Collateral Damage (Demon Squad Book 8)

by Tim Marquitz

  It was only then that the true gravity of what happened settled over me.

  I grabbed the weathered scroll that had fallen from Ilfaar, and unrolled it with trembling hands. Before the alien words and symbols resolved in my head, I knew what I held and the truth of how the enemy had invaded the worlds so deep within our territory. It hadn’t been entirely the mystics’ work as we’d presumed. My wide-eyed gaze snapped to the empty space where the portal had just been, a sour understanding settling over me.

  “You pompous fool,” I shouted, the words spit out with no ears but my own to hear.

  I had imagined myself the singular witness to God’s museum of abject failures, but the scroll I clasped in my hand told me otherwise. The Alitereans had been using His prison dimension to reach the worlds cut off by the sealing of the Shal Ko’ra. My heart quickened its pace as the pieces fell together.

  Trapped in a pocket out of time and space, the prison could be aligned with any dimension by the cipher to give the Consortium access. If they learned the way of it, there would be even more surprise attacks with no way to determine where they might strike next. It would only be a matter of time until they reached Earth and…

  The last of that thought withered in my skull, its ashes brushed aside by another: Triggaltheron.

  What have I done?

  Keep reading for more Demon Squad goodness*.

  (The Great Brain Robbery was previously released in the Demon Squad Omnibus I)

  The Great Brain Robbery

  High noon.

  Shadows fled the sear of the Bisbee sun as it glared overhead. Muted voices chattered on both sides of the dusty street, anticipation hanging in the air like a warm nutsack. The crowd murmured while the scrape of impatient boots shuffled atop the wooden walks. The news had traveled through town as if it were wildfire, ears catching alight with fiery rumors. The people demanded blood. Come Hell or high water, they’d get it.

  I just hoped it wasn’t mine.

  “You sure you want to do this, nitis?” Mika asked from a safe distance.

  I glanced over at my newly acquired Indian friend and grinned, which I did pretty much every time I looked at him. Both of his eyes were sunken into their sockets with dark rings of bruises encircling them. He looked every bit the raccoon his parents had named him after. I wondered just how young he’d been when he earned that distinction, but I could picture him throwing punches as he oozed out of his mother’s womb. He was a scrapper, that one. Mika had earned a deeper coloring of his rings the night before after the little misunderstanding that had me waiting in the street.

  “Don’t figure I have much choice.”

  Mika shrugged, his reddened shoulder rippling. “You could run.”

  That wasn’t gonna happen. Uncle Lou was very insistent that I remain in Bisbee until I met with his informant. He didn’t, however, specify whether I needed to be alive or not, but that really wasn’t a loophole I wanted to exploit. I kind of enjoyed breathing.

  A hush washed over the crowd as I pondered my options, and I knew it was time. He’d arrived. I glanced down the way to see Reverend Ansell strolling casually across the hardened dirt road, spurs clinking at every assured step. Whispers hissed at my ears like I’d hunkered down in a nest of serpents, the townsfolk offering up their opinions and betting their Sunday tithes on the man of God. Ansell came to a halt in the middle of the street. His second, a grizzled young man I’d come to learn was his son, Jeremiah, stood at his side. He had as much malice in his gaze as his father. They were like two hawks ready to swoop on a mouse. Well-worn pistols hung heavy at their hips. Out of instinct, my hands went in search of the borrowed revolver hanging on my own belt.

  “Keep an eye on the boy,” I said to Mika out of the side of my mouth. If daddy didn’t take care of business, I could count on his son to try to put a bullet in me. The Indian nodded.

  A third man sauntered into the road between us with a crooked smirk. I’d learned last night he was the sheriff. Earl Conroy was his name and shit-eating grins were his game. His star glistened in the sunlight, but it was the only thing bright about the sheriff. He gave the Reverend a solemn nod, his smirk vacating his lips for just a moment before slithering back as he turned to look my way. The sheriff snorted as he appraised me.

  “You know damn well why you’re here, boy, so let’s just get the formalities out of the way,” he said with a disappointed shake of his head. “The good Reverend here claims you pilfered his daughter’s innocence, and then, after he come out to investigate his child’s terrified screeches, you killed his prized heifer while making your escape.”

