Forgotten Gods Boxed Set 2

by S T Branton

  At first, Deacon looked pained, but his expression quickly gave way to resolute determination. “Well, I can’t talk you out of this, so I’m not even gonna try. But if he falls, the flattening is still going to happen.” Deacon’s eyes darted around. The gears in his head turned furiously. “If there’s a way to clear the area around him…”

  It didn’t seem likely. The god stood high over everyone else, but even he couldn’t claim much personal space. There just wasn’t enough room, and the mob was only growing. “I don’t think so,” I told Deacon. “I’m just going to do my best and hope people can get out of the way.” With that, I started to shove forward against the rush of the crowd.

  “Dammit, Vic!” Deacon yelled. “I know I said I wasn’t going to stop you, but at least warn me before you do this shit!” His voice had already muffled by the time he finished speaking. I kept going, brandishing the hilt once more for leverage. Progress was slow, but I could see we were going to meet in the middle.

  The closer he got, the taller Beleza became. His skin gleamed even in the acrid smog. A curl of shining metallic hair framed the side of his chiseled face. He looked like he ought to be playing beach volleyball in California somewhere, not laying waste to New York City. The blithe smile on his face betrayed no hint of understanding the situation.

  This jackass actually thought we loved him.

  He opened his arms in a grandiose gesture of goodwill. “Come to me, my mortal darlings! Bask in Beleza’s glory!” As his muscled arms lifted away from his sides, I saw a flash of more bronzed physiques behind him.

  “Great,” I muttered. “An army of clones.” They were smaller than him, closer to normal human size, but still tall and sculpted and shiny. Like him, his army marched forth with wide smiles plastered across their faces. Whatever they thought they were doing, all of them were clearly into it.

  But then something caught their attention, and they swiveled in all directions. The dark alleys lining the road—dozens of them—were suddenly alive with humanoid shapes that seemed at a glance to be burning. Bodies streaked with brands of red-hot chain descended onto Beleza and his troops from the shadows, and I realized after a moment of confusion that I’d seen this kind of thing before. The earlier image of the horned woman lifting a chain to the sky flashed through my head.

  And then I remembered a face shaded by sunglasses, a torso marred by a chain brand. Was Brax here somewhere?

  “Holy shit.” Deacon broke through at my back for the third time in less than ten minutes. “They’re fighting each other.” We stood, boulders amid a raging river, observing the demons and the musclemen tearing into each other.

  “Fine by me,” I said. “If they mess each other up, that means I don’t have to. Let’s just leave them to it and get to Central Park.” Deacon nodded, but this time, he was the one who stopped mid-turn. “Wait. Look.”

  “What?” I tracked his gaze toward the cars in the street. Some of them had been squashed down by the advance of Beleza’s men, which made it even easier to spot the bus Deacon had seen at the last moment. It was on its side lengthwise, and I could see the shapes of passengers attempting to climb out through the busted windows. “Oh, shit. I have to go.”

  “Yeah, I know. Hey, do you think a bullet can still hurt a god?” Deacon shrugged and cocked his gun. “Guess we’re about to find out.” He raised the pistol. “Get in there. I’ll cover you.”

  “Thanks.” I plunged toward Beleza’s towering form, careful to keep all thoughts of summoning the blade from surfacing too soon. The crowd began to thin out a little as I finally drew up under his shadow, but quarters were still very close. The god’s path was starting to veer away from the bus as he moved to help his besieged underlings. I saw him throw one of the demons like a fastball. “Note to self: don’t underestimate this guy.”

  The bus wasn’t as stable as I would’ve liked, and it was being constantly buffeted on all sides. I hooked my fingers into a handhold on one of the back wheels and leapt upward, landing with a clanging thud on the topmost side. A woman recoiled through one of the shattered windows, yelping in surprise.

  I leaned down toward her, my hand outstretched. “Don’t worry, ma’am. I’m one of the good guys.”

  Chapter Four

  “Who are you?” The woman’s wide, frightened eyes moved from my face to my hand, and back again. She was almost wedged in the window frame, shards of glass glittering on her puffy coat.

