by M. K. Gibson
“Rise,” Grimm commanded.
Moments later, a skeletal form pushed its way up through the soft, energy-soaked ground and presented itself before Grimm. The decayed form was mostly mud and bone, with clumps of carrion insects and worms clinging to it.
The spectral energy clung to the skeleton in chunks of ectoplasm, giving the creature form. The thing before Grimm began to resemble a human, one from an age long ago. Still not complete, for there was simply not enough of the original corpse to create an exact reconstruction. The being looked familiar, but not quite how Grimm remembered.
“Speak. In life, were you the person known as Wolfgang Gerhardt, known also as Josef Mengele and Grigori Rasputin?”
The creature cocked its newly-formed head to one side, taking in the world.
“Answer me.”
“Yes and no,” the zombie croaked.
Grimm scowled. The creature should have been under his command. Completely. Yet it was showing signs of resistance. As if another force were combating his authority. Grimm pressed his will, demanding complete obedience.
“Explain.”
“I . . . created from . . . host. A copy. Also . . . ”
“Also, what?”
“Also . . . ” The creature paused. A new energy flooded into the creature, and a reddish-orange light flared as the zombie lunged for Grimm, gripping his head swiftly.
“Also, I am the trap for you, my master’s master,” the creature said, and the world began to blink away into a blue-white blinding vacuum.
The Lines! Grimm realized. The undead was trying to suck Grimm into the Lines. An ancient trap set for him and him alone. He had reanimated the corpse, and in so doing, powered the trap.
The zombie’s grip on his face was strong. Grimm fought back, forcing the zombie’s hands away from his head. Mustering the remaining power he had left, Grimm augmented his physical strength, slowly prying away the undead hands. But the iron grip of the undead was too strong, the trap too well planned.
The creature’s hands snapped down, clamping Grimm’s wrists. “My Master’s master,” the being hissed, “it is time to go.”
The power of the transportation spell flared up and Grimm felt the world slowly dissolve around him in a cascade of red energy and pain. Projecting his senses outward, Grimm knew in an instant where the teleportation spell was taking him. The one place that was an almost certain death sentence. The one place he would not, could not go.
Before the spell was complete, Grimm had one final thought:
Salem.
Chapter One
Giant Flesh-Eating Demons and Morons
Now, in the Waste
I heard the roars of the three Abominations getting closer. The two flying Fleshwings would be on us in minutes. A colossal, four-legged Walker was also barreling down on us.
Being teleported from New Golgotha’s False Liberty district to wherever the hell we were in search of the Tears of God was bad. Being plopped into the snowy middle of nowhere, only to be eaten by giant demons from Hell, was worse.
However, at that particular moment, finding my friend’s thirteen-year-old stowaway son in the trunk of the car covered in blood and vomit was the icing on the shit-sundae.
“TJ?! What the hell are you doing here?! You were supposed to be with the other kids going home!” I yelled at the boy, pulling him from the trunk of the Outrider.
“I thought you needed some backup,” the boy said weakly.
“Are you OK?” I asked checking him for wounds, eyeing the blood.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” TJ said, pushing my hands away. “A couple of Grimm’s blood bags popped when I was puking. Why does he have bags of blood in his trunk? What happened? Where are we? And what the shit are those?!” TJ screamed as he pointed over my shoulder at the Fleshwings closing in.
“That’s about a few tons of flying death,” I said as I heaved the boy up into the Outrider’s passenger seat. “We need to go!”
“Hello small one,” Chael said to TJ, looking down at the boy with a lopsided grin.
TJ smiled back and waved at Chael. “Thanks for not telling on me.”
“Wait! You knew he was in there?” I yelled at Chael as I lugged two of the three heavy auto-turrets out of the trunk and set them on the ground.
“Yes. He asked me not to tell you.”
“And you listened?”
“He said ‘please’,” Chael retorted, moving slightly to allow room for the collapsible turret.
“Morons! I’m surrounded by morons!” I yelled, setting the turrets into position and activating them.
