by Mason Dakota
“How do you like me now?” I shouted as I tried to raise my pistol to shoot him. The soldier ducked and tackled my ribcage. My shot went wide. Together we flew backward.
We never hit the ground.
We smashed through a window and instantly were wrapped in a blanket of glass and cold night air. Once again my mind slowed everything down so I could capture every moment of this horrible nightmare. The soldier was still wrapped around my waist in his vicious tackle, hopefully regretting his decision as much as I was. We were three stories up and I was falling backwards.
My body was weak and beaten. The soldier might live from the fall, protected by his armor. He might even be able to stand back up and dust himself off for another round. I knew I wouldn’t be so lucky. Even if I survived I would be crippled. I needed a miracle.
I managed to think all this in the time span of a few nanoseconds as the office slowly flew away from me, my hands outstretched in hope that slipped farther away.
It can’t end like this. Not when I’m so close!
I prayed for a miracle and felt cloth brush my hands. It was a long curtain. I squeezed as tightly as I could with strength only last resort hope can offer. We instantly whiplashed through the air against the building’s outer wall. In a screaming madness of limbs, the soldier and I swung back toward the building and smashed against the concrete walls with near crippling force.
The soldier was nice enough to cushion the impact for me as he hit the wall while I hit him. He let out a grunt and then a panicked scream as he lost his grip on his one good arm and fell to the ground below.
There was a crashing, crunching sound followed by a moan of pain. Horrified, assured the soldier still lived but unsure of his condition, I refused to look down to see the damage. I didn’t want that image burned into my mind—even if the soldier did survive.
Inch by inch I climbed the curtain like a rope ladder. My wounded arm, still functional, crackled with burned flesh and I cringed in agony. I got one hand on the ledge and, with an adequate amount of physical and emotional exertion I managed to slowly pull myself up to safety. I got my full right arm, then left, then torso, and then finally my legs. It felt more like slithering than climbing.
I lay there in the dark and struggled to breathe. My heart fluttered like a car engine and I gasped with each painful breath that flexed my cracked and broken ribs. The world spun in flashes of color and it took every ounce of my strength to blink it away. Sweat and grime were my clothing, and the stench of blood and fire filled my nostrils.
I still heard gunfire, but the amount had dwindled. Someone shouted and I didn’t know their words, but the tone was a cry for help, and it was a voice I recognized.
Thomas!
Sixty-Six
I had to get up! I pushed myself onto one knee and elbow and suddenly went blind.
I guess blind isn’t the right word to use in a completely dark building in the middle of night. Actually, a bright white light flashed about and hit me like a wall. I cringed and collapsed back onto the carpet.
Slowly I lifted my hands to shield my eyes, but it seemed like the light came from behind my hands and through my fingers.
The gunfire shifted, met a harmony, and changed to singing—a woman singing. I couldn’t tell the words, but the voice was beautiful and it brought tears to my eyes. It was my mother’s voice.
Though it had been decades, I remembered. I sensed her presence, as I would if she were right there, holding me tightly in a warm embrace. I cried out and looked for her, but she wasn’t there. The singing wrapped around me, embraced me, and filled me with hallucinated joy.
“You’ve done enough now. Rest. Stay here with me,” said a woman’s voice, my mother’s voice. Academically, I was sure the virus was making me hallucinate. Emotionally and spiritually, I knew she was there. I remembered the doctor saying that toward the end, victims have crazy visions, but I ignored that as I clambered around in the blinding light and looked for my mother.
“Stay with me, Griffon. You’ve done enough,” she whispered again.
Then I found what I was looking for. Though I couldn’t see, and I was sure I still lay on the floor, somehow I was at a doorway. One step and I would be free. I would see my mother again. I wouldn’t be in pain anymore. That singing told me so. No more fighting. No more pain and suffering. No more heart ache.
But another voice shattered through the singing. Thomas shouted my name.
