The DX Chronicles (Book 1): Not Against Flesh and Blood Read online

  “Hands in the air!”—the moment those words were blared, the three suit-wearers darted at the police line with blurring speed.

  “Open fire!”—as that command was blasted, the three suit-wearers came upon the nearest officers and let fly.

  One officer lifted his rifle and set loose a semiautomatic burst, but the first suit-wearer stood firm as the bullets were repulsed by an aurous glow around his arms and chest. That suit-wearer then grinned and lunged, bounding ten feet into the air and landing behind the officer. The officer turned, but the suit-wearer, with a harder and swifter gyration, backhanded the officer’s neck and launched him on a twenty-yard flight. Before him, the officers reorganized, concentrating their gunfire but failing to bring down the other two suit-wearers. Across from the first, the third suit-wearer turned to the nearest SUV, grabbed its side, and lobbed it across the hillside and against another vehicle. Darting past the third suit-wearer, the second grabbed another SUV’s hood and flung it towards the compound so that the driver’s side sat parallel to the door.

  The first suit-wearer then lunged backwards and across thirty feet to land beside the commandeered SUV. “Clear!” he called. Moments after, two more stepped from the entrance. The first was, like him, dressed in the one-piece suit and carrying a red duffle bag. The second, a wrinkled man an inch over five feet, wambled in a mauve coat, a lavender tie, a white shirt, and grey pants that matched the sheen of his combed-over grey hair. As the fourth suit-wearer opened the back-left door, the elderly man limped towards the SUV, his unstable posture balanced by a yard-high, lacquered cane peaked by a golden orb. Then, with a grunt and a low squeal, he hoisted himself into that vehicle, peering with his pale-hazelnut eyes through the driver’s side and at the second and third suit-wearers maintaining their assault.

  “Let’s go!” the fourth suit-wearer called as he closed the passenger door and opened the driver’s door. The second suit-wearer, moments after, landed beside the SUV, opened the front-passenger door, and leapt in. Behind him, the third suit-wearer leapt into the back-right doorway, while the first stood firm with his arms crossed over his head.

  “I’ll create a pathway; get the boss to the airport!” the first suit-wearer called.

  “Understood!” the fourth replied. He started the vehicle, angled the SUV in a clockwise turn, and bolted for the police line. The first suit-wearer ran beside the SUV as it revved past twenty miles per hour; then, he sprinted ahead of it, crossed his arms, bowed, and lunged, plowing through and launching two SUVs to open a path for the road.

  “Don’t let him get away!”

  The first suit-wearer turned from the fleeing SUV and looked to another vehicle angling towards him. He clasped his fists as the vehicle rushed at him, while the words “run him over” blasted from the officers in the front seats. The first suit-wearer then cackled, spread his legs, and cracked his neck. He then lifted and hammered his left into the SUV’s hood with a stertorous grunt, bringing the vehicle to an instantaneous halt and comminuting its front-end against the ground. Then, after tearing his hand from the hood’s craggy indent, he punched the SUV across fifty feet and into another vehicle. He then rushed to the beginning of the blockade, lifted a deceased officer’s rifle, and opened fire while sidestepping and lunging from retaliative fire, and while locking eyes with the masked man still focused on the distancing SUV.

  “We need to pursue!” Senior roared as he collapsed behind an overturned vehicle with pistol in hand and ricocheted gunshots ringing in his ears. “Shooter, do you copy!”

  “Sir, I copy; what’s happening down there? Has the target fled!?”

  “Shooter, do you have a bead on the gunman!?” Senior roared.

  “I have a clear shot, sir!” Shooter replied.

  “Shooter, I want him alive; three consecutive shots to the chest with the fifty-calibre; over?”

  “Sir, I thought you wanted him alive. One shot alone will_”

  “Shooter, take the shots!” Senior bellowed.

  ***

  “Understood, sir!”—Shooter knelt, held his breath, and motioned his right for the trigger. He clasped the forend, tightened, and pulled. With a thunderous peal, the first bullet was loosed, its infrasonic flight known only by its cacophonous whistle. The suit-wearer heard the same noise and spun to it, but the bullet, moving beyond his inhuman perception, impacted in the center of his chest and, though repulsed, knocked him back. The suit-wearer grunted and looked up as a second whistle increased in volume. A second bullet then slammed against his chest, forcing him to exhale and unbuckling his knees. Wheezing, the first suit-wearer then lifted his rifle and aimed at the tree line. A third whistle appeared and rose, and a third bullet slammed into his chest. Though repelled, it resounded with a bone-cracking knock and threw the first suit-wearer to the ground.

