by James Maxey
He didn’t finish his prayer before the engines sputtered, then went completely silent. They’d been such a constant background drone their absence made the night seem quiet as a grave, despite the fact the rain beat on us like a million tiny fists.
“We have parachutes?” asked Bobbie.
“We’re too low to jump,” said the reverend. “Everyone brace yourselves. We’re going down!”
Maybe the two words of prayer he’d gotten out counted for something, because he finally got the plane close to level and we were still aimed at the runway lights, coming in at what seemed to me to be a pretty decent landing speed. Bullets punched through the windshield, whipping past us, flying high, leaving holes in the fuselage above our heads.
“The good news,” I said, “is this isn’t Technosaur. Bullets really aren’t her—OW!”
I slapped my hand to my left ear, finding the top of it bloodied. Before I could announce I’d been grazed, the reverend said something about the landing gear, and while I was too distracted to catch his exact wording, I had the feeling his announcement fit with the general tone of the last few minutes.
We hit the runway belly first, throwing off sparks as we skidded to a halt. Bullets continued to punch through the fuselage as we came to rest, the muzzles flashing in the relative darkness of the jungle.
Before I could unbuckle my seatbelt, the reverend was on his feet, punching out what remained of the windshield with the butt of a rifle he’d grabbed from beside his seat. BANG, BANG, BANG, as he targeted the muzzle flashes with calm, methodical care, moving in what felt like slow motion. Three more shots, then a pause, one more, and then the only sound was the rain.
“Welcome to Mundo Verde,” said Reverend Rifle, tugging down his hat brim to better shield his face from the rain.
We hopped out onto the runway and followed the reverend as he darted for cover in the nearby trees even though no one was shooting at us now. The air felt like steam, because a good deal of it was steam, as the downpour vaporized the second it hit the burning hangar.
“They probably had fuel stored in there,” said the reverend.
“Something’s funny,” said Bobbie. “Look just in front of the hangar.”
I narrowed my eyes, trying to see what she was seeing. Unfortunately, my night vision couldn’t keep up with her cat eyes.
“What do you see?” asked Sasha.
“A plane, I think,” she said. “But more like an empty space without rain, in the shape of a plane.”
“An invisible plane?” I asked. “Were we expecting Wonder Woman?”
“Nope,” said the reverend. “Elsa Where.”
“What?” I asked. “Elsa is meeting us here?”
“I wanted a piece of this action,” said a woman’s voice about two feet behind my back. We all jumped, spinning around. Of course, we didn’t see anyone.
“Elsa?” I asked.
The air shimmered directly in front of us and Elsa emerged. She was in civvies, or at least not in costume. Her outfit looked like it had been ordered from the Jungle Adventure catalogue, with khaki shorts, a khaki shirt with a pocketed vest, and some serious looking knee high boots with Kevlar snake guards. Put a pith helmet on her she could have played Jane in a Tarzan movie, assuming Jane had a crew cut.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked.
“Hunting down Technosaur,” she said. “Didn’t the reverend tell you?”
The reverend looked oddly pleased with himself as he said, “I’ve kept some details on a need to know basis.”
“Where’s Smash Lass?” I asked.
“Ms. Goody Two Shoes isn’t the type to violate the laws of a sovereign nation, even if that nation is harboring international criminals. I’m doing this mission on the down low.”
“Any idea why these people tried to shoot us out of the sky?” asked Reverend Rifle.
“Tried?” I said.
“Apparently they aren’t very open minded about the full range of human sexual expression,” said Elsa.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I didn’t do anything,” she said. “But, like, two minutes after I got here, one of the guys asked if I was a lesbian. I said yes, and he said they could cure me with prayer. We got into a heated discussion. I might have lost my temper and kicked him in the nuts. He turned out to have a concealed pistol. When he took a shot at where he thought I was standing, he actually shot one of his buddies, but for some reason everyone thought I’d fired the shot even though I didn’t have a gun. So then all the rest of the cultists pulled weapons and started gunning for me, which was a pretty dumb move in a hangar filled with barrels of jet fuel.”
“They’re suicide cultists,” I said. “Sounds like this would be their go-to plan.”
“But why were they shooting at us?” asked the reverend.
