HAYWIRE: A Pandemic Thriller (The F.A.S.T. Series Book 2) (53 page)

Even before they hit the floor, Coleman knew where they were because of the glass ceiling.

Galileo’s Wonders was a totally glass-walled observatory dedicated to astronomy.

The men
crashed
down together onto a row of softly cushioned deck chairs angled perfectly for star gazing.

The impact knocked the men apart, but not before Coleman heard a dreadful sound. He’d first heard the terrible hissing sound in the casino.

Only a flamethrower made such an ominous noise.

He was right.

Christov held a half-sized flamethrower.

Coleman instinctively reached for his sidearm, but his Colt .45 was empty.

Christov swung up his flamethrower.

Coleman scrambled away across the deck chairs. As he reached the last chair, he heard the terrible sound of flames roaring toward him. He grabbed the last deck chair and lifted it like a huge full body shield.

He barely swung the chair up in time.

Flames engulfed him.

Fire swept around the chair.

Heat scorched him from every direction, but the brunt of the attack was halted by the chair.

Christov kept firing the flamethrower, trying to burn right through the cushions and wood of the deck chair to reach Coleman.

It didn’t work.

The inferno retreated.

Flames stopped licking around the edges of the chair that Coleman gripped like an ancient Roman shield.

Christov roared in frustration.

His weapon is out of fuel
, realized Coleman.
That was his last shot.

Coleman couldn’t waste the opportunity.

He charged.

The deck chair still blazed on one side, entirely covered in the flamethrower’s sticky combustible.

Before Christov could leap away, Coleman slammed the fiery shield into him.

Christov fell backward.

Coleman released the burning chair.

The wall of flames fell right on top of Christov.

Coleman didn’t stop. He spun and searched for a weapon.

There!

He dashed across the observatory.

In his peripheral vision he glimpsed Christov kicking away the fiery deck chair.

Coleman grabbed an old brass telescope off the wall. The heavy telescope was five feet long and about to be introduced to the side of Christov’s head.

Christov had abandoned his flamethrower. Flames leaped from his right boot and left arm. Rising to his feet, he stamped his boot and slapped his arm to smother the flames.

He’s distracted. Now’s my chance.

Coleman charged again.

He swung the telescope in a wide double-handed blow, planning to drop Christov with one heavy strike to the temple.

Christov ducked.

The telescope
whooshed
over his head and then...

C
rack!

Christov lashed out with his fist, catching Coleman across the cheek.

Coleman reeled back from the surprise attack. Christov had smothered the flames, and as Coleman caught his balance, Christov drew his trench knife. The same knife he’d tried to lobotomize Coleman with back in the ice bar.

Coleman had a greater reach with the telescope, but Christov’s trench knife was far more lethal.

‘We don’t have to do this,’ said Christov. ‘Just give me the acid drive.’

‘I don’t have it,’ admitted Coleman.

Christov’s face twisted in fury. He looked as insane as an infected passenger.

‘Just give it to me!’ he bellowed.

Coleman slowly shook his head. ‘If I had it, I’d already have destroyed it.’

Christov studied Coleman. ‘Yes. Yes, you would have. But that scientist up in the bridge wouldn’t. She’d never destroy her only chance to walk again. She has it, doesn’t she?’

Coleman moved to put himself between Christov and the exit.

Christov nodded. ‘That’s what I thought. You’re just her guard dog. She’s got the drive. After I kill you, she’s next.’

Coleman knew what came next.

He recognized the way Christov stood. The way he held his weapon. Christov attacked in straight lines, overwhelming his opponents with sheer explosive fury.

No feints. No tricks. No trying to wear an opponent down. Christov would attack like a berserker until someone died.

He had overwhelmed Coleman once with that technique.

It wouldn’t happen again.

‘You don’t get to sneak up behind me this time,’ Coleman taunted. ‘Let’s see how well you perform in a fair fight.’

Christov exploded toward Coleman.

Lightning-fast, he thrust his knife at Coleman’s throat, following through with his full bodyweight, committing entirely to the attack.

Coleman expected the attack, but barely evaded it. His legs still felt unsteady from carrying Neve up the ship.

He dodged away from Christov’s knifepoint at the last moment. Turning, he delivered a counterattack as Christov’s momentum carried him past.

