by M. K. Gibson
Vali looked around at the security camera along the hallway. If anyone was watching, they would see him if he revealed himself. While he was sending a message, he did not want to advertise exactly who he was and where he was from. Instead, the god touched the dagger on his belt, Carnwennen, the Dagger of Arthur, which could summon shadows.
In moments, the cell block was dropped into darkness as magical shadows crept along the floors, walls, and ceiling. Tilting Tarnhelm to the back of his head, Vali appeared before the cells containing the two women.
“You are friends of Salem?” Vali asked in low tones.
“I am,” the cyborg said. “I’m the one who helped him escape. She tried to kill him.”
“He was fucking my mother and got her killed. But I liked him.”
“You,” Vali said, addressing the cyborg. “Are you . . . technologically adept?”
The cyborg ran her hand over her implants. “What do you think, asshole?”
“That you should be more cordial to those who could help you. I ask again, are you—”
“Yes yes,” the cyborg said, waving her hand, “I’m adept. Name’s Twitch. Salem and I were partners during his stay. Take it you’re a friend of his?”
“I am,” Vali said.
“He’s been gone a couple of days now.”
“I’m not here for him.”
“What are you here for?” Yeela asked.
“Why do you care, demon?”
“I smell blood on you. Old blood and power.”
“They took my people’s children. I’m going to the island. I’m going to hurt them. I need their communications knocked out. Can you help?” Vali asked Twitch.
“You’re crazy,” Twitch said.
“No,” the demoness said, breathing in deeper. “Worse than crazy. He’s a god.”
“What do you know of it, demon?” Vali asked.
“Only that I know the island. This one can knock out their comms. I can show you where to hide once we’re inside.”
“And what do you want in return?”
“Freedom from this cage and a chance to hurt those who killed my mother and find my sister.”
“You’re not seriously listening to her?” Twitch asked before throwing her hands in the air. “What am I saying, of course you are. Anyone friends with Salem must be as dumb as him. Fuck, even me. Look, I’ll help you with the tech, but I’m not going back there.”
“I will,” Yeela purred.
Chapter Eighteen
To Ask for Help Is To Expose Weakness
Vali moved back from the cells and looked at the two women. Vastly different, but both potentially useful. The cyborg could disable the system he needed better than he could. If the demon was telling the truth, then she could provide him insight to the inner workings of the prison.
“Move back,” Vali commanded, drawing a Grecian short sword from its scabbard on his left hip. Harpe was once the sword of Perseus. The adamantine blade was infused with the venom of a Gorgon and more than capable for the task. With several fast strikes, the blade sliced through the cell bars, freeing the women.
“Nice,” Yeela said, stepping through the hole as she cast a sideways look at Twitch.
“Try it,” the cyborg said, staring daggers at the demoness.
“Enough,” Vali said, his voice resolute. “I make this pledge, if you two help me, then you may have sanctuary in my town.”
“Salem already made me that promise,” Twitch said.
“Then I’m here to make good on it.”
“Who do I get to kill?” Yeela asked, dropping to all fours and sniffing the air.
“In this place?” Vali said with a grim smile. “Whoever you want.”
“Oh, goody.”
********
Within the hour, Flotsam Prison’s Processing Complex was a tomb. Bodies lay dead on the floor. Some fought bravely; others begged for their lives. In the end, they all died. Every man and woman, cyborg, and demon who served the complex no longer drew breath.
On the forehead of each of the bodies, Vali carved the number 44. The message was simple. Those investigating would not know the meaning. The powers in charge, though, would understand the message.
“No one else to play with,” Yeela said, crestfallen.
“Because most of the people are on the island rebuilding and guarding the prisoners, idiot,” Twitch replied, not looking up from the control panel.
“I should kill you now,” Yeela growled.
“Shh, adults are working.”
“Can you work the terminal with only one hand?” Vali asked.
“Please,” Twitch snorted. “Any kid reaching puberty can work a terminal one-handed, if you catch my drift.”
“I do not,” Vali admitted, which caused both Yeela and Twitch to laugh.
A fiber optic cable was plugged into some port along the side of Twitch’s head while she manipulated holographic lines of code on the display terminal. Vali was impressed with both of the women. Instead of blocking all incoming and outgoing transmissions, Twitch inserted what she called “a bitching AI,” which scanned existing comm logs and mimicked voices to simulate routine operating conversations.
The demoness, on the other hand, was every bit as lethal as her posturing proclaimed. Vali watched as she moved from victim to victim with deadly grace and desire. He was not sure what transpired during her time on the island. But he’d been alive long enough, and bore witness to enough battles, to see a vendetta in a warrior’s eyes. Enjoyment, yes. But for the demon, this was personal.
“And that is that,” Twitch said, unplugging the cable from her head. “Transmissions from the central command asking for status updates are getting them. The main prison’s comms are being re-routed back through my AI to give the appearance that central command is there. And for course, set to deny additional manpower requests. I am the queen.”
“Won’t they become suspicious if their requests for reinforcements are being denied?” Vali asked.
“No,” Both Twitch and Yeela said in unison. The two looked at each other, surprised the other had the same thought.
