James Axler – Freedom Lost

The abnormally long tongue fell to the floor, and the dying stickie soon joined it.

The remaining two were summarily dispatched with equal and deadly force. Shots rang out from Krysty’s .38-caliber Smith amp; Wesson and Dean Browning Hi-Power. Unlike Mildred, Krysty was no former Olympic champion when it came to target shooting, but she was a fine shot at such close range.

The volley from Dean’s pistol also struck true, but the boy had gone for a shot to the heart instead of the head, forgetting that stickies had internal organs that were sometimes positioned differently than those belonging to an ordinary man.

The shot was a killing wound, with an assist. On the fringes of the action, peering in for where his talents might best be needed, was Jak. Spying Dean’s quandary, Jak calmly whipped out a throwing knife and sent it spiraling into the neck of the stickie that Dean’s bullet had previously entered. The combination of critical injuries finished off the mutie.

And then all of the attackers had fallen, and the conflict was over.

“Everybody okay?” Ryan asked from behind clenched teeth, his injured shoulder singing a lusty song of agony now that the adrenaline surge was fading away.

A chorus of replies came back affirmative.

“You don’t look all right, J.B.,” Ryan noted. “Mildred, see if you can get his face to stop bleeding.”

“On it,” she replied, striding over with a clean cloth and a small bottle of disinfectant she kept packed away in case of injuries such as these. “Need to find a few bandages or some med tape. That should take care of you, John.”

“You’re the doctor, Millie,” J.B. replied. “Don’t think the bastard had a chance to get too much of a grip. Feels like he just took off a top layer or two.”

“Well, I’ll be the judge of that. Ugly as you are, a few more scars won’t hurt,” the woman teased.

“Thanks,” he replied glumly. “Nice to be loved.”

“Where are your glasses, John?” Mildred asked, noting their absence for the first time since the struggle had ended.

“Damn stickie knocked them clean off. Must’ve landed on the floor somewhere.”

“Shit,” Jak said. His tone made them all look at him.

“There a problem?” Ryan asked.

“Found specs. What’s left,” Jak replied from a squatting position near a bloody corpse. The albino held up the twisted frames. One of the lenses was shattered, with bits of glass hanging in the frame and scattered like fine grains of salt on the floor. The other lens was in better shape, but not by much. A crack the size of a bolt of lightning stretched down the center.

“Aw, hell,” the Armorer said as Jak walked over and handed him the remains of his eyewear. “Don’t think duct tape is going to help hold these together.”

“How’s your vision minus the specs, J.B.?” Ryan asked, concerned that his friend might be crippled without the glasses.

“I can get around, if that’s what you’re getting at. Just don’t expect any precision shooting from me and I’ll be okay.”

“Soon as we get out of here, we’ll try to find you a replacement pair. I can’t have my best shot stumbling around blind.”

“I’m your best shot,” Mildred protested. “And don’t worry about John, I’ll be there to help keep him from stumbling.”

“Not ready for a damn white cane yet,” J.B. said.

“Glad to hear it,” Ryan replied.

“You think we’re underground, lover?” Krysty asked Ryan as he turned to let Mildred finish ministering to J.B.’s facial wounds.

He considered the question for a moment. “Probably. Least ways, I’m guessing we’re underground. Fits the usual pattern, even if this is the most fucked-up redoubt I’ve ever encountered.”

“Still say this isn’t a redoubt,” J.B. protested as Mildred dabbed some of the antiseptic on his chin. “Son of a gun,” J.B. hissed. “What’s that, Millie? Acid?”

“It’s germ-free John. It’s supposed to hurt. Kills the infection.”

“Ever hear of the cure being worse than the disease?”

“If this isn’t a redoubt, let’s start exploring and see what it really is,” Dean suggested, hopping down from an abandoned gurney and stepping over the dead stickies to check out the end of the corridor.