The Devil's Gunman

by Philip S Bolger

  I kept the M79 at my hip. The beehive used a point-and-click interface; the big, bulky sights on the weapon were only useful for lobbing grenades. I stepped cautiously toward the Hellhound, trying for a shot around the crouched figure.

  The longer I was out in the open, the worse I felt—rain on my head, the smells of burning human flesh and cordite, the sound of rounds exploding inside the burning gun shop…it all made me angry. Thankfully, I had a tool that would help me make that anger someone else’s problem.

  I sidestepped around a lamp post and raised the M79, pointing it at the Hellhound.

  The creature stopped menacing the kneeling figure and changed course. The big dog angled toward me, crouched down, and launched herself across the parking lot.

  “Soren!” she shouted, gnashing her teeth and growling as she accelerated across the gravel lot. I waited. The creature was running in a serpentine pattern, anticipating my shot. I let her get close, really close—she was about five meters away when I fired, the beehive hitting her square on. Hellhounds are tough. But nothing is tough enough to take a 40mm beehive round to the face and not feel it. I didn’t kill her, but she tumbled to a stop, tripping over her own sprawling limbs as her body came to rest. She struggled to get up, but her front right paw was ruined.

  She was crippled, but still alive. She lashed out at me, and I jumped back, avoiding her snapping fangs. She got back up, on three paws, her fourth leg little more than a bloody stump. Her face had been torn by the beehive rounds, and one of her eyes was missing, allowing lava orange blood to leak out. She wasn’t regenerating—that wasn’t a Hellhound trait—but she still looked like she had plenty of fight left in her. She lunged at me as I struggled to load another 40mm round into the M79 and knocked me to the ground, sending the grenade launcher skittering across the concrete. I slammed my left arm against her throat, trying to stop her from biting me, but damn, she was strong.

  She bled on me, and her claws scratched my skin, but it was her jaws I was most worried about. Slobber and blood dripped as she snapped closer and closer to my throat, barred only by my left arm, which was beginning to give way. I groped for my VP9, moving my offhand around one of her paws. She didn’t seem to realize what I was doing as I grabbed the handgun.

  I pointed it directly up at her soft and vulnerable underbelly. I pulled the trigger a few times and gave her a shove. Normally, she’d overpower me, but the shock of the rounds, confirmed by a whimper and a whine, gave me an edge. I rolled to my side, and looked at the Hellhound next to me. I emptied the rest of the VP9 mag into her as she howled.

  She showed no sign of surrender, though her body was riddled with bullets, and she was bleeding out. I wasn’t going to take any chances.

  I picked her up. She fought me, and had she been at full strength, I’m sure I would’ve lost. But she was weak and could do little more than struggle as I held her. Her wounds and fatigue made her attempts to free herself pathetic. I kept my grip tight.

  I carried her to the burning store.

  “Throwing a Hellhound into the flames?” she wheezed, mocking.

  “Nah,” I said. “Throwing a Hellhound into a free-fire zone.”

  I tossed her in. She hit the floor with a grunt and tried to stand up, but she was too injured to walk. I calmly pulled a 40mm grenade round from my bandolier. I showed it to her as she lay prostrate on the floor of the burning gun shop and watched recognition give way to fear in her good eye. I slowly rolled the grenade in. Her eye widened as the flames licked the round. I dove to the left, taking cover. I didn’t see the explosion, but I heard it and saw the shrapnel that flew out. I looked back and saw the headless corpse of the hound, looking much like her sister’s, but filleted by shrapnel.

  I didn’t have much time to recover—as soon as I slapped a fresh magazine into my VP9, a new threat emerged. A vampire lunged from the darkness to my right, illuminated by the flames. I dodged and pulled the flask of holy water from my pocket, then splashed him with it. As he was melting, I dove for my M79 and locked in another beehive round as another vampire headed my way.

  I splashed a bit more holy water, and he was no more threat. More vampires were heading toward the store. I was out of beehive rounds and too close for explosives—M79 rounds have an arming distance of about 30 meters, and the furthest vampire out was within 20.

