The demon's eyes flashed open.
Its mind poured into him like the touch of the demon of old, speaking through his nightmares.
"Do you remember me, Robert?" it whispered. "You dove for me once. Will you dive again?"
Julio let out a gasp. A cold wind flooded out from behind the glass. Cerulean couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do a thing.
"You've seen what hope brings, haven't you?" the demon whispered. "You've seen what I bring?"
The wind became a gale, forcing cold liquid up to choke in his throat. He was drowning and falling again, he was breaking his back and dying, lying in bed with his mother's touch a burning curse and everything lost.
He would never dive in the Olympics. He would never love a woman or raise a child. He was the least of them all.
"You are with me now, Robert," whispered the voice. "Breathe for me, child of the water."
The demon's body leaned slowly, like a creature coming out of hibernation. Julio tilted his head back and raised his arms as though receiving his saviour. Not a scrap of hair covered its great, muscular frame. Its skull was smooth red skin like molded putty, its features were notches in flesh only; inset red eyes, twin slits for a nose, dark dimples for ears and that gaping round mouth like a black valve to nothing.
"I can see!" Julio shouted suddenly. "I see it all, Robert, and it's so beautiful!"
The demon bent over to encompass Julio's head in its great red hands. It opened its black mouth wide and pressed it down across Julio's face, like a lover. Its great chest heaved, there was a wet rushing noise, then tiny jets of red liquid spurted out from between their conjoined lips.
Julio's body thrashed. His eyes bulged and his stomach swelled, his legs kicked and his arms flailed at the giant's grip, but the demon didn't budge. Cerulean gagged as he realized what it was doing; feeding Julio like a mother bird feeds its baby chicks. Its shoulders hunched and the wet roar came once more, filling Julio to the brim, then it was over.
The demon reared back, trailing mucusy red spit from its round mouth. Julio gasped and burped and slumped to the side. His eyes rolled back in his head and bloody fluid frothed down his cheek.
The demon advanced on Cerulean, and the dizzying cold froze him in place. Its great red hands cradled his head like a child's. Its round black mouth loomed and its bright red eyes glinted with a pure, burning intensity.
Just past its side he glimpsed Julio shaking on the concrete. A button on his shirt burst and clicked off the wall, then one of his pant legs ripped as his body swelled; his arms thickened with muscle, his thighs bloomed like fat eggplants, his twisted shoulder unkinked and his skin shaded a subtle red.
Then the demon was all he could see, pressed close and stinking of bile. Its fingers squeezed and forced his mouth open, breaking his jaw with a sharp and crumpling pain. Its black mouth descended and closed over his lips, clamping into his cheeks in a cutting ring.
All his hopes and dreams evaporated like warm summer rain. They didn't matter. He realized he wouldn't kill Julio now, he wouldn't protect Anna or Masako or any of them. Amo's dream would wash away and New LA would be gone, flattened like a sandcastle under the ocean's tide. Everything they'd done would be forgotten.
The regurgitation began.
23. TAKE-OFF
Hot liquid filled his mouth like it was shooting from a jet hose, puffing out his cheeks and forcing its way down his throat. His body convulsed and his eyes blazed wide, his throat tried to gag but the flow was too strong to push back, filling his belly and lungs. More and more came until he was just a cold and curdling bag filling to the seams, too drunk, too full, hurting beyond the point he could endure and further still, a wet rag of flesh shuddering in the wind.
Then it stopped. The demon's wet mouth sucked away and he sagged on his chains. Dizziness struck and he burped, tasting the acrid tang of bile. He tried to gag but couldn't, only drooling phlegmy foam instead.
The thing that was Julio gurgled and swelled on the floor nearby, almost doubled in size already. Bitter cold filled his head and his withered legs filled out like water balloons, his arms thickened against the metal cuffs, and with every expansion of his body he felt his mind being pushed further aside; making way for the demon that had been hunting him for so long.
It was the true enemy, rising up from within to steal his body.