  ***

  Senior jumped from his hiding place and bolted for one of the standing vehicles. “Restrain him!” he called while pointing to the first suit-wearer. “If he moves, tase him above the neck-line!” He then leapt into the driver’s side of an SUV, activated the vehicle, and shot onto the road. “I need additional back-up!” Senior called into his headset. “Set up the secondary blockade at the intersection of I-81!”

  “Senior—it’s Gerica—permission to pursue?”

  “Gerica, permission is denied; remember what we talked about!?” Senior replied as he lowered the radio, activated the headlights, and jerked the wheel.

  “Senior, with all due respect, that blockade wasn’t planned for. It’ll take five minutes for it to be set in place, and, in that time, Richie the Worm would have passed its location!”

  “Gerica, my orders remain unchanged: stand your ground. Now, can you verify my position relative to Richie’s getaway vehicle?”

  “Two hundred yards and closing, sir.”

  “Good”, Senior replied as crimson tail-lights flashed along the road’s curvature.

  ***

  “We’re being followed!” the fourth suit-wearer remarked as Senior’s headlights reflected off of the driver’s side mirror.

  “Followed by whom?” the elderly man inquired as he looked ahead.

  “One vehicle, boss”, the fourth suit-wearer replied.

  The third suit-wearer looked back to Senior accelerating with gradual but discernible haste. “I’ll bet my paycheck it’s Arthur Grant flying solo again.”

  “He’s persistent”, the elderly man moaned.

  “Boss, permission to engage?” the third suit-wearer inquired.

  “Blow him to s***”, the elderly man sighed.

  “Understood, boss.” The third suit-wearer knelt to the duffle bag sitting under his legs, opened it, and pulled out six elongated and smoothened contraptions. He reared up, connected them, and then knelt to pull out a bloated, six-inch rocket tipped on its end with three thick, tailfins. He then rolled down his window, and, with a rocket launcher in his left, he hoisted his torso into the open, balanced atop the windowsill, and held the item with both hands.

  ***

  “S***!” Senior barked as the rocket launcher reflected against his headlights. As the third suit-wearer clasped the trigger, Senior opened the driver’s door, and as the third suit-wearer pulled, Senior lunged. With a pyretic cough, the rocket zoomed from the first SUV and struck the second’s hood. The rocket erupted, with a pulse of malleating flames flipping the SUV. Behind it, Senior bounced along the underbrush and slid for ten yards before stopping; yet, immediately, he dragged himself to his feet, his legs shaking, and his chest thrusting with staggered breaths. He yanked his mask from his head and spat a bloody expectoration from his swollen lips. Then, he started forward, his squinted, blue-eyed gaze still focused on the distancing SUV. As the SUV curved beyond view, he shook his head, gritted his teeth, and forced his limp into an off-kilter jog.

  “Sir, are you hurt?” Gerica called.

  “Pursuing on foot”, Senior gasped. “Handler, organize the second blockade and get me air support!”

>   “Roger that, Senior.”

  “Sir, with all due respect_”

  “Gerica, Shooter, head to the safe house, organize a rescue, and provide first aid to the officers there”, Senior interjected.

  “Senior, with all due respect, there’s no way you’re catching them in time!”

  “Gerica_”

  “This is Gerica; I am engaging.”

  ***

  “Boss, once we reach the airport, you’ll be flown to the Nebraska base”, the fourth suit-wearer called as they continued down the road, “While we provide a diversion and head south before_”

  “Rendezvousing with me in two to five months. I ain’t senile; I helped draw out your little escape plan. Just tell the rest of the men to lie low outside of this area until we can find someone competent enough to bring me Arthur Grant’s head. After twenty-five years, he’s starting to become annoying.”

  “Understood, boss”, the fourth suit-wearer replied. “Don’t worry, we’ll have_”

  “Hey, look out!” the second suit-wearer barked.

  The fourth suit-wearer inhaled as a tree, engulfed in flames, toppled in front of them, and he slammed on the brake to stop the SUV.

