HAYWIRE: A Pandemic Thriller (The F.A.S.T. Series Book 2) (36 page)

Nothing remained in the lab that could be linked back to Pharmafirst. Now they just needed to finish the job.

‘To the casino,’ he yelled above the hiss of the flame throwers. ‘And I swear I’ll kill any man who lets them escape!’

Craigson slammed the stairwell door behind Myers.

He pressed his finger to his lips for quiet and then listened at the door. The gunmen who were chasing them weren’t trying to be quiet. If they were racing up the stairs, Craigson would hear them.

‘They’re not coming,’ he said, relieved.

Myers looked around.

‘Where are we? I haven’t seen this level before.’

Neither had Craigson. He pointed to a directory sign. ‘I think it’s the sports deck.’

The sign gave directions to dozens of activities.

‘This is ridiculous,’ said Myers, pointing at the sign. ‘Rock-climbing. Ice-skating. Basketball. Gymnasium. Batting cages. Golf simulator. This ship is gigantic. Justin’s probably not even on this deck. The Captain was right. We shouldn’t have been guarding him. King and Forest wouldn’t have lost him. No way in hell.’

Craigson shrugged. ‘Maybe not. But they have their orders and we have ours.’

Myers waved around at the ship. ‘If we survive this, we’ll be reassigned back to standard operations. The Captain’s not going to offer us a place in his Critical Response Team.’

‘We screwed up,’ agreed Craigson. ‘We don’t deserve a place on his team.’

Myers shook his head. ‘I don’t care about that anymore. I just want to find the boy. This ship is no place for any kid to be on his own. I’m not leaving without him.’

Craigson nodded. ‘Then let’s find him. We’ll sweep this level and then move up.’

Craigson waved to Myers’ weapon. ‘How are you for ammo?’

‘I’m empty,’ admitted Myers.

‘Me too,’ said Craigson. ‘We need some better hand-to hand weapons.’

Myers pointed at the directory. ‘I know where to find some. Come on.’

Craigson followed Myers under the large ‘Sports Zone’ entrance. Beyond lay what resembled a large underground mall, but instead of shops, the space was filled with sports venues.

Craigson and Myers ran to take cover against a juice bar.

‘That place,’ pointed Myers. ‘Let’s go.’

Myers took off toward the entrance.

Craigson ran right behind him.

A sports bar?
thought Craigson.

Inside, the walls were covered in sports memorabilia. Pennants and uniforms and trophies were crammed everywhere over the walls. Among these rested baseball bats, golf clubs, tennis rackets, lacrosse nets, cricket bats, and sports equipment Craigson couldn’t even identify.

Myers climbed on a table and lifted down a metal baseball bat.

Craigson walked deeper into the bar, looking for another baseball bat. He spotted a javelin.

No. I need something I can swing.

He’d prefer something longer than a baseball bat. Something to keep the crazies at a distance.

Myers pointed over his shoulder. ‘Didn’t you play ice hockey?’

Craigson saw it.
Of course.

He lifted the hockey stick off the wall. He’d played street and ice hockey all his life.

The stick felt familiar and comfortable in his hands. He knew about a dozen ways to knock people off their feet with it.

Perfect.

‘All right,’ said Myers. ‘Let’s—’

Myers froze.

Craigson tensed, ready to dive for cover, but then he saw it.

A monkey?

The small monkey wore a little purple vest and a red hat tied on with string.

‘Jesus, how did he sneak up behind us?’ asked Myers.

‘Monkeys are quiet,’ explained Craigson.

‘Not him,’ said Myers, pointing across the bar. ‘HIM!’

Holy Crap!
thought Craigson as the man stepped from the shadows.

His skin looked whiter than an albino’s.

A massive neurotic smile was painted across his face. His hair stood out from his head at every angle. His bright clothes looked designed to stop traffic.

Both Marines stared at him.

‘I hate clowns,’ said Myers.

Craigson wholeheartedly agreed. ‘What the hell is he doing here?’

