Firedrake Chapter 21

Drake stared across the length of the warehouse floor at the man who had, in essence, purchased the right to battle him. His challenging question, “So, we gonna do this or what?” still hung in the air, and he noted that Onslaught seemed to be waiting before replying.

“Can he hear okay?” Drake asked Gunsmoke. The grey-coated killer had stepped in behind him and now stood as a lurking menace just to the rear of Drake’s right hip. “That hood thing make him deaf, maybe?”

“I heard you, dragon!” Onslaught shouted. “I just thought maybe you wanted to talk your way out of gettin’ your ass whipped. Thought I’d give you a chance. Go on! The world is watching,” he added, gesturing around them at the myriad cameras that were hung from rafters, clamped to the walls, and mounted on frames at seemingly random locations. Besides the cameras, Drake saw yet more people maintaining computer connections - and, he figured, keeping any trace activity from locating the warehouse. A paramedic team stood in the corner, shielded by the slight frame of the rolling cot on which their equipment was stacked.

“Okay,” Drake said with a shrug of his mountainous shoulders. “I can talk, if that’s what you want. You sponsored the kidnapping of a Federal Agent, endangered probably hundreds of lives by your actions, and forced me to come in here and watch the worst entrance I’ve seen since pro wrestling went high-tech. What’s next? Gonna hit me with a trash can?”

“Keep it up, you overgrown lizard. I ain’t scared of you or any of your cronies. I’ll take you all, one after another!”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Drake urged. He jerked a thumb at Gunsmoke. “Give the man here what he wants and let the beating commence.”

“After,” Onslaught countered. He started throwing punches and hopping from one place to another to loosen up.

“You know, you put a lot of people through a lot of shit for your little stage play here, slick, and I’m more than a little bit pissed about it. So, I was thinking. You’d better give it to him now, ‘cause I don’t figure on you being able to talk much when I’m finished.”

Onslaught snorted and laughed aloud. “That’s brave talk, but I notice you ain’t moving any closer. Afraid I might mess up your pretty face? Don‘t worry about it, Sally Salamander. I brought a medical team to patch you back up.”

“You good with me kicking his ass first, G?” Drake asked, looking back at the booster behind him. Gunsmoke shrugged, shoulders shifting beneath the coat he wore.

“I was gonna stay to watch anyway,” he said.

“That’s cool. See you in a couple of minutes,” Drake said. He jerked his head from side to side, freeing up the joints of his spine with a series of loud cracks, then whistled a long, sharp blast through his teeth. Onslaught looked up to see him and Drake licked his lips, allowing his teeth to shine in the spotlight. He dug his feet into the floor and set off in a run toward Onslaught.

“About damned time!” Onslaught shouted, starting a run of his own. Dozens of overhead lights snapped on, illuminating the room in a yellow-white glare. Even that was overpowered by the spotlights that tracked each of the combatants as they made their moves.

Drake knew that the impact would be substantial, and braced himself accordingly as they neared. His left hand slipped across his waist, forming a protective shield as he twisted himself slightly to strike with his left side forward. His right hand, opened and ready, was cocked down at his side. Their approach took on frightening speed, and Drake could see that Onslaught’s gloved hand had an odd shimmer to it, as though it were too hot for the surrounding air. That image was still processing in Drake’s mind when the fist seemed almost to teleport from its position and hammer into the plating over his heart.

A crack like a rifle shot echoed from the warehouse walls and a scent of burnt metal filled the air following the impact of the fist. Blazing pain erupted along Drake’s flank and his breath stopped short as the surge hit. His own strike, a simple claw swipe designed to take Onslaught off balance, went wide and missed the bulky fighter completely. Combined with the sudden explosive strike, the swipe left Drake overstretched and he went face first to the floor. The concrete screeched and sparks flew from his scales as he slid across the flooring.

“One hit and he goes down!” Onslaught jeered, raising his fists above his head like a prizefighter. He danced for the cameras as Drake regained his feet.

“Nice shot,” Drake admitted. His teeth went together with a slow grinding sound and his eyes narrowed. Onslaught danced some more, pointing a finger at the reptilian booster.

