by Peter Clines
Stealth looked up at St. George. “Are you unharmed?”
He nodded. “I might be two inches taller, but other than that, yeah.”
She holstered one of the pistols and a black-steel blade appeared in her hand. It lashed out twice, but the red cords binding St. George resisted. Her face shifted beneath her mask and she brought the knife down hard on the line.
“I think they’re magic,” he said.
Stealth turned with her pistol out and fired two shots at Max. The bullets clattered to the ground between them. The sorcerer slashed his hand up and the cloaked woman was hurled into the air.
St. George breathed out more flames, but Max waded through them. “Don’t get your hopes up,” he said. “I told you, there’s only one way this can end.” He pushed his sleeves back up and yanked open his shirt. The tattoos on his chest and arms were blurred, as if they were trembling on his skin.
He marched after Stealth.
Zzzap dodged another claw and hit Cairax with two more blasts. A nearby car caught fire, but the demon’s skin just steamed like a wet sidewalk on a hot day. Getting hit with enough raw energy to superheat steel didn’t seem to be slowing the thing down at all.
It was time to try something drastic.
Zzzap steeled himself for the wave of nausea that always came when he touched solid matter in his energy form. He dipped a little lower in the air. Cairax Murrain’s talons lashed out and ripped through his side.
The claws passed through Zzzap and left the gleaming wraith shuddering in the air. It wasn’t just the churning stomach he usually felt. It hurt. A lot. He let out a cry like a hiss of steam and static. The pain left him dizzy and lightheaded and cold. Guts open to the air cold, if he had to guess. He glanced down at his hands and saw his fingers blur into a thick shape at the end of his arm.
The demon raised its talons. The skin was charred and smoking, but the fingers flexed without effort. They filled out and healed as it studied them. “Not accustomed to being touched, are you, crippled one?”
Its tail sliced up through the air.
Zzzap dodged the tail and pushed himself higher into the air, out of the demon’s reach. His head spun. He focused on his hands and tried to get his fingers to re-form.
Cairax reached over and picked up a dust-covered motorcycle. It could’ve been a toy. The demon swung its arm back and whipped the bike up at Zzzap.
He spun in the air and dodged it, but Cairax had already grabbed an oversized pickup truck. The vehicle went up over the monster’s head with a squeal of metal and rust. Zzzap thought about blasting the truck, but he was still fuzzy.
Captain Freedom landed between them. His boots rang out against the pavement and kicked up a cloud of dust. His arm swung up and leveled his monstrous sidearm at Cairax.
About time, said Zzzap, clenching his hands into fists. I’ve been going easy on him so you’d have something to do.
“John Carter Freedom,” said the demon with a grin. “What a pleasant surprise. Such a deliciously bright soul. So proud despite the many, many lives lost in your name. What hope does such a failure of a man have against me?”
Freedom set his jaw. “You’d be surprised.”
Lady Liberty roared. A triple blast of white flame exploded against the monster’s chest and knocked it back. Cairax Murrain shrieked and the truck crashed to the ground. The huge officer leaped clear and fired another burst, catching the demon in the side.
Cairax fled, a flailing, squealing mass of long limbs and thrashing tail. Freedom stalked after it. The pistol thundered again and again. The monster stumbled away, arms up to deflect the blasts that tore chunks of flesh from its body. When the weapon ran silent, the captain let the drum drop free and pulled another one from his belt.
What the hell? said Zzzap. Are those napalm rounds or something?
Freedom shook his head while he reloaded. “Blessed ammunition,” he said just before the demon’s claw caught him in the chest. The huge soldier flew back and slammed shoulder-first into a tree trunk.
Cairax straightened up and snarled at the huge officer. “For that, your skin shall be my victory sash,” it growled through gnashing fangs. “And you have my word you will live to see me wear it.”
St. George watched Stealth empty her pistols at Max. The rounds spun off in random directions or dropped to the ground. She attacked with her batons and they sparked off the air around the sorcerer.
Their fight carried them away from the bound hero. St. George took another breath and pulled hard on the cords. They were the immovable object to his irresistible force.
