(If you want, buy their previous rampages for $2 by clicking on the covers below.)
A trail of people knocked into tents and tables flipped over leads Cassidy and Lloyd to the southern edge of the racetrack. They watch Jimbo run toward a pair of garages, the spy holding his side and limping from muscle fatigue. No longer in a rush, they casually walk toward the building and Lloyd prepares to hand his partner her weapons. Spotting a twinkle in her eyes and her tongue peeking out between her lips, he gives her a single knife and the stun gun. Cassidy points at the rest of her gear and sighs in exasperation when she only receives a gentle pat on the head. With a yawn, the mercenary hops to the entrance and stands next to the door before knocking and waiting for a reaction. Lloyd does the same from the other side, his rhythmic rapping causing the jittering spy to fire his shotgun. Holding a piece of wood in front of the hole, Cassidy yelps when another blast knocks the debris from her hand.
“Walk diagonally away, so he can’t shoot us on sight,” the mercenary whispers as she backs away from the building. She waits until they are far enough away for her to sprint toward her partner, a rifle shot striking between her feet. “That was pretty close, which means this guy knows what he’s doing. Do you think we have him cornered?”
“Yes, which is part of the problem,” Lloyd replies, shooting a few paint balls into the distant hole. He jumps away when he sees a metal glint, the rifle firing a second later. “As a professional hunter of man, I tend to have a general idea of what a person will do. You have your fighters, your hiders, your beggars, and then miscellaneous. The last one requires more thinking on your feet, but surprises are rare. Something about an expert spy running into a building and watching the door seems off.”
“What if we dress up as postal workers and leave a box with grenades?” Cassidy asks while stretching her arms. Seeing movement, she dives to the side and narrowly avoids a bullet to the knee. “That was a bigger caliber than the last one he shot at me. Why would one man use three different guns at once? Unless he has limited ammo for each one, but then he would be more conservative with his shots. Dance for a few steps and jump that way.”
Lloyd follows her instructions, which causes Jimbo to put another hole in the racetrack. “I don’t understand what just happened. Is this due to his aim sucking? Please tell me the brownie isn’t making you hear voices.”
“Yes, but I’m ignoring them,” the mercenary replies with a smirk. Using very little movement, she tosses her knife aside and watches a bullet clip the handle. “That was strange, but not enough for me to be certain. Don’t move at all, Lloyd. I’m going to try something that will either get me killed or force you to call me a genius. Would have been nice to have one more brownie since they make me feel so limber and bendy. Wait, does those words mean the same thing? Whatever.”
Cassidy rushes to her left and dives to her right the instant she spots a red blip in the gaping hole. The first rifle goes off while she continues sprinting before ducking behind a crate that helps her dodge a short burst from a machinegun. Cartwheeling into the open, the mercenary runs backwards and flips to avoid the second rifle. The moment she lands, Cassidy freezes and watches the hole for signs of movement or telltale glints off metal. Seconds gradually turn into minutes, which draws more attention from the crowd than the gunfire. Worried that someone will get shot if she stays still for much longer, the mercenary runs toward the door and repeatedly leaps to the side to avoid the rifles. Every bullet misses her by a few inches, the flecks of pavement hitting her leg and sticking to her skin. Whenever the machinegun is used, Cassidy rolls and flips until the bursts stop. By the time she is no more than ten feet away from the building, the only weapon firing is the shotgun. It only gets two blasts off before the mercenary is against the wall and gasping for air.
“Stay where you-” Cassidy starts to shout before realizing that Lloyd has disappeared. She pulls out her stun gun, but it is more for comfort than use. “Oh, that’s just rude. Unless I’m coming down and that involves hallucinating. Maybe I was shot and imagined the whole motion sensor thing. It’s entirely possible, but I don’t look injured. Then again, I can’t see my head. I really want another brownie. Wouldn’t hurt to sneak away and get one since Jimbo isn’t inside and Lloyd is probably after him. On the other hand, I’ll be in enough trouble when he realizes I made baby powder ammunition months ago and put them in his paintball gun. Can somebody lend me a gun?”
A metal clang rings from behind the garage and the sound is followed by two sets of footsteps. Cassidy is about to join the pursuit when she remembers the guns, so she heads in the opposite direction. By the time she gets far enough away to risk running toward the tents, the chase has come out in the open. Lloyd is a few steps behind Jimbo, who is covered in so much sewage that he cannot see. The spy continues running blind until he stumbles into his own trap and takes a shotgun blast to the side. Scared and in agony, he forgets where he is and stands to wipe the filth from his eyes. The movement is enough to activate the machinegun, which sends a short burst into the man’s head. Not wanting to go near the body and get shot, Lloyd makes his way to the crowd with his hands up. He is nearly at the grass when a rocket races into the door and blows a hole in the garage.
“I knew we shouldn’t have given Jimbo a lair, especially since that’s what he called that building,” Valerio says, tossing a sanitizer-covered towel to Lloyd. The rebel nods at the serial killer’s hands, which are a mess from pulling Jimbo out of the sewer. “He must have been using the tunnels to sneak in and out of headquarters. Probably a contact living somewhere outside, but there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“All this firepower and no urge to use it,” Lloyd mutters, turning to see Hurrica approach with the empty rocket launcher. She loads it with her last projectile and fires into the garage a second time to be safe. “Then again, there’s that maniac. You two made an odd pairing, which one would expect to be effective. Instead, you manage to repeatedly trip each other up and get nothing done. Sad that I can figure that out and I’ve only known you for half a day. Why not go out there and see who’s waiting for the Spook on the other side? I don’t mean philosophically since I don’t know his beliefs.”
“Actually, Valerio and I had a quick talk and agreed to disband,” Hurrica explains, tossing the weapon aside. Pulling a remote from her pocket, she hits the central button and white banners burst from the top of the arena. “It’s obvious that our judge of character is faulty. No telling how many other problems we’ve taken into our nest. Come to think of it, most of the people here stay behind on missions. The only time they leave is to get supplies from the market down the road or when the casino is open on the first of the month. Not a great way to run a rebellion. Besides, Jimbo has told Johnathan Custer everything about us, so we can’t continue in the shadows.”
The serial killer watches the crowd cheer the banners and roll out kegs of beer from one of the trailers. “Sure, we’ll go with that excuse. I would recommend keeping up that toll road idea and let people pass for supplies. Just make sure your guards know what they’re doing. Probably have to get new cars for the gate too.”
“Oh, we have a pair of tanks in the northern parking lot,” Valerio casually mentions while rummaging through a nearby sack. Pulling out a box of brownies, he tosses it to Lloyd and bows is head. “Thank you for taking care of Jimbo and showing us the right path. We can make this place a refuge for those running from the inevitable war. That or the chaos that’s out there. We don’t really wander very far from Dover, so we’re not sure what’s out there. Take those snacks for the road as thanks.”
“I told you not to pay me in brownies.”
“But your friend enjoys them so much that she’s trying to start a naked conga line.”
“That has to be a record for whatever that is.”
“Well, she did eat three of the mushroom ones.”
“Ah . . . We might need to stay until the morning,” Lloyd says before Cassidy falls to her knees crying. He cringes at how she beats the ground and then gives an apologetic kiss to the grass. “On second thought, do you have a tent that you’re willing to part with and doesn’t smell like feet?”