Perdition (Dred Chronicles 1)

Cook held up ten fingers. As floggings went, it was fairly light. Maybe he agreed with Tam, suspecting Lecass had been set up. That didn’t mean they could pat him on the head on a hunch, however. Queensland ran on certain rules, and uniform application kept most of the mayhem in check.

“Take his shirt off,” he said to Calypso.

The woman was careful with Lecass’s clothing. In here, they couldn’t afford to waste fabric. Ike delivered the whip; it was a ceremonial thing fashioned of leather made from rodent skin and tiny metal barbs. As one, the Queenslanders made room, forming a ring around the frame. Tam’s stomach turned. It was one thing to orchestrate horrific deeds, another to perform them with his own hand.

“Count for me,” he told the crowd.

One, they shouted as the flogger snapped.

Lecass jerked in his bonds but he didn’t cry out. His eyes burned on, his mouth flattened into a white seam of rage and pain. Tam pretended he wasn’t beating a human as he lifted his arm again and again, ignoring the cheers from the crowd. He registered it only when they shouted ten, and he delivered the last blow. Though he despised Lecass as a brute and a sadist, he took no pleasure in the man’s pain.

A couple of Lecass’s cohorts helped him down. Maybe they even liked him well enough to clean his wounds. The man shook them off with an enraged gesture, proud enough to walk away from the beating unaided. Tam scanned the crowd, seeking someone taking a little too much pleasure in the show, and he found Martine, wearing a satisfied smile.

“I fear the result of today’s work,” Tam said softly to Calypso.

The mistress of the ring nodded, her dark eyes inscrutable as a starry sky.

16

Durasteel Heart

Before they left the Peacemaker, Jael grabbed the Shredder. With Wills’s help, he popped the spare ammo out of the Peacemaker’s chest, stowed neatly behind the cannon. The madman was fascinated by the internal loading mechanism, but Dred reminded him of the mission with a pointed clearing of her throat.

“Do the two of you need anything else before we go?” Her boot tapped against the metal floor, the only sign of her impatience.

“A kiss for luck?” Jael suggested easily.

Dred studied him as if considering the offer, then she shook her head. “We don’t need luck with ability like yours.”

It was the only rejection that had ever left him smiling. Jael moved out, pleased to have the Shredder as reinforcement to his mad skills. He led them along the route Dred indicated, based on what she’d learned from Tam. Eventually, the corridor came to a T with rough resistance at the crossing.

“Two turrets, live and tracking, dead ahead.” Jael gave his report in low tones.

They shouldn’t be difficult to take out.

“These don’t have sophisticated programming,” Einar added. “Just motion detectors.”

“Then be still,” Jael told him.

He crawled forward on his belly, remembering when he’d served as a sniper in various units. It had been a long damn time, however. In his last squad, they’d used him as a grunt, aiming him when they required a hole in the line. Hopefully, he hadn’t lost any accuracy. Propping up, he peered down the barrel of the gun, sighted, then issued a warning.

“This whole area will be saturated in lead. I need you to fall back.”

From the sharp look she gave him, Dred suspected he meant to take the hits. But hell, there was only an empty corridor. If he stayed still and didn’t move much, the turrets would have some trouble tracking him. With luck, they’d shoot wide. If not, he could survive a few bullets in his back. The worst part would be digging them out before the wounds closed. Jael had a few pieces of metal in his body that didn’t belong. Itchy as hell.

None of them argued, freeing him to do what he did best. He opened up, focusing on the connective wires that powered the turrets. It would be best if he didn’t blow them all to hell. Then they could be transported as part of the salvage op. But if it came down to destroying the turrets so they could pass, Jael would get it done.

He slowed his breathing to further stymie the targeting, then he laid down heavy rain. Projectiles drummed the turret base, ricocheting until they dug into the wall behind. Not enough. The turrets fired back, both of them, but since he wasn’t running toward them, they didn’t have a clear map of where to aim. Jael held still and the bullets bit into the ground centimeters from his face. He was surprised by a cold wash of fear. He’d almost died once on this run, and he wasn’t eager for an encore. Enough bullets slam into my skull—and I’m done.

So he didn’t fire back until the turrets spent what they had in chambers, then they clicked and whirred, reloading from conduits in the floor. That means there’s more ammo underneath. Jael saw his best chance and took it, though he didn’t go full auto, as that would be a waste of rounds and too imprecise for the work he was attempting here. He shot through the knot of wires, and the turret on the left dropped, unresponsive. The right gun boomed to life, though, drenching the floor and walls with hot lead. He took two rounds, and in anyone else, it would’ve shattered the bone. But he had reinforcements, filaments in his skin, so his forearm took the damage and saved his arm from the break.

Still hurts like a bitch.

Two more exchanges like that, and the second turret went down. Jael stumbled to his feet, arm cradled against his chest. He felt his body fighting to heal the wounds already, but the presence of foreign material complicated matters. Einar clapped him on the back so hard, he almost fell down; Wills was more circumspect in his kudos, but clearly, the crazy little bastard was excited, too.

Dred came up beside him and checked the wounds. “Those need to come out.”

Without hesitation, she drew out her shiv and took hold of his arm. It was lunacy the way she took command of him without asking, like she had a perfect right. For reasons unclear to him, Jael let her dig into his skin, though he’d cut people off at the knees for lesser offenses. He sucked a breath in but didn’t turn away as she worked the bullets out of his flesh. One by one, they pinged the ground, leaving bloody droplets smeared on the floor.

“That’s done it. Sorry if it hurt. I’d clean that for you, but—”

“No need. I’m not susceptible to infection.” And even if it did fester, he wouldn’t get gangrene. He’d just run hot for a bit while feeling like shit.

“I see why they sent you to us,” Einar said quietly. “You’d be hell in the real world. Nothing stops you from taking what you want.”