  I sighed. How the hell was I supposed to know the girl’s daddy was a preacher? She’d lifted her skirts easy enough, and the only fear she’d displayed was that I’d finish before her. Maybe I should have paid more attention to the “Oh Gods” she’d been screaming into the hay pile. She must have meant them differently than I recall.

  “Better to have deflowered his daughter and stabbed his cow than the other way around, me thinks, nitis.”

  “Probably woulda caused me less grief,” I muttered under my breath.

  “The Reverend here, being the generous and benevolent man he is, has offered you this generous clemency, the opportunity for you to confess your sins to these gathered souls,” he swept his arms wide to encompass the wide-eyed folks hovering about the horse rails, “and ask redemption so you might one day see the glory of Heaven with a clear conscience…”

  Yeah, like that was gonna happen.

  “Or you can take your chances against Mister Ansell’s vengeful hand and burn in the fiery pits of Hell when he shoots your defiling ass down here in the middle of the street.” The sheriff chuckled like there was a hunk of jerky caught in his throat. “What’s it going to be?”

  Defiling? That field had been plowed barren before I got there.

  No amount of restraint could hold back the grin that slid onto my lips as I thought that. I did manage to keep my mouth shut, though. You didn’t go badmouthing a preacher’s daughter right there on Main Street without consequence. I was in it deep enough already. My spade hands were tuckered out from all the digging.

  Then again, given how hot it was in Arizona, I was half tempted to let the bastard gun me down. Hell wasn’t all fire and brimstone, except on Thai Fridays. That’s not a day you want to visit. But anyway, old Lou might be pissed if he had to resurrect me, but I’d be back on Earth before the sun set over Fissure Peak. His disposable minions’ plates were full so there wasn’t anyone else to do his grunt work. It was me or no one. I was a valuable commodity.

  “Is that smile your confession, boy?” the sheriff asked, spitting out a glob of brownness that trailed sour rainbows.

  Just passing through, there wasn’t anyone in town who’d risk their standing with the Reverend to defend me, so wasn’t much point in delaying the obvious conclusion to our little Pow Wow. Someone was getting shot.

  “Let’s get this bosh over with.”

  A gasp rose up from the spectators, followed by muted applause. The people were gonna get their show. Even I knew how good a gunslinger the old man of God was and I’d only been in town a few days. He’d been mowing down heathens for years if you could believe the gossip floating around the saloon. In fact, the cemetery right outside of town had been named after him considering he’d apparently put about half those bodies in the ground himself. Too bad for him he wouldn’t be adding another one today.

  The sheriff grinned, the worm of his mustache wriggling as he hurried to get out the way. I was half tempted to shoot it off his lip just to wipe the stupid grin of his hound dog face. Probably didn’t matter, though, seeing how, if things went as planned, I’d end up having to kill him anyway. Wasn’t like he was gonna let me mow down the town’s patriarch without getting involved. Him and the kid were gonna be trouble. I made sure to note where the boy was before things got hectic.

  “On my mark,” the sheriff called out once he was safely on the sidewalk.
The air stilled as his voice wafted over the assembly. “Get ready.”

  I smiled as Conroy looked my way. His precious preacher might have the experience advantage with pistols, but he’d never drawn down on a demon before.

  “Draw!”

  While I was probably the slowest kid in the demonic school house, the preacher was human. I was the quick one here, and I don’t just mean with his daughter.

  The gun was in my hands in an instant, my finger caressing the trigger as the palm of my other hand fanned the hammer. Black smoke roiled around me as I emptied the gun, its reports devouring every other sound in town. The Reverend stood hunched and cowering as the last bullet zipped down the street. I grinned and pulled the pistol to my lips to blow the barrel clean.

  The Reverend straightened. The wisp of a smile on his lips grew wider and wider until a deep-throated chuckle burst out. My eyes surveyed him as he laughed. He’d a dark crease across his left arm where a bullet had grazed his coat, but there wasn’t a single hole in the man. I’d missed every shot.