“Hang on,” someone called. “I’m coming.”
He looked over his shoulder. Madelyn pushed through the crowd of exes. Even more of them had been drawn to the sounds of battle. At least three hundred of them crowded Max’s barriers on the north side of the street. None of them reacted to the dead girl shoving them out of the way.
She got to the barrier and stopped. Her brow wrinkled, and for a moment she looked like a bad mime working with a wall. “What’s this?” she called over to St. George. “Some kind of force field?”
He nodded. “It’s keeping the exes out.”
Madelyn frowned and leaned into the barrier. “Good thing I’m not one of them, then,” she said.
“I think you can go over it,” he said. “The others did.”
Her pale fingers stretched wide and she pushed harder. Her hands inched forward. She took a heavy step, the movement of a deep-sea diver, and then another. On her third step she stumbled forward and grabbed the side of a car before she fell over. The sword tucked through her belt clattered against the body panels.
“Once again,” she said, “Corpse Girl for the win.”
She loped over to where St. George was strung up. “You can’t break these?” she asked, looking at the lines. She tapped one holding his leg and rubbed her fingers together.
He shook his head. “Magic. Something to do with blood.”
“Gross.” She grabbed the cord and pulled. It didn’t budge. She swung her legs onto the line, hung on it, and heaved her hips a few times. It didn’t even quiver.
Zzzap flew past the demon and gave Captain Freedom a quick once-over with infrared, X-rays, and the visual spectrum. There were three red lines across his chest where the demon’s claws had shredded his body armor, but the huge officer didn’t have any broken bones, and Zzzap didn’t see any of the hot spots he associated with internal bleeding. The man was built like a Mack truck.
He heard Cairax stomping up behind him. He spun, and put some distance between himself and Freedom. Cairax reached for him and he put a blast of heat and light into the demon’s eyes.
Cairax Murrain didn’t blink. It lashed out with its talons and followed through with a swing from its tail. The stinger tore through the air and missed Zzzap by inches. He let off another bolt of raw power that singed the demon’s horns.
The monster laughed at him. The needle-like teeth sounded like knives being sharpened. “Poor little cripple,” it said, “do you think your pale heat is anything compared to the fires of the Abyss?”
Apparently not, said the gleaming wraith. So I guess there’s no reason to hold back.
He threw both palms forward and the night turned to high noon.
The blast washed over the demon like a tidal wave. The pavement around it turned to liquid tar and boiled away. A manhole cover melted to slag. So did a nearby car.
Freedom threw his arms across his face. So did Madelyn. St. George clenched his eyes shut and felt the heat of a sunburn on his face. Even Stealth and Max paused.
The world turned white as light and heat poured out of Zzzap. The paint on the buildings caught fire, and then the concrete itself. The air roared. A dozen nearby exes charred and collapsed into dust that was whipped away by superheated winds.
When it was over the wraith sagged in the sky for a moment. His brightness faded. Then he seemed to take a deep breath and straighten up in the sky.
&n
bsp; What was left of Cairax Murrain swayed back and forth in a crater stretching across four of the street’s six lanes and part of the sidewalk. Steam boiled from a few long-dead sewer pipes that glowed red-hot. The gravel and sand beneath the road had fused into a glassy surface.
The body was a twisted thing of gristle and charred bone. Three of the horns were blackened stumps. One eye had boiled away, the other had taken on the dull hue of an ex. The molten floor of the pit had cooled around its ankles. Zzzap wasn’t sure if the faint hiss was breathing or the sound of sizzling meat.
Then the scraps of muscle bubbled and expanded. Flesh wrapped around the skeletal frame. A new eye swelled up and filled the empty socket.
Son of a bitch, said Zzzap.
Cairax Murrain shook its head as the last patches of purple skin healed across its frame. The floor of the crater shattered as it pulled one leg free and then the other. It looked up at the gleaming wraith and its face split in a grin of tusks and fangs. “A valiant attempt, my poor little cripple,” it hissed, “but this is such a marvelous host Maxwell has found me.”
