Mirage

Chapter Twelve

       The glass shattered as Whisper stepped out. The bag in his hand broke open and spilled to the ground, a few drinks splattering across the street. The faint whizzing hum of a bullet made his eyes go wide and then he was diving for the pavement, hands reaching for his weapon. 
     

       At the sound of the glass breaking Ryder was moving. It was muscle memory, instinct. He dove behind the nearest cover, a vending machine that beeped and played its annoying cheery music. The neon lights from the machine flashed faintly and bathed his pale skin in shades of purple and blue as a hail of bullets rattled around them.                                                                                         

    The store clerk screamed and dove under the counter. Ryder smiled grimly, finding their reaction amusing. It was a brief moment of stifled laughter as he gazed down at the guns in either hand. The cold metal in his hand was comforting.                                                                                          

 "Fucking trash!" Whisper's enraged scream made him suck in a sharp breath as concern washed over him. At least the other man was still alive. As the salvo died down Ryder risked peeking out from behind the vending machine.                                                               

     Whisper was huddled behind a vehicle he'd managed to reach in time. His back was towards Ryder and he was facing the opposing building. He seemed unharmed and Ryder breathed out a breath he'd been holding since he'd dove for the vending machine. He wasn't sure why the relief rushed through him. He shouldn't care.                                                                                                                                

 At the first shot the streets had cleared in an instant. Now nothing but a few vehicles and charging ports stood between them and the crew in the street. They were emerging from the alleyways and the flashes of red made Ryder grimace with distaste. The Jackels were here. 

     He didn't stop to count warm bodies. His breathing steadied and he felt his pulse return to normal as he open-fired. The low, angry, buzzing hum of the chrono-pulse filled the air. The blur of red streaked the air shortly after an explosion of blood and body matter filled the air. He picked his targets quickly, firing off a few more shots before ducking back behind the vending machine and crawling across the floor on his stomach as an answering salvo ripped through the store. 

"Fucking dicks! I'll hang you by your entrails you worthless pieces of trash!" Ryder's heart sank slightly as he heard Whisper's voice drift back to him once the salvo had died down. The other man had been stirred into a frenzy. 

He was heading for the emergency exit he'd clocked when they'd first walked in. A few liquid substances tricked across the floor from leaking containers, and he tried his best to avoid them and leave a trail for someone to follow. The sign marking the exit was hanging awkwardly from a single latch and it was sparking dangerously.                                                          

He hugged the floor near the back exit for a moment, calculating his chances of making it. If anyone was keeping a sharp eye on the store like they no doubt were, they'd see the door move. He sucked in a small breath, every muscle in his body relaxing, before he eased the emergency exit open. 

The cool night air brushed past him, bringing with the scent of blood and refuse. Out on the street he heard sounds of cursing and gunfire. A closer noise drew his attention. The rustle of fabric set the hairs on the back of his neck on end. It drifted to him through the deafening silence during a pause in the gunfight. 

He rose onto one knee, and as he moved, he swiftly holstered his blaster on his thigh and then drew a knife. His gaze was locked on the partially open door. He was facing inwards towards the room, his back to the wall next to the door. He held the knife in a reverse grip, a grim smile touching his lips as his grip on the hilt tightened. 

"Be quiet!" The soft hiss came from nearby. Ryder judged the man was about five feet from the door. He knew every nook and cranny in this city and in his mind's eye he could all but see the positions of the Jackel members. The alleyway they were in was narrow, only eight feet wide and if he had to guess one of the members had tripped over the pothole three feet from the entrance in. It got most people. 

"Hey, boss?" The tension in another man's voice was all Ryder needed. More than likely one of the other members of the small group had just noticed the emergency exit was open slightly. Ryder wasn't about to let the opportunity go to waste. 

He nudged the door open with his free hand before diving out the exit. The rough, cold stone met his chest as he flung the knife at the man in the back of the group. It was a split second of assessing where the Jackel members stood and then as he hit the pavement, he snaked upwards, not bothering to check if the knife had hit its mark. 

The leader of the small group could barely process what was happening. He felt the sting as something whizzed past his cheek, then pain. He reached for the wound; his eyes wide with surprise. Behind the small group the man in the rear clutched his throat, a shocked look on his face as he crumpled to the ground. The hilt of a knife protruding from his throat as though it had appeared by magic. His low, pained gurgle caused the rest of the group to turn and look at him. Only the leader in front saw the figure rising towards him. 

By then it was too late. Ryder had already drawn another blade and now he jammed the knife into the leader's throat, ducking past him and shoving the falling body to the side as hot blood splattered across the ground. The low grunt of pain from the front caused the startled, horrified group to turn and stare. Several were beginning to hoist weapons.

Ryder exhaled softly as he scanned the remaining Jackel members in the small posse. There were three of them. The nearest one was hefting a pipe. Ryder's knife snaked out as he gutted the woman with a practiced movement. The blade sank through skin, sinew and muscle and Ryder gritted his teeth slightly from the effort and he jerked the blade upwards. 

The woman's eyes went wide with silent incomprehension and horror as her hot blood and innards began spilling out. She dropped the pipe, her hands instinctively going to her stomach as she clutched herself in a hug. She slowly dropped to the ground. 

Ryder kept his mouth firmly pressed shut, breathing through his nose as the warm liquid quickly cooled against his skin and clothing. His shoe's, sleeves and hoodie were covered in blood. Despite the mask he wore he wasn't about to risk getting someone's blood in his mouth. He kicked the metal pipe away as he stepped past the gasping woman who now bled out across the pavement. It clattered across the stone and hit the wall. 

As he stepped past the woman, balanced on one foot for a precarious moment as he kicked the pipe away he slashed open the third man's neck, catching the jugular artery. It was a small cut, an inch wide, but deep. 

He was already moving past the third man as blood exploded behind him, spraying across the ground in a sickening red geyser, righting himself with his other foot as it came down. He was crouched slightly in a fighting stance, his magenta pink eyes burning coldly as he gazed down the swaying barrel of the blaster. 

The last person standing was trying to squeeze off a shot and Ryder could see the terror deep in their eyes. He dropped to the ground, ducking low as the shot rang out and the pulse hummed over his head. As he dropped, he spun, neatly sweeping the person off their feet with an extended leg before popping up, swaying to the side as his free hand closed around their wrist. 

Then he spun around them, jerking the gun hand back, causing them to fall to the side. He was behind them now and he brought the blade down into their crook of their neck. Blood splattered across his face as he jerked the knife out. He rose to his feet, wiping his blade clean of blood on his cargo pants as he paused to listen intently for anyone else who might be approaching. 

The only sound was the pained gasping behind him from the dying, then a few gunshots from out on the streets. He heard a pained scream of terror and it echoed and bounced through the surrounding area. Whisper had probably gotten his hands on the fools who'd sparked his fit of rage.