Dave Carver (Book 1): Thicker Than Blood

by Dudek, Andrew

  “Only thing that matters is power. And I have it.”

  They let you have it.”

  The lights on the Gauntlet brightened, bathing the whole station in harsh, unflattering red. The floor rattled as if a train was about to speed past the platform. Bill’s face was contorted with rage. Good. The angrier he got, the less likely he’d be to notice anything going on behind him.

  Of course, he was also more likely to bring the whole station down around our ears. Still, I knew Bill, and I figured he could be pushed a little farther.

  “Jeez, Bill, I figured you’d have better control of that thing by now.”

  The ground continued to shake as he leaned precariously over the tracks. “Shut. Up.”

  I raised my hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Okay, okay. I guess I’m just surprised what a pathetic little lapdog you are.”

  Bill swung his sword. I leaped back in time to avoid getting gutted like a carp, but the blade tore open my T-shirt. The blade passed harmlessly through the air without tearing into flesh to slow it down. He put so much force into the blow that it took him off balance. Not enough to make him fall, but enough to give me an opening.

  “Now!” My shout echoed oddly in the stations. I silently prayed that I had really seen what I thought I had seen.

  Krissy appeared from inside an old ladies’ room, holding a baseball bat with nails hammered through the business end. She sprinted across the platform, faster than I’d have expected from her, and swung the jagged, pointy end of the bat at Bill’s back like a veteran softball player.

  Maybe the Gauntlet enhanced his reflexes, or maybe Bill was always that good, but he ducked out of the way, smooth and graceful as a dancer. Krissy’s attack sailed harmlessly by. She recovered quickly, though, and sent another home-run-swing at his head. Bill’s sword flashed, a column of red-yellow fire trailing the blade. It sheared through the wood. The spiny end of the bat fell uselessly to the tracks below.

  Bill flicked his wrist like he was throwing a frisbee, and Krissy was picked from her feet. She flew across the platform and landed in a pile of old garbage bags. She lay still.

  I drew my knife and hurled myself across the tracks, hooking my arm around Bill’s shoulder and dragging him to the ground. As he struggled to break free, I drove my knife between his ribs. He howled in sudden pain and swung his arm in a wide circle. I was plucked off my feet by an unseen force like a skill crane and tossed across the tracks, where I hit the ground and skidded across the floor. Dazed, I came to a stop near where I used to sleep, back when this platform was my home.

  Then Bill was standing over me, the side of his shirt soaked with blood. His face was distorted and twisted in an agonized grimace. As I watched, the symbols on the Gauntlet glowed, and the blood stooped oozing. His scowl turned around and he grinned. Slowly, Bill opened his fist and the lights on the gauntlet switched off. He put the tip of his sword against my throat and whispered, “Don’t move.”

  Bill was nearly as motionless as I was, his eyes serious and sad. “He would’a killed you, Dave. I couldn’t let that happen.”

  The steel of his sword bit, cold and bitter, into my throat. I dared not move my tongue, lips, throat, or any of the other bits that were necessary for verbal communication.

  But Bill seemed to know what I was thinking. He continued, “Roberto. You know he was at Guyana, right? He had me dragged me into his office one day, after I’d told him to suck off a hedgehog. Told me all about his plan. He said if I didn’t help him, he’d have you tortured to death.” Bill looked down at me, his eyes pleading me to understand. “You get why I couldn’t allow that, right? I promised your dad that I’d take care of you and your ma. I’d already failed her. I wasn’t ‘bout to let Jesse Carver’s son die.”

  “My father was a knight,” I said. “He wouldn’t have let the world burn just to save one life.”

  “Then I don’t think you understand fatherhood, kid.”

  Something in my head went click, and I had flash of insight. “Jen,” I said. “Jen Carey, the girl that Roberto had with me in the garage. She’s your daughter, isn’t she? That garage was where they were keeping the people you wanted to bring with you to your little island.”

  Bill was quiet for a long time. “She never knew me,” he said. “Her ma kicked me out when she was a baby. Said I couldn’t give her nothin’ but danger, and she didn’t want our little girl to be a part’a that. I couldn’t blame her…” He shook his head. “But that don’t mean I could let her die, either.”