  I drew my VP9 with one hand and held the glass holy water flask in the other. There wasn’t much water left in the flask, but I hoped it was enough. I tossed the flask in the center of the three vampires and burst it with a trick shot from my VP9. The holy water singed the vampires, not enough to kill them, but enough to annoy them. Just then, I heard a screech from the sky and Amalfi, in Chimera form, flew down. She tore through the injured vamps quickly, decapitating them. After she killed the last one, she assumed her human form. She was wearing tactical gear and flat, black fatigues, and her face was painted in nighttime camouflage.

  “Nick Soren,” she said. “Thank you for summoning me. I’m glad to be back at war.”

  I tossed her the M79, along with the bandolier of grenades I had left. She grinned broadly.

  “I know this weapon,” she said, smiling. “Brings back fond memories of Khe Sanh.”

  I nodded and looked around. The kneeling figure in the parking lot was still there. I rushed over and found Josiah, sobbing in a way that looked out of place on his masculine features. Collette had left the safety of the Jeep to attend to him.

  “They…they killed my boys!” he said to her between cries of anguish.

  “I assume this is Josiah?” she asked me. I nodded once.

  “He’s delirious,” she said. “And he’s been wounded. He has lacerations along his neck and chest.”

  I hadn’t seen them, but she pointed them out. Josiah’s shirt had been torn by what I was confident were Hellhound claws.

  I noticed a late-model Glock in his hand. And I noticed something else…a burning rune, pulsing in the light of the flames. It wasn’t one I recognized.

  “Get him to the Jeep,” Amalfi said. “We lack time. We need to go somewhere safe.”

  “How ‘bout my place?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Yes, that should work.”

  We heaved the crying arms dealer into the Jeep. He sobbed the whole time. As we left his ruined inferno of a store, more ammunition cooked off. Amalfi drove this time—I kept watch from the passenger seat, the M79 next to me and my handgun held tightly.

  The drive was wracked with tension. We took a circuitous route to Deephaven using side roads and avoiding the interstates. The ruined Jeep was barely keeping the elements out—with no front or back windows, we got rained on. Fire trucks sped past us, heading to Josiah’s no doubt. In the backseat, Collette sat in silence, and Josiah sobbed intermittently. I heard the doctor trying to comfort him. I tuned the radio to an FM station and hoped the music would help the mood, but it didn’t. I couldn’t stop seeing potential ambush points on the road. My heart rate rose, and I found that no matter how hard I gripped my VP9, it didn’t do much to alleviate my fear.

  Luck prevailed, however. We weren’t stopped by the cops or intercepted by vampires. We made it to Deephaven as the rain abated, though a continuous drizzle seemed determined to stay the night.

  When we got to my neighborhood, I knew something was wrong. I saw more flames. As we pulled up to my cul-de-sac, I wasn’t surprised, at all, to find my house burning.

  Two firetrucks, some cops, and an ambulance were already on the scene. Firemen and police exchanged orders and hurried to get gear. A couple of my neighbors gawked from the cul-de-sac.

  I watched flames tear through the Japanese contemporary house that had been my only solace in my time as the devil’s gunman. The window panes were blown out. The paint was peeling from the heat. The roof had holes in it and looked ready to cave in. Ash-grey smoke spiraled up toward the sky from the funeral pyre containing all my worldly possessions. Amalfi said something about not wanting to get close and have to deal with
emergency services. I could barely hear her.

  I couldn’t stop my mind from racing. Everything I’d worked for, everything I’d bled for, everything I had to prove that the last two years were real and not some fucking infernal-themed fever dream was in that house.

  Amalfi looked at me.

  I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door. Amalfi put a hand on my back.

  “It’s too late,” she said. “We should leave. We need to find a safe position.”

  “No,” I said, shrugging off her hand. “No! That’s everything I have!”

  “Do you want to keep your life?” she asked.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said. “I have to get my…my stuff!”

  I dropped my weapons in the car and booked it toward the house, ducking under a police cordon and ignoring the shouts from the firefighters who were doing their best to contain the blaze.