  He raised his gun and aimed as I scrambled with mine, staring down the barrel. My stomach churned as I spied the twisted angle of the sight for the first time. I went to reload but the cylinder fell out the gun and landed with a dusty thump in the dirt. It bumped heavily against my boot.

  “Where the hell did you get this thing,” I asked Mika as I stared at the defective pistol.

  “Some drunken Apache traded me it for peyote.”

  I sighed and met the Reverend’s steely gaze.

  “It would appear God has sided with the righteous today, stranger,” Ansell told me as sighted his pistol on my chest. “I’m guessing you might want to take a moment to think of something to say to the Devil when you see him.”

  Sorry, Uncle Lou. Some God-fearing cowboy shot me for diddling his daughter. Yeah, somehow I couldn’t see Lucifer appreciating the irony of the situation. So rather than have to explain it, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I’d just have to do it right this time.

  I ducked as the Reverend’s first shot burst from his pistol. Come to find out, I wasn’t faster than a bullet. It slammed into my right shoulder like I’d been kicked by a mule but it didn’t stop me.

  Arm already in motion, I threw the defective revolver at Ansell. It looped through the air. He saw it and tried to dodge, but it was too late. The grip thudded into his forehead, and his eyes rolled back until all that was visible were orbs of white. The Reverend crumpled to the ground, a boneless sack of meat. A small gray cloud fluttered around him. The crowd went silent, the last echoes of gunfire fading against the hills.

  Jeremiah screamed and went to draw, but Mika was on him before the gun even cleared the holster. A quick one-two dropped the boy in the dirt alongside his pa. The rest of the assembly stood in awe, wide eyes taking everything in but doing nothing. Only the sheriff had the coal to act. He just didn’t have the time.

  I snatched the gun from his hand and thumbed back the hammer while I leveled it at his eye.

  “Settle your britches, duk-shaaaa…”

  “Duk-shan-ee,” Mika corrected.

  “Yeah, what he said, asshole.” I nudged the sheriff backward with the gun. “Now me and my red-skinned pal there are gonna shin out, and none of you all better follow us.” My eyes scanned the townsfolk. “You hear me?” I shouted.

  A wave of nodding heads responded.

  “Good. Now have a pleasant evening.” I pulled the gun back and pistoned the barrel into the sheriff’s solar plexus.

  He whuffed and collapsed, trying to catch his breath. I didn’t wait for that to happen. My boots got to gettin’. The crowd watched as Mika and I ran down the street and leapt onto a pair of horses, which had been conveniently left unattended at a trough outside the saloon.

  “You sure about this?” Mika asked.

  I nodded. “What’s a stolen horse after you’ve assaulted the sheriff and the richest family in town?” The Sioux grunted and went along without another word. I might have been making a mistake by running, but I had a plan. Sort of.

  A swift kick to the flanks and we were on our way out of town.

  #

  We rode east, headed toward the nearby smelter town of Douglas. Mika had told me the men we were supposed to meet would ride in from that direction…maybe…most likely. He wasn’t the most decisive of guides. Anyway, it was worth a shot as there was no way we’d be able to stay in Bisbee without catching a bullet. I’d shed the last one a ways back without my companion noticing I’d even been shot.

  Once the Reverend started up about retribution and the divine mandate of killing a heathen, folks in town would untuck their coin purses from between their legs and posse up, riding out after us. I wanted to be long gone by then. Until I was, there wasn’t anything but the open road and the disappointing memory of almost being killed. My eyes crept to the Indian.

  “You could have told me the sight was off.”

  “You could have asked.” Mika shrugged. “You said get you gun. I did. Don’t blame the red man because you people need canons to win a fight.”

  “You people?” I shook my head. “I’m gonna shove a peace pipe up your ass, Sacajawea.”

  “Did not know nitis traveled such roads, but Mika not rub wampum beads together with just anyone.”

  “That’s not what I—” A cloud of dust on the horizon caught my eye.

  “See, there they are,” Mika said, satisfaction radiating off his smug smile. “I think.”