“Didn‘t know about these, did ya?” Onslaught crowed, waving his fists. “I charge these up and they hit like a Mack truck! I got more, Firedrake. Come and get some!”

“Works for me,” Drake said as he took in a slow, painful breath. It felt as though there was a knife inside his left lung. Whatever power he could put into those fists, it was impressive.

Two steps later, Drake had launched himself into the air, his wings spreading as he used the force of the jump to take to the sky above Onslaught. He rolled once, taunting the booster further by raising the middle finger of his left hand as he passed over the shorter man’s head. Onslaught turned to track the flight, taking a few steps of his own. He leaped from the ground, shimmering fist seeking Drake’s abdomen. A whistling sound filled the air as the long barbed tip of Drake’s tail sliced through the air and struck against the outer edge of the outstretched arm.

Onslaught yelped, more surprised than actually hurt, and clutched at his wrist as he dropped back toward the floor. Drake flared his wings wide and arrested his own momentum, slashing with the claws of both his feet as he fell to the ground. The left one caught Onslaught across the tops of his shoulders, opening a hole in his BDU shirt and carving lines in the flesh beneath it. Dark stains began to spread on the shirt. The heel of Drake’s right foot took the man in the temple, snapping his head to the side. Onslaught shook off the strike and grasped the outstretched right leg, spinning as he let gravity draw the pair of fighters to the concrete. As he landed, Onslaught released Drake in a sidelong throw.

Growling deep in his chest, Drake snapped his wings out and used his momentum to keep him in flight. Dropping the tip of his right wing, he banked hard, trying to ignore the spotlight that followed him through the air and threatened to blind him. Left wing pointed almost vertically toward the ceiling, Drake made an unbelievably rapid turn and angled straight for the waiting Onslaught. He could clearly see the right hand drawing back as the man prepared to swing. Drake watched for the move and jinked hard to his own right as the punch began.

Onslaught allowed the feinted punch to drop and swung his left fist in a vicious uppercut that caught Drake on the left side of the jaw. The clacking sound of dozens of teeth coming together as one was lost in the explosive crash of Onslaught’s power-charged fist striking home. The trailing foot that slapped across Onslaught’s face was effectively ignored; the man turned to watch Drake crash once more to the unyielding surface of the warehouse floor.

“Ain’t you never fought anybody before?” Onslaught asked with an echoing laugh.

Drake spat out a trio of teeth, the enameled objects skittering across the floor with thin red trails behind them. He rubbed the back of a hand across his lips to clear the blood that ran from them.

“Just checking you out, slick. I ain’t started my ‘A’-game yet.”

“Yeah? You best start. You got claws. Use them.”

“I didn’t come here to kill you,” Drake countered.

“You better try. You hold back and I’ll take you apart. I want the best you’ve got!”

“Why?” Drake asked as the two began a slow counter-clockwise dance, each trying to gauge the other’s strengths before beginning again.

“Like I’ve said, you idiots hold yourselves up like you’re the greatest things on the planet. It’s about time someone taught you that you ain’t.”

“And that someone’s gonna be you? What? You couldn’t just be a cable repairman or something? Gotta steal the whole ‘fists of power’ thing off Patriot‘s play list?”

Onslaught shook his head slowly. With a sudden surge of motion, he brought both hands overhead and slammed them to the floor, the shimmering gloves leaving visible energy trails in the air behind them. The effect on the flooring was spectacular. The concussive power of the man’s strike was directed into the concrete, causing it to buckle and shift for a fraction of a second, then to explosively blast free of the ground in an ever-widening path straight toward Drake. Heavy chunks and jagged shards of concrete shot up from the ground, filling the air with a hail of damaging projectiles. The warehouse rocked with the reverberating sound of the strike.

Drake took a step back and to his left, lifting a wing to ward off the flying debris. The second he was blinded allowed his foe to close, and Drake’s body rocked under a series of three punches, each landing so soon after its predecessor that it almost felt like a single strike. The channeled power faded with each hit, but in such rapid succession, Drake could feel no difference. He knew at least one was rib broke under the assault, and a part of his mind fancied he could actually hear it happen, though he knew that with the sound generated by the explosive punches, that was little more than his imagination at work.

