Bullet Catchers

Chapter 11

Bullet Catchers

Eleven

Wherever they went and however they got there, Pluto had no clue. The moment Tank was on the helicopter with him, she recommended he take a few pills she had to calm him down. Apparently, they didn't just calm him down – they blacked him out. He awoke to find himself half naked and alone on a hardwood floor in a building he was unfamiliar with. Heavy head and aching body made it difficult for him to assess his situation. The room was empty aside from a pile of pillows and blankets, a dresser with a broken drawer, a shattered mirror, and a couple of loaded weapons.

Slowly and carefully he managed to get to his feet. A few footsteps from the door and he was nearly falling on his ass, the combination of socks on hardwood and his lack of balance proving troublesome. He balanced himself by hastily grabbing the doorframe. Something sticky but almost dried grubbed up his hand. One confused look at his palm revealed old blood. He glanced down at himself to find no obvious wounds, and the back into the room just to make sure there wasn't a dead body in there he'd overlooked. There was nothing.

A sudden jolt to his body from the doorway had him falling backwards. Whoever had smacked into him managed to stabilize his body so he never met the floor. Blurred vision focused. It was Tank. Despite all the pain in his body he found a way to glare at her and even try to push her away. He couldn't. His useless attempts to pry her strong grip off of his battered arms just made her laugh.

"So you're not dead! Even hungover and bloodied you look sexy!"

"Jesus. Stop screeching, kurva! And get off!"

Extra strain was placed on his sore neck as he tried to turn away from her. Viciously she bombarded his dirtied cheek with her tongue in a disgusting display of affection. After she felt as though she had sufficiently embarrassed and revolted him, she freed him from her embrace. He attempted to rub away her saliva, but only ended up smearing the blood from his palm across his face.

Thus when he came around the corner to enter the living room of this unknown house, he must have looked like a zombie. Hunched over, bloodied face, dehydrated, and pale as can be, he was a mess. Everyone merely stared at him for a few silent seconds. It gave him time to look around. He found that, for the first time since he joined the Bullet Catchers, they were all united in one room at one time. Monkey was the only one not awake and moving. Based on the bloodied mess of bandages and blankets, the bullet wounds he received were a little worse than Pluto had realized.

Before any greetings were had, Moses shoved a piece of paper in Pluto's hands. The crumbled and blood stained flyer was a wanted poster for Jan Basko. Pluto felt his head spin again; he wasn't sure if it was from the news or the injuries.

It wasn't unusual for him to be "wanted." After all, he'd spent the last decade of his life running from the authorities. He'd failed repeatedly. Finally, after being declared dead by international agencies, he figured he'd finally found a way to cheat the system. Of course it didn't last. The abilities of governments and their agencies were vast. It was only a matter of time before he was discovered. The type of work he did never really helped keep him in hiding, either.

Finally, he looked up from the flyer and the picture of his famous mug. Peering back at him were a handful of the most ruthless, bloodthirsty, greedy f***s he'd ever had the dishonor of knowing. It took a beat for his body to react. First, his knees began to shake. Then, his throat went dry. The beating of his heart kicked it up a notch as a cold sweat began to pore from his skin. Nausea hit next and he stumbled.

Tank stabilized him again. This time, he had enough fight in him to keep her away. He swung without thought at her face, his fist making solid contact. Instinct had her push him away; her hand went to the bruised cheek and she cursed, "f**k! You little s**t!"

Pluto never managed to get anywhere. Moses grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and gave the Czech a punch of his own. Hit so hard he fell to the ground, Pluto knew better than to try and stand. Another hit like that from Moses and he's be out cold.

"Don't ever hit a woman around me again. Especially someone on your team. Do you understand me?" Moses sternly said. Pluto didn't answer. He never even looked at his boss. What the hell was he supposed to say, anyway?

"Where are we?" Pluto asked. His voice was a bit muffled, probably due to the swelling on his face. It wasn't horrendous but it was obvious.

Dingo answered, "The old Atlantis HQ. Figured if they were going to attack our home we'd return the favor. All that's left is to track down the last of those fuckers and get their heads. Gonna display them on pikes to warn assholes not to f**k with us."

"It would probably be best if we don't tell anyone about Atlantis. If others find out about a skirmish between two mercenary groups, there will be a lot of trouble," Hadji said.

"So, what? We just go home and pretend like nothing happened? Let them get back together and get new fuckers to attack us again?" Tank asked.

"No. We should kill every single one of them. I just believe we shouldn't let others know," Hadji said. It was unusual to hear his voice sound quite so cold and detached. There was just enough hatred in the tone to make it seem extra sinister.

"In fighting amongst Circuit members is never good. It's bad enough the U.S. Army probably is after all our asses now, too," Jibaro said, giving her unspoken agreement to Hadji.

"U.S.? Why?" Dingo inquired.

"It's a long story," Jibaro said. There simply wasn't time to explain everything that had happened in that Circuit meeting in Miami. At the present, keeping Pluto alive and calm was their priority.

"You guys would be better off just leaving me here," Pluto said. His proposal sounded moderately interesting to most present, but humans have a tendency to do things that don't always mean they'll be better off for it. As the wave of disapproval spewed from everyone's mouth, he silenced them with this argument, "Shut the f**k up. I'm better at surviving then the rest of you dumb fuckers."

There was never an opportunity to test that theory. A hailstorm of machine gun fire ripped through the large window. Everyone went diving and ducking in their attempts to avoid getting hit. Surprisingly, no one received any serious injuries. Monkey was jarred awake when Tank slid his body across the floor to get him to safety; his shouts of agony and irritation were the only noise anyone made.

The group was separated; Pluto was backed into a corner with Tank and Monkey, while the others were close to the door and poised for an easy escape. In any given situation, this would've merely meant they were pinned down but it wouldn't last long. This time, however, they had some bad luck.

It started when Jibaro rose from her spot to return fire. They had never gotten a good luck at where the enemy was, so she would've been shooting blindly. That is, if she'd ever gotten more than one shot of at all. A sniper's bullet was fired almost instantly and struck her in the center of her chest. Jibaro crumpled into a pile on the floor, alive but in desperate need of real medical attention.

Dingo and Arai pulled her away from the window. It took one look at her for Arai to say, "You need to get her out of here. Now." Dingo hesitated for only a heartbeat before he wordless agreed. As he picked Jibaro up and tossed her over her should, Arai said, "I'll slow you down so I'll stay. You can still fly, right?"

"You sure?" Dingo asked. Yes, he could pilot the helicopter just fine. Regardless, he didn't like the idea of leaving many people behind.

"If they see that Pluto is still here they'll concentrate their energy on this building. The four of us will be alright," he said. The "four of us" he mentioned referred to him, Monkey, Pluto, and Tank. Dingo didn't like this grouping very much, as on paper it meant they were less likely to survive. Still, he didn't feel comfortable leaving anyone else behind and with the amount of blood Jibaro was spilling out onto his shirt, he didn't feel comfortable staying any longer to argue.

"Alright. Take this. It's my lucky gun, don't f**k it up," Dingo said as he tossed Arai his rifle.

The sight of the M4A1 rifle, colored with blood and oil stains from years of use on and off the battlefield, mesmerized Arai. When he looked up, Dingo was already out the door. Hadji was helping escort the others out. Within seconds, it was just the four of them in that room with no easy way out.