James Moore - SNAFU - Hunters

“What have you got for weapons?”

Flynn pulled his pistol, identical to Matt’s. “Just this and the sword. Couple knives. Here, take it.” He held it out grip-first.

Matt took it and holstered it.

Flynn smiled, but kept his voice at a barely audible whisper. “I’ll go up. You can be bait.” Before Matt could argue he’d scampered up the ladder to crouch in the darkness overhead, wedged in place like a movie action hero, left palm pressed against one wall, feet against the other. He drew his katana and winked. “Run along, little birdie. And tweet a little, would you?”

Chirp, chirp.

The scents mingled, the man’s combining with someone else’s, sharper, a cold, metallic bite reminiscent of dentist’s offices and morgues. Miguel hesitated, then peeked around the corner. The body still lay where he’d left it, though her weapons were missing. Nothing moved, and nothing registered in the infrared.

He stepped out, approaching the body in a silent walk, and the cold smell grew stronger, more dominant. An infrared glow filtered down from the access hatch, normal in the daytime but out of place at night. Miguel tried not to roll his eyes at the soft scrape from the end of the hall.

There had never been a time, not since puberty, that people hadn’t underestimated his mind. Only Calloway had seen through the lump of meat, lifted him up and made him a true player in her organization. The Mako Kings had no idea what they’d gotten themselves involved in, and she kept them rolled in enough cash to keep them blind, but she trusted Miguel, and used his shrewd mind to cement her ties with the Latin gang.

If you want a bull…

Miguel charged, as they’d expect him to, but at the last second leapt, punching into the overhead tunnel, driving his massive fist and barbed metal spikes into hard armor and soft flesh. The hidden man let out a strangled grunt as his abdomen imploded, and as Miguel tore away he went slack. Miguel’s foot came down, slipped on the body, and the world went white.

The whispers cooed their disapproval as Matt rounded the corner too late for the explosion to shred his flesh. The bonk had stumbled to one knee, a mass of charred skin smeared with red where the mass of fragmentation grenades had sheared through. Pale metal shone through the injuries, an enhancement Matt hadn’t expected.

Conor dropped from the shaft, hairless skin golden and shiny from the intense heat, and hit the ground on his knees and elbows, too hard. And stayed there, gagging.

Matt fired, a single round straight to the forehead. The bonk jerked sideways and the bullet ricocheted off, gouging the skin but otherwise doing no damage. As burnt flesh knitted over metal, it looked healthier than when they’d started.

Holy shit.

The bonk leaned forward and drove a fist down, crushing Flynn to the floor. His pelvis shattered and his legs twitched, but he didn’t scream.

Matt charged, firing, as the bonk raised his fist again. The impacts should have driven it back, but instead it lunged forward, rising to its feet in an athletic leap. It stumbled as Flynn lashed out. His composite blade caught it in the knee, slicing through the meat to lodge in the joint.

Flynn held on, two-handed, as it dragged him another half-step and then fell, unable to drag its other leg underneath it.

Matt stepped forward and aimed, point-blank, at the top of its head. The single shot rang out and the bonk dropped, hot red fluid pulsing from the hole. He let out a breath, pointed down, fired twice more into the fractured skull.

Kneeling, Matt put his hand on Conor’s shoulder. “You alive?”

Conor’s hand twitched, and his thumb extended.

Matt patted the top of his head. “Sorry about the dibs. You maniac.”

Six hours later they landed in D.C., Karle and Flynn still on stretchers, al-Azwar, Platt, and Washington in body bags. Matt shook Jeff Hannes’s hand on the tarmac, Jeff’s tie lashing in the downwash from the propellers.

Jeff pinned Flynn with his eyes and spoke as the chopper lifted off. “What the hell was that, Flynn?”

Karle held up a hand. “We already discussed it, sir. Flynn thought he’d taken down his target, so once he’d recovered from his injuries he’d redirected to assist in the hunt for, um, for Pointy.”

Jeff looked from Flynn to Karle, his anger fading to his familiar grimace. “We lost three Augs taking down four, with drone support. How did that happen?”

Matt licked his lips. “We’re still not sure. Something ambushed us on the way down, killed Platt and isolated al-Azwar so that Pointy could take her out. We looked at the Dragonfly feeds, and IR picked up a signature, but not much of one, and it disappeared into the crowd before we’d finished the sweep.”

“What are you saying?”

Karle answered. “We… we don’t know, sir. Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie squads came in on cleanup, and we vetted everyone before we released them or turned them over to metro PD for warrants. Nobody flagged, not even as suspicious, though way too many tested positive for Jade – nothing serious yet, just junkie-level cut crap.”

Jeff looked at each of them in turn. “Well, in that case, I think you have a new mission.”

This book is a collection of stories from writers all over the world.

For authenticity and voice, we have kept the style of English native to each author’s location, so some stories will be in UK English, and others in US English.

We have, however, changed dashes and dialogue marks to our standard format for ease of understanding.

This book is a work of fiction.

All people, places, events, creatures, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination.

Any resemblance to persons or monsters living or dead is purely coincidental.

SNAFU: Hunters

Amanda J Spedding and Geoff Brown (eds)

Anthology © Cohesion Press 2016

Stories © Individual Authors 2016

Cover Art by Dean Samed/Conzpiracy Dean 2016

Internal Layout by Cohesion Editing and Proofreading

Set in Palatino Linotype

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

Enquiries should be made to the publisher.

Cohesion Press

Mayday Hills Lunatic Asylum

Beechworth, Victoria

www.cohesionpress.com

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Table of Contents

Apex Predator

N.X. Sharps & Tim Marquitz

Two Birds

Evan Dicken

Non-Zero Sum

R.P.L. Johnson

Only Stones In Their Place

Christine Morgan

That Old Black Magic

James A. Moore

Ngu’Tinh

D.F. Shultz

Warm Bodies

Kirsten Cross

The Bani Protocols

Rose Blackthorn

Hungry Eyes