Grabbing the third auto-turret, I tossed it into the back seat with Chael. The pale, ten-foot giant looked like one of those dogs that was too big for the car but enjoying the ride. Despite the snow, the cold, and the threat of giant, flesh-eating demons, the impossibly large man seemed as relaxed and as comfortable as if he were back on the prison island.
But the biggest moron in the bunch was me. Why? Because I was the moron who took on the responsibility of two thousand people, went broke, and ended up in jail. Now we were lost in the goddamn snow, in the middle of fuck-knows-where, and my companions were as useless as a one-armed trapeze artist with an itchy ass.
The ground rumbled as the Walker drew closer. The Fleshwings were circling, waiting for their perfect moment to strike.
Moron, thy name is Salem.
“Get ’em, ladies!” I yelled, slapping the activation buttons. The two auto-turrets sprang to life. The stabilizer legs engaged, extending into the ground. The plasma cannons and .50 cal turrets unfolded and began swiveling about calibrating, while the tracking laser emitted IR/NV beams, targeting the Fleshwings.
A barrage of plasma and conventional firepower sprayed mercilessly at the airborne Abominations. Using the brief reprieve, I slammed the trunk closed and hopped up into the Outrider’s back seat, half standing on Chael.
“Gimme the turret!” I yelled at Chael.
“Freedom is the illusion of a mindful demagogue,” Chael babbled in his usual insane speak.
“Say please,” TJ offered.
Oh goddamn it. “Please!”
Like magic, Chael lifted the turret up, handing it to me. “For the worthy shall know the darkest of eternity.”
I ignored the giant’s insanity, accepted the third turret, and placed it on the mounting bracket on top of the Outrider’s trunk. I flipped the activation switch, then hopped into the driver’s seat, firing up the fusion engine.
“Chael, which way?!”
“Direction is as meaningless in the void as Courage was to the Dragon’s grasp.”
“Chael!” I yelled, clapping my hands together.
“We are not where we need to be, powers conspire, The Faithful Thunder moves against me.”
“Focus, Lenny. You teleported us here, buddy. Remember the Tears of God? The whole reason we’re out here? Which way?”
Chael hung his head so that his long black hair hid his naked torso as he began licking at his nipple.
Aww, fuck it. Any direction was better than sitting here. I slammed my foot onto the accelerator. The carbon composite tires engaged the snowy, uneven terrain, fishtailing slightly before catching.
“This is awesome!” TJ yelled as we bounced along. We took a small hill, catching air. TJ went airborne and I had to reach out to snatch him before he flew out of the damn vehicle.
“Buckle your ass in!” I yelled at TJ, who was looking over the seat at the two turrets left behind firing at the Fleshwings.
“Don’t treat me like a child!”
“Screaming louder as the gyre widens only proves the resolve of the melancholy poet.”
“See! Even Chael says to buckle up!”
“He doesn’t even know where we’re going,” TJ said as he buckled up.
TJ shot me that sad, pouting kid look. All big eyes and jutting bottom lip. The kind of look kids try to make you want to hug them and tell them it will be all right. If he were younge
r, it may have worked. But like most early teens, the adult features on his growing kid body just made him look weird.
Plus, I knew this kid. So the look just made me want to backhand the snot-nosed little thespian.
The look continued and I relented. “Oh OK, it is kinda awesome.” I half-smirked, whipping the steering wheel to the side, avoiding a rock formation. TJ immediately turned in his seat to look past Chael and see if the Fleshwings were still pursuing us while I looked in the rear-view mirror.
The grotesque mix of bat, dinosaur and flying squirrel screamed while they arced in the sky. I could just make out their pale white underbellies contrasted with their mottled, reddish-brown fur. They were kinda . . . doofy looking, with angular heads, massive under bites, and large bulbous black eyes.
“Can we outrun them?” TJ asked.
“Hope so,” I said, downshifting and avoiding more rocks. “Despite how dumb they look, damn things can scent prey for miles.”
The Fleshwings practically swam through the sky. Thin front arms with talon-like fingers extended outward, while excessive, veined skin folds acted as wings. Fleshwings were dangerous, no doubt. But heavy tremors reminded me that the Walkers were the juggernauts of the old demon hordes.