His shackles burst beneath his burgeoning muscles, and he fell from the saddle to his knees. To his left the demon was vomiting into another victim, enacting another transformation. To his right a new demon rose up, and through the cold fog in his head he remembered that this was Julio; who'd raped Masako and killed Indira, who'd vowed to murder Anna, who he should have killed on the very first day they met.
He hadn't done it then. He couldn't do it now. It was too late.
Or was it?
He could feel the race with the demon inside, and flung himself into it, climbing up a ladder to a dive platform in his mind. The demon climbed right behind him but the last dive was all that mattered; bigger than the Olympics, better than the Empire State, this would be a dive for all humanity.
The demon snatched at his heels but he was already at the platform and looking out over the dappled faces of the crowd; his mother was out there cheering, and Amo and Anna, his Olympic agent, Coach Willings, his sisters and his grandmother too, waiting for a dive that had been coming for so long.
Focus came.
He put his palms at the edge and lifted his body arrow straight to the sky, then kicked, pushed and took off; an inward arm-stand dive like no one had ever seen. The cold air snatched at him and he spun away from it in graceful somersaults, like a bullet spiraling down a barrel to exit velocity, that shot through Amo's mind and into Matthew's heart, that made a clear and blazing line of all his suffering and love, all for this.
He straightened at the last moment, his balled fists crunched into the side of the pool and burst a perfect ten-point hole straight through the concrete, tearing out of the demon's control and back to himself.
He jerked to consciousness in the foul corridor, swaying on trunk-like legs that hadn't held him up for a decade. Everything was different and a fog filled his head. The cold demon's mind was still lodged in his middle, grasping to pull him back down even as it laid thick bands of muscle on his limbs, but for the moment at least he still had control.
Julio was there.
Already he was vomiting into another victim's throat, speeding on the infection. Red juice spurted sideways like whiskers. Cerulean took three strides, seized Julio by the neck, and yanked with all his strength.
The great red body lifted away and flew, spinning so high his legs smacked off the ceiling, then-
CRUNCH
-slamming back down on the concrete floor.
A second passed, then a woman's voice rang out from above. "What the hell just happened?"
Julio sprang back to his feet quickly, eyes burning red. His mouth was only halfway towards becoming a toothless black hole, as his cheeks and bones sucked inward. His skin was a ruddy pink and only the faintest blotches of buckshot scars on his right cheek identified him.
"I know you're in there," Cerulean growled. His voice came out deepened, altered by his changing body and throat, but something in Julio recognized it. His brows worked thunderously.
"Robert?" came his voice, a low and sibilant hiss.
Cerulean dived.
His shoulder crunched into Julio's midriff and drove him backward against the great glass door, forcing out a whuff of air. Julio thumped the blade of his elbow down into Cerulean's back, but Cerulean didn't wait; he hoisted Julio onto his shoulder then leapt, spun and body-slammed him into the ground.
Blood and black bile spewed from Julio's mouth. Cerulean rolled on top and punched him in his head; once, twice, three times, great thumps of his thick knucklebones against Julio's thick skull.
It wasn't enough. Julio's skull was too thick to break. His skin didn't tear, and there were no cries
except the cries of the woman's voice overhead. The gasp of rising panic beat at Cerulean, scarcely able to breathe as the demon vied for control within.
He roared, drowning out everything, and shifted to wrap his arms in a tight chokehold around Julio's head. He circled his massive legs tight around Julio's chest, then pulled. New muscles screamed and he drove them to their limits, squeezing and straining with his arms and back. Julio patted feebly at his arms as his neck stretched.
"He's not supposed to be doing that!" the woman's voice shouted over the sound of tearing flesh. "That's not supposed to happen."
"Aaaarggggh!"
With a final wrench on Julio's jaw Cerulean ripped his head clean off. The neck-hole disgorged like a shaken soda can, spraying out pressurized blood that coated him from head to foot.
