Biowar

45

Dean and Hercules stared at each other. The driver was about three feet behind him to the right, the barrel of his pistol just visible in Dean’s peripheral vision.

“Well, Dr. Dean?” asked Hercules.

“I’m not a doctor,” said Dean, holding his hands out in apology. “I don’t have a Ph.D. Remember?”

A faint smile curled at the corner of Hercules’ face. He turned and nodded at the driver.

It was then that Dean struck.

Dean threw his leg hard into the man’s chest, knocking him backward against the wall as the pistol went flying. Hercules reached quickly for his own gun, but Dean threw himself into the scientist, landing on him like a blitzing linebacker taking down an unprotected quarterback. With one hard smack against the floor he knocked Hercules cold; he rolled off and dived for the other gun as the driver came up from the floor. Dean grabbed the weapon with both hands, fumbling before pulling it around to hold it properly.

The driver threw his hands back, surrendering. Dean got up.

“Against the wall,” he told the man. “Spread ’em. Do it.”

The driver got the idea after a few gestures. Dean patted him down, careful about keeping the pistol positioned where the driver couldn’t pull the same trick he had. He found a small revolver strapped to the man’s ankle and slid it into his pocket.

Dean went to Hercules, intending to grab him and pull him with him. But as he hauled him up, the Greek’s head flopped to the side; Dean realized with a shock that his blow had killed the man.

Voices were coming from the other end of the tunnel. Before Dean could react, the driver shouted, then lunged at him.

His first bullet grazed the Austrian’s arm, but the second and third missed and the gun fell away. Dean wrestled with the man; though they were about the same size, the driver was perhaps half Dean’s age. They gripped each other and twisted, stumbling back and forth, neither able to get an advantage. There were more shouts from the tunnel and the sound of three or four men running.

Desperate, Dean screwed up his energy into a final burst, hurling his assailant over his shoulder and then, in a blind fury, kicking him unconscious as the man dropped to the floor.

Dean scooped for the gun but dropped it.

The footsteps were coming. He ran to the door at the left and pulled it open, finding himself in another tunnel, this one lined with concrete. Dean began to run.