All Walkers ranged in size and form, and the brute behind us was a big mamma-jamma. It galloped on what looked like four front arms with ape-like hands, and it moved with surprising speed. Its boxy head had ram horns and a large mouth full of asymmetric black and yellow teeth. The Walker had thick, grayish skin in overlapping calloused plates and spiked bony protrusions along its spine and the joints.
The auto-turrets managed to knock one of the Fleshwings from the sky and wound one to the point of giving up. The turrets then turned their auto-tracking sights onto the Walker and unloaded. Despite the firepower the turrets were throwing at it, the beast trampled over the automated weapons.
Damn it.
Back during the first wars, it had taken a lot of creativity and high explosives to deal with Walkers.
Like the Fleshwings, once a Walker had a scent, it didn’t stop. I just kept my foot down on the accelerator and smiled. As fast as it was, there was no way it would catch us. Grimm’s Outrider wasn’t much to look at, but it could move when you needed to.
So of course, that was when Chael started laughing.
“What’s so funny, big man?” I asked
“We need to go that way,” he said, pointing back the way we came.
Right at the Walker.
Morons. Freaking morons. I was beset by giant, flesh-eating demons and morons.
“You’re kidding,” I groaned, rubbing the bridge of my nose in frustration.
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me when I asked?!”
“You wouldn’t have liked the answer.”
“Ahh--” I started to say something, then stopped. No point in arguing.
Damn it. I turned the wheel hard and pulled the power brake, locking up the rear wheels and sliding the Outrider around to aim it right at the oncoming Walker. No matter which way I tried to drive, the creature’s legs allowed it to move like a crab. It would cut us off whenever I tried to drive around it. Well, only one way to go.
Right at it.
Fuck it. Who wants to live to old age anyway?
Chapter Two
A Great Lance
I revved the engine while an idiotic plan formed. Back in the day, when we were out of explosives, our creativity for bringing down a Walker forced us to try some really dumb stuff. There was one cold night during the war when all our ammo was depleted. All we had left was the humvee and some sheet metal.
That was when “The Lucky Strike” was born. I didn’t have any sheet metal, but I did have a few tricks thanks to Tesla.
I looked to my right. “You know how to drive?” I asked.
“Yes?” TJ said, his voice cracking slightly.
“Good. Aim right for the Walker. Right down the middle and don’t let off the accelerator. No matter what. You understand?”
“Are you freaking insane?”
“Apparently.”
“Amateur,” Chael rumbled.
“You just drive straight at damn thing and let me worry, OK?” I told him as we switched places.
TJ was tall for his age, taking after his father. He gripped the wheel and got a feel for the pedals.
“Hit it, Short-Round!” I yelled, and TJ just looked at me. “Forget it, before your time. Just go!”
TJ hammered his foot down and the Outrider responded like a ram charging a would-be challenger. The Walker lowered his head and picked up speed, coming right at us. The massive creature was almost fifteen feet at the shoulder and could crush the Outrider with ease. But the game of chicken was on. The Walker wasn’t going to move. And sadly, neither were we.
If I didn’t retrieve the Tears in a week, then Löngutangar would fall. A douchebag demon Bishop named Andromalius would buy up my land, sell my people into slavery, and burn everything to the ground.
Sorry, Walker. Wrong place, wrong time.
I just hoped this wasn’t one of my dumber plans. Well, point of fact, it was. I just prayed it was one of the dumb ones that actually worked.
As we barreled down on the Walker, I yelled to Chael, “Grab that turret, and open that side panel.” Chael obliged by ripping the panel off like it was paper. “Good enough. Hand me it to me.”
Chael handed the turret over. I yanked out the fusion power cell and tossed the remaining turret into the back seat. Connecting the power cell leads to my tech bracers, I immediately felt an additional hum of power.
At two hundred yards away and closing fast, the Walker lowered his head. Shit. I needed that head up.