I pulled myself away from the invisible door. “No please sweetie, stop! Don’t do this,” begged my mother. But I ignored her as I dug deep and stumbled back. Someone needed my help. They counted on me. I couldn’t rest, couldn’t let myself slip away into that hallucinated oblivion if someone real needed me.
The moment I made that decision my vision went from a blinding light to a darkness so deep and so black it suffocated me. I saw fire coming so close and seeming so real, I felt it burn. I was back in the attic in my old home, which was engulfed in flames. My mother’s singing turned into wailing and then screaming. A death scream. Her last scream.
I yelled, and like scales falling from my eyes, the vision disappeared and I was back lying on the floor. It took me a moment to get my bearings. My senses slowly returned and I heard gunfire growing closer and closer.
I turned my head that direction, still feeling dazed and confused. I saw a lone soldier; he was the only remaining threat on the floor because every other soldier and mobster was dead. He was positioned outside the break room and firing his blaster rifle inside. Automatic fire blew out of the break room, keeping the soldier back.
I screamed at my legs to move, but they wouldn’t stand. All I could do was crawl forward. Inch by inch, I crawled as I listened to the gunfire that assured me my friends were still alive and still in need.
They weren’t my destination. I crawled toward the blaster rifle lying on the ground. When the soldier and I fought, he dropped his rifle. That crawl felt like steep mountain hiking and took as long. Eventually, with my heart racing, my fingers grasped the barrel and I slid the gun toward me. The soldier stood a few dozen yards away and apparently did not notice me. I pulled the rifle stock into my shoulder, raised the clunky, heavy weapon, and fired into his back.
A blaster rifle is significantly more powerful than its pistol version. While the pistols tore through armor and damaged flesh beneath, the rifle did much more. The red energy bolt flew in an upward angle. It struck the soldier high in his back, tore a hole through his armor the size of a basketball, and blew through his chest and out through the front of his body before it buried itself in the ceiling.
I wanted to puke. I rolled over and crumpled onto my side. I didn’t think I could move.
“Griffon!” shouted Thomas. I heard him come running my way. His hands grabbed me and rolled me over.
I coughed and chuckled. “Hey guys. Nice party…huh?”
Thomas said, “Well, that was a close call wasn’t it?” He bent down and threw one of my arms across his shoulders as he hoisted me to a standing position. I grimaced in pain, but was glad to feel strength return to my legs. I looked up to see Lorre taking one of the blaster rifles.
“Thank you…for…saving us there,” Lorre said. I could tell it was hard for him.
“That wasn’t so difficult, now was it, Lorre? If I keep saving you, I best get some compensation. I’ve always wanted one of those nice sports cars. Maybe you buy me one and we call ourselves even.”
Lorre snarled and growled.
Thomas laughed. “Never satisfied, are you Griffon?”.
“Not on days ending in ‘y,’” I replied.
Lorre brushed a hand across his sweaty forehead and heavily receding hairline as he looked between the dead Imperial soldiers. “You’ve got to be kidding me! These were the Emperor’s men. Do you realize what this means for us now?”
I stepped away from Thomas's support, finding increasing strength. I wanted to stand on my own two feet when I addressed Lorre. “It means we’re in
trouble, but neither one of you did this. I killed them.”
“Do you honestly think anyone will believe you? The courts will execute all of us now. I agreed to fight the men that have destroyed this city. I never agreed to kill soldiers!”
“You think I wanted to do that? I was trying to save your life!” I shouted back at him.
“And now you’ve ended it!” Lorre shouted back.
“We can discuss this later,” said Thomas. I’m sure he was frustrated by constantly playing referee between Lorre and me. “Right now, we need to go,” he demanded.
“You’re right. We need to reach the top floor. Alexandra will be there waiting,” I said.
“Then take that elevator over there and let’s be done with it,” said Lorre as he waved a hand toward the elevator. I glanced across the room at the elevator right next to the stairs. My weak body pleaded with me to take the simple route instead of going up another dozen floors of stairs, even though I knew it to be a trap.
