His computers were going haywire, arcing, sparking and smoking as another volley of shots from his inept guards struck home. Meanwhile, Wolf snaked his way along behind the machines, ripping away the power cables as he went. As the computers died, the life support systems that kept Sardon's clone army alive in their pods, failed.
Sardon's scheme was kaput!
But what of Sardon? He had to be brought to justice.
At that moment, three of Sardon's guards rounded the computer bank. Before they had time to shoot, Wolf charged and hurled himself through the air. In a flying body-slam, Wolf hit all three men in the chest, knocking them to the ground. Their weapons clattered to the floor. Rolling to his feet, Wolf scooped up one of the Jensons and opened fire. The guards jerked like marionettes as the bullets struck their bodies.
Wolf knew he wasn't out of this yet. He moved out from behind the computer bank, and bounded out into the open. There were still another nine armed guards, all hungry for his death. The golden avenger tapped the trigger as four guards burst out of the smoke cloud. The guards collapsed dead, never knowing what hit them.
Sardon's underground complex was now a surrealistic vision of hell on Earth. Not only was there smoke, but as the computers exploded, the whole electrical network went crazy. Surges of energy pulsed through the complex. Forked lightning trails lit up the pods as the circuits were fried. The lights overhead flickered in protest, as vital pieces of electrical equipment exploded.
Golden Wolf advanced through the pandemonium seeking out Sardon. He had to capture the madman. Through the smoke, Wolf made him out. He was running to the other end of the complex, surrounded by four of his guards. They were trying to escape.
“Halt, Sardon! Escape is impossible,” Wolf yelled.
Sardon turned and eyed Golden Wolf. There was anger and hatred in his eyes.
“Kill him once and for all,” he ordered.
The four guards opened fire. Wolf leaped to his left, as the bullets bit into the concrete, where he had been standing only seconds before. The golden avenger watched as Sardon turned tail once again, moving towards the rear of the complex.
Where was Sardon heading?
There didn't appear to be a way out.
More gunfire diverted Golden Wolf's attention. The guards had him pinned down. He took cover behind a row of pods. Regaining his composure, he counted to three, and then stepped out, opening fire. He tapped on the trigger, cutting down two of the guards. They toppled like ten pins.
Wolf pulled back as another volley of return fire, cracked the glass casing of the pod he was taking cover behind. The glass shattered, and the dead clone soldier, slipped out from the pod in a pool of green liquid, and splattered on the floor.
More shots were fired, and more pods were hit. The glass splintered, and Sardon's scientific abominations came splashing to the floor. Ugly twisted humanoid shapes lay in pools of green at Golden Wolf's feet.
Wolf was disgusted.
He moved forward, trying not to slip over in the pools of sludge before him. Bringing his weapon to bear on the last of Sardon's guards, he fired. The guard fell, dead.
Was he the last?
No, there was one more.
Where was he?
Wolf didn't have time to react, as the final guard leaped out from behind a pod. The guard punched Wolf in the jaw with a wild right haymaker. The golden avenger was rocked back on his heels, dropping his weapon. The guard followed up with a battery of blows, plowing into Wolf's midriff. Wolf doubled over in pain, giving the guard an opportunity to move forward and grab Wolf around the neck in a chokehold.
The golden avenger struggled for breath as the guard applied more pressure. Wolf dropped to one knee, lowering his center of gravity, then setting himself, with one hand, he pried free the arm from his throat. Then with the other, he grabbed the guard by the collar, pulling him forward. The guard lost his footing, and fell.
Now Wolf had him. He hooked the guard around the neck, and tossed him over his shoulder. It was a classic wrestling move. The guard sailed end over end, landing in a heap a few feet in front of Wolf.
As Wolf advanced on the guard, he saw Sardon open a secret door at the end of the complex, then disappear into the tunnel. Wolf had to stop him. If Sardon got away, he could start again. Maybe it would be another clone army, or maybe he would hatch another mad scheme. Either way, Wolf had to stop him.