  “Well, she’s gonna die now,” I said. “So are a lot of people in this city—“

  “Everybody in this city,” Bill said. “The vamps’ll let lots of folks live, for food and such, but not here. They see New York as the center o’ human civilization, and they need to destroy it. They’ll exterminate everybody within fifty miles of where we’re standin’. The era of mankind is over, Dave, and it’s endin’ here. Right this moment, there’s a whole boatload of vampires on their way here from Europe.”

  I didn’t tell him that I knew about Loretta’s plan. If he knew we were on to Loretta’s plans, he could have found a way to stop the Guinevere. Whatever else happened here, New York would survive.

  But Bill didn’t know that. So I said, “And you can’t stop it? Not even to save your own daughter?”

  “No.”

  “Then you might as well kill me now,” I said. “Because I don’t care what scrap of sand you bring me to, how much power you can give me, I will not stand by and let you give the keys of this planet to the vampires. Sooner or later, I will stop you. Today, tomorrow, ten years from now—if you want to keep your little power trip going, you’re gonna have to put me down, so…just do it.”

  “I don’t want to, Dave.”

  “Right. Because of some promise you made my father.”

  “Not just ‘cause o’ that. I love you, kid. Like you were my own son.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m not gonna help you. Do what you have to, Bill.”

  It was out of my hands now. I’d like to say that I stared him defiantly in the eyes, but I can’t. I closed my eyes and waited for the bite of cold steel in my neck. I wondered it it would hurt while I bled out…

  CRASH!

  Bill grunted and the sword was suddenly gone. In the place of the icy blade, there was a spot of wet warmth. I opened my eyes and ran my hand along my neck. There was a nick on my throat—he’d opened one of my scars. His back was to me now, his sword pointing at the pile of garbage bags. The Gauntlet glowed and the bags floated in the air like soap bubbles. Only then did I notice the bloody gash on the back of Bill’s bald head and the shattered remnants of a green beer bottle on the floor near his feet.

  Krissy. She must have found the bottle in one of those bags and thrown it at him. Good shot. Thanking her silently, I wormed towards Bill and I sent a kick at his ankles.

  I didn’t have the leverage to really knock him down, I realized, but I got his attention as I leaped to my feet, grabbing my sword. Bill swept his own sword in a towering arc, aiming for my head. I parried the blow. Our blades collided in a shower of sparks. I was younger than him, stronger, and my sword had a wider blade. I pushed as hard as I could and sent Bill fumbling backwards to the tracks below. I followed him, my sword pointing down like a railroad spike.

  Bill was always faster than he looked (even without the Gauntlet he probably could have avoided my attack), and he rolled effortlessly away and climbed to his feet. My sword cut into the tracks, sending up a shower of blue sparks and chipped metal. I pulled the blade free, just in time to parry Bill’s next attack. I pressed the assault, forcing him a couple of steps back. He grimaced as his boot caught on something. Chancing a look down, I recognized it as a human femur bone. Bill stumbled, but he managed to block my flurry of angry, fast slashes.

  He rolled his head, blocking each strike. He jabbed at my midsection several times, his arm nothing more than a red blur as the Gauntlet lent him speed. I had no ch
oice but to retreat this time. He stayed with me like a mauling tiger—never letting me get clear of his whirlwind of steel and dark magic. The stale, underground air was heating up, crackling with the electric energy of so much magic being thrown around. I couldn’t hold him off for much longer.

  Suddenly, his left palm shot out, fast and powerful. I was flung off my feet. My back landed painfully on one of the tracks’ metal crossbars. Bill grimaced, shook his head, and brought his sword down like a lumberjack.

  If it had still been there when the blade made contact, my head would have split like a dry log. I scurried forward, just fast enough to avoid the blade. I clumsily scooted past Bill’s knees and fell on my face.

  As I passed, though, I swung my sword at the back of his legs. It was an ungainly strike—definitely no points for style—but it got the job done. The blade tore into the hamstrings and kept going, severing the muscle. Bill let out a scream, which turned into a groan, and he dropped to his knees.