"Oh my God," came the woman's voice. "Do something! Stop this bastard before he kills them all!"
Julio's body flopped, fluid poured from the head cradled in Cerulean's arms. He let it drop, thumping like a bowling ball to the concrete. He rose to his feet, holding off the demon within just a few moments longer, because there was more yet to do.
The next victim in line was still kneeling where it had dropped from its chains, smaller than Cerulean but growing. He dropped an elbow into its back and it fell flat, following with a vicious stamp on its neck that produced a massive, flattening crunch. He braced one foot on its shoulder, bent to grip its head round the jaw and face, and pulled.
The shattered neck creaked, groaned and tore free. Hot fluids blew out like a wet firecracker, splattering Cerulean's red legs and hands.
"Do something," the woman screamed, "put him down!"
The big demon was just ahead now, converting victims still and unaware. Cerulean moved to the next in line, kicked it in the swollen gut and locked its bowing head under his arm, squeezed until the throat popped then wrenched it away.
A fountain of bile and blood blew out. The next was easier, then he was standing beside the original demon itself. It didn't look so tall now. It moved away and Cerulean swung one fist the size of a trash can lid to punch its last victim, crushing its whole head like a swatted mosquito against the wall.
"Nooooo!" the woman's voice cried.
The demon continued on, and Cerulean darted around to block its path, shoving it in the chest. It staggered backwards over one of its fallen victims, then straightened and set its burning gaze on Cerulean.
Finally, he looked into the hollow eyes of this enemy from his nightmares, made flesh. For so long he'd fought this demon. It had stolen his body, his mind, and killed everyone he'd known in the world before.
Now it was here before him, and the anger tore through him. It towered chest, shoulders and head over him, but he didn't care. He'd always been the least of these, fuelled by faith that something better lay on the other side of the next dive.
He dropped his shoulder and charged.
24. FLIGHT
It was like hitting a Humvee.
Their bodies collided with a ringing smack, and the red demon buckled slightly at the middle and took three steps back, but three was all. Cerulean bent further and drove hard like a linebacker plowing through the defensive wall, but already he was slipping as the red demon pushed against him.
It was stronger than him. It was pushing him back. He screamed into the air even as he heard the woman's voice from above.
"Yes, squash that little bastard."
Three steps, four, but that wasn't all he had to offer. After all, his strength had never been in his legs.
He skipped to the side and grasped the demon's left wrist. It ignored him, heading toward the next prisoner hanging from his chains, and Cerulean let it take one more step, then with a single rowing stroke yanked it backward.
It lifted bodily into the air. For a second it flew, then hit the ground so hard the corridor shuddered.
The woman screamed. Focus poured into Cerulean. This was what he should have done so long ago. He jerked it backward again and it thrashed to get free. Cerulean gave it enough slack to lock its arm out straight, then he punched one massive fist through its elbow, breaking the joint backwards with a grisly CRUNCH.
Its black mouth opened wide and screamed. The woman screamed from above. Chains rattled and Cerulean yanked it again by the same broken arm, lashing out along the blood-smeared cement. It tried to swipe at him with its one good fist but he caught that too, forced the arm to extend and lock, then broke it through with another almighty blow.
The scream almost dropped him to his knees. The demon inside him clawed harder and almost regained control, but he beat it back one last time, yanked the monster a few more yards then stuffed it back behind its glass wall.
It roared, broken arms flailing and clicking as the bones realigned themselves, but it could do little other than headbutt the glass as Cerulean drove the door closed. It slammed shut with a satisfying clank.
"Scramble the drones!" The woman's voice was shouting from very far away. The cold was in his neck and rising. "Bomb the shit out of him."
He turned and ran down the corridor, and it felt like he was running into the past, back toward Matthew and Sophia and all those souls he never could have saved. This was his repayment.
The chains of the first of them, a skinny Asian with hollow cheekbones and a terrified grin, broke in his fists like a cornhusk. The man dropped to his knees and Cerulean moved to the next, breaking chains one after another. As he moved down the line the bodies grew fuller and less desiccated. A man dropped and caught himself on his feet, wobbling unsteadily.