  I knew what I was looking for. I found the cellar door, my emergency basement access. Smoke poured from it. I pulled my shirt over my nose and opened the door, standing to one side. There was no backdraft, thankfully, so I hustled down the stairs.

  The basement was engulfed. The fire might’ve started here. The wooden handrail was on fire and smoke clouded the low-hanging ceiling. The lights were blown out, and the brightness of the flames was tempered by the choking clouds of smoke.

  My armory was ransacked—nothing left. Apparently, they didn’t mind mixing burglary with arson, but they hadn’t gotten to my safe. The Templar’s Lamp was sitting on top of it, smoking happily, its metal a bit warped from the heat. What a fucking waste that artifact had been.

  I quickly mapped out a route to the fireproof safe and hoped it was still as secure as it looked. My first few steps were cautious, hesitant. I could feel my feet getting hot, and I was sweating. I moved slowly toward the safe, stepping carefully, holding my breath, and hoping I didn’t inhale too much smoke. I stepped over debris and made my way as quickly as I could toward the safe and whatever wealth I had left. I saw my collection of identities strewn out on the floor, government-issued plastic bending and curling with the flames.

  I touched the safe’s lock and recoiled—it was hot. I tore off part of my shirt and used it to protect my hand as I dialed the combination. The safe opened with a satisfying “CLUNK.”

  I grabbed the VHS and the lone ingot of gold stored inside. The ingot was hot, and I fumbled it. In doing so, I dropped the shirt that was covering my mouth. I breathed in ashes, and I coughed hard. I had to get out of there. I didn’t want to think about how embarrassing it would be to die, to go to Hell, and to have to explain to the Patron that I’d perished from smoke inhalation in my own home. I summoned my strength and ran for the exit, leaping over rubble and dodging flames. The smoke inhalation was getting to me when I saw the cellar door open. Standing there, in a Deephaven PD uniform, was Amalfi. She offered me a hand and held a fireproof blanket she’d likely swiped in the other.

  “C’mon, you dumb mortal,” she said. “You could’ve told me what you needed.”

  “Told—” I said, before coughing and hacking. She moved me toward the wood line, away from the firefighters and police gathered in front of the blazing house.

  “I’m a Chimera,” she said. “I live for fire. You should’ve told me your rifle was in there. I would’ve gotten it.”

  I was feeling too weak to argue, so I nodded. She concealed the rifle with the blanket, and we walked back to the road. My Jeep was there, the three remaining doors open. Collette was still administering care to Josiah. I sat down in the passenger seat and began putting all the stuff I’d dumped back in their various places.

  “Nick,” Collette said from the back seat. “Lotus called. She said we have to leave. Said we could meet her north of town.”

  Josiah mumbled through his sobs.

  Collette looked at me.

  “He says he’s got an RV stashed somewhere.”

  Amalfi and I looked at each other. A prepared vehicle would be useful.

  She jumped in the driver’s seat, and I closed the passenger door.

  We left my burning house, with all its baggage, memories, and wealth, and headed into the night.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eleven: Drive to Survive

  In the dark, we ditched the Jeep. Amalfi put a brick on the accelerator and sent it into Lake Minnetonka. It wasn’t registered to me, but seeing it disappear still hurt a little; it was another piece of my life taken away forever.

  Amalfi, in her police guise, got us another vehicle, and we drove to Josiah’s hide site. The arms dealer had a pretty good set-up on the North side of Minneapolis near Maple Grove. It reminded me of my safe houses. We’d stopped by my last one and grabbed some gear, but I hadn’t kept it well stocked.

  At the hide site, we took Josiah’s RV, a newer model Winnebago stocked to the brim with emergency rations and ammunition, which was enough comfort for us. There was a bed, a couch, and a couple of chairs, but the packed tents suggested Josiah had planned for more sleeping space. I thought about his three boys who were all dead now. We headed north, stopping only to pick up Lotus.

  She met us without her thralls. Looking around to make sure no one else saw, she bolted up from her wheelchair, folded it, and pogo-sticked her way onboard, shooting me a look that said “you’d better not say anything.”