Slapping out with his wing, he brushed Onslaught aside for a moment. Balancing on his left foot for a moment, he pivoted and snapped the right out in a powerful thrusting kick, catching Onslaught in the abdomen and propelling the man backward into a slide of his own across the concrete floor. Taking advantage of the respite, he leaped backward, flapping the right wing to add a bit of extra distance, and exhaled a mighty breath. Reddish-gold flame erupted in a jet from his mouth, splashing to the ground and shattering yet more of the concrete with the sudden intensity of the heat. Drake swept his head from right to left in a quick pattern, then dropped his aim and went the other direction. A second later, he had created a roaring wall of flame between himself and the brawler that he faced. He swallowed as he gingerly touched the points of impact from the last series of strikes. They were marked with blackened explosive residue, and would soon bruise and become a nastier shade of yellow than they already were.

Little man‘s good, Drake admitted to himself.

Drake’s moment of recovery was short-lived. Onslaught dived through the fire, ignoring the flames that licked at him and coming across in a graceful roll that landed him near the enormous feet of the reptilian booster. He lashed out with a blow from the ground, slamming the base of his fist on the toes of Drake’s right foot.

Drake howled in sudden pain as the walls echoed the concussive strike back at him. He jerked his foot upward, doubling his pain as the outstretched toes smacked into Onslaught’s chin. Spinning away from the source of pain, he sliced downward with the tip of his tail, striking against the side of Onslaught’s left forearm where it supported the kneeling man. Had he been facing Onslaught, Drake would have been somewhat pleased to see the spurt of blood that marked a clean hit by the whipping tail.

Gripping his arm for a second, Onslaught bunched his legs beneath him and leaped forward, grabbing onto Drake from behind. He wrapped his right arm around the scaled neck and held on tightly while using the weakened left to slam repeatedly into the side of the giant green head before him. His knees pounded relentlessly against the frame of Drake’s wings.

The hammering blows to his head were, to Drake, some of the most punishing attacks he had suffered. Each impact was marked with another of the devastating energy discharges and within the span of a half-dozen such wallops, his vision was blurring and he was quite convinced he would never again hear out of his left ear. Several more teeth were loosening. So far his left eye had been spared by virtue of the armored ridges that surrounded it, but he was unsure how much longer that would last. Though each strike was less powerful than the one before it, the possibility that this man could permanently injure him or even kill him was not lost on Drake. In his mind’s eye he saw an image of Monster, and knew that he had to end this before he was in no position to protect his brother.

“Give up?” Onslaught grunted, still holding fast to the thick neck. He drew back his left hand for another swing. As it landed, Drake saw more images.

Monster playing with his booster action figures.

“Getting…” Drake said, slamming his head backward. It struck Onslaught on the bridge of the nose with a sick squelching sound. The grip around Drake’s neck relaxed a bit. Drake repeated the attack, again feeling the satisfying crunch of bone on bone.

Monster wrapping his arms around Drake in greeting, his moon-shaped eyes wide with delight.

“Tired…” Drake continued. He drove his left elbow back into Onslaught‘s abdomen, landing the blow directly atop the dusty footprint the had left on the man‘s BDU shirt with his earlier kick. Onslaught slid his body further to the right to avoid a repeat of the assault and Drake grinned .Lowering his right hand, he reached behind him and gripped the leg that Onslaught was trying unsuccessfully to wrap around the enormous frame of the dragon.

Monster sitting in his chair, the remnants of a brownie smeared on his face, liter-sized cup of milk raised to his chocolate-stained lips.

“Of…” Yellowed claws dug deep into the meat of Onslaught’s lower leg and Drake pulled forward, exerting his prodigious strength in the move. The leg stretched out ahead of him on his right side.

Monster sitting down to watch cartoons, cookie in one hand.

“This…” Drake gripped the extended ankle with his left hand and continued to pull up and forward. Still stunned, Onslaught was trying to maintain his grip on the neck.

Monster laughing at his brother trying to dance.