“TJ, high-beam headlights!” I yelled, and the Outrider’s floodlights flicked on. The Walker’s head moved slightly aside as the light hurt its eyes for a second.
At one hundred yards away, I pulled my blasters, flicked them to full-auto and let loose with a barrage of fire, aiming for the eyes. I didn’t need to be precise, just close enough.
The beast roared as I scored a couple of hits. The Walker swung its head up and to the side, giving me the clear shot.
Now the hard part. I stashed my guns and puckered my ass.
“Chael, hold me and DO NOT LET GO! TJ, GUN IT!” I ordered as I stood up in the seat with my back to the rollbar. Bringing my fists together, I commanded The Collective to turn on my full-body shield, fired up my mass inducers for extra weight, and activated the tech bracers’ hard-light projector.
Mentally, I shaped the force field generators into a large, wedge-shaped sword.
TJ drove us just under the beast’s throat. As the tip of the sword punctured the Walker’s thinner under-body skin, I felt the shearing force resistance through my body, even with Chael’s massive strength holding me. The Outrider slowed some, but kept moving directly under the Walker, cutting the thing open from throat to gut.
As we sped along, oceans of purplish-black demon blood flooded out in our wake. Innertube-sized intestines spilled out, staining the white snow of the ground in steaming piles of effluence. We were almost completely past the Walker when the extra power of the turret’s fusion cell gave out and the strain on the hard-light projector was too much. I gritted my teeth and squinted, trying to maintain the power, but the hard-light force field blade flickered.
Something hit me so hard in the head and chest, the force ripped me from Chael’s grasp and flung me from the Outrider. I flew through the air and tumbled like a rag doll, hitting the ground in a heap. The Collective maintained my body shield, keeping me from breaking anything, but the inertial force from the impact stole the breath from my lungs.
From where I lay, I saw the Walker take a few steps and collapse. With its guts hanging out and bleeding dry, the Walker wailed a death cry. In moments, the demonic beast shuddered and died.
Good. At least we were safe for the moment.
Collective?
//
ONLINE//
How bad are we?
//CONCUSSION WITH MULTIPLE STRESS FRACTURES - NOT AS BAD AS HOST’S USUAL BODILY DAMAGE - HEALING ALREADY BEGUN//
Good to hear. Thanks for saving me again.
//HOST IS MOST WELCOME - WARNING: BEWARE MAMMOTH PHALLUS IN THE FUTURE//
. . . A say what?
Before I could discern what The Collective meant, I heard the Outrider pull up. Chael got out and stood over me. He was laughing.
TJ got out of the vehicle and knelt beside me. He was also laughing. What the hell was so damn funny?
“Are you OK?” TJ snickered.
I sat up slowly. My head swam a little from the concussion. After a moment, it was manageable as I felt the Collective do its thing.
“Yeah, I’m cool,” I said as I glanced over my shoulder once more at the dead Walker.
I had to admit, I felt a little impressed with myself. I doubt even Luke Skywalker himself could have done any better against that AT-AT. I smiled a little self-satisfied smirk as I turned back around and saw Chael and TJ laughing like children. They fell to the ground in gut-shaking, full-blown guffaws.
“What is so damn funny?”
“You . . . you . . . ” TJ tried to speak, but he was on the snowy ground holding his sides.
Chael suddenly sobered and sat up, his white skin blending into the snow-blanketed ground. He looked incredibly wraithlike at that moment. He stared at me with his possessed, opaque white eyes.
“You were unhorsed. Like a jousting match. A great lance took you down--down down down into the dark.”
“A lance!” TJ yelled, and laughed even harder.
“Lance? What lance?” I asked, and Chael inclined his chin back towards the Walker.
I sat there a moment confused, waiting for my head to clear and the pain to subside. I remembered speeding along under the Walker, cutting it open. Then, the power to the hard-light projectors faltered, and I was hit by something that launched me from the vehicle.
Something? What on earth could have . . .
. . . Oh dear sweet lord, no.
I wiped at my face and sniffed my hand, breathing in a powerful musky stink. Oh . . . shit, no.