  “It must be a trap!” the second suit-wearer exclaimed. “Trees don’t just explode and fall in front of us—right? The FBI_”

  “No, chill”, the third suit-wearer interjected as he leaned between the two front seats. “Some debris from the explosion probably hit it along the bottom. The tree was already rotting so the flames took care of the remaining stability.”

  “Debris?” the fourth suit-wearer coughed while tapping the wheel. “From half a mile back?”

  “If the conditions and materials are right, you could have objects going that far_”

  “But what would really be helpful is if one of you a**holes got out and moved it”, the elderly man growled. “I didn’t pay twenty million a pop for those wearable science experiments so you could talk about ordinance!”

  “Right, boss, sorry”, the fourth suit-wearer replied. “You two heard him: go push it.”

  “What?” the second suit-wearer inquired, “But we need fireproof gloves or something.”

  “Remember the manual?” the third suit-wearer remarked. “The enhancement field extends to the hands and feet; it just doesn’t cover the head.” The two right passengers opened their doors and stepped out, with the flames echoing in their ears and providing an orange radiance.

  “You try it out first”, the second suit-wearer began as he stopped a yard from the SUV.

  “What?” the third inquired as he spun to him.

  “It shouldn’t be, but if it’s too heavy, we’ll push together”, the second explained.

  “Yeah, right, of course.” The third suit-wearer rubbed his hands. He glanced left, then right, and drew towards the burning tree. “It covers the hands”, he whispered as he outstretched his arms, “it covers the hands”, he repeated as he opened his palms, the lashing tongues then inches from his fingers, and, every few moments, rising high enough to impact, but causing no harm as a momentary glow appeared around his digits. “Covers the hands!” he proclaimed as he reached for the center of the branch. As he grabbed both sides of the searing wood, the flames danced with increased fervor; then, they rushed for him in two wave-like fronts, and, before he could sight their motions, they funneled in front of him, pounded his chest, and launched him past his ally, past the SUV, and along the road.

  The second suit-wearer spun as the third shot past. His eyes widened as his partner completed each jounce, and his hands closed as the sound of flames vanished behind him. “What in the_!?”—a stomp interjected, while a tremor passed through his legs and drove him to spin. As he spun, another figure rose, and, as the suit-wearer pulled back his fists to swing, that figure stepped and opened fire. Two near-simultaneous jabs to the second suit-wearer’s chest caused his legs to slide. Groaning, he stepped and lunged as the all-black figure several inches shorter than he stepped again.

  The suit-wearer hooked his left, but Gerica blocked with his right and uppercut his left. Struck against his jaw, the suit-wearer recoiled. Gerica then jumped, spun, and slammed his foot against the suit-wearer’s face. The suit-wearer, though spun, spread his legs, regaining his balance along the ground. Then, turning back, he tightened his fists and charged. He let fly, but Gerica evaded, sidestepping and leaning, stepping in, and firing a quartet of blows across the suit-wearer’s torso. The suit-wearer, tightening to keep from bowing, thrust his left leg, but Gerica gyrated past and side-kicked the suit-wearer’s back. Spun once more, the suit-wearer turned, but, after slamming through the outspread tree, lay still as he bounced against the road.

  “Meh.” As the second suit-wearer pushed to rest on his arms but then collapsed, Gerica looked towards the SUV, but, as a clap—cocked pistol—sounded behind him, he spun, finding the third suit-wearer kneeling, aiming, and pulling the trigger. Gerica tightened at the round’s ejection and his eyes gaped as he peered through his mask and followed that bullet’s phantasmal trajectory. Decent aim—Gerica jerked to his right and the bullet continued past. He bowed, and the suit-wearer, struggling to recall the evasion, grunted. Gerica bolted, and the suit-wearer, rearing back, aimed. The suit-wearer fired.

  Gerica sidestepped and lunged in sharp blurs, while the suit-wearer, his eyes gaped and unblinking, turned after him, spinning and firing with inhuman speed, keeping track of Gerica’s movements but still failing to pinpoint him until Gerica slighted his evasive leaps, and, parallel with the gunman, rushed into a beeline. The suit-wearer grinned, and Gerica, reaching to his left hip, clasped the top to one of the hanging cylinders. The suit-wearer fired, and Gerica unsheathed with his first pace, locked onto the bullet with his second, and swiped with his third. The suit-wearer winced at the flash and then the clap of his deflected round. First sighting the ricocheted bullet’s crash into the sand, he then looked to Gerica and the guard-less katana across his torso.

