Cort took a look. His body stiffened. He turned back to Sid and said, “Damn.” He took a deep breath through his flaring nostrils. “I should have known it would come to this. It’s got to be done, Cort. Got to do it, Cort. Got to go.”
“Who are you talking to, yourself?”
“Listen, pretty lady, you’re sweet and all, but if I survive this, you owe me one!” She caught a crazy look in his eye as if someone turned on a switch that lit up a wild light.
“Slow down, Cort. Cort?”
Cort stepped out into the hallway. He walked right toward the shambling soldiers. With his gun pointed straight at the nearest deader, he fired. The bullet punched through the deader’s chest and into another. “Listen up, rednecks! Which one of you bony bastards can tell me where the commissary is?”
At the same time, all of the deaders turned toward him. All together, they charged.
Cort let loose a couple more shots, then turned and ran with a speed that belied his size. He ran down the straight line of the corridor.
Sid slid back into one of the offices. It was just her. Through a crack in the door, she watched the deaders rush after Cort in their startling stiff gait. “Guppy, you have to help him.”
“I am. You just do what you need to do.”
She moved out of the office. The end of the hallway leading into the control room was empty. There was an alcove entrance with a sign that hung above the opening. It read Command Central. Sid snuck up to the opening with her back to the wall. She could make out the edge of some steps that led down. Back sliding against the wall, she peeked around the corner. A strong bony hand locked around her throat. The fingers dug into her flesh and squeezed with unforgiving strength that wasn’t human.
Sid gasped then stuck a gun in the bony ribs of a redcoat deader and pumped two rounds into its heart. The grip of the monster loosened. A second deader tucked in the shadows of the alcove rammed a bayonet at her side. “Gah!”
The rusting metal blade poked at her ribs, but the sweetheart suit saved her. The force of the impact knocked her into the wall, though. The deader continued to stab. Sid planted the barrel of her gun in its chest and fired.
The deader collapsed.
“Sid, are you okay?” Guppy said.
Panting for breath, she said, “Yes.” She tugged on the handles of the double doors. “I’m going to shoot my way into the command center.”
“No, I can open it, hold on.”
Sid’s breath became raspy. Her lungs started to burn. She wheezed. Not now. Of all the times, not now. Wiping her hair from her eyes, she turned to take a peek down the corridor.
Click.
Before she could turn, something grabbed her by the hair and jerked her clean off her feet and inside.
CHAPTER 20
Smoke burrowed his way between the joists in the ceiling and the second-level flooring. Blood rushed through his ears. His savage nature was coming out. He had to run. Hide. Calm himself. Cort had looked like a pork chop to him moments earlier. He’d wanted to kill the man for blinking. He wanted to kill everything that pumped with warm blood.
Fight the hunger.
His fist smashed through the subflooring above his head. He punched until there was a hole big enough to squeeze through. He was inside an office. The bookshelves and desks were metal. An old computer monitor was on the desk. The chair sat on four casters. The place dated back to the late eighties. It was possibly the last time anyone worked there for a living until the Drake took over. Smoke ventured to the door and listened. It was quiet in the hallway.
Get it together, Smoke. You can’t give in.
Whatever Kane had done to him was taking a toll. He thirsted for a taste of innocent blood. It wasn’t like he was a blood-sucking vampire. But for some reason the urge to kill was inviting. Spilling the blood of the living was a sweet desire to him. He could smell it. Sense it. Something different. It was like seeing life from two different dimensions. In one realm were the living, some good, some not so much, and there was a hue about them. In another realm were the shifters, with an aura as cold as stone. They had no soul. No nothing. Just a living existence full of regret. Smoke clenched his fists.
Just find Kane. Kill him.
Smoke’s own regrets began to fill him. When he’d been posing as Mack Brown, he’d had Kane right in the crosshairs. He should have tried to kill the monster then, but hadn’t. For some reason, Kane had a hold on him. Perhaps it was the strange injection he was infused with. A mixture of blood perhaps, or strange chemicals. Whatever it was, it was otherworldly, or ancient, from civilizations long forgotten. Smoke’s limbs trembled.