The telescope smashed into the back of Christov’s head. The glass lens exploded. Coleman felt the entire telescope reverberate in his hands. Had the glass lens not shattered, the impact would surely have fractured Christov’s skull.

He watched Christov stumble forward.

He waited for the larger man to collapse like a felled tree.

He didn’t collapse.

The blow would have knocked most men unconscious. Christov didn’t even drop to one knee.

He turned to face Coleman.

He smiled.

The smile was calculating. Triumphant.

Coleman realized he’d just been outwitted.

He just wanted to get past me
, Coleman realized.
He doesn’t care about killing me. He just wants to reach Neve.

Coleman no longer stood between Christov and the door. Their positions were reversed.

Christov ran for the exit.

He would
reach the bridge and have his dagger at Neve’s throat in seconds.

Coleman desperately threw the telescope at Christov’s legs. The telescope spun through the air and hit Christov’s ankle.

The impact did nothing.

It didn’t trip him.

It didn’t slow him down.

Christov reached the doorway. His boot crossed the threshold, but not one step further.

His entire body suddenly bounced back from the doorway as though he’d run into a brick wall. Coleman glimpsed movement outside, a bright red flash, and then Christov came tumbling back into the viewing lounge.

What just happened?
wondered Coleman.
What stopped him leaving?

Christov’s trench knife slid back along the floor.

Coleman snatched it up and braced himself for whatever was coming through the doorway.

A tall man stepped into view.

‘You!’ croaked Christov in surprise, struggling for breath, trying to regain his footing.

Blood stained the man’s white uniform all over. Much seemed to be his own. Bandages covered both his hands, his arm and his torso.

None of the wounds compared to the damage Coleman saw in the man’s eyes.

Coleman knew that look. This man had lost a loved one.

Although they’d never met, Coleman recognized this man.

This was First Officer Ben Bryant.

Ben carried a bright red fire axe.

Before Christov could rise, Ben took three running steps and swung the axe down at Christov’s right ankle.

Coleman heard the grisly sound of bones breaking and cartilage grinding together. Ben hadn’t used the axe’s sharp blade. He used the back of the axe like a giant hammer.

Christov cried out as his ankle bones splintered apart.

But that was only the start.

In a frenzy of attacks, First Officer Ben Bryant began hammering the axe down onto Christov again and again.

Christov hollered in agony, trying to roll away, but Ben just followed and kept swinging.

His ankles. His knees. His hands. His elbows. Ben pulverized all Christov’s joints, delivering as much possible pain as he could without actually killing the man.

Whatever horrors Christov had visited on Ben Bryant, he was paying for them now.

Ben suddenly stopped attacking.

He wrenched a piece of equipment off Christov’s body armor. The foot-long shaft of stainless steel was some kind of complicated tool. Ben stepped back, breathless, and then spat on Christov.

He studied the tool for a moment.

‘Did you find it?’ Ben demanded. ‘Did you find your precious acid drive?’

Christov was in too much pain to answer.

Bryant shook his head. ‘You wouldn’t still be here if you found it.’

Ben threw the axe. It hit the observatory’s glass wall. The glass panel smashed. The axe fell away down to the ocean.

He bent and grabbed Christov’s broken ankle.

Christov shrieked in agony as Ben dragged him to the gaping hole in the observatory. Ben pulled something from his shirt.

It was a photo.

He knelt with one knee on Christov’s chest and held the photo before Christov’s face.

‘Look at her.’

Christov turned his face away.

Ben grabbed Christov’s hair and wrenched his face toward the photo.

‘LOOK AT HER!’ Ben shouted in Christov’s face. ‘You murdered her! You made the last moments of her life pure hell! You threw her from a helicopter!’

Ben tucked his head down, as though the memory was overwhelming him. He looked up again and met Christov’s eyes.

‘What do you think is worse than trying to fly without wings?’

Christov just shook his head, in too much pain to answer.

‘When you tied me to that chair, I had time to think about it. I had time to think about what I was going to do to you. You know what I think? I think trying to swim with broken limbs would be worse. Your suffering will last longer. Every move you make to keep your head above water will be agony. I want you to think about Karen until your last breath.’