  After a quick direction check, making sure the small group of horses and riders coming our way weren’t from Bisbee, we settled in to wait. No point rushing into an ambush. Not long after we spotted them, the group rode up close enough for us to see them clearly.

  Three men and one woman strong, they looked as if they’d just ridden out of a wanted poster. Scarves hung about the necks of the two lead riders, the color buried in the shadows of their dark hats. Cold eyes peered out from beneath their brims, and they carried rifles strapped across their backs with ammo belts strung openly across their chests. Dressed in blue denims and gray shirts, the pair looked related with only the hint of a blond mustache on one allowing me to tell them apart.

  The same couldn’t be said about the other two misfits in the bunch.

  The woman had a katana draped loosely over her shoulder where it hung with an easy grace alongside her flowing and colorful robes. There was no mistaking it for an antique. Its pommel and sheath were immaculate, clearly kept so by love and careful attention rather than disuse. A grin crept to my lips as I examined her Asian features, her dark eyes staring back at me. I love a woman who can handle a sword.

  The last of the party was an Injun like Mika in name only. Unlike my uncertain and smartass scout, the brave looked as though he could wrestle a bison into submission and eat it at the same time. Thickly hewn legs squeezed the horse beneath him, making it look like a pony. A rifle was holstered on either side of his stallion, the leather wraps smooth and devoid of frill. His forearms were corded with muscle while his biceps looked as if he was smuggling boulders under the skin, the mountain peaks of his shoulders weathered by the elements. His eyes were two charcoal pits hidden behind the sweep of his jet black hair.

  Mika called out to him first in their native language, and then greeted the others in English. The big brave grunted, but it was one of the white men who replied; the mustache-less one.

  “You Ciepher’s boy?”

  Lou Ciepher. That shit never got old.

  “Yeah, you can call me—”

  “Don’t no one care who you are, boy,” hairy-lip said.

  “Now, now, Cletus. Mr. Ciepher is payin’ top dollar for us to help this here boy recover their property, so let’s be nice, ya hear?”

  “I don’t remember nice being in the contract, Clay.” He swept his hat off revealing raucous straw blond hair. Blue eyes bored holes in my cheek, yellowed teeth appearing as his upper lip peeled back in a sneer. “Maybe we should ask for more
money if’n we’re gonna have to tote this precious little boy along.”

  “The next one of you inbred donkey-punchers who calls me boy is gonna get my gun lodged in his eyehole.” The fact that I didn’t have a weapon on me left the threat wide open to interpretation.

  “See there, Cletus? Now you done hurt his feelin’s.”

  The big redneck chuckled. “Least we know he’s got a pair of raisins on him, even if they is a little sundried.”

  The big Indian grinned behind the brothers, enjoying the show. The woman sat stoic and watched.

  “That there is Unktowa,” Mika told me, pointing at his brother from another mother before nodding toward the woman. “She’s May Lin.” He leaned in close, our horses butted against one another. “Don’t go peeing on her cooch; she mean.”

  Images filled my head until the gist of what Mika told me sunk in. What he meant was far less interesting than what he said.

  “You two done tongue wrestlin’ each other?” Clay asked, shaking his head. “Since you met us out here on the trail rather than at Bisbee, you musta done screwed somebody’s poodle. I’m guessin’ we needs to get a move on.”

  I started to argue, but yeah, he was pretty much right. There was poodle juice everywhere at that point.

  “He pissed all over Reverend Ansell and the sheriff right there on Main Street,” Mika informed the group.

  May Lin’s face broke out of its neutral mold and slipped into one a little more disgusted.

  “What is it with you and piss?” I asked.

  Cletus loosed a hardy laugh. “Never mind all that. Let’s get to going before the Reverend’s noose squad shows up.”

  Content to do just that, I nodded. “Lead the way, buttercup.”

  The cowboy snorted and slid his hat back on as Clay directed his horse off at an angle that would let us skirt Bisbee and, hopefully, anyone who might be looking for us. The others followed along, and I sidled in alongside Mika. He might not be much in the way of help, but if folks started shooting, I could at least count on him to catch a couple bullets for me.