A Story of Cinders: From the Ashes

Chapter 13: Sick Like Me

 Sarge and Gray Wolf run out into the hallway. Brawler—or rather Baron—is faster than he... it... seems.

"We need to get moving now. I have no idea how much damage that animal can do, but I'm pretty sure Red's planted the bomb by now." Sarge says, sweat trickling down his forehead.

"Agreed," Gray Wolf replies. "Any idea how long we've got? Or better yet, how the fuck to get out of here?"

"I memorized the route we took here." Sarge begins running towards the directions of screaming and gunfire. Gray Wolf follows.

"Another question. Does the psycho know how to get out?" Gray Wolf looks, for the first time to Sarge, slightly worried. A hint of desperation and fear creeps across his face, then he shakes his head, and regains his normal emotionless face.

"Well he seems to know. Worst case scenario, he'll probably make an exit." The two turn the corner to the left, then take a right. Up the stairs they dash, then are greeted with the hall of horrors. Blood coats the walls and ceiling like a fresh coat of crimson paint. Groans of the dying echo down the hallway. The entire place smells of gunsmoke and the freshly dead. Warm. Damp.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Gray Wolf exclaims, without time for a witty response to this situation. "He did all this by himself?" They are sprinting now, down to the other end of the hallway. The walls are porous, littered with bullet holes where the soldiers missed. And there are several bigger holes where the Brawler had literally punched through the poor men.

"If it comes down to it, we might have to kill him," Sarge says stoically, trying not to think about the dirty deed.

"Kill him? I don't think we'd make it through this place without him, Hulk rage or not." They ascend another staircase. Sarge averts his eyes away from what was once a soldier, whose skull was caved in by the giant's enormous fist. His leg is torn off and lying beside him. Blood and viscera coats the ceiling and lights, casting an eerie red glow throughout the hellish corridor.

"If we can't get him under control, who's to say he won't cave our heads in, too?"

"You've got a point. If it comes to it, we'll put the beast down." Gray Wolf isn't particularly pleased about the concept of killing Brawler. Too many of his friends—or acquaintances, in this case-- had died before, and he couldn't afford to lose anymore. He was running out. That and he isn't sure he'd physically be able to do it. Especially unarmed like he is. "Counterpoint, how do you propose we put him down without any weapons?"

Sarge stops in his tracks, processing Gray Wolf's question. In all the chaos, he had forgotten the two happened to be completely unarmed. "You could snap his neck like you did with the guard."

"Krav Maga doesn't prepare me for fighting fucking Bane! We have to get our weapons if we want to stand a chance. Brawler can't have killed everyone, and we're definitely gonna need to fight our way out of this place."

"Good point." An injured soldier coughs somewhere down the hallway. "We'll ask him, assuming his lungs aren't filled up with blood by now." The two run down the hallway to find the wounded man. He is, by comparison, relatively unharmed. But his femur is sticking out of his leg and he is clutching his ribs, blood seeping down his shirt.

"Hey, you," Gray Wolf says to him, speaking Russian. "A truck came in here full of uniforms and confiscated items. Where did these items go?" The soldier begins laughing, then clutches his ribs again in pain and begins coughing blood. "Fuck off," he says to the two. Gray Wolf grabs him by the collar and drags him up the wall, his feet dangling beneath him. He slowly pushes the soldier's femur bone out to the side using his knee. The soldier screams in pure agony. Sarge winces.

"I don't have time for this shit. Now tell me where they are, damnit!"

"Okay okay! They're in the store room about a level down! Just take the stairs, and it's the third door on the right! Just stop hurting me!"

"Thank you for your cooperation. Goodnight!" Gray Wolf slams his elbow into the soldier's head, just below the temple. He lets go of his collar, and the soldier crumples to the ground, out cold. "He'll live. Probably. They're one floor down, third door on the right. Now let's get them before Brawler bites off more than he can chew." They descend the stairs, and find the store room. As Sarge reaches for the door a squad of armed soldiers comes from the staircase below them. "Shit!" They dive into the store room, slamming the door as bullets rip past them.

"Escaped? How did he escape the vault?" Davydov screams over the phone to his lieutenant.

"Sir, the other two must have let him out. We found the jailer in a cell with his neck broken. One of those prisoners was the Gray Wolf, sir."

"Shit. Figures he'd break out... Well, kill the giant before he can do any more damage. And the other one, too. Keep Gray Wolf alive, though. He's worth more if he's in one piece. And I have worse in store for him."

"Sir, the giant has already killed at least twenty of our men."

"He's unarmed! How hard can he be to kill?"

"Sir-"

"No more excuses, lieutenant, just get it done!"

"Yes, sir!" He slams the receiver on his phone, then takes a deep sigh. His men aren't incompetent, so what's the big problem? It's three men, and the fort has at least a hundred well trained soldiers. Or maybe they really are incompetent and just very good at hiding it. Either way, recapturing Gray Wolf would get him a rather large bonus. Maybe he'd get reassigned to somewhere nicer, like Rome. He smiles, thinking about Rome, and the beautiful women there. Then something odd happens. He feels something wet touch his cheek. A kiss. Is he going crazy? Did the stress finally get to him? Then a hand covers his mouth, and a woman whispers into his ear "Sorry love," in an English accent. He feels another kiss. This one was on his back, and it is cold and steely. He gasps, but his lungs are already filling with blood. He feels the blood draining from his body as she pulls the knife out. He falls forward onto his desk, too weak to hold his head up. He is tired, and won't be able to fight for long. A coldness embraces him as he welcomes his inevitable death and breathes his final breath.

"Too easy," Red says to herself as she struts out of the colonel's office.