All Dogs Go To Heaven/Part 4
Part 4
Madison Malholtra  |
Lunchmeat  |
Julie Skels  |
Duncan Slade  | |
Lunchmeat hit the ground as the kill truck’s heavy machine gun tore apart the warehouse. He pulled his rifle close with sweaty hands, waiting for the inevitable break from gunfire. The cannon would eventually click empty – it would need to reload. That would be his chance.
Except the truck just kept fucking shooting.
It was seemingly endless – a barrage of thunder and shrapnel punctuated now by Julie laughing. She’d graduated from nervous giggles to a full-on psychotic laugh track. How many goddamn bullets can this truck have?
Then the cannon finally did click empty and Lunchmeat got to his feet. He fired on what he figured was the truck’s weak point – its massive wheels. That wouldn’t kill the iron beast, but if he could immobilize the thing maybe they could at least make a run for it.
His first burst missed the wheels. The bullets dinged harmlessly off the truck’s extensive armor plating. He corrected for recoil and his next burst tore into the vehicle’s exposed tires.
And that did nothing too.
He couldn’t imagine the tires were bullet-proof, and yet the 5.56mm rounds barely managed to scar the rubber. They were gonna need something bigger…
"Duncan, the toy!" Lunchmeat bellowed.
Duncan was clearly thinking the same thing. He had taken position behind a collapsed wall, RPG already on his shoulder. The thing no longer looked like a toy. It looked like salvation.
Duncan took aim and smiled. "Ramon Riggs says hi, you son of a bitch!"
He fired and in an instant the rocket was gone, replaced by a fat white contrail. The driver must have seen Duncan taking aim because the truck lurched forward in an awkward attempt to dodge. It wasn’t enough – the rocket clipped the back of the vehicle and detonated in a blast that sent Lunchmeat sprawling backwards.
Over the tinnitus whine in his ears, he could hear Duncan cheering. The blast had knocked a rear wheel off the truck. The searchlights had gone dark and the rear hatch was now hanging open on the ground like a limb that needed amputation. Two Pillar mercenaries stumbled out through the smoke, dazed and deafened.
Lunchmeat shot them where they stood.
He sprinted to Julie’s side. Her eyes were bright and wild. In that moment he had the sudden desire to lift her up and kiss her. She’d probably stab him if he did that. Except by the look in her eyes, maybe she felt the same way. Afterall, they’d done it. They’d slain the behemoth.
Or so he thought.
Lunchmeat watched as the headlights flickered back on. Duncan was still barking his strange victory chant when the gun turret rotated toward him.
"Duncan, GET DOWN!" Lunchmeat screamed.
It was too late. The truck lobbed an explosive round right at him.
The round detonated against the wall behind him. It tossed Duncan into the air like a rag doll, slamming him into a concrete pillar. Duncan went down, limp and unmoving. Lunchmeat tried to rush to his side but the turret unleashed another salvo of machine gun fire.
This time, with the incendiary rounds.
It felt like someone was setting off fireworks all around him – the shots sparked and sent flashes of flame across the floor. Within seconds, the fire ignited debris and the warehouse began to fill with black smoke.
Not more fucking smoke.
Lunchmeat reached Duncan’s side. The former marine was bleeding badly from the head. But he was conscious – he was alive. Lunchmeat pulled him to his feet and together, they staggered through the smoke and out toward the street.
Lunchmeat couldn’t tell how far they were from their getaway raft – maybe four city blocks, maybe forty. The way they were moving though, it didn’t matter. They’d never make it.
And even if they did – even if they made it all the way to the water without these Pillar assholes shooting holes in them – what were the odds that they could safely sail back across the bay? What were the odds they wouldn’t be taken out by the scout helicopter?
Lunchmeat spotted another squad of mercenaries taking position behind a wrecked bus up ahead. The mercs fired off a few lazy shots; at this range the soldiers couldn’t really expect to hit them. But they didn’t need to. They only needed to slow Lunchmeat and his allies. Pin them down long enough for the Kill Truck to arrive.
As if on cue, the iron behemoth rounded the corner. The whole vehicle was smoking and canted at an off angle. It dragged its open back hatch behind it, metal scraping against the asphalt in a steady screech. It made the truck seem alive. And angry.
They doubled their pace, sprinting for the cover of an abandoned check cashing shop. Julie and Duncan made it inside. Lunchmeat was almost there when the turret thundered and the ground in front of him erupted in a wave of heat and pressure.
A piece of debris – something big, metal, and mean slammed him in the chest. He felt his ribs crack instantly. Felt the wind rush out of him and the floor fall away. And then the sound of coins jangling against concrete.
Had he won the fucking jackpot?
Looking down, he almost laughed when he realized what had hit him. The explosive round had dislodged a city parking meter. It had launched the thing like a missile. Lunchmeat wasn’t certain if it had broken open against the asphalt or against his body armor.
It sure felt like the latter.
More machine gun fire lit up the night and Lunchmeat forced himself up into a crawl. He made it to the cover of the shop. Julie was with Duncan inside. No more giggling or laughing. She was pale and streaked with blood – maybe Duncan’s, maybe her own, maybe little bits of the archivist. Probably a mix of all three.
"Can he run?" Lunchmeat asked.
Julie shook her head.
"Something’s wrong. In my head," Duncan stammered out. He looked at Lunchmeat. Or tried. Only one of his eyes was moving. The other was entirely bloodshot, unmoving. It would have been cartoonish if it wasn’t so disturbing.
