Arrowland (24 page)

Jack and the others watched as a number of the Rangers disappeared under the roof on the opposite side. They waited, and waited. Then the all-clear signal was given; a faint whistle which could be mistaken for birdsong unless you were really listening for it. Jack nodded for them all to begin their run, and looked over the edge at the pitch below. Even with his head for heights this was not something he was looking forward to. "Well, here goes nothin'."

Holding the rope steady - with his staff jammed under his arm - he lowered himself over the edge of the stadium's open metal canopy. Jack pushed himself off, swaying as he dropped. He let out the rope, glancing over at other Rangers doing the same, spotting those who had already climbed up and under now adopting positions between the rows of seats; quietly making their way downwards.

They'd been lucky so far, but that wouldn't last. Sooner or later someone, somewhere, would spot the ropes dangling into the stadium. So they had to move quickly.

Jack heard shouting. Raised voices that didn't belong to his troops.

That was it, they'd been spotted. But the timing couldn't have been better.

Loud bangs sounded from the smaller stadium next door, then explosions as the Rangers' arrows found their marks - blowing up stationary jeeps and motorbikes, tanks and trucks... and ammo. A chain reaction ensued, the ground and the stadium shaking with the ferocity of it. The distraction bought them some time, but not much. Machine-gun fire came from the left of Jack, and he dropped several metres. The other dangling Rangers, rather than waiting to fall to the pitch, swung into the rows of seats, detaching themselves as soon as they could. Their bows were out seconds later, trained on the source of the machine-gun fire.

Jack did the same, using his momentum to swing across. Bullets missed him by inches and he spotted the gunman. Holding on to the rope with one hand, he let his staff fall from his armpit, catching it with his free hand. He flung it at the Dragon's guard and it hit the man squarely in the chest. The man fell backwards, then flopped forwards over one of the blue plastic seats. Jack swung himself across, letting go when he was over the steps between seats. He landed well enough, but had to duck seconds later because there was more rapid gunfire from another shooter.

A female Ranger Jack recognised as Beth Garrett popped up between the seats and put an arrow in the guy; Jack nodded a thanks and went to retrieve his staff. He knew that inside, his other troopers were fighting their own battles - bow and arrow against hot lead. But Jack's money was on the Rangers.

Heavy weapons fire suddenly drew his attention and he looked across the stadium to see a fixed mounted machine-gun the size of a bloody cannon, spitting out... yes, dammit, those were grenades. A couple exploded near to one of his Rangers and Jack watched, horrified, as the hooded figure flew up into the air along with wrecked seats.

"Hawkings!" he shouted, pointing to the weapon, and was gratified to see that the Ranger in question had already lit one of his chemical arrows. He fired it in the direction of the cannon, and the resultant blast spread across the Dragon's men and set off the grenades they'd been feeding into the weapon.

Jack nodded with satisfaction. "How'd ya like them apples?"

Down below, another skirmish had broken out on the pitch, with Rangers who had made it down that far taking on the guards with their swords. Rolling to duck bullets, they hacked at legs - cutting into shins and thighs. No guard would be getting up after that.

In doorways and from behind the seats, his Rangers continued to hold their own, firing arrow after arrow, some explosive, most not needing to be. A clump of about twenty of the Dragon's men, all armed to the teeth, were taken down in seconds by arrowfire; the fact that they were all together making it easy for his Rangers to wound and incapacitate. Some of the guards were fleeing, retreating back inside the stadium. It wouldn't do them any good, because already the Rangers were spreading throughout this place: down corridors and on stairwells, checking every room and crushing any resistance.

He made his way up towards a door, but as he did so a guard came through it brandishing a pistol. Jack flicked his staff up and knocked the gun out of the man's hand, then whacked him on the temple. There was the sound of boots to the left and right, and Jack dropped immediately, just as the machine-gun fire from two groups of guards on either side opened up. "Chumps," muttered Jack as he rose again and saw the bodies. The Dragon's men had shot each other.

