Ain't War Hell?
By: Maximillian von Fischgeist
Chapter Three
Replay
Surprise, she is a fickle mistress.
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Continued in Part Four!
Lowlight and Scarlett had been the favored party most of the night, but it was that proverbial
eleventh hour that, once again, had proved so crucial. Lady Surprise had defected to join the
enemy.
A summary of the events surged through Lowlight's head:
The last man fell without much complaint (the extent of his complaint was a quick gasp, and then a
low, defeated sigh as Lowlight's knife expertly released him into death). Lowlight and Scarlett
pressed on, and soon came to their destination; a small building of hasty design but efficient
construction. Ugly and temporary, but perfectly capable of serving its function: A private prison for
one Dr. Remick Odem, supposedly the country's pre-eminent expert on bacteriological warfare.
Where experts were concerned, Lowlight kept his own council. After all, was he not the
consummate assassin? And wasn't it perfectly possible that there was someone (if not hundreds of
someones) better?
The installation was compact and shrouded in the dark forest (a nice one, this, and right in the
middle of government-protected Yellowstone! How many such audacious projects Cobra might
have in the United States was yet to be determined by army Intelligence. They were bold;
Lowlight had to give them that), which was both its strength and weakness. It could hide, but so
could attackers like Lowlight and Scarlett. The odds were even. Or should have been.
Scarlett had quickly spotted Odem's cell. She and Lowlight had flattened to the ground to discuss
strategy (and avoid possible detection by whatever guards may be present in the installation. That
there was no surveillance equipment was a blessing, though. This fact was included in Snake Eyes'
preliminary reconnaissance. According to his report, there was no recognizable electronic
equipment, most likely as a precaution against detection. A park ranger was easily avoided, or
killed. Same with the occasional overzealous hiker or camper. A spy satellite, however...). "He's
not so protected as I expected," Scarlett noted, a tone of annoyance tinging her voice. Lowlight
had seen it too. A large window covered only by thick bars, through which Odem could plainly be
seen, sitting up on his cot, apparently contemplating whatever it was pre-eminent experts on
bacteriological warfare contemplated. She continued, providing his ears with the vocalization of his
own thought: "Something's not right." Lowlight nodded, knowing full well that her intuition was to
be trusted. She had not lived so long in this line of work as a result of guessing wrong. Neither had
Lowlight.
"It's never 'right', though, is it?" Scarlett mumbled, already tackling the situation. It was Lowlight's
turn to watch his teammate work silently as he wondered at the method. Scarlett softly drummed
her fingers against her forehead, as though the gesture would rattle her mind into some rapid state
of thinking. Her fingers stopped, frozen in mid-drumroll, and she snapped her gaze to Lowlight.
"Recover or terminate?"
She was asking for his assessment. He still watched her frozen fingers, wondering if they might
take up their fluttering again. "Terminate," he said, and watched for the fingers to take action. They
did not.
"Why?"
His reply sounded to him in memory as it had when he'd said it: More a series of pressure changes
in his head rather than the clear, cool explanation he'd meant to give. "Because it's an option. And
it's easiest."
Scarlett lowered her hand, and sighed. "I'll make sure we're covered on the way out. I'll leave the
easy part to you."
She had disappeared then, leaving him to negotiate what would be a rather simple task. He took
up a comfortable position, hidden behind an explosion of dark bushes. Silently, deftly, he prepared
his rifle and brought it to his shoulder. Through the sight, Odem was suddenly inches away. The
sounds of the night faded, submitted to Lowlight's concentration. He was one with the
tunnel-visioned world in his rifle's sight. There was glorious silence and only that small field of view.
The world was at his command. Crosshairs centered. Odem's head blossomed into rosy death,
and as he fell out of the limited view, only a red mist lingered in the air.
Lowering the rifle and rejoining the world around him, Lowlight was assaulted by the sounds of the
night returning. Breeze rustling the trees. Crickets screeching their peculiar language. The excited
cackling of a nearby bird. A similar reply farther off in the darkness above. Tiny insects buzzing
with their lust for human blood. Lowlight ducked down and swatted at the only-heard insects,
knowing he would not deter them.
Another sound ripped through the night, overshadowing the others. A gunshot! He snapped his
head up and looked toward the sound, which was joined then by another burst of gunshots, only
instantly preceding the familiar TWANG of Scarlett's crossbow. This time, he saw muzzle flash
and had the shots' location more-or-less mapped out. He bolted, in a roundabout under cover
manner, toward the general area where he guessed the action had taken place. There was no more
gunfire.
He spotted a figure crumpled beside a tree which shielded the figure from the area where the
muzzle flashes had so boldly defied the night. Lowlight whipped out his sidearm and belly-crawled
his way to the figure, hoping his guess as to its - her - identity was wrong. His heart leapt against
its ribcage prison as he recognized Scarlett.
He stopped beside her. A few quick glances reported no follow-up to the gunfire. Lowlight
assumed that Scarlett had hit her mark during the exchange. His fingers groped for a pulse at her
neck. He had his answer before he found a pulse, however, as she moved. Her face turned, her
glittering eyes (Lowlight didn't have time to think about how they were lit; maybe there was a hole
in the overhead foliage to let in moonlight) aimed at him. The eyes had that brilliant, fevered look.
She'd been hit. But how bad was it?
"Shh," he hissed almost silently, which was as loudly as he dared. The same light that illuminated
her eyes revealed a gleaming wetness at her stomach. Instant estimation: Belly wound, not
immediately fatal, but bloody. He'd have to bandage it, but not until they could get some distance
from here. She'd live until then.
He slipped his arm behind her neck, hugging her shoulders, and lugged her to her feet. He
stumbled slightly, not calculating the extra weight correctly, but they retained balance. He noticed
that she was conscious enough not to make any undue noise. It could've been that she was still in
shock, and didn't yet really feel the pain, but Lowlight believed that she was quiet because she
knew that noise would doom them both to death.
How far they shambled along in tandem, Lowlight didn't really know. His recollection of the events
faded, and he was again in the NOW. He leaned against a tree, Scarlett leaning against him, both
still on their feet. He chanced that it was safe now to stop. After they'd caught their breath (her
excuse was legitimate; she had a bullet in her - hopefully not more than one. His was less than
admirable; as much as he worked on being strong and resilient, there came times when cigarettes
demanded their due), he'd work on the wound.
He checked his watch. 03:22. They'd been running now for maybe a half hour. And now they
were behind schedule. Their transportation would wait until 04:30. There were perhaps ten miles
yet to cover.
Lowlight patted his thigh, looking for the cigarettes he'd pilfered from a dead man. A gift from the
dead to the soon-to-be-dead? Lowlight shook the grim thought off with a hard blink of his eyes.
He needed no reminder of death. It was imminent enough. What he did need was a cigarette.
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