‘Circus act,’ answered Myers, trying to keep his voice level. ‘The ship’s theater is above us. I saw a poster. This must be their clown.’

Craigson took a step toward the exit.

The monkey leaped into his path, landing on a table. It screeched and bared its teeth.

Holy shit
, thought Craigson.
That little bastard’s got big teeth!

At the same time, the clown moved to block Myers’ path. He’d lost his big shoes and red nose, but he still had a giant orange bow tie.

He also had a cleaver.

Craigson glanced at the cleaver, hoping it was a circus prop.

Blood covered the cleaver’s blade.

‘Fuck you, clown!’ roared Myers, charging at the clown with his baseball bat.

Craigson heard the monkey screech as it attacked. It jumped through the air. It leaped straight at his face like a shriveled, hairy demon.

Craigson lifted his hockey stick, but not fast enough.

The monkey landed right on his chest.

It tried to bite his face.

Craigson turned his face away, but again the monkey was faster.

Its teeth sunk into his face.

Oversized canines tore straight into Craigson’s left cheek, just below his eye. Its lower teeth punctured the skin under his jaw and hit the bone.

Beyond panic, Craigson dropped the hockey stick and wrenched the monkey off his face. Lifting it over his head, he threw it with all his strength against the wall.

The monkey flew across the bar and slammed into the wall. It bounced off the wall, landed on a table, and then raced back across the tables toward Craigson in a screeching ball of fur and fangs.

That didn’t hurt it at all
, realized Craigson.

He dove for his hockey stick, snatched it from the floor and stood up just in time.

Got you now, you horrible little demon.

As the monkey landed on the table beside Craigson, a hockey stick was streaking toward its head.

Craigson swung with everything he had.

He hit.

Something flew across the bar.

It wasn’t the monkey.

The hat!

All he’d hit was the monkey’s stupid hat. The monkey leaped at him again in a blur of hairy speed.

Craigson glimpsed Myers crashing across the bar with the clown. Myers no longer had his bat. The clown still had his cleaver.

But Craigson couldn’t spare a second because at that moment the monkey landed on his back.

Between his body armor and helmet was an exposed area of flesh.

His neck.

The monkey’s teeth bit into the back of his neck, either side of his spine.

The pain felt excruciating this time.

In desperation, Craigson jumped into the air, drawing his knees in as though he were performing a backflip. He slammed down onto the floor, landing on his upper back and feeling the monkey absorb the full weight of his fall.

The insane animal’s screech of surprise and pain loosened its teeth instantly.

Craigson rolled away before it could bite him again, but it wasn’t moving.

Finally he’d hurt the damn thing!

Craigson instantly looked for Myers.

The clown had wrestled Myers to the floor. He sat over Myers, hacking down with his cleaver. Myers desperately defended himself with a broken piece of stool.

He had only seconds.

They were right across the far side of the bar. Myers would be dead by the time Craigson reached him.

Craigson grabbed the closest object off the wall. He took one step and hurled the object at the clown.

The javelin streaked through the air.

Craigson had thrown it with so much adrenaline coursing through his body that the javelin’s point passed clean through the clown’s head and emerged out the other side.

The clown crumbled sideways off Myers, dead in an instant.

The cleaver fell from his grip and bounced away.

Myers desperately kicked himself free, scrambling backward until his shoulder hit the wall. He stopped there, staring at the clown in horror, sucking down breaths like he’d just finished a marathon.

Craigson fumbled for his field medic kit. He felt blood running from his face and neck.

‘Myers, are you wounded?’

Myers just stared at the dead clown with the javelin through his head.

‘Myers!’

‘No,’ replied Myers, snapping back into reality.

‘I need help.’

Myers leaped to his feet and dashed across the bar. He kicked aside the dead monkey.

‘How bad is it?’ asked Craigson.

Myers studied Craigson’s bite wounds and then opened his field medic kit.

‘How bad?’ repeated Craigson.

‘Well,’ replied Myers. ‘You look better than the monkey.’