Page 31 of The Wickedness of Man

I felt the horrificcrunchof a vehicle ramming into my side, and I rolled over the short hood, gasping as I tumbled back to the concrete. My lip was bleeding, and my right leg and ribs were aching, but I regained my feet, staggered upright in time to spy the second black cargo van that had been stalking the neighborhood looking for me. The doors slid open and four more recovery team members popped out. They too, wore all black kit and balaclavas, and each of them carried an assault weapon aimed right at me.

“Get him!” screamed the agent I’d headbutted, pinching his nose beneath the mask. Blood poured down his face. “Fucking shoot him, now!”

The first agent approached to point the barrel of his gun in my face, issuing orders for me to get on the ground. He got within my reach, and I grabbed the gun, turning it to the side as he fired off several short bursts. I brought my elbow flying toward his face and caught his jaw. He crumpled to the ground as I claimed his assault rifle, spun it around, and then swung it upright into the second agent’s groin. The stock landed square in his nuts; he wheezed and stumbled back, tripping over the first recovery agent.

“He’s a fucking hunter agent!” screamed the whiny bastard pinching his nose. “Are you seriously telling me you can’t take ononelowly meathead?!”

The third agent ran at me; I smashed his tactical goggles with the butt of my rifle. He fired off a round, but the shot went wide, and then I brought my knee up into his gut. He doubled over, fell to his knees, and puked on the street.

“Goddammit, Knight,” said the last recovery agent, pointing his weapon at the ground. “C’mon, man. You know this won’t end well for you!”

“They already told me it wasn’t going to,” I growled. “Now. You gonna shoot me, or just tease me a little more?”

“Asshole—” The agent lifted the gun to shoot; I raised the assault rifle and swung it like a bat. It hit his weapon so hard, the barrel bent and he cursed as he grabbed his hand, trigger finger clearly broken.

“Someone just shoot him already!” the silver-gun toting agent shouted. “Shoot the dumb bastard!”

The agent whose gun I’d just broken pulled a pistol from his hip with his unbroken hand, took aim, and fired. I dodged the shot, rolled to the ground, my ribs and leg burning.

“How is he this fast?” the agent said, lining up his second shot, taking a step away from me.

I could smell his fear, and the scent of it brought a wave of pure euphoria. I growled, then catapulted myself into his gut with my shoulder. I lifted the pistol from his still fingers, then tossed it aside and sent my fist careening into his face. He went limp at once, and I stood, panting, moving toward the van with a purposeful pace.

The driver, a young man with no mask, stared at me with terror in his gaze until I opened the door and yanked him out, flinging him to the street. He rolled several feet, then got up and ran toward the other van. I was near the edge of jubilation; like something inside of me had been unleashed. I began to pull myself into the van, convinced I’d get out of here, ditch the vehicle somewhere, circle back to Magda, and make sure she was safe before I ran. The plan seemed solid; good, even—until something pinched me hard, just below my hip on my right side, like a sharp mosquito bite. I cursed and looked down; a silver dart was poking out of my ass cheek a few inches above my thigh.

I reached down, yanked it out, and looked over to find Home aiming the dart gun at me, looking furious. He took three steps forward and fired another tranq into my thigh when I turned to face him, then one into my left arm.

“Son of a bitch,” I murmured, abandoning the idea of fighting him and instead pulling the darts out as quickly as I could. They were fast acting and released alotof medicine on impact.

I turned back to reach for the steering wheel, but my fingers lost grip as the tranquilizer took hold, and I slid against the seat and to the ground, where I collapsed into an inelegant heap with my back against the van. I wasn’t totally out, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think straight. My vision was doubling. I fought to keep conscious, even as I felt every bit of strength getting sapped from me.

“Wish you just… shot me,” I panted as Home and the other agent approached.

Home kicked my boot, as if checking to ensure I wasn’t tricking them.

“He did, you dickhead,” moaned one of the recovery team as he staggered back to his feet. “But yeah, I think weallwish it had been with a bullet.”

“Dumbasses,” panted Home as he lowered gun and shouted, “Can we get a move on? I already had to clean one mess today, and now I gotta babysityourasses, too? Christ.”

“Patience,” said the other agent, snorting a clot of blood from his nose, “is a virtue.”

“Ain’t one of mine,” muttered Home as he turned toward the driver I’d taken out of the van. “Call in for cleaners and a med bus—and get our people on intercepting 911 calls—quick. Someone probably heard those gunshots.”

The agents who were able to move lifted me—perhaps a little rougher than necessary—and brought me back toward the other van, since the second van’s front was completely caved in whereit had hit me; it was a smoking, inoperable ruin. If I wasn’t so completely paralyzed at the moment, I might have laughed. I’d never have even been able to get the damn thing started even if I hadn’t gotten shot in the ass.

“Hold on a second.”

The gun-toting agent held up his finger as they went to throw me inside, and the men paused. He tapped his cheek, then reared back and punched me square in the face. Since my feet were currently dragging behind me and I couldn’t brace for his fist, the blow not only knockedmebackward, but also the men carrying me. Home rubbed his forehead.

“Fucking macho shit,” he muttered. “Here I was, thinking I was working with professionals, butnoooooo.”

“Enough,” said the other agent, shaking his hand and massaging the knuckles. “Now we can go. Get his ass in here.”

He climbed inside the van, and I was shoved unceremoniously in after, squished between him and Home. The man I’d headbutted laid his gun on his lap, pointing in my direction, his finger on the trigger. I could scarcely hold myself upright and slumped over onto his shoulder as we turned a corner. He shoved me away, but I toppled right back. My body was so numb, I might as well have been a floating head.

“Just… fuckin’ shoot me,” I rasped. “Not… going… to die… cells…”

“You werealwaysgoing to die in there,” spat the man on my left. “You always screwed around with danger and this time, well… looks like danger screwed you right back. So, unless you manage to work some kind of miracle, Knight, I’m going to see to it that you rot in a little hole somewhere in the deepest, darkest parts of the cells, and I’m going to pass by every day just so you can hear me laugh.”

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