Goliath and the Girl


The emergency transit capsule came to a stop quietly at the terminal. Davis took his hand from the foregrip of his rifle to tap his comm. “It’s here.” He glanced across the walkway at Schmidt, who stared at the closed door of the capsule down the sights of his own rifle.

“Just like we planned,” came the voice in Davis’ ear, “capture the civilians, kill the cops.”

Schmidt nodded. Just like they planned.

Both men stood in silence, their guns trained on the door. There was no movement.

Davis glared at the unmoving capsule. He jerked his head at it. “Check it out.”

Schmidt immediately stepped out of cover and walked toward the transport. Something wrong with that guy, Davis thought. Just a little too eager to fight. Schmidt reached the door and swatted the open/close button with one hand, holding his weapon steady with the other.

The door swished open to reveal a cop, hands raised in surrender. From his vantage point, Davis could barely tell that Schmidt smiled.

Both terrorists jumped when the massive hand swung in from the left, knocking the rifle from Schmidt’s hands, as the second gripped his neck and spun him about. Between heartbeats, Schmidt was disarmed and forced into a headlock by —

“Move and he dies,” said the Goliath.

Davis’ mind went blank. He saw the cloned monster, watched the cop grab the fallen rifle, and couldn’t think. The Goliath stepped out of the capsule, the cop right behind him with two — two? — AR-12s.

“Put down your weapon and place your hands on your head,” the cop barked.

A single thought leaped into Davis’ mind. No way could that cop hit him if he shot one-handed. Davis could take out the cop and the Goliath in one burst. But Schmidt was locked in the clone’s grip, stuck in the line of fire.

A second thought. The hell with Schmidt.

“Look out!” a high, scared voice called out. But Davis had already pulled the trigger.


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