  I knelt, trying to appear less threatening. The bus trembled under my knee. Most of its passengers were still trapped inside, and I could hear at least a few kids crying. “I’m someone you can trust,” I said, fighting to keep urgency out of my voice. The last thing anyone needed here was more panic, but I knew we were running out of time. That bronze behemoth—Beleza—wasn’t going to stay distracted forever, and a fight out of this mess was going to be tough.

  Tough, but not impossible.

  “Please.” I kept my eyes on the woman’s face. “We don’t have much longer. I’m going to get all of you somewhere safe. I promise.” What I wanted to do was use my god-sword to cut the bus open and be done with it, but now that I was in point-blank range, that plan was just too risky. I didn’t know if the Gladius Solis could differentiate between a vamp and a regular Joe, and this was not the time to find out.

  We were going to have to do this the regular way.

  After a tense moment of silence, she finally nodded and released her grip on the busted window. I grabbed her hand and pulled her as gently as possible onto the bus amid a shower of shattered safety glass. “Get down and run. Stay away from the buildings. And once you reach safety, stay put no matter what. Okay?”

  “Okay.” She stared at me for a couple of seconds longer, and then the flight reflex took hold at last. The bus creaked and groaned as she scrambled down to the pavement.

  I leaned in through the newly empty window, shouting to whoever might be able to hear me. “Grab my hand!” The inside off the vehicle was hazy with dust and traces of smoke that stung my eyes. Crash survivors looked out from where they’d taken refuge from behind the seats. I beckoned them forward. “I’m here to help!”

  Slowly, they began to inch forward.

  “Go!” I shouted. “Go! Now!” The view directly in front of me cleared as passengers began to force their fear aside and clamber down to the pavement. Some of them jumped, possessions bundled in their arms. I saw a father catch his young son in his arms, clutching the kid as if he was made of solid gold. He ran like a bat out of hell. I reached down and hooked the fingers of my other hand under the bus chassis, straining to keep it from falling on the stragglers.

  When I couldn’t see anyone else in its shadow, I slid down the side of the wrecked bus to the street, leaping clear of the sparks jumping off the asphalt. Just feet in front of me, Belaza’s scattered army was beginning to reassemble. The gleaming, muscular figures turned toward me in unison. They were all smooth and smiling.

  “Welcome to the freak show,” I muttered. Their general creepiness made my skin crawl in a different way than anything else I’d seen so far. These guys belonged on the pages of a beach-themed catalog or on display in the windows of a department store, and yet, here they were, standing calmly amid the wreckage of the city.

  I brought my hand up, summoning the blade of the Gladius Solis at long last. The glow from the sword lit their eyes. A shiver threatened to run through me. Most of the golden god’s ranks were marching on, following the path their leader had carved through the street. Even if I strained, I couldn’t see Beleza himself anymore. Maybe I’d get lucky and these walking mannequins would follow suit.

  But before we got a chance to resolve the tension, a wave of chain-branded jerkoffs crashed our little party. The soldiers’ heads all snapped to the side as if they shared one mind. Apparently, the beef from a few minutes earlier hadn’t quite been resolved, and my sword and I weren’t helping matters. I took the ensuing chaos as a sign, leaping forward into the fray. The longer I ke
pt these guys distracted, the farther away people could get. And besides, I needed to get back the way I came.

  The Gladius Solis sizzled through the air, chopping through demon flesh and sculpted beach bodies alike. I pushed myself into overdrive, until everything around me slowed just enough for me to stay on top of things. With the help of the sword, I cleared a path, showering the ground with blood and weird, metallic chunks that sort of clanged when they hit the ground. The sound seemed to filter to my ears through a long tunnel. Not sure when it dawned on me that these guys were actually turning into scattered, piecemeal statues. The battlefield morphed into some macabre art installation piece—Guernica, the sequel.

  I probably looked like such a badass right then, pirouetting through a field of enemies, sword blazing. Of course, I thought, the one time I look cool as shit, Marcus isn’t here to see it.