Leaving his forces to carry on their clean-up, Jack slipped inside through the entrance ahead of him.

It was a big place, and it was time to begin his search.

After all, he had more than one person to find.

"What now?" asked Meghan.

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking," Dale replied. It wasn't easy when you were pinned down and bullets were sparking off the corner next to your head. He looked around frantically for an answer.

Then he saw it. Their way out of there. Dale smiled.

"What?" asked Meghan.

"Here, hold this." He put the gun in her good hand, then ran across the hallway.

"Dale...?" came Meghan's worried voice. It was obvious they hadn't returned fire in a while and she was thinking that perhaps they should. She was right, but not with bullets. Or not
only
with bullets.

Dale finished wrenching the red metal cylinder from the wall, before joining her again. "Okay, you might want to duck," he told her as he relieved her of the machine-gun. She did as she was told and Dale pressed himself up against the wall, closing his eyes. "Fingers crossed."

He set off the fire extinguisher, jamming the mechanism so it sprayed out clouds of white as he flung it around the corner in their direction. When Dale heard the men coughing, he broke cover and fired wildly into the gas. He'd been intending just to hit the men, but one of his bullets hit the canister itself and it went up in the middle of the guards, doing exactly the opposite of what it was meant to - starting a fire instead of putting one out. It sent them sprawling in all directions. The blast also knocked him back against the far wall, reminding him of the injuries the Dragon had only recently inflicted.

But it had been worth it. All the men down in one fell swoop.

No, not all of them. One guard, blackened from the smoke, emerged. His face was blistered, one eye looked as though it was either gone or had skin stretched over it. There was a lump of metal sticking out of his shoulder, but none of this seemed to be bothering him too much. He was more intent on causing harm to the person who'd done this. The man grunted and brought his machine-gun to bear. Dale was still holding his, and depressed the trigger.

It clicked empty.

In spite of the obvious pain he must have been in, the man laughed. It was guttural, deep and throaty, in keeping with his nightmarish appearance. The guard raised his gun and Dale closed his eyes, waiting for the end.

He heard a dull thump rather than the
rat-ta-tat
he'd been expecting. "You've just been Jack Hammered, buddy," said a voice which made him open his eyes immediately.

The guard was on the floor, but there was still no sign of Jack. Then, through the smoke, came the end of the staff that had struck the guard on the head. Jack's face followed, and he adjusted the cap he always wore as he looked down at his handiwork. When he noticed Dale he appeared just as surprised to see him.

"Dale?" said Jack, unable to disguise the delight in his voice. "All that worrying and you're here sitting on your ass."

"You know me. Always slacking."

Jack laughed. "And getting yourself into scrapes. I just had to follow the sound of gunfire."

Dale was having trouble getting up and Jack came over to help, as did Meghan, appearing from around the corner. Jack instinctively began raising his staff, but Dale held up his hand.

"She's with me. Civilian. There are more dotted about this place."

"I see." The large man lowered his weapon, smiling tentatively at her. She smiled back. Dale knew he had a problem with women ever since what had happened with Adele. Dale couldn't really talk - he'd thought badly of Meghan too when it looked like she'd set him up. Then Jack spotted her hand.

"Why, you're hurt as well, little lady." That wasn't Jack being patronising, it was just what he called most women - and there was a certain respectful charm to that, which Meghan appeared unused to.

"The Dragon," said Dale, by way of explanation about her hand.

"We need to get that examined," Jack said, moving closer and placing his hand underneath hers. "We have some Rangers trained in first aid."

"I-I'll be all right," she said shyly.

Jack smiled, then turned and addressed Dale. "I'm guessing he did that number on you, as well."

Dale nodded. "We're on our way to him right now... well, we think. He's got Meghan's niece."

"Okay." Jack handed him the guard's machine-gun in exchange for his exhausted one, then got him to his feet. "So, what are we waiting for?"