  I hurried to my feet, spun around, and went towards him. I was moving fast. I had him where I wanted him, but I hadn’t forgotten about the Gauntlet.

  The symbols on the weapon of Greckhite glowed and Bill climbed to his feet. The bloody mess that was the back of Bill’s leg swirled like ketchup in a blender. The gore faded and was reabsorbed by the skin, which knit itself back together as if an invisible surgeon was working in fast-forward. Bill faced me, his Gauntleted hand above his head. The symbols popped against the crimson radiation of the metal strips.

  “I told you, kid,” he said quietly. “I have all the power here.”

  He was right. Nothing I did could hurt him—not while he had that thing wrapped around his arm.

  Which gave me an idea. A stupid idea, maybe, but I was well into desperation mode. It was so simple, but sometimes it’s the simple ideas that save the world.

  I swung the sword in a wide, overhand arc. It was slow. Even without the magical assistance, it would have been child’s play for Bill to parry this one. He did. My sword bounced away in a shower of red and blue sparks.

  And then I made my move. My biceps and forearm screamed as I reversed the motion of my sword. Reversing the momentum from the ricocheted strike, I aimed another blow. This one was faster. It was closer. Bill wasn’t ready. My blade zipped past his and slammed into the metal of the Gauntlet with enough force to crack cement.

  There was an explosion so bright it would have put the Washington, D.C. fireworks to shame, and an acrid, battery-scented smoke filled the air.

  I stepped back, coughing, as my lungs filled with the smoke.

  When the cloud dissipated, Bill was hunched over, hacking so loud I half-expected to see a lung come slithering out of his mouth. He shook his head, spat on the tracks, and looked at me. His eyes flash with fury. He raised his hand again, readying another wave of Gauntlet energy. He spread his fingers wide and…nothing happened.

  The lights on the Gauntlet were dark.

  Holyjesussonofabitch! It worked.

  Bill jumped backwards, more slowly now. He moved awkwardly and he fell to his back. There was a pained expression on his face, and it was easy to see why. The skin on his right arm, under the Gauntlet was red and bubbled. He made a fist and winced. The lights stayed dark. Nothing.

  A fierce grin fought its way to my face. “What’s the matter, Bill? Break your new toy?”

  Bill moved suddenly, scrambling past my legs to where he’d dropped his sword. I spun in time to block the attack, but just barely. Even without the Gauntlet of Greckhite, I reminded myself, Bill was dangerous.

  “You really shouldn’t play so rough,” I said.

  “What did you do?” Bill roared, closing in on me.

  I parried easily. Bill was slowing down, as if the troll’s share of his power had been sapped when the Gauntlet went out. I, on the other hand, felt good. I felt strong. I felt fast. I felt like I was winning.

  The lights on the Gauntlet flickered once, then blazed to life.

  Well, hell.

  Bill’s face split into a demented grin and he raised his arm. The lights got brighter.

  I lunged forward, keeping my sword in a defensive position. I had no idea what to do next. Any kind of damage I did to Bill would be healed by the Gauntlet, and the Gauntlet even seemed able to repair itself.

  Bill attacked. He was too close for me to parry, so I hopped away. He overcommitted, coming on with too much power. For just a fraction of a second, his sword, his defenses, were down. The crook of his elbow dangled in the air, undefended.

  I brought my sword down on his arm. My blade hummed as I put as much force as I could muster into the attack. There was a puff of heat rising. Bill’s right arm suddenly ended at the elbow.

  He fell to his knees. His eyes were fixed on the stump that was all that remained of his arm. They never moved as he let himself slump to his side. For a long, terrible moment I stood and watched. The pain of losing a limb didn’t seem to register on his face. He’s in shock, I thought.

  Finally, Bill coughed and said, “Okay. You got me, kid.”

  I stood above him, panting and choking on adrenaline-fueled rage.

  Bill shrugged and winced at the pain of it. “Congratulations, Dave. Now you get to watch the world burn.”

  “No.” I crouched next to him. “We know about Loretta’s ship. May’s onboard Gwen right now. She’s gonna stop them.”

  He looked up at me. His eyelids seemed heavy. “You’re sayin’…”

  “Yeah, Bill. You lost.”

