Primal Gambit

Chapter 62: The Flight In

Dense clouds in the air gave the Cookie Cutter a run for her money as she danced above and underneath their dewy canopy. Coasting on the waves of the night sky, her black paint made her near-invisible – a beast whose foreboding intonation could only be realized by the sound of her whirring blades. The bright yellow symbol that had been painted along the side of her belly belonged to Marcotte, and all who saw it would rile in contempt. The shoulder blades of the passengers within bobbed violently with the airship that fought the buffeting wind.

In the repose of the helicopter five men sat across from one another. On either side of Darwin were two mercenaries: one kept his eyes trained on the Siberian who sat bound across from them while the other checked the pouches on his bandolier for spare ammunition. When he finally placed all the rounds inside the pistol's magazine, the two switched roles. A soldier fresh into the meat grinder of war or a grunt inexperienced in equipment checks while in the air would have difficulties finding the slot in which to place the rounds but the seasoned killers on the Cookie Cutter made it known they had done it countless times before.

Adjacent to the three sat the two unluckiest men in the world. Bound together through sweat and blood, Vikhr and Shuke sat side by side – arms tied behind their backs and their ankles shackled to the crude metal bench. The Siberian paid no mind to either set of alien green pupils that stared intently towards him, instead looking deep within Darwin, the serpent he sat across from. The things Vikhr would do to the snake if he had broken free from the shackles blistered his mind. He was sure he would be able to conjure new ways to mutilate a body.

The professor's hair fell over his hanging face. Empty eyes gazed at the grated floor, his shoulders sagged. What petrified in his mind was a mystery to the men he shared the hold with, though his aura was inescapable. The sheer amount of loss and inhumanity that poured from him resulted in an acrid stench to those nearby.

"I understand this might be a bit confusing for you, Vik. Allow me to explain it further." Darwin's mask hung off his knee, his fingers interlocked as he looked forward intently.

A low growl emitted from behind Vikhr's closed teeth.

"Truth is, I am a by-contract employee for Marcotte. Ironic isn't it? That I've gotten you all to believe my ploy of being an activist. At the beginning I thought it was obvious, but nobody ever questioned it – and so I decided not to either." His fingers lightly tapped together.

The chopper dipped under a cloud and the hearts of the passengers rose into their throats.

"Marcotte, though they won't tell you, is losing money. They advertised Shuke to the breaking point, but their peak sales still paled in comparison to when the captives were fighting. Parents don't want to bring their children to see a professor down on his luck – it's boring. Tells a great tale that keeps their kids in the family bloodline, of course, but the margin died quickly. You see a man sitting there once, it scares your kids, okay. Would you go back and pay the exorbitant prices to see the same man sitting in the same patch of reeds with the same sullen face? Of course not." He took a short breath and grinned.

"The people need action – the people will pay for action. That's where you – and I – come into place. Starting to see the bigger picture?" From his pocket, he drew a flask, face wincing following a swig of the harsh nectar.

"Like the gladiators of old." Vikhr didn't want to speak, the silence between them pulled the words from him.

"Exactly," Darwin clapped in ambition for what the observatory held for the brute before him, "I was hired to conduct a little 'contest' in which our precious Shuke was stolen from us, and the strongest warrior to bring him back would be snared for a new paddock being built." Another sip and a content Darwin looked towards the Siberian.

Vikhr could have asked about the fate of the professor but at this point it did not seem so important. What did seem important, however, were the number of lives that rested on his shoulders: the lives of those that perished by his hands that now all seemed as unjustified as the next. He looked to the ground, furrowing his brow, unsure of how he could ever repent.

Repentance. Something he had never felt the need to do in the past.

A red light blinked in the corner of the hold; a voice came over an intercom attached to the wall:

"Observatory's in sight. Light's green on helipad, lowering in to land. Hold on to something." The static died as the elevation change in the helicopter caused their ears to pop.

One of the mercenaries looked out the window, the ash becoming a whipping blur before him. Darwin looked towards Vikhr again:

"It seems as though your luck has run out, Siberian. You've put your trust in the wrong person, I'm afraid. Sad it must end this way, but maybe you'll earn your freedom from this wretched place – find your home once again; though this time it'll surely be little more than ash and cinders. Your fight will have been for nothing, your people eradicated. And I have a feeling about your personality: that without something to fight for you are just another civvie lost in this paradox." The warm liquid soothed Darwin's throat as it descended.

"When I get out, you can count on me having something to fight for." The words weren't forced out of Vikhr, but rather it was a promise he made to his captor – the man he was prepared to spend the rest of his life hunting.

The hidden niches in his mind were already hard at work, consumed by numerous inklings of escape plots ready to be born. The aircraft lurched violently as the gear undertow met the rough concrete helipad. At that moment, the reality began to set in and Vikhr's heart slowed, almost cutting out completely. He took a deep breath and swallowed, glaring out the window at the foreign floodlights that illuminated the prison surrounding. The lush green canopy of the tallest trees in the nearest enclosure whipped in the blustering wind.

Shuke's pulse remained – returning to the nightmare of Marcotte was something that he had long been expecting. He hoped she was still alive.