  But no amount of finesse could turn the numbers in my favor. More of the branded ones poured from every alley, every side street, even from some of the compromised businesses. I saw them climbing over gates and jumping walls. The horde had no end in sight—which meant one thing and one thing only.

  I needed to get the hell out of there fast.

  After one last satisfyingly flashy spin, I hunkered down and beat it in a dead sprint toward the curb where I had last seen Deacon. For once in his life, the man made it easy for me; he’d climbed the side of a landscaped embankment to avoid firing directly into the masses. Using the flaming sword to signal him, I swerved in the direction of Central Park. As the street gradually became less crowded, my pace decreased. By the time Deacon caught up, we were jogging toward the park.

  The first thing he said was, “Do you know that guy?”

  I glanced sidelong at him. “What guy?”

  He acted like I had just grown another head. “What do you mean, ‘what guy’? The statue-looking mother striding through Manhattan with his junk on display! That guy.” He ran a hand over his hair. “Please tell me you’ve got a way to deal with that because I sure as hell don’t.”

  I shook my head in mock disappointment. “Man, what are they teaching you at the FBI these days? I’d have thought you would be locked and loaded for the apocalypse. Or at least an alien invasion.”

  “Har har.” For the first time since I met him, Deacon sounded a little shaken, and I felt kind of guilty for messing with him.

  “Look, I’ll be honest with you,” I said. “The plan’s been changing more or less on a dime since day one, ‘cause every time I’ve tried to make one, something ended up getting seriously screwed. The odds that we’ll need to wing it at some point are pretty damn high. But at this point, I’m not so bad at working off the cuff, you know? I’ve learned to expect the unexpected. I might not know who that god is yet, but I’ll find out. And when I find out, I’ll find a way to beat him, too.”

  “You got a lot of faith for some chick from the streets,” Deacon said. A trace of admiration colored his words.

  “It’s not faith as much as guts,” I answered. “Like the ones you’ve got for calling me ‘chick.’” That got him to laugh, which made me feel slightly better.

  Compared to the chaotic streets, the interior of the park was eerily tranquil, especially as we drew nearer to the arboretum. A lot of the place looked almost ransacked—benches and garbage cans toppled over, trash strewn across the paths. A tree had fallen up ahead, its gnarled roots sticking up like witch fingers from the dirt.

  “Where’s your buddy?” I asked, mostly to break the silence.

  Deacon had already put his head on a swivel. He frowned, furrowing his brow. “MIA, apparently.” He led me off the walkway toward a bench half concealed in a thicket of pines. “Let’s just chill here for a minute. He’ll show up soon.”

  Given the current state of affairs, it was too hard to hold in my skepticism. “You sure about that?”

  “Swear it. Trent wouldn’t ditch.” Deacon planted himself on the seat and leaned back, rubbing both palms over his face. “He better not.”

  This time, I managed to hold my tongue and sat down next to him. The light breeze sifting through the arboretum’s canopy still stank faintly of smoke from the disaster areas dotting the vicinity, but the hush was a welcome change. “How are you doing?” I asked. I wanted to sound as caring and genuine as I felt, but to my ears, the words sounded sort of awkward. You know what I mean, I wanted to add.

  Deacon sighed deeply. “Good question. I’ve been trying not to ask it all day.”

  I chuckled. “Sorry.”

  “If someone had told me that I’d be breaking out of my own headquarters with a dozen of my colleagues on my tail, I would have never believed it,” he continued. “Not six months ago, and especially not when I was a kid dressing up as a cop for Halloween.” A grim smile crossed his face. “It’s fucked up, right? This used to be my dream job, working out of that exact building, solving cases, busting bad guys. The whole deal.” He shook his head, staring at the grass between his feet. “I can’t believe we’re here right now.”

  I sucked my breath in through my teeth. “I’m sorry, Deacon.” Somehow, this second apology seemed hollow than the first.

  He barely acknowledged it. “But in some weird way, I feel so damn stupid. Because I’ve always known what kind of world this is.” My ears pricked up in surprise until he continued. “I know none of us are perfect. I just thought I could make it better.” The wry smile morphed into a grimace. “Those guys, though? The ones who ran us out? They were like family, like my brothers and sisters. What are they now?”