  Josiah, much to everyone’s surprise, had insisted on driving. Collette had cleared him medically, and though Amalfi clearly preferred to drive, the Chimera took the time to relax, inspecting and cleaning the M79 and messing around a bit with the remaining grenades.

  “So,” Lotus said. “What happened?”

  “Ambush,” I replied.

  “But you’re all alive,” she said.

  “No,” Josiah said. “They got my boys.”

  “You should’ve defended them,” Lotus said.

  “You think I didn’t try?” Josiah screamed. He started sobbing again. Amalfi put a hand on his shoulder, and the big arms dealer pulled the RV to the side of the road and turned the hazards on.

  “I get the irony,” he said. “I was surrounded by guns, but I couldn’t grip a single one, not enough to raise it and fire.”

  “Then you are—” Lotus started.

  Josiah tore off the glove on his right hand and showed a glowing rune—it was silver and white, but unmistakably a rune.

  “Do you know what this is?” he asked.

  Lotus nodded.

  “Isn’t that…a combat rune?” I asked.

  “No,” said Josiah. “It’s a peace rune. I…I know who you used to work for, Nick. I worked for the opposite.”

  “Heaven has gunmen?” I asked, incredulous. It didn’t seem very Christ-like to knife people to death in alleyways.

  “Protectors, Nick,” he said. “I was one. But when you leave, to ensure you don’t become corrupt, they bond you from committing violence. You have to be willing. You have to say the words.”

  He looked down. “I did and it cost me my family. So mind the callousness. I know I’m a coward by act, if not by intent, and I have to live with it.”

  Lotus, Amalfi, Collette, and I looked at each other. It was the doctor who stepped forward.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We’ll do right by them.”

  “I’d like to bury them,” Josiah said. “I plan on going back as soon as I get you all somewhere safe.”

  “Out of the question,” Lotus said. “Lyndale will still be on patrol.”

  “So, we leave them to rot?”

  “You sentimental human,” Lotus sneered. “They already burned up. They’re little more than ash! We can mourn when we’re safe.”

  “Grandmother!” Collette chastised her with a horrified look. Lotus seemed taken aback.

  “I’m sorry for being harsh, Josiah,” she said, her words lacking sincerity. “You’re right to care for your family. But first, we need to make sure we stay alive and unencumbered. The bas
tards from Lyndale would not hesitate to ambush you at a funeral.”

  “What should we do?” I asked. “Where should we lie low?”

  “I’ve got an idea,” Josiah offered.

  His idea was better than any the rest of us had, so we took him up on it. We went to an area he’d been preparing in Itasca State Park—a four-hour drive north of Minneapolis. It was in the wilderness, like Thoreau and Emerson before me, that I was to find peace. Well, peace through superior firepower. The rest of the ride gave Lotus, Amalfi, and me a chance to update Collette and Josiah on the situation—the essentials, anyway. We told them about Lyndale’s vendetta, that Josiah had likely been identified as my supplier, and that Collette was my suspected lover. The Lyndale modus operandi was, Lotus had explained, to attack what a person valued when they couldn’t attack that person. The arms dealer and doctor had taken it about as well as they possibly could, and they seemed resigned to the fact that they were stuck with us, at least until the cops stopped asking questions, and the threat from the Lyndale Coven was eliminated. Collette had sulked a bit, but Lotus must’ve said something to her—by the time we arrived at the park, the doctor was as chipper as ever.

  We arrived in our own little Walden, a clearing around a pond, with a scratchy dirt path that led to the secondary road that led to civilization. We’d had trouble getting Josiah’s RV there, but the arms dealer was a solid driver, and he rejected Amalfi’s offer of help. The clearing had not been maintained and fall had killed all the trees except the evergreens. Dead trees and brush made walking difficult, and the trails through the area were long overgrown. We spent the first few hours making the area a bit more livable—clearing brush, making space, and setting up what would become our home for the indefinite future. Josiah produced tents for me and him, so Lotus and Collette could have some privacy. They got the cozy, real beds inside the RV. The tents were high-end commercial models but were a far cry from the pampering I was used to.