The guard was now back on his feet, and threw a wild and woolly roundhouse at Golden Wolf. Wolf parried the blow, and then punched the guard first in the stomach, then as the guard keeled over, smacked him in the back of the neck. The guard slumped to the floor unconscious.
Now to get after Sardon.
Wolf sprinted across the floor, as sparks flew. The overhead lighting flickered and faded. In the half-light, Wolf made it to the tunnel and cautiously entered. The tunnel sloped downwards as he walked, winding around in an arc. Up ahead there was bright light. Wolf turned on the speed. That's where Sardon would be.
Wolf bounded around the corner and found himself on a miniature train platform. It appeared that Sardon had his own private station on the underground Met. A small rectangular carriage that looked like a refrigerator on wheels was pulling off from the station. Wolf strained his eyes to peer inside. It was Sardon, and the strange carriage was his getaway vehicle. Wolf sprinted over the platform trying to run down the vehicle before it got away, but he was too late.
Sardon jammed the throttle wide open, and the miniature train surged forward at speed, disappearing in to the dark tunnels of the New York underground rail system.
Sardon, the master criminal had escaped—but Wolf was sure the world would hear from him again.
ESCAPING ATLANTA
By Logan L. Masterson
Her fingers weave through the diamond gaps of the chain-link fence. As the pursuers grab at her, pulling at her pants and shoes, the steel wire bends, giving out in advance of her desperate strength. Eventually, she falls. The men, all gray cloth and gas-masks gather her up, ignoring her kicking and screaming.
“Atlanta ain’t what it used ta be,” one of them says. She kicks at him, receiving only an elbow in the ribs for her trouble.
“Easy!” says the other. “Don’t mark her up.”
Moments later, she is thrown into the back of the wagon. Doors slam closed, leaving steel bars and benches her only companions. She sighs, drags herself up onto a bench and straightens her hair. Her blouse is torn, and no matter how she tugs or tucks, it will not cover her bra. Looking through the bars, she notes the passing buildings: the Midtown Hotel is close. It had taken everything she had to make this escape. She will not be given back to him. She would die first.
Steeling herself to this thought, solidifying it into fact, she bashes her head against the bars, hard. It stings and aches all at once, but she does it again and again. Blood drips down the bulwark, splatters the sides of their unmasked faces. The wagon pulls over. Outside, the men argue in frantic voices. She doesn’t stop until the doors open. When the first soldier starts to climb in, she throws herself at him, toppling him back onto his partner. They struggle against her and each other. She rips the mask off his face, spitting and clawing at him. His reply is a sharp blow to the stomach.
With the breath driven from her, she slumps over. They get to their feet, straighten themselves out. She sees his vicious smile vanish under the mask, but she has a smile of her own. As they come to return her to the mobile cell, she levels the pistol at him.
He stops dead, feels his empty holster. Four ringing, echoing shots later, she has a vehicle and a mask of her own.
She will finally make it out of Atlanta tonight. Tomorrow, she will watch it burn.
THE HANGED MAN: THE 3 CANDLES
By Mark Gelineau
For the merchant and his wife, the first sign of their peril was the frantic shrieks of the horses. They had been dozing in the carriage as the red, hunter's moon had risen, tinting the evening sky. Now however, the carriage had stopped and
the horses were screaming in wild panic. As his wife gripped his arm tightly, the merchant leaned his head out the curtained window.
"Driver, why have we stopped? And what has your beasts so frightened?"
The driver stood upright on the bench, his heavy leather coat swaying in the evening wind. He gripped the wooden stock of a loaded crossbow with such fierceness that his knuckles shone white in the dying light.
"Best get back inside the carriage sir," the driver said. His voice was tight with tension and his eyes scanned the dark forest alongside the road.
The horses shook and shrieked, the raw animal stench of their terror stung the merchant's delicate nostrils. He grimaced and wafted a hand in front of his face. "Really driver, if you cannot control these animals and resume our..."
"Get back inside!" the driver hissed, the fear now clear on his grizzled face as he turned to the merchant.