  I didn’t know what to say. We sat in silence for a minute that felt like an hour. I wanted to look at him, but I forced my eyes to stay forward and down, like his were. The breeze whistled past my ears.

  And then came a noise I had heard countless times before, only never quite so clearly: a distinct, rhythmic clopping. Deacon heard it too. He picked up his head and began to scan the immediate area.

  “What the hell is that?” It turned out to be a rhetorical question as a man on horseback materialized through the trees. He had two more horses trailing beside him, all saddled up and ready for cargo.

  Deacon smirked. “That,” he told me, “is our ride.”

  Chapter Five

  “You’ve got to be shitting me,” I said, gawking at the setup. The horses were huge and sturdy. They looked like they’d been stolen straight from a carriage.

  Deacon stepped forward to meet the rider. “Really, Vic? After all this, a horse is what pushes you over the edge?” Shutting my mouth, I glared at him, arms folded. The horse brigade pulled to a stop. Deacon gestured to its leader. “Trent, this is my friend Vic. Vic, Trent. As you can see, he has some unusual connections.”

  “All the better to come to your rescue, my dear.” Trent was broad and slick, and it wasn’t clear which of us he was talking to. He flashed a smile in my general direction. “Sorry I’m late, Deac. Maybe you noticed the traffic out there.”

  Deac? I raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, don’t worry. I saw that shit.” Deacon turned to me again. “Seriously, Trent is one of the only guys I can still trust, and that means you’re going to have to trust him, too. I don’t need to tell you what our choices look like.”

  Trent laughed. “No, please. Talk me up some more. I love it when you treat me like a last resort.”

  I gave him a quick once over, already aware that we were all backed into a corner. He oozed a sleazy, overconfident vibe that I could happily have done without, but times were tough as hell. “Fine,” I declared. “But can I trust the horse?” I pointed at my mount as I made my way over.

  “Either way, you better make nice,” Trent said. “Her name’s Bluebell, and she’s your new best friend.”

  I moved around unenthusiastically to the side, examining the saddle. “This thing will stay on?”

  “Sure it will, city girl. If you don’t believe me, go on and give it a try.” He cast his eyes furtively through the trees. “Right now would be nice
. I don’t want to stick around here any longer than we have to.”

  If you’d shown up on time, we’d be gone already, I thought. On Trent’s other side, Deacon lifted himself into his own saddle. The glance he gave me was half encouraging, half amused. “Yeah, yeah. I hear you.” I took a deep breath, hoisted my leg up, and heaved myself into position, expecting Bluebell to bolt or jump or try to buck me off. She did nothing of the sort. One of her ears twitched.

  “Well, it wasn’t pretty, but it’ll do. Let’s go.” Trent maneuvered around in a neat little arc, and we fell into step in a sort of triangle. The horses’ hooves made dull, soothing thuds in the grass. “Keep away from the paths, or someone will hear us, guaranteed.” Trent didn’t turn around as he talked; he also didn’t stop talking. “It’s good to see you, Deac. When I heard the Bureau went under, I thought you were lost with the rest.”

  “It was close,” Deacon admitted tightly. “We just barely got out in time.”

  “We?” At this, Trent turned his head in profile to me. “You were there too, huh? As a suit or as a suspect?”

  “Come on, man.” There was a subtle edge to Deacon’s voice now. “You came through for me, I’ll give you that, but you don’t need to be a prick about it.”

  The horseman held up his hand in a conciliatory motion. “My bad. I’ll behave.” He paused. “But you do look sort of familiar. Have I seen you before?”

  I froze for a split second before recovering. “I get that a lot. Guess I’ve got one of those faces that everybody’s seen.” Technically, it wasn’t a lie. Anyone who’d been watching the news lately was sure to have seen me, and not in a flattering light. I just hoped he wouldn’t connect the dots.

  “She was in questioning when the shit hit the fan, if you must know,” Deacon cut in. “Honestly, it’s a good thing she was. I don’t know if I’d have made it without her.”