“Shit!” Drake finished, throwing himself down as he brought the leg up and under his own right arm. The weight of the pair falling hyperextended the knee joint and the sound of ligaments tearing and bone cracking was clearly audible. Onslaught shrieked in sudden agony, both hands releasing their hold and scrabbling to reach the injured limb.

Rolling off him, Drake turned and leered down at the man, crimson traces running from his mouth as a string of bloody drool dripped slowly toward the floor. A hissing sound combined with the growl that erupted from his throat and he snapped his head forward in a rapid motion, teeth flashing in the spotlight as the giant mouth opened wide and slammed shut on either side of the executioner’s hood worn by Onslaught.

“Now,” Drake said, his voice muffled and speech impeded by the state in which he currently held his mouth. “Give up or I eat you.”

Onslaught released his leg with his right hand and waved it frantically. “I give!” he called, his own words nearly as muffled as had been Drake’s due to his head being inside a mouth.

Drake instantly relaxed his grip and pulled his head away, his need to end the fight sated. “Get a medic over here!” he shouted. He knelt beside the injured Onslaught, slipping an arm beneath the man’s right shoulder and hoisting him to his feet. Drake lifted slowly, keeping the mangled leg from contacting the ground at all as the paramedics he had seen earlier jumped to action.

“You beat me,” Onslaught said, his voice little more than a whisper. His body was limp weight in Drake’s grasp.

“Wasn’t easy,” Drake replied. “That power-punch thing you’ve got going? Pretty damned effective.”

“Still wasn’t enough.”

“Shut up, slick. You’re going into shock,” Drake said. He could feel his own blood running freely as he spoke, dripping from his chin onto the floor.

“Why’d you quit? You had me done,” Onslaught said as Drake lowered him onto the gurney. One of the medics struggled to immobilize the thick leg of his patient, shears sparkling as they slit through the material of the trousers. The knee hove into view, a reddened and rapidly-swelling mass of tissue that Drake could imagine was incredibly painful. At the top of the gurney, the second medic was sliding a bright needle into the meat of Onslaught’s arm.

“I told you. I didn’t come here to kill you. Didn’t really want to fight you at all, but truth be told, I wanted to shut you up and that seemed like my only option,” Drake said with a chuckle that came out as a hideous bubbling sound as blood was pushed past his teeth.

“I’ll get better and I’ll be back,” Onslaught promised. His neck arched suddenly, forcing his head back against the pillow on the cot, as the medic made some adjustment to the injured knee.

“Yeah? Next time, how about we throw a round of darts or something? Rock-paper-scissors maybe? Shit, I’ll take a quick game of chess over missing teeth any day.”

“I’m gonna be the best. One day, every…body‘s gonna know…who I am,” Onslaught said in a voice that was quickly losing strength. Drake looked up in alarm, but the medic just pointed to the empty syringe he was dropping into a red plastic box.

“Gunsmoke! Better get over here if you wanna talk to this monkey!”

The grey-clad booster was at Drake’s side before the shout even finished. The omnipresent dust boiled up from around his boots as he arrived. He leaned down and whispered into Onslaught’s ear - or at least where the hood made it seem an ear would be found. Onslaught mumbled out an answer, to which Gunsmoke listened with an intent expression. He nodded after a moment and stepped clear of the gurney.

“Got what I needed,” he said, turning on one heel and heading for the doorway.

“Yo! Hold up, slick!” Drake called, placing a comforting hand on Onslaught’s shoulder. He leaned down to whisper a word of encouragement before turning and following Gunsmoke. His progress was slow, at best, as the attacks by Onslaught still had him seeing multiple images and hearing very little.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded. The answering drawl was calmly delivered.

“You know where I’m headed, Drake. Gonna go find me these assholes what put that bug in Spud. Then I’m gonna get me some payback.”

“Well, I hate to shoot down your stunningly well-thought-out plan,” Drake said with a snort, “but did it occur to you that maybe this ain’t the best way to go about solving this little problem?”

“I know what you’re saying, Drake, but it don’t help none.” Gunsmoke handed him a slip of paper with a series of scrawled numbers on it. “That’s the GPS set for where Spud’s staying. If your buddy Splicer can help him, I’d be obliged. As for me, I know who I’m looking for now.”