“That’s ridiculous. She’s probably got that elevator rigged to blow!” Thomas said.
“Then its a perfect coffin,” snapped Lorre. I stepped forward and so did Lorre. I was sure we were about to come to blows. I wanted to punch him, but I didn’t have the physical strength to do it.
“Enough!” shouted Thomas. He squeezed between us, placed one hand on my shoulder and one hand on Lorre’s. He shoved us apart with as much force as he could muster. I stumbled back while maintaining an expression of rage directed at Lorre.
Then the room exploded with an artillery barrage of red energy bolts.
Sixty-Seven
There are few things as terrifying as standing inside a building while a platoon of Imperial soldiers fire blaster rifles through the walls.
Red bands of fire tore through the building’s exterior and left behind great gaping holes. They cut through metal walls and stone floors.
The floor shook and burned and melted. Steel beams dislodged from the ceiling and crashed to the floor. Chunks of plaster and drywall fell in hot gooey messes of smoke and rubble. Portions of flooring collapsed and fell away.
The noise of the destruction made the building sound as if it were screaming in protest.
I sprinted for the stairs as fast as my legs could carry me. The soldiers were aiming for me, and destroying everything between us. The ground felt hot beneath my shoes. Red energy bolts ripped by me. Fires erupted all around me. The air buzzed with electricity and loudly hummed with every echoing shot from a blaster rifle. I didn’t dare stop to return fire.
I dodged collapsing ceilings and exploding office furniture. My legs burned, my throat clammed up, my balance faltered, my ribs ached, and my lungs were suffocated. Even still I kept moving forward. I had to get to those stairs. I thought that once I was in there, the firing would stop after they lost sight of me.
Or at least that’s what I’m hoping.
A chunk of ceiling fell before me, bounced through the floor and down into the lobby. The entire wall to my right was gone. The flooring by the window broke away and dropped to the street below. Fires erupted and spread across the room like a horde of giant red ants running in every direction.
Just a few more yards!
Maybe some soldiers, unable to hit a moving target, figured out where I was heading because suddenly the door to the stairs blew away. The first bolt tore away the metal door. The second hit the stairwell. The third hit ignited it. I stumbled to the side and turned to look back to Thomas and Lorre. We could try the elevator or we could turn back.
I had somehow managed to create a bit of distance between the other two and me. Maybe I was just more experienced at running through hell than they were, but in that gap a barrage of red blaster bolts slashed through the floor between us and struck the ceiling. The floor opened up first, burned away by hot electricity. Then the largest chunk of ceiling left cracked and fell. A cloud of dust and masonry exploded in the air, filling my lungs and blinding me further.
I dove for cover and landed right next to the elevator. I coughed, wiped at my burning eyes, and shouted, “Shaman! Lorre! Are you all right?”
I wasn’t sure they could hear me over the endless firing and building destruction. Finally I heard Thomas yell, “Still alive!”
Thank God!
But they were cut off from me. I couldn’t even see them over the mountain of masonry from the collapsed ceiling. I was alone next to a way out and they were alone to fend for themselves in the hell I had brought them into. Maybe Lorre picked up on this when he shouted, “We’re cut off from here! We’ll find another way!”
I shouted, “No, I—”
“Go, Griffon. Save Evelyn! Do your duty!” shouted Thomas. There was conviction in his voice, a cold steel in the heat of the moment. “We will go back and help clear a path for you to get her out of here.”
I opened my mouth to protest when a loud horn blew through the air. The barrage stopped immediately. Shouting began, like that of a horde of people charging into battle.
“The Sabols have arrived!” yelled Lorre in answer to the question we all had.
Then the blaster fire resumed except this time it wasn’t aimed at the building. It was aimed in the opposite direction at the horde charging in.
“Go now, Griffon, while you still have the chance!” shouted Thomas.