You’re not a murderer. Kane’s a murderer. Murderers must die.
The thought of Smoke becoming something that killed innocent people was appalling. Ever since he was young, he had abhorred those who shed innocent blood. Had felt compelled to fight evil wherever it rose. So often he found himself alone, in a world where people turned their backs to the horrors that devoured the innocent in the night. Now he had become one of those horrors. A man lost at sea only to find himself in the fight of his life against the great white whale. Bringing down Kane would be his death.
So be it.
There was more to fight for now than ever. He had a family. A wife and son. Smoke wasn’t about to stand around and let them be the prey of the monsters that tried to besiege mankind. No, he would end the fight here. That was his gift. Fighting. Being a second ahead of where he needed to be. Counterpunching quick and deadly. None of his skills would be effective if he was out of control.
Breathe, Smoke. Breathe.
Kane had been two steps ahead of him the entire time. He’d played right into the shifter’s hands. Now, it was time for him to turn those tables. Going through the floor was the first step. It took him off the radar for a bit. Now, he needed to take Kane by surprise. He wasn’t sure how closely Kane could track him. There was something in his bloodstream that gave him away.
No, there’s only one way to go about this.
Smoke stood up on the desk. It was time to hit the third level. The floor above him groaned. He crouched back. There was a soft click of a gun safety switching off. Smoke dove away. Gunfire erupted in a savage budha-budha-budha-budha. The large-caliber bullet holes turned the ceiling into a manhole. The bullet clip emptied.
Smoke sprang into action. He launched himself through the hole and hit the man changing out a clip square in the face. The man was out cold. There was a handheld scanner lying on the floor with a bright-green beacon on it.
Yep, I’m being tracked, alright.
He tossed it aside then turned. Something sliced into the back of his calf. It was the man he’d punched, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. A shiny knife matched his grin. A familiar sneer formed on the thug’s face.
The man propped himself up on his elbows. “Remember me? Perhaps this will jog your memory, hound.” He slid on a pair of mirrored sunglasses. It was one of the Ratson brothers.
“I killed you,” Smoke said.
“No, I’m Oliver. You killed my brother, Warren. You turned his face into dogfood with that machine gun. But you didn’t get me. The blade you used sank, but not deep enough. I played possum after that. Live to fight another day. That’s what us Ratsons do.” He laughed. “Now look at you, all grown up and hairy. I have to say, I’m glad to take another crack at you.”
“Let’s crack on then, Oliver.” Smoke grabbed the man by the leg and threw him through the wall.
Oliver was back on his feet when Smoke got there. The man turned and loosed a flurry of punches.
Smoke swatted them all away. He twisted the knife free from Oliver’s hand then clocked him in the chin.
Oliver’s knees wobbled.
“Where’s Kane, Oliver?”
Touching the split in his lip, Oliver said, “He’s not worried about the likes of you, Smoke. You’re practically one of us. Soon enough you’ll sign your life over in the office.”
Smoke punche
d Oliver again.
The man dropped to a knee. “I felt that!”
The entire floor trembled. Oliver grabbed Smoke’s legs.
A minotaur burst through the door. It rammed Smoke with its massive head of horns.
CHAPTER 21
Frank took the gun and knife away from Sid like a parent taking toys from a toddler. With a handful of hair, he hauled her into the room. “It seems a little mouse has fallen into my snare. How sad for you, Sidney.” He slammed her over one of the desks. The iron strength in his arms nullified Sid’s struggles. “You’ve proven to be quite the difficult catch.”
“Save your breath, Frank.” She kicked back at his shins. It did little good.
Frank made a hollow chuckle.
Despite being pinned down, she had a fairly clear view of the room. Big monitors were up on the walls. In front of her, a young man and woman with ugly veins in their faces sat behind their desks working at a steady pace. They didn’t even turn to look at her. On screen were images of empty hallways and the generator room.
“Looks like a pretty boring Super Bowl party you’re hosting.”