“Because they knew you were my associates,” she said. “Look, in retrospect there were probably one or two moments where things I said or did might have inflamed the situation. But these people were religious nut jobs. You did the world a favor by killing them, reverend.”
“I’d have preferred not to kill them,” said the reverend. “In good light, I’d have shot the guns out of their hands. But in this muck, I had to guess at center mass and let fly.”
Elsa said, “Fortunately, I had the foresight to cloak the plane. They thought I’d pulled it into the hanger but I actually left it outside.”
“You can cloak an entire plane?” I asked. “When I was Sock Monkey, you had trouble cloaking even an extra person.”
She nodded. “I get migraines if I stretch my powers too far, but I train constantly to improve my range. With the kind of enemies Smash Lass has, I can’t afford to slack off.”
Bobbie cleared her throat. “Not that this chatter isn’t interesting, but shouldn’t we be looking for better shelter than this? We don’t know how many people are still out there gunning for us.”
“We can get out of the rain on my plane,” said Elsa. “As for the cultists, everyone turned tail and ran once the reverend started shooting back.”
“Probably to come back with reinforcements,” said Bobbie.
“No problem,” said Elsa. Suddenly, perfect copies of the five us huddled together on the runway right next to the wreckage of the reverend’s plane. “If they start shooting at these decoys, they’ll reveal their positions and we can ambush them. But, seriously, my gut instinct is they’ll leave us alone. At this point, they think I’m some kind of ghost.”
She motioned for us to follow and we set off across the runway. Her plane was now visible to us, though I suspected it was still hidden to unfriendly eyes. It was a pretty big plane, a lot bulkier than the reverend’s jet.
“That’s not a Legion Arrow,” I said.
“This is an off the books mission for me, remember,” said Elsa. “I couldn’t take official Legion gear. I don’t even have my signal watch. I needed something that could carry a few tons of cargo. Luckily, I have a girlfriend with an American Express Black Centurion card. Renting this was no problem.”
As she spoke, the rain turned off like someone had closed a valve high above and the air grew completely still. Instantly, the jungle night felt ten degrees hotter. Elsa pulled out a set of keys that looked no different than what you might use to unlock a Volkswagen and pressed a button. The cargo gate at the tail of the plane opened slowly.
We ran into the belly of the plane. Unlike the reverend’s jet, I could actually stand up inside, though there was barely any room to move since the cargo hold was full of big metal spheres. They looked like someone had taken motorcycles and hang gliders and smashed them together into big balls. If you saw one in a museum you’d shrug it off as bad modern art. In the hold of a plane, they seemed like, you know, a waste of space that might have been used for something useful for survival in a rain forest, like towels.
“Are these what I think they are?” Bobbie asked, running her hands over one of the metal spheres.
/> “I’m not a mind reader,” said Elsa.
“They look like the work of Technosaur,” said Bobbie.
“Ding ding—sorry,” said Reverend Rifle. “Last time, I promise.”
“Hold on,” I said. “Are you kidding me? They really fold up small like this?”
“Technosaur really brings the genius to the mad genius game,” said Elsa. “Carry one down to the runway.”’
“Oh my gosh!” I said, grabbing the one closest to the ramp. I lifted it with ease despite the metallic frame. I practically ran down to the runway, skidding a little on the wet ramp, before sitting my package down and turning around with a big grin. All my life, I’d heard the phrase, “like a kid on Christmas morning” and not really gotten it. I mean, bouncing around through the foster system and winding up in the Butterfly House hadn’t left me with anything resembling a traditional childhood. But, man, now I got it. I was literally so excited I could pee myself. Wait, I mean figuratively.
“Open it!” I cried, forgetting for the moment that the surrounding jungle might be crawling with armed cultists hungry for blood, and that Elsa shifted light, not sound. “Open it!”
So, of course, I got shot, as machine guns in every direction started chattering. Fortunately, only two bullets struck me, one on the front of my thigh and another right on my shoulder blade, both breaking the skin, but neither digging very deep.
“God damn it,” I yelled, whirling to spot muzzle flashes. I dropped to all fours and charged, with Elsa’s doppelganger of me racing in identical motions about forty feet further down the runway, drawing most of the fire. I leapt into the jungle and found the closest cultist. He was in pajamas, like he’d just gotten out of bed. He was also, like, seventy, and kind of skeletal, but he was healthy enough to be shooting an M16. At that exact second he was fumbling around trying to put in another clip. I clocked him hard, right in the side of his head. He went down instantly, probably for good.
