Repairman Jack [02]-Legacies

And then the shooting stopped, though the thrashing continued. That could mean only one thing: Barlowe had realized that his Tec-9 was not going to save his life. And Jack figured what he'd try next.

Quickly he twisted the two ends of the vine together so he could keep it taut with one hand. Then he stretched around to his right.

Just as he'd suspected, Barlowe was pulling his Special Forces knife from its scabbard. The wicked-looking saw-toothed Rambo blade gleamed in the light as Barlowe brought it up behind his head to saw at the vines.

"No you don't," Jack said, and grabbed his wrist.

The struggle was a short one. Weakened by lack of air, Barlowe didn't have the strength to pull free of Jack's grip.

Finally, he sagged.

But Jack wasn't about to release the vine. Barlowe could be playing possum.

Just then the bark on the trunk above Jack's head exploded into stinging fragments to the rattling tune of assault weapon fire.

He ducked and turned. He spotted the other merc, Kenny, about fifty yards away, crashing toward him.

Kenny whooped and yelled. "Hey, Barlowe! What're you shooting at? I found him! He's over here! Yo, Barlowe! Over here!"

Jack released the vine and crawled around to Barlowe's side of the tree. The merc's face was blue-tinged, his eyes closed as his body sagged to its knees.

On the far side he could hear Kenny's noisy progress, yelling and firing short bursts as he approached.

"Gotcha now, fucker! Say your prayers, 'cause you got about a minute to live. Hope you're shittin' your pants, fucker. Hey, yo, Barlowe! Where are you, man? You're gonna miss the fun!"

"Barlowe's right here," Jack whispered. "Waiting for you."

Jack grabbed Barlowe's Tec-9 but its strap was wrapped and twisted around his arm. He yanked first, then tried to untangle it, and all the while he could hear Kenny crashing closer.

"Dammit!" he hissed as he fumbled for the strap release.

And then pain blazed through the front of Jack's left thigh. For an instant he thought he'd been shot, then he looked down and saw Barlowe's knife dropping out of a bloody slit in his jeans, and Barlowe staring up at him with the reddest whites Jack had ever seen.

And Kenny just on the other side of the tree.

Ignoring the pain in his leg as best he could, Jack hauled Barlowe to his feet—had to hand it to the guy, he was one tough, determined son of a bitch—and faced him toward Kenny's sounds. As he held him up he wriggled his hand under the merc's right arm, searching for the Tec-9's grip.

Kenny arrived with his own Tec blazing, and Jack felt the jolting impact of the slugs tearing into Barlowe.

"Oh, Christ!" Kenny wailed as the shooting stopped. "Barlowe, what—?"

Jack couldn't see Kenny, but he could imagine his expression. Jack's questing finger found the trigger of Barlowe's Tec then, and he pulled it. He had no idea where he was aiming, he simply started firing blind and wild, and hoped the clip wouldn't run out.

He chanced a peek over Barlowe's shoulder and saw Kenny stumbling backward, arms and eyes wide, his chest a bloody ruin.

Jack released Barlowe and his Tec, letting him fall forward. Both mercs hit the ground about the same time.

And then Jack sagged against the big tree, clutching his bloody thigh. It hurt like hell every time he moved his leg.

Just what I need, he thought.

But at least he was no longer the only unarmed man on the hill.

9.

The gunfire had stopped.

"Well," Baker said, "that's it for your boyfriend."

He leaned against the desk, his pistol still in his hand.

"You don't know that," Alicia said.

She could not imagine Jack dead. He seemed too resourceful to be dead. But then, she'd only seen him playing his tricks. She'd never seen him in a gunfight. And no matter how good he was, how could he overcome two men armed with automatic weapons?

"I do know that," Baker said. "All that shooting can mean only one thing: They cornered him and had some fun with him. Probably shot up his legs first, then started moving around the rest of his body. By the time they were through, he was probably begging them to kill him."

Fearing she might vomit, Alicia turned away. Jack—Just Jack—dead. Add one more to the list of men dead because of her. She'd involved him in this. He'd come willingly, but still, if she'd just let it go, let Thomas have the damn house, they'd all be alive, and she wouldn't be trapped in the woods with these human monsters.

She heard a loud, celebratory whoop from somewhere outside the cabin.

Baker straightened and crossed the room, grinning.

"That's Kenny. He's a noisy son of a bitch."

Another whoop.

Baker stepped outside and stood with hands on hips, staring toward the tree line.

10.

Jack trained Barlowe's Tec-9 on the cabin door and let out a whoop, hoping he sounded enough like Kenny to draw Baker out.

He leaned against a tree trunk to take the weight off his left leg. The trees were smaller here and didn't provide much cover. Hopefully he wouldn't need it.

Off to his right, Yoshio's body was a pale blotch among the weeds.