Duncan tried to load his last mag into his rifle with shaking hands. "You two go. I’ll slow it if I can," he said.
"We’re not leaving you," Julie said. But she was lying again. She was saying what she needed to say.
They’d lost Mal and now it was Duncan’s turn to clock out. The Sanhok Four had become the Sanhok two. And then it would be a coin flip who would go next.
Unless…
Lunchmeat took Duncan’s rifle. He slapped the mag in and handed it to Julie. "Draw its fire," he said. “Try to keep that turret trained on you. I only need a few seconds."
"What are you going to do?”
Lunchmeat picked up the broken parking meter and slung it over his shoulder like a baseball bat.
"I’m gonna finish the goddamn job..."
It felt insane. And maybe insane was okay. Maybe insane was how things were gonna be for a while.
Julie fired at the truck just like she was asked. She even threw in a bunch of colorful expletives. The gunfire and the swearing couldn’t damage the truck, but it pulled the gunner’s attention. And that’s what Lunchmeat needed.
He tried his best to ignore the pain in his chest and, parking meter slung over his shoulder, he broke into a full sprint.
The kill truck was a beast at range – but the vehicle wasn’t built for a full-on frontal charge. The gunner spotted him and tried to take aim. Lunchmeat saw the turret pivot and he dropped, closing the distance in a slide as the heavy machine gun tore through the air above his head. The gunner tried to adjust his aim but Lunchmeat was too close.
The truck lurched backwards, trying to put Lunchmeat back in the firing arc. Lunchmeat kept pace, hugging the vehicle and circling toward the exposed hatch.
A Pillar soldier emerged from the hatch, assault rifle ready. Lunchmeat didn’t hesitate, swinging the parking meter with both hands. It slammed the soldier in the side of the head, cracking his helmet and sending him to the ground.
Then Lunchmeat was on him. The interior of the truck didn’t afford much room for wide swings – so he gripped the parking meter like a spear and jab-jab-jabbed until the gunman wasn’t moving.
"I had a feeling it was going to be you and me. At the end," said a voice from the cockpit. Lunchmeat looked up from the mess he had made to see the driver hop down.
He was big. Taller than Lunchmeat and nearly as broad. And there was a look in his eyes – not fear or resignation. It was a kind of acceptance. And Lunchmeat knew.
"You’re him, then?" Lunchmeat said. "You’re the boogeyman?"
Bogdan cracked his neck and smiled. "Boo..."
Lunchmeat moved first, diving for the fallen soldier’s rifle. But Bogdan didn’t hesitate, leaping at him. He drew a combat knife from his belt and drove it right through Lunchmeat’s palm.
Lunchmeat tried again for the gun but Bogdan kicked it away. He moved to cut his throat, but Lunchmeat got the parking meter up in time in an awkward defense.
And then they were on each other in a frenzy, both desperately trying for the upper hand. Bogdan tried again with the knife, trying to gut Lunchmeat. Lunchmeat grabbed a fist full of Bogdan’s hair and with everything he had left, slammed the man’s head into the floor of the truck.
He felt a sudden sharp pain in his side – the fucker had managed to get the knife in.
"Come on, Pavel. You can give them more of a show than this?" Bogdan spit out through a bloody smile.
Lunchmeat lifted himself up – pulling Bogdan with him and slammed him against the side of the truck.
Bogdan tried to pull the knife out but Lunchmeat held it tight – pressed it close and slammed his weight against Bogdan again. This was the only weapon he needed – his own muscled frame. He didn’t need the parking meter or the knife. He would just pound his own bones against Bogdan, smashing himself like some kind of human battering ram. They tumbled into the cockpit, Bogdan’s head crashing into the windshield.
Bogdan pulled the knife free and Lunchmeat felt warm blood spill down his side. He tried to keep control of the man, but Bogdan pinned him to the ground, angling the combat knife up under Lunchmeat’s chin.
Lunchmeat fought the knife. His every muscle burning. Bogdan was too strong. He had leverage. And the knife was getting closer.
Lunchmeat screamed as he felt the blade pierce the soft skin under his jaw. He felt the pressure as the knife filled his mouth from below. He felt the blood on his tongue. And now the sharp tip grazing the roof of his mouth and-
Pow! Pow! Pow! Three sharp reports and Bogdan went limp. Lunchmeat pulled the knife out from his jaw, wiped blood from his eyes, and saw Julie standing at the back hatch. She had a smoking gun in her hand and blood streaked in her hair.
And goddamn was it a beautiful sight.
Lunchmeat kicked Bogdan down the truck’s ramp. The man was still alive – even now, even shot three times in the back, he was trying to stand. Trying to fight.
Julie checked her gun. It was empty.
So Lunchmeat did the only reasonable thing: he limped into the driver’s seat and threw the truck into reverse.
Bogdan never screamed. He was silent even as the massive tires pulverized both his legs, reducing the once-terrifying commander to a bloody oil slick below the knees.
Lunchmeat wanted to repeat the process. Maybe ground the boogeyman into dust with the kill truck. But they didn’t have time. Duncan needed their help. And Lunchmeat could see the scout helicopter approaching, its spotlight revealing at least a dozen more mercs closing it.
Julie slid into the cockpit next to him. She placed her hand on the back on his neck. It felt cool on his skin. Calming. "You okay?" she asked. Consider moving this to after he takes aim.
Lunchmeat initialized the gun turret. The controls were intuitive enough. He took aim at the helicopter. Okay? No, he wasn’t okay. But something told him that after he shot the helicopter out of the sky, he might be...