  The suit-wearer squeezed, but Gerica, with a blurred swipe, deflected. Having then halved the distance before his opponent, Gerica pushed off and swung. The suit-wearer, first tensing as he failed to perceive the swipe, gaped as his pistol’s dissevered barrel hurled to his right. “S***!” The suit-wearer jumped back and pitched his damaged weapon. Gerica caught it with his right as the suit-wearer bowed and lunged. Gerica reared up and thrust the ruined pistol, but the suit-wearer blocked with his left, then grabbed Gerica’s outstretched arm, and, while spinning, thrust his left elbow. Gerica deflected with his left shin and swung his katana, but the suit-wearer bowed as the blade passed overhead, grabbed Gerica’s sides, and rammed. Gerica tapped against the suit-wearer’s back with his right, tore himself from the suit-wearer’s grapple, and flipped past him.

  “Definitely some Jiu Jitsu”, Gerica remarked as he landed, while the suit-wearer slowed and looked back. “But there was boxing too.” Gerica sheathed his katana and turned. “You can’t hide it from me. MMA, right? Well, regardless, you’re decent at it.” Hissing, the third suit-wearer darted at Gerica and wound back, but seized as he found Gerica standing in front of him in a countering kneel—having met the suit-wearer halfway into his charge. The suit-wearer, pouting as he failed to perceive that opposing rush, jabbed his right, but Gerica countered with a right spin kick, drilling the top of his foot into the suit-wearer’s forearm.

  The snap of two severing bones sounded in time with the convulsive surge climbing the suit-wearer’s arm. Though turning at the urge to confirm his broken forearm, he stopped as Gerica pressed further and then lifted. With double-quick speed, Gerica stood atop that battered, outstretched arm and hooked his left foot into the suit-wearer’s face. With nose crushed and visage bruised, the suit-wearer squinted and looked skyward as his body was launched, while, from the bottom of his gaze, he could perceive Gerica’s still-turning frame. Spinning, Gerica tightened his right fist to create a bright-orange sheath of flames around it; then, shifting his momentum, he spiraled
at the suit-wearer and, while descending, jabbed. His fist stopped an inch from the suit-wearer’s torso; yet, the enveloping flames bulleted into the suit-wearer’s gut, blasting him down the road, through the trunk, and beside the second suit-wearer, where he lay. Gerica then landed and, after a decelerating revolution, loosened his fist to extinguish his flames.

  “Stay down, boss!”—Gerica looked to the fourth suit-wearer jogging from the SUV, stopping, and spreading his legs as he aimed the loaded rocket launcher.

  “Are rocket launchers this cheap?” Gerica muttered as he cracked his knuckles. The fourth suit-wearer squeezed, and the rocket was loosed. Gerica lifted his arms, inhaled, and tensed. Then, while focusing on the rocket’s flames, he fisted his hands. The rocket’s exhaust, in a sharpening bellow, angled upward, altering its trajectory into a vertical flip.

  The fourth suit-wearer registered the redirection of his projectile a moment after it occurred, and, as an inquiry formed—Where’d he send it?—a knock sounded adjacent to him. He turned as the last portions of uplifted clay rushed past his face from the rocket’s impact a yard beside him, and, as he spun away, it detonated. Engulfed, the fourth suit-wearer crashed against the SUV’s rear, with his impact and the pulse of flames overturning the vehicle. As the SUV flipped onto its ceiling, the fourth suit-wearer rolled past, unmoving, with his suit charred black and flashing with goldenrod bolts.

  “Nice.” Gerica strode towards the SUV, while, ambling just beyond his line of sight, the third suit-wearer glared at him with a wooden stake in his left. He closed in as Gerica knelt, and he lifted the branch as Gerica tugged at the door; yet, before the third suit-wearer could come within ten feet, a whistle rang in his ears. He grunted, looked up, and jolted as a high-calibre round slammed against his chest. He gasped as Gerica turned, only to have a second bullet strike him in the same location; and he inhaled as a third bullet backflipped him onto his front. “Huh.” Gerica pulled out his headset from his pocket, and slipped it under his mask. “Nice shot.”