Smyth squealed the tires around a final corner and then crushed down on the brake pedal with a heavy foot. Drake was opening the door before the vehicle stopped, and swung his legs out. Mai was already free of the back door, Alicia a step behind. Smyth nodded at the waiting cops.
“They said you needed to know the fastest way to the Tropical Zone?” One of the uniforms asked. “Well, follow that path straight down.” He pointed. “It’ll be on the left.”
“Thanks.” Smyth took a guide map and showed it to the others. Dahl came jogging up.
“We ready?”
“As we can be,” Alicia said. “Aw, look,” she pointed at the map. “They call the on-site gift shop a Zootique.”
“Then let’s roll.”
Drake entered the zoo, senses attuned, expecting the worst and knowing Ramses would have more than one nasty trick up his unaffiliated sleeve. The group spread out and thinned out, already moving faster than they should and without due care, but knowing every second that passed was a new death knell. Drake took note of the signs and soon saw the Tropical Zone up ahead. As they approached, the scenery all around them started to move.
Eight men burst from cover, knives drawn as they had been ordered, bidden to make the rescuers’ last battle painful and extremely bloody. Drake ducked under a swing and hurled its wielder over his back, then met the next attack head-on. Beau and Mai stepped to the fore, their combat skills essential today.
The eight attackers all wore stab vests and face masks and they fought with skill, as Drake had known they would. Ramses never picked from lower down the pile. Mai redirected a swift jab, tried to break the arm but found it wrenched away, her own balance upset. The next stab glanced off her shoulder, absorbed by her own vest, but giving her a moment’s pause. Beau passed among them all, the veritable shadow of death. Ramses’ legionnaires fell away or skipped aside to avoid the Frenchman.
Drake fell back against a barrier, arms upraised. The fence cracked behind him as his opponent struck with both feet off the ground. Both men tumbled away to another path, struggling as they rolled. The Englishman slammed fist after fist against the legionnaire’s head, but succeeded in only hitting an arm raised up for protection. He heaved the body to where he wanted it, rose to his knees and pounded down. A knife slunk up and jabbed at his ribs, still painful despite the protection. Drake doubled down on the attack.
The melee near to the entrance of the Tropical Zone intensified. Mai and Beau found their opponents’ faces. Blood splashed across the group. Legionnaires fell with broken limbs and concussions, and the main offender was Mano Kinimaka. The huge Hawaiian bulldozed his attackers as if he was trying to challenge the very waves, smash them apart. If a legionnaire came into his path Kinimaka struck without mercy, a superhuman linebacker, an indestructible plow. His path was entirely errant, so both Alicia and Smyth found themselves diving out of his way. Legionnaires landed beside them, groaning, but were easy to finish.
Dahl traded hand-to-hand blows with something of an expert. Knife thrusts came in hard and fast, low then high, then to the chest and face; the Swede blocking them all with lightning reflexes and hard-earned skill. His opponent didn’t let up, clinical in his execution, quickly sensing he had met an equal and needed to change it up.
Dahl sidestepped as the legionnaire introduced feet and elbows as follow ups to the knife attacks. The first elbow caught him across the temple, raising his awareness and helping to anticipate the myriad assaults. He fell to one knee, punching under an arm straight to the pit and the nerve cluster there, making the legionnaire drop his blade in agony. In the end though it was the brawling Kinimaka who smashed the fighter off his feet, pure charging muscle breaking bone and tearing tendons. Mano sported blackening bruises along his jawline and cheekbones and ran with a limp, but nothing could stop him. Dahl imagined he’d smash right through the wall of the building like a Hawaiian Hulk if the door was locked.
Kenzie found it simpler to dart around the edges of the fray, damaging those she could and bemoaning the fact that she still didn’t have her katana. Dahl knew she possessed a learned, special skill and could have assailed one legionnaire after another, each a one-thrust kill, saving the team precious time. But this day was almost done.
One way or another.
Drake found his fist flurry deflected. He fell to the side as the legionnaire caught his wrist and twisted. Pain warped his features. He rolled with the abnormal bend, relieved the pressure, and found himself face to face with his assailant.
“Why?” he asked.
“Just here to slow you down,” the legionnaire smirked. “Tick tock. Tick tock.”
Drake pushed hard, now on his feet. “You’ll die too.”
“We all die, fool.”
Faced with such fanaticism, Drake struck without an ounce of mercy, breaking the man’s nose and jaw, his ribs too. These people knew exactly what they were doing, and still they struggled on. Not a man among them deserved to draw another breath.
Gasping, the legionnaire thrust his knife at Drake. The Yorkshireman caught it, twisted it clear, and reversed it so that it sat up to the hilt in the other man’s skull. Before the body hit the grass Drake joined the main melee.
It was a bizarre and crazy battle. Blow upon blow and defense after defense, endless pivoting for position. Blood wiped from the eyes, elbow and knuckle collisions shaken off in mid-skirmish and even one dislocated shoulder slammed back into place using Smyth’s own bulk. It was raw, as real as anything ever got.
And then Kinimaka ranged around it all, slamming, barging, destroying where he could. At least three of the downed, broken, legionnaires were his doing. Beau took care of two more and then Mai and Alicia finished the last together. As he fell they came face to face, fists raised, battle rage and blood lust flashing between them, catching fire like lasers from their eyes, but it was Beau who split them apart.
“The bomb,” he said.
And then, suddenly, every single face turned to Drake.
“How long do we have left?” Dahl asked.
Drake didn’t even know. The battle had taken every scrap of concentration. He looked down now, dreading what he would see, pulling back his sleeve and checking his watch.
“We haven’t even seen the bomb yet,” Kenzie said.
“Fifteen minutes,” Drake said.
And then the shots rang out.