In blackness, deep below the surface of Cat Lake's still waters, Burnout clung to a huge rock, waiting patiently in the lake's icy womb. Several times during the afternoon, he'd resurfaced to fill his air tank, careful not to be seen.
Ryan Mercury.and his team seemed to have left, but Burnout didn't want to take any chances. Lethe didn't either, and he touched the Heart and used its power to mask Burnout's presence.
Finally, after six hours had passed, Burnout decided the danger had passed. Ryan and his team weren't coming back right away. He released his hold on the rock, and pulled the limp form of the shaman from its resting place under two large rocks. Together, they drifted to the surface.
Burnout broke the water's mirror like some technological nightmare leviathan, a robotic grim reaper. He looked nothing like a human anymore. Any remaining flesh had been ripped and soaked to gray, wrinkled patches that clung to small portions of his metal frame. To his banded synthetic muscles.
As he reached out to grab the shaman's body, he caught sight of his forearm in the morning light. He'd had the name Burnout scarred into the flesh as a reminder to himself of everything he'd lost, but even that was mostly gone. Now the "out" had been scraped away, and all that remained of his name was the "Burn." It seemed fitting.
The Kodiak's body bobbled up beside him, and he quietly pulled it ashore. He stopped on the rocky shale bank in the shadow of a large boulder, all senses alert. The evening air hung chill and gray over the surface of Cat Lake.
The taint of cordite was fading, but still clung to the trees and rocks. A subtle reminder of death and destruction.
There might still be danger, and Burnout was taking no chances. Ryan had come at him like the pro Burnout knew him to be. If the Kodiak hadn't stood by him, Ryan would have beaten Burnout, and this small lake would probably have been his grave.
Burnout reached behind his back and grabbed hold of the dysfunctional cyberarm that hung, bent and twisted, just over his head. His estimation of Ryan's physical strength went up another few notches. Even accounting for the centrifugal force involved, no mere human would have been able to bend the titanium struts.
With a grunt, Burnout finished Ryan's work, and ripped the arm off at the base, leaving a jagged stump. Without looking at it, he tossed it over his shoulder to land in the lake with a quiet splash.
Without a word, Burnout hoisted the Kodiak's body onto his shoulder and fought his way back up the slope. Lethe was silent during the two-hour climb, and Burnout was glad for it. He was thinking about the Kodiak's sacrifice. He was no criminal like the old lady, and though Burnout hadn't actually pulled the trigger that had caused his death, he felt no less responsible.
"The Kodiak chose his own fate," Lethe said.
Reading my mind?
No response.
"I know," Burnout said. "But I drew Ryan here. He came for the Heart."
"You did not ask for the Kodiak's help. He gave it willingly. You are not to blame."
"I don't blame myself," Burnout said, his words acid with vehemence. "I blame Ryan Mercury." He reached the top and stood. "But I am not without responsibility in the matter."
Standing on the rim of the cliff, the dead man's body at his feet, Burnout looked around. The trees were bent and broken, trunks chewed from heavy gunfire. The once peaceful place looked like a war zone.
He walked to the tower and stepped inside the cabin resting under the tower's protection. With a minimum of excess movement, Burnout gathered all of the Kodiak's magical trinkets and supplies, the deerskin cloak the old man had worn, and took them all outside.
He walked to the long, rickety ladder that led to the top of the tower and hauled everything up the hundred meters to the open platform at the top. A small perch, the tower top was a simple platform empty except for the swivel chair someone had bolted to the wooden planks centuries before.'
The chair was rusted into a position facing eastward, and was covered by the skin of a cougar. Burnout remembered the Kodiak killing that cougar so many years before. This had been the Kodiak's favorite place in the world. He had told Burnout that there Bear often showed him mysteries that ground-bound followers could never hope to see.
From this height, Burnout looked far into the next valley, seeing the sunset peeking its fiery eye just below the last tatters of the storm clouds. Brilliant streaks of blazing red burned the sky, like tongues of fire.
Very fitting.
Burnout went back down the ladder, pulled the shaman's body over his shoulder, and then returned to the top. He set the dead man in the chair, propping the soggy body upright so his faceless head looked into the heart of the setting sun. Then Burnout laid all of the shaman's possessions around him, and finally covered the old man with the deerskin.
He climbed back down the ladder, went into the cabin, and began a fire in the old shack's potbelly stove. When he had a nice blaze going, he took some kindling and ignited the shaman's bedding. Then he stepped back out into the morning air just as the roof of the shack caught fire.
He retreated to a safe distance and watched the tower burn.
"My friend, you gave your life for me, and now I commend your soul to Bear. May he tend to you."
It only took minutes for the ancient wood of the tower to catch, and suddenly, it seemed as if the structure was a pillar of pure flame. Smoke rocketed skyward, seeming to ignore the slight breeze that had begun to blow.
After a half-hour, the huge structure collapsed to the ground with a rumbling crash like rolling thunder. Burning rubble flew up and gouts of flame shot into the sky.
"A fitting pyre," Lethe said.
Burnout nodded and continued to watch the remains of the tower burn. Because of the recent rain, the fire refused to spread to the surrounding vegetation. It confined itself to the tower, and as that structure was consumed, it slowly dwindled. It was almost as if the blaze knew its purpose.
"I've been thinking," Lethe said.
Burnout watched the trails of smoke strain for the sky, and thought about those last few hours before the attack. "Well, that makes one of us."
"Perhaps all this death could have been averted. Perhaps if I had killed Ryan Mercury when I had the chance. When I first realized that he wanted the Heart for his selfish purposes."
Burnout shook his head. "In this game, everybody makes their own choices. I chose to steal the Heart, Mercury chose to track me to take it back. Ryan Mercury and I are to blame for the death. No one else."
Burnout turned away from the smoking wreckage and scrambled to the shallow hunting blind he'd made yesterday afternoon. The one he'd waited in to surprise Mercury. It had been a surprise, all right. For both of them. Mercury had run true to form… his tactical ability besting Burnout's fighting prowess by enough to keep them at a stalemate.
Burnout had expected Mercury to come down the funnel and land in the clearing. Then he and the Kodiak would have crushed the enemy between them. Instead of catching their prey in a vice, they'd found themselves in a much wider pincer. Still, their positioning had caught Ryan by surprise.
He gathered up the small amount of supplies he'd stashed in the hole, the spare ammo, and the extra Predator. Then he began his trek down the mountain side.
Mercury would be back before long, his desire for the Heart fueled by the losses he'd suffered. Burnout intended to be long gone when Mercury showed up with reinforcements.
"Ryan Mercury is the key," Lethe said. "He is the only obstacle to-"
"What the frag are you going on about? Of course Mercury is the key."
"Did I say that aloud?"
"I heard it."
Lethe was silent for minute. Then, "I'd like to help you kill Ryan Mercury."