Richard's Run

Richard ran, or at least, he limped as fast as he could. Jagged, splitting pain filled his side. He was pretty sure he’d broken some bones on the landing and he wasn’t even able to walk straight. His heart was hammering and he wanted to do nothing more than to curl up into a ball and rest for the next thousand years.

But he couldn’t do that because a monster was behind him.

Pump came. Slowly, inexorably. A shadow following him down the corridors of the Pentecost. No matter how he twisted, no matter how he doubled back. No matter what tricks he tried, Pump refused to be shaken.

“Nice try, Mister Gearheart.”

“A double twist? Really?”

“Did you really think you’d lose me in the shadows?”

Richard’s body was a tight little ball of rage and pain. Pump was mocking him! Playing with him! He had a damn gun! At any point he could have ended this! Brought Richard’s **** run to a halt in a hail of lead!

But it was obvious that he intended Richard to run until he could run no more. And it looked like he might damn well have his way. Richard’s mind raced as fast as his heart.

But if the man-stopper hadn’t killed Pump, what other weapon on the whole damned ship had a chance?

His legs hurt. His body ached. His lungs strained and sweat poured from his face. He was staggering, gasping. He needed a break, but to stop was to die. He had to keep going. Thoughts of Kara filled his mind. He’d left her in the docking bay so at least she was safe, but that would remain the case only so long as Pump was distracted by him. If he died, she would die as well. Or worse, be sold to some uncaring master.

That thought ignited his fury to a new height. It made his blood boil, and he used it as fuel. Letting it drag him forward, forcing his protesting body to move.

He wasn’t done!

He wasn’t going to die like this!

But he was running out of ship. Already, they were nearing the lower levels, where he had found Kara in the first place. The fine, plush corridors were behind them. The embellished walls had faded to dull brass. The smell of oil and steam hung in the air. Sooner or later, Pump would corner him somewhere and then it would also be the end.

“Think, Richard,” he snarled between breaths. “Think! How do you get out of this? What’s the play? What’s the move?”

But there came no answer. He had no weapons, no backup, no tools worth a damn. There was only one ending he could see and it was him as a corpse.

“You’re getting slower, Mister Gearheart. Can you feel the end approaching?”

“You bastard!” Richard stormed, turning for a moment to hurl **** at his attacker. “What the hell do you get out of this? Why are you letting me run?”

“Because I like to chase, Mister Gearheart. Because I like to give the prey a chance. And you are my prey.”

Richard stumbled, his left leg collapsed under him in a burst of pain. As he picked himself up, Pump’s shadow loomed over him.

“Time to die.”

A massive fist swept out, but Richard swayed aside, it passed inches from the side of his skull. A gigantic hand closed around his arm and he was swung into the wall. More pain followed, raw and red. Richard’s vision exploded into white, but he still managed to duck low as Pump’s follow-up dented the wall behind him.

It dented the damn wall!

“What the hell are you?”

“Something far beyond you, Mister Gearheart.”

Richard lashed out with a fist, hammering a blow into the dripping wound which marked where his gun had caught the giant. Pump didn’t even flinch. His hand flashed out and Richard’s world exploded as he slid across the ground in a tangle of limbs.

His whole body hurt. As Richard came to a stop, he realised he really was about to die.

Hah. Ironic. All of the time in the navy and never once had he felt that way. He’d been daring, bold. Dashing and brave. The type of guy who had gotten all of the tough jobs and who’d pulled them off one by one. They’d said that he was a hero. That he was going to be someone someday.

Now it seemed that someone was a corpse.

He shook his head, clearing his mind of the past. His vision was blurry, but he blinked until he could see again. Mister Pump loomed large, approaching with a gradual step.

“Not going to fight?” Pump said. “Not going to rise again? I know of you, Mister Gearheart. Your past. Your commendations. I made sure to research each and every person on this ship. Your deeds were impressive. Your litany is a trail of successes. Yet here you are, lying on the ground and waiting to die.”

“Why…”

His body burned, his bones felt jagged and broken. His blood was full of fire as he **** himself to his feet. Above him, there was a massive, metal gate. Familiar, even. With a jolt, he realised that he knew where he was. Had he intended to come here or was it just luck?

Either way, he realised that he had the faintest ghost of a chance.

“Why do you care?”

“Because I expected more,” Mister Pump said. “It pains me when people do not live up to their potential.”

“You want better?” Richard growled. “You want more? Come and get me!”

He turned, forcing himself to run again. His body was on fire. He’d reached his limits. He could only stagger, like a snail into the darkness of the cavernous room beyond.

“Fleeing again, Mister Gearheart? I am afraid that will do you no good.”