James Axler – The Mars Arena

“What the hell are you doing?” LeMarck demanded.

The blast from J.B.’s shotgun was still echoing in the room.

Ryan fired two shots, aiming for LeMarck’s heart. He wasn’t surprised to see them leave splintered fractures across the surface of the plas but not penetrate.

Two sec men stepped around the edges of the plas, only exposing enough of themselves to aim their weapons into the room below.

“No!” LeMarck screamed, raising his weapon.

J.B. fired another round. A few of the flechettes became embedded in the plas, but the majority of them caught the sec man in the shoulder and arm, spinning him, his flesh in tatters.

LeMarck blew out the back of the other sec man’s head. Brain matter splattered across the plas in a red gush. Most of the remaining sec men appeared confused.

“Leave them alone!” the sec boss ordered. “Any man raises a weapon against them dies by my hand!”

The sec men calmed down grudgingly.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” LeMarck demanded.

“Man wasn’t going to work with us,” Ryan said. “Figured we weren’t going to let him work against us, either.”

“You stupe son of a bitch!” LeMarck roared. “You’ve got one less man to fight for the baron!”

“Tell the baron he’s always welcome to join in, fight for himself,” Ryan replied. Then he turned to the other six men, ignoring the sec boss. “How many of you want to take a chance on getting out of here alive?”

Two of them answered immediately, while the other four remained silent. After a moment one of them asked, “Why the hell should we join up with you? Way I understand it, it’s every man for himself out there.”

“Mebbe,” Ryan agreed, “but if you aren’t working with me, then I’ll put my sights on you when I see you. Work with me, mebbe we can find a way clear of here.”

“Have you seen that wall?” the man asked. “Fuck, ain’t no way we’re going to climb that.”

“In or out?” Ryan asked. Though he kept the barrel pointing down, he swiveled the SIG-Sauer in the man’s direction.

“Don’t give a feller much choice,” the man stated.

“Choices ended the minute Hardcoe’s people dropped you in this hellpit,” Mildred said. Her own Czech target pistol was in her hand.

“Lady’s right, Owen,” one of the other undecided men admitted. “If we don’t throw in with him, it mebbe means going up against him in the end. Seems to know his business all right. Mebbe with him we’ll have a chance of getting clear of this once and for all with a whole skin.”

Another man agreed after Owen nodded.

The fourth man said, “Fuck, that still leaves us going up against him in the end.” He glanced around at his comrades. His words carried weight.

“Don’t have to be that way,” Ryan said.

“You see any other way for it?” the man asked.

“Yeah,” Ryan said tightly. “All of us getting out of here.”

“Mister, I don’t know where you’re from, and don’t even give a fuck, but you got to know one thing from the get-go. Ain’t nobody never escaped from the pit once they were shut up in it.”

Ryan regarded the man. “You mean, nobody yet.”

“He’s got brass, Fielding,” Owen said. “Got to give him that.” He turned to Ryan. “I’m Owen. This’s Fielding. Two skinny jaspers in the back are Tyler and Taylor Thompson. Twins, if you ain’t made that out yet. Heavy guy’s Moosh Whandell. And that leaves Clingdon.”

Ryan quickly introduced himself and the others.

“You people know each other?” he asked when he’d finished.

Owen shook his head. “The twins knew either other. The rest of us met on the wag. Knew Black Michael’s name ’cause the sec guards were always having a hard time with him. Heard he bit a man’s cock off in Jakestown before they put him on the wag and brought him out here. Bastard sick son of a bitch.”

“Know what we’re up against?”

“Some of it. Sec men liked trying to scare the shit out of us telling us stories.”

“Start off figuring it’s all gospel,” Ryan said, “we’ll find out the truth of it as we go along. We’re going out there together. You move when I say move, where I say move, and you move damn fast.”