“Why?” Vali asked.
Yeela rolled her cat-like eyes. “Duh.”
“Yeah, I hate to agree with her, but . . . duh.”
“Explain.”
“Because to ask for help is to expose weakness,” Yeela said.
Twitch nodded in agreement. “You haven’t been around long, have you?”
Vali stifled a chuckle at the question. “Not around demons, nor this city, if that is what you are asking.”
“So, next question, big man,” Twitch said standing up and pointing through the comm room window at the prison island in the distance. “How do you plan on getting over there? A supply drop from here to there would have been the smart move. But I’m pretty sure any of the people here qualified as a chopper pilot are no longer breathing.”
Vali looked at the prison through the window. The next phase of his plan lay there, in the middle of those dark waters. The death he brought to the processing complex would seem tame by comparison once he was finished.
“We wait until nightfall,” Vali said, a plan forming in his mind. “Until then, get some rest. Scrounge up some food and take whatever spoils you want from the holding cells. And you may want to get some medical supplies to treat that wound.”
“Not a bad idea,” Twitch said, looking down where her hand used to be.
“What happened?”
“Salem and his need for explosives. Plus her,” Twitch said, inclining her chin towards Yeela, who only laughed.
“What happens at nightfall?” Yeela asked, her voice intrigued.
“We catch a ride.”
********
“Here you go boss,” Taylor said into the mic. “You sure this is safe?”
Vali glanced at what Taylor was looking at. Yeela was crouching down on the small beach next to the breached wall of the former floating fortress. The demoness was sniffing the air,
gathering the scents of what lay around.
“I’ll be fine,” Vali said. “Head back to the processing complex and keep an eye on that cyborg. She may be a friend of Salem’s, but let’s be honest, he has horrible taste in friends.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
“Just be ready for my signal.”
“What’s the signal?” Taylor asked.
“You’ll know it when you see it.”
“Gotcha, boss. And remember, you need any help, you just ask. Something about this place don’t feel right to me.”
“This whole new world doesn’t feel right. But there isn’t anything we can do about it.”
“I dunno boss. We’re building a little piece of something new. And there are always other things we can do to make the world a better place.”
“Like what?” Vali asked, genuinely curious.
“Praying never hurt.”
Vali groaned. “Just get out of here and be ready.”
“All right, stand clear.”
Vali did as instructed after handing his headphones over to Taylor. With a nod, the cloaked skyhopper jumped upward into the night sky. Fortunate for the mission, the moon was dark, little more than a crescent sliver. Workers and the remaining prisoners labored to patch up the walls under the watchful eyes of armed guards with floodlights.
Even at night, the prison was a beehive of activity. Prisoners looked exhausted as their captors worked them ragged. Vali almost felt a twinge of sympathy for the bastards, having to remind himself they were demons and scum.
But so were Yeela and Twitch. Which meant there may actually be people worth saving, or at least not killing, in Flotsam.
Vali knelt in the sand and let his mind open and his sight take over, seeing brief flashes of the terrain, the people, and the general movement of the prison. There was a rhythm to everything in life. Whether it was manual labor, life and death on a battlefield, or even lovemaking, there was always a rhythm. If you could sense it, feel the ebb and flow, you could alter nearly any situation to your advantage.
“What are you doing,” Yeela hissed low.
“Opening my senses,” Vali said, his eyes still closed.
“Why?”
“So I can prepare the best way to kill everyone and everything that deserves it.”
“What can I do?”
“Be silent,” Vali replied, growing agitated. The sight allowed Vali to feel, more than see, the power and the people. “So few people.”
“Salem,” Yeela muttered. “That one is devious. No wonder Mother had it bad for him.”
“I sense . . . dark power, everywhere. Monstrous, old beings. There.” Vali opened his eyes and pointed towards the main complex of Flotsam along the northwest side of the island, closest to the shore.
Vali moved from his position on the small beach to where the prison’s broken wall opened to the courtyard. Peering around the edge, Vali pointed for Yeela to see. “How do I get in there?”
“You don’t,” Yeela said shaking her head.
“Why?”
“Prisoners get dropped off from the air inside that place. From there they are . . . indoctrinated. After, we—they—are pushed into the arenas.”
The demoness shuddered with true fear and anxiety as the memory of the “indoctrination” came back to her. Vali could tell there was something about the process she wasn’t talking about, but he decided not to press. She saw him looking at her and composed herself.
“There is a landing platform on top of the complex for goods and supplies.”
“No doubt heavily guarded,” Vali assessed.
“The only other entrance is through a gate along that tower.” Yeela pointed at a rectangular three-story building. “That’s Gerhardt’s tower. At its base there’s a gate that I saw Salem come through. But it’s locked from the inside. There’s no other way in.”
Vali backed away from the wall’s breach and back to the small beach. With his back to the outer wall, he thought about the situation for a moment. He allowed his sight to run through possibilities and scenarios. He could begin a murder spree, dispatching prisoners and guards alike. But that would come with little to no impact. Hell may see dead prisoners as a blessing.