"Get them out!" Cerulean barked at him, the words barely discernible even to him, but the man nodded and ran toward the others. The next one, a redhead woman, caught her balance too and went to help.
Seven more chains snapped and then he was done. He stood and swayed beneath the ladder leading up as a slender rivulet of tiny people helped each other out. They started the winch running.
So few survivors.
The glass door was opening already. He felt focus slipping as the demon within took control.
"Go west!" Cerulean thundered at the survivors, a roar they probably couldn't understand. They quaked and ran. Many had to be carried because their withered legs no longer worked. "Warn Amo!"
Now the demon was running toward him.
He looked up at the little people climbing through the high hole in the ceiling. He waved at the last of them, a little black girl dressed in blue and white, and she waved back down at him.
"Good bye, Anna," he said.
The demon slammed into him then, knocking him easily aside. It raced up the ladder, but he snatched hold of its ankle. It kicked him in the face but he held on; he didn't even know why anymore, only that he had to try, clinging until the cold inside broke his grip.
Then the demon pulled free and was gone.
There were not many sounds after that, only the fast pulse of his breath coming in and going out. The circle of sky through the round opening above was a searing, halogen white. Something fell through the gap, like dust, and landed on his cheek. He touched his thick red fingers to his face and felt the round mouth hole there, the slit of a nose. He brought his hand away with a speck of melting white on his bloody fingertip.
Snow.
The corridor was empty now and he was alone. A chill wind gusted over him to match the creeping cold inside, steadily taking him over. He felt the demon moving away overhead like a tattoo on his skin, following the hot cluster of Julio's prisoners as they fled. Perhaps they had the panel van, and would reach Amo and warn him in time, and maybe they would all survive.
He had to have faith.
There was just one thing left.
His hands found the rungs of the ladder, and climbed. His legs trailed uselessly below him now, already claimed by the demon inside.
He emerged above ground to a beautiful scene of white; snow was thick in the air, fogging the distant mountains and coating the mutilated earth with a cozy whit
e mantle. He laughed as the distant sound of the van's engine echoed back, followed by the crumping thud of bombs exploding.
BOOM
BOOM
BOOM
Drones. Through the white curtains he caught glimpses of fire, but the hot cluster of survivors kept moving along his skin. They had a chance. The snow might save them. He held his hands out and let snowflakes gather in the red of his palms, wanting to say only one thing.
"Anna, shall we build a snowman?"
She laughed and ran up to him. It was one of a thousand memories he'd cherished through the dark times, as she grew up hurting inside and turning that hurt onto him.
"Silly," she'd said, "you can't make a snowman out of sand."
"This is not sand," he'd said, trying to form the slipping golden stuff on Muscle Beach into a ball. "It's snow, honey. Didn't you know the beaches in California are made of dried-up snow?"
She'd tilted her head to one side so her tight braids flapped wildly, studied him through screwed-up eyes, then her face split in a wide beam. She scooped up a ball of dried snow to dunk on his head.
He looked down the hole into the dungeon below; the gap was narrow. It was no Empire State Building, but it would do. He had focus enough for this.
Lifting himself to arm-stand position took all his strength. He dove.
There was no somersault this time, no pike or twist, only an arrow-straight dive with his arms at his sides, headfirst down to the concrete ground.
CRUNCH
His spine broke a second time, the bones of his neck sheared apart, and beneath his new body's great weight his head tore away from his body.
The cold couldn't reach him now.
The demon couldn't hurt him any more, here at the end. All was black but for the ghostly sense of the survivors racing away over his skin, with the single cold burn of the red demon following behind.
His scores came up from the judges.
10
10
10
10
Anna lay down beside him, nestled herself against his headless body and whispered, "I'm proud of you, Daddy."
The Last Mayor Box Set 1 Page 57