“I’ll come back for you, I promise!” I shouted. I lurched for the elevator control panel. With a single press of the button the door whooshed open and I jumped inside. I slapped at the button for the top floor and immediately the doors closed to leave me panting on my knees. I waited for what I imagined would be a trap set by Alexandra. I expected an explosion, like some device set to go off if anyone touched that button. Nothing happened, except for the elevator creaking and beeping noises as a surge of energy sent the elevator upward.
I breathed a sigh of relief the moment the elevator moved and sucked it right back in as a speaker powered on with the clear voice of Lady Alexandra Carline. “I am glad to see you have decided to come and join the party, Shaman. I am not pleased with the damage you have done in the process.”
I wasn’t sure if she could see me, but if she could I didn’t want her to see me down on my knees in such a weak and vulnerable position. She would never forget that image. I stood up, smoothed out my suit jacket, brushed away some dirt, and said, “You do know I love to make an entrance, Alex. You’ve taken someone innocent. You’ve seen nothing of what I’m willing to do to save her. I suggest you let her go now otherwise I’ll really give you a show.”
“I won’t deny being impressed with what you’ve done. Miss Evelyn must really be special to you. Who would have thought it would be this easy to crush you,” she said through the speaker.
“If you’ve been impressed so far, then you’ve seen nothing yet. This is your last chance to surrender. Take the offer,” I said. I made a show of taking out my revolver, the only weapon I still had, and loading more shells to emphasize my point.
“This will be fun,” she cooed.
“Is she still alive? I want proof.”
There was a scuffling noise and then suddenly Evelyn’s voice came through the speaker, “Shaman, don’t!” There was a smack, another scuffle, and then silence.
“We’ll see you soon, Shaman.” Then the speaker clicked off.
This was it. My charge against the queen. Alone. I face a mob queen and all her henchmen, and I had just a single revolver with six shots to keep me company. My mind flashed with the memory of what damage Alexandra was able to do in a battle and of how lethal she could be.
If this were a fairytale story, I guess I would be the brave young knight charging into battle to save the princess. This wasn’t a fairytale. I was no knight. This was real life, brutal and evil, and no matter how much I worked to fix it, things only got worse.
Heroes fix things.
I only break them.
We are what we are and right then I wasn’t a knight arriving to save the day. I was somethi
ng darker, wrapped in despair and fury and warped by family tragedy and secrets. Red rage overcame me. Someone would die by my hand soon enough. That I vowed. That was who I was.
I am Griffon Nightlock.
I…am…Shaman.
Sixty-Eight
The doors to the elevator opened up with the not-so-warm greeting of a whole army of mobsters pointing weapons my way. They didn’t fire immediately.
Maybe that was because they didn’t see me. One by one they stepped into the elevator, looked all around, even looked up for the classic movie scene in which someone was suspended from the ceiling.
I wasn’t there.
The mobsters shrugged to each other and turned away. I silently opened the hatch to the top of the elevator and dropped down softly behind them like a cat. They didn’t know I was there.
“Hello gentlemen,” I said before I put a bullet in the back of one mobster’s skull. The man dropped like a sack of bricks. A few feet away from me another mobster turned and I dropped him before he could get a shot off with his sub machine gun. With my revolver raised, I fired down the hallway toward the army of mobsters. My shots terrified them and caught them off guard.
I scooped up a submachine gun and moved forward down the hallway as I fired from the hip at anyone who appeared. By this point the mobsters had dived for cover and were finally returning fire. I kept walking straight ahead, firing my machine gun without flinching under the noise of their return fire.
A round hit my Kevlar, and then another. I stumbled, the force of a truck smashing into my chest. I struggled to breathe. But I kept walking, kept firing under pressure giving them every round for which they gave me into my body armor.
I was the angel of death.
I got to the T-intersection of the hallway. I left a trail of bodies and blood behind me, when my gun chose that moment, when I was surrounded by enemies on both sides, to click empty.