As they got moving, Dale asked how their side were doing. "Creamin' em, kid," said Jack. "Tanek still around?"

"Sorry," Dale told him. "He headed off after the meet by the sound of things."

Jack's face fell. Then he turned to Dale and asked, "Listen, this niece we're on our way to save. Are you and her... Y'know?"

Dale didn't say a word, but his expression must have told Jack everything he needed.

"Figures," said the big man, rolling his eyes. "You really have got to get another act, kid."

Dale thought about telling him he had; that this girl was different. But Jack probably wouldn't believe him, and he couldn't blame him for that.

The point was they were on their way to try and save her. Sian.

Dale just hoped they were in time.

Chapter Sixteen

Enough was enough.

He couldn't take any more of this, it was insane! Even though he'd only been up there a short time, the flames very gradually building, Ceallach could smell Hood's flesh beginning to cook. It made his stomach churn.

Not that long ago, he would have gladly cheered at the death of this man. The one responsible for his band of raiders losing that haul with the truck. The one who fired arrows at Ceallach himself as he rode alongside on his motorbike, watching as Hood dispatched most of his companions. Hadn't he himself even ordered Torradan to shoot through the roof of the van and kill Hood? But, when all was said and done, this woodsman had defeated them. Defeated the men Ceallach had ridden with, pretty much single-handedly.

Ceallach had been thrown off his bike during the course of the scrap; or, more accurately, when Hood jammed his sword in the wheel. That had hurt. But, afterwards, when Ceallach had dragged himself back to the vehicle to make his escape, Hood had also been the one who'd allowed him to escape. Ceallach had seen him in the smashed mirrors, preventing that guy with the shotgun from shooting.

The trip back to the castle hadn't been easy. Knowing he was leaving so many of his friends behind, at Hood's mercy, stuck in his craw. But if those captured Rangers were telling the truth then they were at least being treated humanely. Ceallach had heard in the past about Hood's hotel prisons - sounded quite nice actually, better than some of the accommodation here.

And, after he'd returned to tell the Widow what had happened - still hurt and angry that her reputed vision hadn't shown her what would happen - what had she offered in reply?

"Aye, I knew Hood would be waitin'."

Just like that. Which told him one of two things. Either she couldn't see shit, and all the voodoo bollocks they believed about her was just a crock, or she'd let them walk into a trap. Neither option made him warm to her. Why exactly would the Widow knowingly send them into an ambush? She hadn't shared her reasons with him - simply sent Ceallach to the Vaults to be punished for answering back. Re-education, she'd called it. That had hurt more than fucking falling off the bike. Some of the stuff they did to people. He'd thought it was only reserved for their enemies, but apparently not.

Well, he'd been re-educated all right. It had definitely made him think twice, but not about questioning the Widow's motives. More like what the fuck he was still doing here? He'd pretended the experience had done him a favour; the Widow didn't generally try that conversion thing on people like him if they turned against her. Instead she just had you killed. It was less trouble. He played along, all nice like. He knew how to do that from before, when he'd been one of Freddie Banks' guys, pulling bank-jobs and other robberies. You did the work, you took your cut; you smiled, said thanks. That's what he'd done after he'd finished his stint in the Vaults. The Widow usually asked to see you afterwards, to look you in the eye, check out whether you really
were
sorry. And he'd been scared of that, he had to admit, though not as scared as before. See, he was starting to lean more towards the opinion that she was a fake. This Widow could no more see into the future than his testicles were going to sprout wings and fly away, waving a cheery goodbye to his dick.

As it turned out, he hadn't needed to pass the test, because that was when Hood was captured. He'd had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, he'd wanted to find him and punch him in the face. On the other, it showed that not even this man, the living legend, was immune from the Widow's power. If only those people who'd believed Hood's press over the past couple of years could see him now; naked and helpless as a baby while the heat roasted him.