“I don’t party.” Frank put more weight on her back.
Sid groaned. Guppy was speaking in her ear, “Hang in there, Sid, we’ll get help.” She was wheezing, and her bruises burned like fire despite the sweetheart suit.
“My, you are in really bad shape, aren’t you? The mortal existence is such a fragile one.” Frank stripped the communication link from her wrist. He pulled the plug from her ear and set it aside at a nearby computer station. “All of this wonderful technology that you mortals take such a shine to is your weakness. You rely on it rather than your God-given instincts. It ruins all forms of self-reliance.”
“You’re the one down here staring at computer screens, not me.” Keep him talking, Sid. “You track us with satellites, spy on us with cameras. The drug traders you command use countless wireless devices to do business. And you’re telling me that somehow you are self-reliant?” She wheezed. “You’re delusional.”
“There is a cure for asthma, Sidney. Would you like to know what it is?”
She didn’t reply. Instead, her eyes searched out the gun and knife Frank had taken.
“Death, Sidney. Death is the answer to all your problems.”
“Yours too, Frankenberry.”
“I don’t follow your jest, but if it makes you feel better, make all the jokes you want. Rich, Sherry, let’s give Ms. Shaw a seat.”
“It’s Mrs. Smoke.”
“Yes, if you say so, Mrs. Smoke.” He strong-armed her into a desk chair.
Rich and Sherry crept over with their jaws hanging. They bound up Sid’s arms at the wrists with duct tape. Frank stood behind, pressing her down by the shoulders. She squirmed, but everything was hard because she couldn’t breathe. Her energy was sapped.
“To be clear, Sidney, I find all of these technological wonders to be an abomination. I prefer the simpler times. But, I’m one to follow orders. Plus, I’m loyal. Long ago, I was dying and Kane saved me. So, here I am.”
“Who cares?” Sid wheezed.
“Well, you should. After all, once we corral that troublesome husband of yours, I’m going to turn you into something like me. Or, like Rich and Sherry. Aren’t they a charming couple? Oh, don’t let those varicose veins disturb you. That will fade. You see, the both of them are new to the deader procedure.” He massaged her shoulders. “Remember, I’m a mortician, and I want my subjects to be presented at their best. You see, I preserve life. I take pride in it. I promise you, you will be one of my most marvelous works yet.”
“You can’t win, Frank. The fires of Hell are waiting.”
“Now, now, let’s not go there. I’m treating you kindly.”
Several of the screens flickered. The once-empty hallways now showed new signs of life. A huge minotaur now roamed the halls with other men and deaders.
Sid’s heart skipped. Then it started to sink in. Every shifter they had fought was still alive.
“How about that? I can feel your heart in my fingers. You’re surprised, aren’t you. The shifters keep coming back. Well, most of them.” Frank kissed the top of her head. “We are hard to kill, that much is certain. That is why we always win. We are weeds. We spring up in every crack. We crawl out of those dark corners. It’s an amazing thing.”
The screens flickered. The hallways became void.
An old telephone sitting on the desk rang. “Oh, fudge sticks.” Frank stretched out his hand and picked up the receiver. “Yes, Kane?”
Sid could hear Kane screaming. “Get these monitors fixed, Frank! Now! Our customers grow angry!”
“I believe there is a mouse chewing on the lines.”
“Then exterminate it!” Kane yelled.
Click.
“It seems that your friends on the outside — Guppy and Sam, is it? Well, they’ve become more than a nuisance now. Their termination has just been moved up on the schedule.” He picked up the phone and dialed. “Mack, we have some pests outside. I need you to exterminate them. I want four dead. Turn them to ash if you wish. It must be done.”
“Right away.”
“There, Sidney. No more heroes. If they’re lucky, there might be something left for a funeral.”
CHAPTER 22
“Dumbest idea ever!” Cort was running full speed down the hallway with a pack of redcoat deaders hot on his tail. The chase led him back into the generator room. He hadn’t done this much running since his days in the FBI academy. Still able to hear Guppy in his earpiece, he clicked on the communication link. “Guppy! Can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear, but I lost Sid. What’s going on?”
