Doctor Who_ Combat Rock - Mick Lewis [98]
He nudged Kepennis next to him, but the other guide was either asleep or dead, because he gave no answer.
‘Hey! Guard! Help m-,’ his pleas were cut off as Wemus snatched him by the throat and pulled him off his mat, his large hands clamped around Drew’s scrawny neck, squeezing hard.
Saw and Grave were waiting for the main force of rebels to leave the temple, and then duly closed their pincer movement.
Grave walked slowly through the bushes, pulse rifle level with his belt, squeezing off lances of energy that touched guerrillas, turned them into pillars of screaming fire. The rebels were scattering into the undergrowth and trees outside the building seeking cover, but they had made their most foolish mistake leaving the temple in the first place. Saw had already dropped three outside the doorway, and now Grave could see him grappling hand to hand with another – a big, muscle-bound, half-naked Papul, who, despite his size, still looked like a woman in comparison with the big, man-mountain pork lug that was Saw.
Grave snapped off one last shot, sending a pole of energy into a guerrilla who was not very well hidden behind an exotic bush. Guerrilla and bush ignited, the crackle of burning twigs and the scream of roasting Papul a duet of pleasing harmony.
Grave knew his power pack was exhausted, and didn’t care.
He’d actually purposefully not recharged it in the cruiser. He’d known right from the moment they got the word from Sabit that this would be his last mission. And guess what? He didn’t care.
He pressed the rewind button on his wrist video. He’d missed the best part of the movie, the bit when Leatherface saws through the wall of the radio station in an explosion of sound and the girlie screams and Chop Top screams and... he reached the required chapter stop and let the movie roll again.
Leatherface burst through, chainsaw wailing.
An arrow pecked the tree trunk beside Grave’s face. He –
gave it an absent glance, almost offended at the interruption to his viewing. Leatherface had the girl pinned up against the coke cans, was popping them open with his vibrating weapon, was homing the tool in toward her groin...
Yeah, mum. I was a real disappointment to you.
The next arrow took him in the forehead.
Saw, still wrestling with the big guerrilla, watched Grave drop.
He grunted. He didn’t care about the geezer in black, but the Dog’s death reminded him of his own mortality. He punched the guerrilla in the nose. The blow would have snapped the neck of any normal man, but this Papul was a big bastard. He recovered from the blow and came at Saw again. But Saw had gained himself the extra second or two he needed to pick up his beloved tool from the grass where he’d dropped it to wrestle. He fired the engine and revved the beauty up. He placed the whining teeth of the ‘saw against the man’s head and let her rip.
Pan was advancing through the trees with Victoria still held like a shield in front of him. He clocked Saw buzz his opponent, watched the upper part of the guerrilla’s skull lift up
– and wondered, if only for a second, where he’d seen that before. A bullet nicked his arm, returning his thoughts to the matter in hand, which was killing all the OPG.
Not that there were many left. A guerrilla broke cover to his left, dashing towards him, firing a rifle. He spun, flung out a spear of energy that flicked the rebel smoking against a palm. Another rustle directly ahead of him. This time it was a big freak of a beast, low to the ground but muscular, flat pancake head twisting from side to side. Pan let it lumber away. He sort of liked animals, even freakish ones. Hell, especially the freaks...
Bass and Pretty Boy were back to back on the dock, guarding the cruiser, blasting down any guerrilla that tried to make it out of the trees. Arrows clattered against the metal of the port hatch, one thunked deep into Bass’s thigh. He went down on one knee, still firing, and a bullet crashed through Pretty Boy’s shoulder, sending