  He laughed and leaned his head back. “How ‘bout that. Nicely done.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “You’re gonna do it, right? You’re gonna kill me?”

  “I…” I coughed. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “You should. The Round Table don’t need to see its leader dragged through a long trial.” He looked at me, his eyes wet and pleading. “I know I done some terrible things, and I don’t deserve no mercy, but I don’t want to face all’a that. I got nothin’ left. Please, Dave. Just do it.”

  Looking down at him now, I didn’t see William Foster Pendragon, leader of the Knights of the Round Table. I didn’t see Bill, my dead father’s best friend and the man who’d taught me everything I knew. I didn’t even see the man who’d betrayed the human race. He was just a grievously wounded old man. Part of me—a vicious, angry part—wanted to let him rot in the Round Table’s secret prison. He sold out the human race, almost killed billions of people. Why shouldn’t he face justice for that?

  Because, I told myself, whatever else he was, Bill Foster was the only father I’d ever known. It may not have been the smartest thing, or even the right thing, but I knew what I had to do. Partly—and I don’t like to think about this—it was fueled by another, even angrier part of me, the bloodthirsty part. But I like to think that it was the humane choice, to not let him live out his days in the world that he betrayed.

  His sword was still gripped in the fingers of his severed hand. I pried it free, careful not to touch the Gauntlet. I placed the hilt gently in his left hand.

  “You’re a knight,” I said. “You get to die with your sword in your hand.”

  He closed his eyes, held tight to his sword, and inhaled deeply, as if savoring one final moment. “Thank you, Dave.”

  I didn’t say anything. I just drew my sword across his throat.

  Chapter 34

  I stood over the body for a long time. Blood spread out and enveloped him, trickled across the subway tracks. I was light-headed. My arms hurt. And Bill’s dead eyes stared at me.

  He looked small now, diminished. The great warrior was gone. In his place was a dead old man. It was almost funny that I’d ever been afraid of him.

  A hand came down on my shoulder. I didn’t turn around.

  “Dave?” Krissy said. “Are you okay?”

  My eyes drifted to my sword. I’d dropped it after I’d cut Bill’s throat. His blood was still smeared across the blade.

&nb
sp; Was I okay?

  Of course not.

  How could I be after something like that.

  I coughed and muttered, “I’ll live.”

  Krissy had climbed down onto the tracks. She’d been sick at some point, and the corners of her mouth were covered with vomit, but she was looking right at me. Her blue eyes were watery with tears.

  For the first time, I realized how cold it was down here. I stripped off my jacket and wrapped it around Krissy’s shoulders. She smiled her thanks and zipped the leather coat up.

  “What about you?” I finally said. “Are you okay?”

  “I hit my head when he threw me into the wall,” she said, “and I think all of this enthrallment’s messed up my brain.”

  “Yeah, that can happen. You should be fine after a good night’s sleep and maybe a decent meal” I pushed aside a lock of her dirty blond hair. There was a nasty cut along the line of her scalp. “But this should probably be looked at by a doctor. Let’s get out of here.”

  “What about him?”

  I shrugged like I didn’t care. “Nobody’s been down here for ten years. We can leave him for now. He’s the Round Table’s problem now.”

  “And what about that thing?” I didn’t need to look to see that she was pointing at the Gauntlet of Greckhite. “I mean, couldn’t you use it?”

  My lip curled into the beginning of a snarl, but I stopped it. Krissy didn’t understand what that thing was, not really. That wasn’t her fault.

  “That man was one of the best people I ever knew,” I said. “A week ago, I would have said he was the closest thing the world had to a real hero. And just the thought of this thing turned him into a monster. I don’t want to think about what would have happened if he’d had it any longer.”

  Krissy nodded. “So what do you do with it?”

  “Destroy it,” I said. “But I have no idea how to do that. Hopefully someone in the Table or the Magic Council will know what to do with it.” I looked at Krissy. “See if you can find a bag or something to carry it.”

  I stepped over Bill’s body, careful not to touch him. I bent over the severed arm and gingerly touched the Gauntlet. With a hiss of escaping air, the strips of metal slid apart. They fell away from the arm. I picked up the Gauntlet.