“I thought you could see what was going on! I’ve got about twenty deaders on my tail!”
“Hold on. Where are you?”
“The generator room. You know, the one we started in!” The deaders poured into the room. Rickety limbs and equipment made for a macabre vision. Cort’s lips curled. He bolted for the next double door entrance and hit the doors at full speed. He bounced right off them. “What the—Guppy, the doors are locked. I’m trapped inside with them!”
“Sorry. I’m battling it out with the other side. Give me a minute.”
“I don’t have a minute!”
The deaders closed in at a stiff-quick gait.
Seeing no other options, Cort fished the super vitamin out of his pocket, bit into it, and swallowed it down. Energy coursed through his heavy limbs like a bright sunburst in the sky. He grinned from ear to ear. Head bobbing, he said, “This is alright.”
Cort’s aim was quick. With a squeeze of the trigger, he shot four deaders in the heart. The bullet ripped through the first one, blew up the second, paralyzed the third, and the fourth deader’s chest was sheared through front to back. They fell with flailing limbs, except the paralyzed one. Many of their fellow deaders tripped over them. Cort kept shooting. The pop of bullets bursting through the chamber was music to his ears. Two more deaders went down. His wheel gun was emptied. Running away from the surging enemy on legs that made him feel like a running deer, he popped out his speed loader from his pouch and reloaded.
A knot of deaders cut off his path. The first round Cort shot tore through one’s skull. Brain matter oozed from the wound. The deader marched onward with a bayonet. Cort pumped it with an explosive round. He knocked aside the deader with a hole in its head like an old grocery cart.
The deaders were slight of build. There wasn’t any meat on their limbs. Cort realized with his surging strength he could brush them aside. With dead-accurate shots, he dropped another handful of deaders. Then the trigger clicked behind Cort’s finger.
“Empty!” On instinct, Cort holstered the Big Alaskan behind his back and drew his knife. There were about eight deaders left coming at him. He had his suit on. He liked his chances, bad hand and all. “Come on, geriatrics! Come get some!”
The first deader came at him with a rusty saber. It cut down
hard.
Cort sidestepped with speed that didn’t match up with his bigger size. He plunged his dagger into the deader’s chest and gave the blade a twist that made crunching sounds. Still moving like a giant wildcat, Cort attacked the other deaders. Their weapons cut and stabbed. His head slipped aside like a prize fighter’s. “You old ladies don’t have nothing on me!” With the knife in his hand, he started punching them in the head like he was Apollo Creed.
“I’m the King of Sting! The Master of Disaster!”
The deaders poked and prodded at him. Their clumsy hacks brought pain, but the sweetheart suit held Cort together. He fought on with the eyes of a tiger, putting holes in one beating heart after the other. They kept coming. “What’s going on here? What’s going on? How much punishment do you devils want to take?” He hit a deader in the face with a few quick jabs that knocked its uniform hat off. A jaw cracked. Rotting teeth rained on the floor.
“I can get used to this!”
Fighting like he was king of the mountain, he jabbed one heart after the other. Right in the thick of it, his strength began to fade. His punches became telegraphed and heavy. He shouted into the comm link. “Guppy, my juice is gone! I need out of here!”
Cort’s lungs caught fire. His shoulders sagged. The deaders seemed to pour it on. They locked onto his body and held on with their undead lives. Their sharp fingertips clawed at his face. At first, the deaders hadn’t weighed so much. Now they felt like anvil-laden leeches stuck to his limbs. And their strength was unnatural.
“Guppy! Get me a door open now! Now!” Something bit into his face. “Aaaaah!”
***
Wearing out the keys on his laptop, Guppy said into the comm link, “They’re open, Cort! They’re open!” The link went dead.
The Supernatural Bounty Hunter Files: Special Edition Fantasy Bundle, Books 6 thru 10 (Smoke Special Edition Book 2) Page 57
