24 Declassified: Head Shot (2009) by David Jacobs Read Free Book Online Page B

not. Cops would’ve already been whomping on me, beating the piss out of me for drawing my knife, even though I was scared and just trying to defend myself.”
    Jack said, “We’re government men.” Neal looked at him sharply, unsure of where Jack was going. Jack went on, “We’re part of a top secret outfit set up to investigate satanic crimes.”
    Lobo cackled, “I knew it! Like the Men in Black.”
    “We’re the Anti- Beast Brigade.” Jack was straight-faced, serious. “You’re an eyewitness to what happened here, the only eyewitness. We’re going to take you to a safe place where the devil men can’t get you and you can tell your story. You’ll also be able to get cleaned up and get a hot meal.”
    “I ain’t so big for cleaning up but the hot meal sounds all right. You think maybe I could get me a drink or two?”
    “I can’t make any promises but we’ll see when we get there.”
    “You’ll put in a good word for me, won’t you? About that drink. After all I seen last night, I sure could use one!”
    “I’ll see what I can do.”
    “Let’s get out of here then. I don’t mind telling you that being bird- dogged by those two devil men day and night kind of got me spooked. I won’t mind putting some distance between me and Them.”
    Lobo rose, standing up. His sudden movement undoubtedly saved Jack’s life. Shots cracked; Lobo pitched forward, slamming into Jack, knocking him off his feet.
    Jack was still holding Lobo’s knife in his right hand and he twisted sideways to keep Lobo from impaling himself on the blade as the other lurched into him. He needn’t have bothered because Lobo was already dead, killed by that first shot. But things were happening too fast for Jack to make sense of it all.
    They both fell tumbling in a tangle of limbs to the mess hall’s wood- planked porch. Jack lay on his left side, with Lobo sprawled half across him.
    Jack glanced up in time to see the top of Frank Neal’s head explode, spraying blood, bone, and brain matter. It meant instant neural extinguishment, the cessation of all thought and reflex motor action. The body dropped like a stone.
    A bullet hole showed in Lobo’s upper back between the shoulder blades, marking the shot that had brought him down. His dead weight pinned Jack to the boards. Jack let go of the knife and started wriggling out from under him.
    Lobo’s body spasmed violently under the impact of a second round thudding into it. The shot had been meant for Jack but hit Lobo instead. Jack clawed out his pistol.
    Two figures stood in front of the men’s barracks north of the mess hall, barely a stone’s throw away. One had a rifle and the other a handgun. A patch of gun smoke like a small, puffy ash-gray cloud hung in mid-air in front of the duo. The rifleman stood with the weapon held at his shoulder, swinging the barrel to get a clear shot at Jack.
    Jack fought down the urge to jerk the trigger, squeezing it instead several times to place a couple of rounds into the rifleman’s middle. The rifleman went over backward like a tin duck in a shooting gallery.
    Jack and the rifleman had had fairly clear firing lines on each other. Jack had been fortunate in that Lobo had been unlucky enough to stand up in time to catch that first bullet that had been meant for Jack. No such luck for Frank Neal. The rifleman had tagged him with a head shot. Jack and Lobo had gone crashing down to the planks together, and Lobo had caught the rifleman’s hasty third shot.
    The rifleman had done all the damage; his partner must have been more of a spotter and backup. Now he returned fire with the handgun, loosing a fusillade in Jack’s direction. Neither he nor Jack had much in the way of sightlines on each other.
    He had a semi-automatic pistol and he must have pumped out a dozen shots. He made a lot of noise, but none of the rounds came close to Jack. He shot out a mess hall window and punched holes in wooden walls, spraying a lot of wood chips, splinters,