his shoulder.

Rakkim started after Gravenholtz. He didn’t make a sound, but Baby turned…

“Rikki!”

Gravenholtz whirled in the open doorway, raised his assault rifle one-handed, sprayed the rear of the room until he emptied the clip.

The helicopter touched down in the yard, tracer rounds from somewhere dinging off the canopy as the pilot struggled against the turbulence. Maintaining low ground clearance was the hardest part of any chopper pilot’s job.

The raider carrying the canister raced past Gravenholtz and across the dirt, dove head-first into the passenger compartment of the chopper.

The chopper rose six feet off the ground, Gatlings spinning as it tore through the Colonel’s men, then settled back down. The yellow and red position lights rotated slowly on either side of it, overlapping circles of concentric color.

Gravenholtz hesitated, one arm around Baby as he glared at Rakkim. “I should have known it would be you. I’ve been wanting to-”

“Lester, let’s go!” shouted the raider from the passenger compartment.

Gravenholtz scampered toward the chopper, easily carrying Baby over his shoulder.

Cease fire! said the Colonel. That’s Baby!

Rakkim caught up with Gravenholtz halfway to the chopper, lunged at him, but the redhead used Baby as a shield and Rakkim backed off. They capered around each other, Gravenholtz’s free hand balled into a fist, while Rakkim circled, trying to find an opening.