No. He had to get inside the complex. If that was where the power was, those who orchestrated the raid on his people, at least in part, then that was where he needed to strike. That was where his message would ring out the clearest.
Then a thought struck him.
“You said there was an arena?”
Yeela nodded. “Yes. The oval structure with the chains, next to the complex. Here.”
Yeela knelt next to Vali on the beach and used the talons on her right forefinger to draw a crude map of the island and the layout. “This is us.” Yeela pointed to their position along the exterior wall. “This is the territories inside the prison. This is the warden’s complex. The main control building here, Gerhardt’s tower here, and the arena here.”
“What is this building and area between the main complex and the wall?” Vali asked.
“The warden’s manor,” Yeela replied. “That is where we are dropped off coming in from the mainland. He addresses us there and then we are funneled through here for indoctrination.”
“After you fought there”—Vali pointed—“in the arena, after the indoctrination, you were let into the prison’s courtyard?”
“Yes,” Yeela said, nodding, seeing the god’s train of thought. “That might work. There were guards everywhere down there. Which means it connects to the main complex.”
“Then that is where we go,” Vali said. “Can you move silently? Unseen?”
“I thought you were here to kill everyone?”
“In time. Can you do it?”
“Just keep up, pretty boy.”
Chapter Nineteen
Trust But Verify
A Long Time Ago
The shriekers continued to fall. Isaac rolled out of the way and took up his father’s M4, tracking movement along the treeline.
As each hellion came into sight, Isaac fired off a three-round burst.
Target, fire, repeat.
Over and over.
There was something inside Isaac that cracked. His humanity. His sanity. All he had was the killing. He needed more. The burning pain in his rib was not enough to keep him down. When the M4’s ammo went dry, Isaac tossed the weapon aside.
“Come on, you motherfuckers!” Isaac screamed. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Isaac heard his father yelling for him to stand down. But Isaac, covered in demon blood, only wanted another kill.
When the first of the wave of hellions came at him, Isaac picked up the fallen kraak and swung it wide, breaking the hellion’s jaw off. He swung again, meeting the next hellion in the skull just above its horned eyebrow ridge, and the creature went down with a fatal skull fracture.
Again and again Isaac swung the weapon, each swing a kill. And after each kill, the burning need for more.
A large dog-faced hellion, the last of the pack, charged Isaac. As he swung the weapon, the hellion met the kraak’s swing on his armored forearm and the weapon shattered. The hulking brute threw a massive fist and connected on Isaac’s jaw, sending him reeling back onto the snowy ground.
Isaac rolled backwards and hit the cabin’s wooden stairs. As he jammed his spine into the wet wood, he awkwardly scrambled up onto the cabin’s porch. Isaac spat out a broken tooth and a mouthful of blood onto the snowy porch.
“Come on, you ugly fuck!” Isaac challenged as he ripped off a large piece of his shirt and began wrapping it around his hand.
The hellion obliged, snarling something in Denochian, and charged.
Isaac smiled.
The hellion roared and rushed up the steps. Using his cloth-wrapped hand, Isaac grabbed one of the barbed, poisonous shrieker bolts and threw a shoulder into the hellion’s face while simultaneously stabbing the hellion through the gut. The two combatants tumbled back onto the bloody, cold groun
d.
Isaac was the first to his feet and saw the hellion try to stand with the shrieker firmly embedded into his stomach.
“Ha!” Isaac half laughed and half roared. The hellion tried to free itself, but Isaac grabbed one end of the makeshift spear and held firm. The two of them moved into a circular motion as the hellion tried to get away and Isaac maintained control.
Isaac repeatedly jabbed the spear back and forth, sawing the hellion, spilling the monster’s guts, laughing the whole time. “Die! Die die die!” Isaac screamed as he shoved the spear harder, forcing the hellion back up the wooden steps of the cabin and into the doorframe.
Then another cry cut through the night.
His mother’s.
Elena McMillan had come to the door to help. And as Isaac shoved the hellion back, the spear’s point cut through the hellion’s stomach and into Elena.
“No!” Isaac and his father screamed in unison.
With a burning rage, Isaac threw the hellion off the cabin’s porch and rushed inside, his battle madness subsiding.
Inside, his mother was lying on the cabin floor.
The remnants of the venom were already coursing through her body. She was dying.
Elena looked up at her son. “Isaac . . .”
********
I woke up with tears in my eyes. And not from the pain in my knees.
Why? Why did she come out? Dad told her to stay inside. Damn it, he told her. She came to help, but what could she do? She wasn’t armed. She wasn’t a fighter! She was a thinker and a scholar and beautiful and great and . . . my mom.
I started to sob. I couldn’t help it. With what happened, and what came after . . . fuck.
Fuck me. Over a century later and I still felt the pain as if it had just happened.
“What’s wrong?” a female voice asked me.
I rolled over as best as I could. My hands were bound behind me with some kind of wire mesh. Likewise, my feet were bound in the same material with a cord of some kind connecting my ankles to my wrists. My knees were in horrible pain. With them bent the way they were, The Collective would have a helluva time repairing them.