Without warning, a hulking black shape erupted from the woods and crashed into the side of the carriage, pitching it over completely into the muddy road and sending the driver sprawling. The merchant fell back inside and landed heavily on his wife as the carriage rolled over. Her frantic cries were muffled by his bulk, but the horrific roaring from outside the carriage would have drowned them out anyway.
Flailing hooves pounded in a panicked thunder against the wooden wall of the carriage as the fallen horses became tangled in their leads. Suddenly, there was a wet tearing sound and the iron tang of blood filled the air. The pounding ceased.
Outside, he could hear the driver moaning with terror and rambling prayers. The twang of the crossbow sounded in the night and the sharp tip of the quarrel slammed through the wood of the carriage, causing the merchant's wife to whimper even more. A nightmarish growl rumbled right outside and then something massive darted away from the carriage and sprinted across the road. The driver gave a high-pitched scream of utter terror but suddenly went silent.
Trying to stifle his terrified wife, the merchant placed his hand over her mouth and stared at the side of the broken carriage. In her fear, she bit down hard on the flesh of his hand, drawing blood, but he paid it no heed. Through the spaces between the wooden planks, he could see the shadow of something enormous loom over the broken carriage and a fierce animal growling erupted from right outside.
The merchant wet himself.
The wooden floor of the carriage exploded inward, sending shards of wood into the merchant's face. The head of an enormous black wolf, easily bigger than a draft horse, thrust through the broken boards, snapping and snarling at the couple. Pushing himself back as far as he could, the merchant strained to avoid the slavering jaws of the creature. Sharp fangs longer than his fingers slashed back and forth, savaging the cushions and sending feathers used for stuffing swirling around the carriage interior. Both the merchant and his wife screamed over and over in terror as the jaws snapped mere inches from them.
The huge muzzle disappeared and then the carriage groaned and sank as a colossal weight landed on top of it. Mud oozed into the wreckage, staining the fine clothing of the merchant couple. Then, the side wall of the carriage was torn away and the full horror of the creature was revealed.
Looming massive and horrible, the enormous creature stood tall with a height greater than any man. It had an enormous, wolf-like head, the muzzle glistening with the fresh gore of its latest kills. Even more terrible to behold was the rest of the creature. Instead of the tapered body of a wolf, the thing had the build of a man, with broad shaggy shoulders and long arms ending in massive clawed hands. It gazed down upon the merchant and his wife with a cunning and awareness that no simple animal had ever known.
The merchant knew he stared into the face of his own death.
Without warning, the weighted end of a rope spun around the beast's neck, coiling tight around the thing's throat. Before it could react, the rope pulled tight and the creature was pulled backwards off the carriage to land on its back in the mud. Shocked at the turn of events, the merchant scrambled forward to look out and see what had come to deliver them from the jaws of death.
Standing in the middle of the road was a tall man, a hooded shroud draped from his broad shoulders. Around his neck, visible where the shroud hung open, was a hangman's noose, the rope leading from it coiled around his arm and extending out to where it strangled the savage wolf creature. Under the hood, two blood red eyes glared out at the creature.
"At last, the hunt ends," the hooded stranger said in a ragged, ruined voice. Snapping his arm back, the rope uncoiled from the creature and flew back to his hand like a living thing. He began to twirl the end, weighted with a heavy stone woven into the rope threads, around in a large circle. A bracer on his left arm glimmered with the shine of silver as he extended it in a gesture of challenge to the creature. "Come on then. Let us finish this."
The wolf-creature deftly rose to its hands and feet, moving around slowly, its yellow eyes focused on the stranger. Then, it drew itself fully up, standing tall, its massive hands extended as it threw its head back and howled its challenge out to the night, almost as if it was responding to the hooded man's words.
In a flash, the creature shifted its posture and pounced, claws extended, jaws open wide to taste blood once more. The hooded figure was fast though, and he darted to the side as the creature threw itself forward. The weighted end of the hangman's rope cracked out like the end of a whip and smashed against the creature's snout sending blood and teeth flying. Yelping, the creature lashed out with a claw, almost catching the shrouded man.