“Who?”

“Think I’ll spill to you just for the asking? Then you and your super-idiots go rolling in there and get ‘em before I can get a shot in.”

Smiling a little under the brim of his hat, Gunsmoke handed over Drake’s pistol. “I reckon you’ll be needing that sometime real soon.”

A voice in Drake’s head screamed for him to place the booster under arrest, but he knew it was a futile line of thought. Even when he had been at his best, Gunsmoke had taken him. Now, after the devastating fight with Onslaught, he was in no shape to attempt such a feat. He could also see the look in Gunsmoke’s eyes that said clearly that the same thoughts had run through his mind.

“I’ll get word to you, Drake. Tell you where to pick up the bodies.”

“You keep killing folk and Hart’s gonna make good on her promise to put you on the Top Ten list,” Drake said, once again tucking the massive slab-sided pistol into his waistband.

“Yeah? If they do, make sure they get a decent picture, would you? Most of them jackasses they put up there look like a baboon with a stick up its ass.”

Tipping his hat, Gunsmoke stepped back into the rear of the transport van that had brought them to the warehouse. “Jimmy sent a message to your people; told ‘em where to find you. Reckon they’ll be here in a few to pick you up.”

He banged on the wall behind the cab, and a second later the truck lurched and the tires chirped as Jimmy accelerated sharply away from the curb. The last thing Drake saw of Gunsmoke was two images of the booster waving merrily from the open back of the truck, and then it vanished around a curve.

Sighing, Drake returned to the interior of the warehouse. After the minute spent outside, the smells hit him with a new strength. Blood, burned metal and stone, smoke and sulfur. Around the warehouse, people were scrambling to recover their equipment. Laptops were closing at an alarming rate. Drake marched into the center of the room and raised his arms, whistling sharply to gain the attention of those remaining in the room.

“All right, listen up!” he yelled. As the people paused in their actions and looked at him, he continued. “First off, I’ve got a couple of busted teeth, so I ain’t real happy. Whistling at y’all like that makes my face hurt. Who’s got the camera feeds?”

A half-dozen hands rose, all pointing at a slender, pale-faced man with wire-rimmed glasses. He swallowed in response to how quickly his associates had given him up, and then timidly raised a hand. “I do,” he said.

“Put me on live. Right now, and on the same channels you had the fight.”

A few seconds later and the man raised a thumb to indicate that the camera he had only moments before been dismantling was now transmitting Drake’s image. Drake nodded and faced the unblinking eye of the video pickup.

“My name is Francis Drake. I am a Federal Agent. Most of you know this already, seeing as how you tuned in to see me fight with Onslaught. Anyway, what I’m getting at is this: The reward he posted for me? It’s been paid. It ain’t a valid thing no more. So the first one of you dumb enough to try and jump me on the streets is gonna wind up in a hospital or worse. I ain’t gonna figure on no little catch-and-release program going on, so I’ll just bet you’re tryin’ to kill me and I’ll react accordingly. I hope this much is clear.”

He jerked a thumb across his throat to indicate that the statement was over and the camera could be turned off, then walked with as much dignity as his battered frame would allow back to the doors. Stepping once more into the cooler air outside, he casually closed the portal behind him and leaned his massive frame against it, sliding slowly down until he was seated on the ground outside.

“Sure could use a beer about now,” he said aloud. He spat a crimson stream onto the pavement and leaned his head back against the door, ignoring the cries and pounding from inside as the crews attempted to leave. Those who arrived to transport him out could take them into custody. He grinned again as the thought occurred to him that he may have set a new record for the most people arrested by a single Agent at one time, simply by sealing them inside the warehouse.

He probed at a loose tooth with one of his claws, groaning as the sharp bit fell out to clatter off his scales and continue on to the ground. Sighing, he removed his hand from his mouth and scratched at the top of his skull for a moment. He could hear sirens approaching, and the thought that he could soon be out of the area entirely made the mischievous grin fold back into a genuine smile.

“Taking a couple weeks off,” he promised himself. “I’m going to go hang with Monster, and I don’t care what kind of crisis pops up. Let somebody else handle it for a change.”