The demon stalked forward, its long legs carrying him up and out of the pit.
Captain Freedom tossed aside his cracked helmet. He knew he’d never get another one in his size—double extra large was custom headgear and there were no more quartermasters. He shook his head, blinked a few times, and glanced around. The arm of his coat was singed and smoking. Zzzap was fighting Cairax Murrain—the demon had Regenerator’s powers, all right. And then Freedom saw what he wanted by the rear tire of a truck.
He snatched up Lady Liberty. There was no sign of the drum he’d been loading. Depending on where it had landed, the whole thing might’ve cooked off during Zzzap’s light show. He pulled a fresh one from his belt. He only had one more drum left after this one. Half his ammo gone already.
The drum locked into place. Freedom leaped into the air and his boots slammed into the demon’s back right between the shoulder blades. He grabbed one of the long spikes running down Cairax’s back to steady himself and slammed Lady Liberty’s muzzle against the scaly neck.
He pulled the trigger and the demon roared. The twelve-gauge rounds, blessed and anointed by the last known priest left in the world, ripped huge gouges out of the purple flesh. The kickback was enormous. No firearm was meant for continuous point-blank fire. A normal man would’ve lost fingers to the bucking weapon, and possibly shattered his wrist.
Then Cairax reached up and wrapped its spidery fingers around Freedom’s arm. The demon twisted the huge pistol up and away. The captain held on to the spike for a moment with a steel-like grip, but the demon tore him away. It pulled Freedom off its back.
Freedom dangled by his arm for a moment, then lashed out with a kick that cracked two of the demon’s teeth. He pulled his boot back and lashed out again with his heel. It connected, but the demon pulled him away, holding him at arm’s length.
Cairax’s wounds were already healing, bubbling shut. New teeth pushed up through its gums to replace the broken ones. “Tell me, bright little soul,” it said, “how does it feel to fail yet again?”
“I’m with the U.S. Army,” snarled Freedom. “We don’t know how to—”
The demon slammed the huge officer into the ground and flung him away. Freedom smashed into the charred remains of a bus and tumbled to the pavement next to the glassy crater. He didn’t move.
Then Cairax turned and glared up at Zzzap. Cold flames boiled out of its eyes. “This game bores me, little cripple. It is time to end it.”
“Oh, God,” said Madelyn as Freedom crashed into the ground.
“Get back,” St. George told her. He thrashed at his bonds again.
“Hold on,” she said. “I’m going to try cutting them with the swor—”
“No, get back!”
Madelyn looked up and saw Max racing at them with Stealth right behind him. The dead girl twisted to get behind St. George, but the sorcerer had her by the wrist. She swung around and punched Max in the nose. He snarled and wrenched her arm back behind her. Madelyn fought but he grabbed her other shoulder and dragged her around to block Stealth.
“Back off,” he snapped. His tattooed hand came up and he pressed his palm against her throat. Two of his fingers curled under his hand to touch her collarbone.
Stealth halted a few yards from him. Momentum carried her cape forward to wrap around her and swipe at Madelyn’s legs.
“I’ll break her neck,” said Max. “Internal decapitation. You’re fast, but I can sever her spine in half a dozen places before you reach me. She’ll be an undead quadriplegic.”
Madelyn tried to twist away but he pushed her arm up even farther behind her back. It was a sharp pain that made her dead nerves spike into life.
Stealth’s batons spun in her hands and collapsed. She slotted them back into their holsters. Another flick of her wrists and the Glocks were back in her hands.
Max put pressure on Madelyn’s arm and placed himself a bit more behind her. “You have no idea how desperate I am,” he said. “Don’t try anything.”
The cloaked woman’s fingers moved between her pistols and her belt as she exchanged spent magazines for fresh ones. She did each weapon one-handed. It was the quick, effortless motion of someone who’d practiced something thousands of times and then done it a thousand more. She never looked away from him.
“Let her go, Max,” shouted St. George.