Despite its massive bulk, the creature moved like a snake, twisting around on its jointed legs and coming up in front of the man again. The wolf-creature slashed with both hands, and this time, the strange man with the noose around his neck was not fast enough. He took a raking blow across the chest, laying open the flesh there, and the merchant watching the fight thought that it must spell the end for the man. No blood flowed from the wound as the man slid away from the creature and brought his rope weapon back for another strike.
The man pivoted forward and the rope struck out again, this time the stone-wrapped end smashed into the creature's knee, snapping it and sending it sprawling to the ground. Disgustedly, the merchant watched as the mangled limb of the creature shifted and swelled. With a popping, rending sound, the limb began to shape itself back into its proper configuration. The creature could not be killed!
The red-eyed man wasted no time. As the creature struggled to regain its footing, he sprinted forward and jumped onto the monster, forcing it back to the ground. It snapped its huge jaws at his face, but he suddenly thrust his left forearm directly into the beast's mouth. Huge fangs scraped against the iron and silver vambrace that shielded the man's forearm with a screeching sound. Before the wolf beast could tear the man from him, the shrouded figure pulled a piece of iron from a pouch at his side and pressed it against the beast's forehead, holding it there firmly.
"Dewi Lyn Lakin, I call you by name. Dewi Lyn Lakin, by iron I compel you. Dewi Lyn Lakin, I bind you now!" the man said in that ragged voice.
As the merchant watched, the creature shook and spasmed, shrieking in pain. Its limbs began to pop and shift, shrinking in size. With a sound like meat pulling from bone, the creature shifted, till at last, only a man lay there upon the cold ground, a strip of fur and leather was draped over his chest. The red-eyed figure standing tall over him reached down and pulled the strap from him.
The man who had been a monster, Dewi Lyn Lakin, wept on the ground, gazing up at the shrouded figure. He sputtered out words in a voice racked with despair.
"You know? You know what I did?"
The mysterious figure nodded solemnly.
With a wail of anguish, Lakin reached out imploringly to the man. "Please. End this for me. I beg you!"
With a degree of tenderness that the merchant would not have imagined the ruined voice capable of, the man with the noose spoke. "Aye. Close your eyes and make your peace."
Lakin rose to his k
nees and prayed. Then he closed his eyes and raised his chin. "Forgive me," he said.
With a sharp, sudden movement, the shrouded figure broke his neck.
Long moments passed, as the merchant stared at the figure, and the stranger gazed down at the man he had just killed. Finally, without looking toward the carriage, the man spoke.
"Are you and the lady alright?" he asked.
Being addressed directly like that broke the stupor that held the merchant and his wife. She broke into tears of relief, asking what they could do to repay the stranger. Her husband however, was not at ease yet, for he had seen the blood-red eyes of this stranger, seen the noose around his neck and the hangman's knot that held it there.
"You are the Hanged Man, are you not?" the merchant whispered.
The Hanged Man nodded once and the merchant felt his blood run cold. He had heard the stories of the man hung from the gallows and returned to life, but he had not believed them, dismissing them as peasant nonsense. Now, he knew the truth.
"We owe you our lives, sir," he said in a faltering voice. "Name your reward, and it is yours."
The Hanged Man kept looking down at the man dead at his feet and the fur strap he had taken from him. "This man was a farmer," he said in that hoarse voice. “When food became scarce, he sought the aid of a sorcerer and received this." He held up the strap. "A wolf-belt. Granting him the power to take on the form you saw tonight. He wanted the power to hunt for meat for his family, but the first prey he took as the creature was his own young son. I have hunted him since."
The Hanged Man turned those red eyes to the merchant. "You ask what I would have as reward, rich man? I would have you and your wife light three candles on this spot and see that they are kept lit. Three candles for souls lost in darkness. One for the soul of the poor, murdered child. One for the soul of his father, who became a monster, but at least died a man."
Rat-A-Tat: Short Blasts of Pulp Page 13