“Drop the guns and step away,” the sorcerer told Stealth. “I’m counting to three, and if you haven’t I’m going to—”
Her left pistol came up and shot Madelyn three times in the chest. The dead girl’s eyes went wide. So did Max’s.
“What the hell?!” shouted St. George.
Max let go of Madelyn and staggered back. Blood stained the front of his shirt. He tried to speak and coughed up a few dark red drops.
“She was already dead,” said Stealth.
Madelyn wheezed twice and reached up to touch her chest. “Okay,” she squeaked, “that felt really weird.” Air whistled out of the holes in her shirt when she spoke. She poked a finger at one of them.
Stealth stepped past the dead girl and swept Max’s wobbly legs out from under him. He hit the pavement and coughed up more blood. She reached down, pushed his arms out of the way, and pistol-whipped him across the jaw. One of his teeth skittered across the pavement and he slumped.
The cords holding St. George turned to liquid. He hit the ground as they splashed on the street. He shook his wrists and took a few awkward steps. “You okay?”
Madelyn looked up from her bloodless wounds. “Yeah,” she beamed. “Try telling me this isn’t a superpower.”
He looked at the cloaked woman. “Kind of risky.”
“Not at all,” said Stealth. “His abilities are most likely some form of psychic projection. It stood to reason their effects would cease if he lost consciousness.”
“Yeah,” said St. George. “About that …”
The clicking of teeth rose up over the sound of Zzzap’s superheated energy bolts. Hundreds of exes shuffled across the line of Max’s barriers. Their jaws snapped open and shut as they headed toward the heroes.
CAPTAIN FREEDOM SAT up and felt something flare in his side. A broken rib, maybe two. Fractured at the very least. He’d had enough of them over his career to know the feeling.
The sky flared with blue lightning and he heard the clicking of teeth beneath the rumble of thunder. Whatever had been keeping the exes off this city block had vanished, and now they were shambling toward him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw some of them stumble toward the demon. Cairax was swatting Zzzap and didn’t seem to notice.
Freedom risked a glance behind him past the glassy crater. Stealth and Madelyn had St. George free. The sorcerer was down. They were about ninety seconds from being overrun with exes themselves.
Lady Liberty had maybe five or six rounds left in her, plus one drum on his belt. He didn’t want to waste the ammunition on the
undead, but he also wasn’t sure how much longer he’d need to hold off the demon.
The first of the exes closed in on him. It was a noseless man in a gore-splattered lab coat, a former doctor or scientist. Then Freedom saw the grocery store name tag and realized the dead man had been a butcher. The ex reached for him and he grabbed both its wrists in one hand. It bent its jaws to his knuckles and he cracked its forehead with one punch. He swung the withered body around and hurled it at Cairax Murrain.
The demon was still looking in his direction, even while fighting Zzzap. The knife-like talons lashed out and caught the corpse in midair, slicing it in half.
Freedom looked at the approaching wave of undead. The cracked ribs flared as he turned. His legs flexed and he hurled himself away from the crater.
As he landed a dozen exes reached the edge where he’d been. They tumbled in. The first few hit the glassy floor with the loud cracks of breaking jaws and noses. The dead made no attempt to break their fall. Some of them crawled away before the second wave fell on top of them, but not many. In a minute the pit had become a mass of undead limbs and chattering teeth.
Three other exes reached Freedom. He lashed out with his massive fists, breaking teeth and skulls and glad for his Kevlar gloves. The zombies dropped around him, but there was a small pack of six or seven headed his way. Two of them wore bloodstained police vests, even though only one was wearing a uniform.
There was another hiss of superheated air from off to his left. Cairax Murrain was saying something to Zzzap, but Freedom couldn’t understand it over the sounds of shuffling feet, clicking teeth, and sizzling pavement. He glanced right and saw St. George scoop up the sorcerer’s body.
Freedom pulled out Lady Liberty and fired off two bursts at the pack of exes, emptying the drum. He aimed low. The shells blew out knees and shattered shins. Four of the zombies collapsed, and two more fell on top of them. It gave him a few moments, but there were still more coming.