I raced toward the next target, who toppled over right as I reached him, the back of his skull missing. I glanced back toward the plane and saw the reverend had joined in, again targeting muzzle flashes. I heard a rustling in the leaves nearby, someone mumbling, “Shit, shit, shit,” and moved to intercept. This cultist was making a mad dash back to the safety of the village and probably wouldn’t have messed with us again. I still clotheslined him. He landed flat on his back as I grabbed his gun, which had flown from his hands. I didn’t know if he could see me or not, but I figured for sure he could feel it when I pressed the muzzle of his rifle, scalding hot from firing rounds, dead center between his eyes. He cried out and tried to rise, but I pinned him with a foot. He was younger than the first guy I’d fought, maybe only in his sixties, thin, but not gaunt.
“Pay attention,” I said. “I’m going to blow your brains out unless you do me a favor.”
“I’m not afraid of death!” he cried.
“The fact you were running like a fucking coward tells me otherwise.”
“Who are you?” he asked. “Why can’t I see you?”
Man, Elsa really had been practicing. I couldn’t be in her line of sight behind this vegetation.
“I’m the devil, you idiot,” I said.
His eyes grew wide. Maybe he believed me? I guess you don’t join a suicide cult if you’re by nature a skeptical person.
“Here’s the deal,” I said.
“I’ll not deal with the devil!”
I sighed. “Fine. I’m not the devil. I’m an invisible superman with a gun pointed at your head. I could kill you by moving my finger about an eighth of an inch. Or, I can let you go if you agree to do what I ask.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to run back to your village and tell them to leave us the fuck alone. Tell them the airfield is forbidden ground for the next couple of weeks.”
“We have dead here,” he said. “We have dying—”
“Your injured will be returned to you before dawn. We’ll pile up the dead in the center of town if you like, though there might be a few bodies in what’s left of the hangar too crispy to mess with. After we keep our end of this bargain, you steer clear. Leave us alone, and we’ll leave you alone.”
“The others might not listen to me,” I said. “I’m not one of the Bishops.”
“How hard a case can this be to make?” I said. “We’re fucking invisible supermen. With guns! Honestly, we could kill every last member of your village without breaking a sweat. Take this deal, dude.”
He swallowed hard. “I don’t… I don’t…”
I shot a single bullet into the ground about six inches to the left of his head. As a reward, I wound up taking another bullet in my thigh. I grimaced in pain, but fought back the urge to curse. The rest of the jungle was silent. The other cultists had fled or been taken down by the reverend. The reverend had targeted my muzzle flash, since he had no reason to expect me to be firing a gun.
I wrinkled my nose at the realization that the cultist beneath my foot had just voided his bladder and some of the moisture was seeping into his shirt under my foot.
“Let’s hurry this up,” I said. “You know you’re going to do what I want.”
“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no—”
“Yeah, yeah, fear no evil,” I said, taking my foot off him and grabbing him by the shirt collar. “I guess we’re done talking. I’ll just tear off your arms to make sure you personally aren’t a threat to us anymore.”
“Wait!” he cried as I jerked him into the air. “I’ll tell them! I’ll tell them!”
“Good boy,” I said, tossing him back to the ground. “Go.”
He didn’t go.
“What are you waiting for?”
“Are you… are you going to give me my gun back? I’ll… it won’t look good if I…”
“Jesus Christ,” I said, bending the barrel into a u-shape. “Just take it already!”
His eyes were like saucers as he picked up the gun. He darted into the darkness with remarkable spryness. I limped back to the plane, the bullets in my thigh and shoulder burning now that the initial flash of adrenaline had worn off.
“You okay?” Reverend Rifle asked.
“I’m pretty sure you shot me,” I said.
“Not unless you were standing right next to a muzzle flash.”
“Which I was,” I said. “I was busy threatening a cultist. I think they’ll leave us alone.” I sighed. “But we have to get the dead and wounded back to the village by morning.”
“Why is this our problem?” asked Elsa.
“It’s the Christian thing to do,” said Reverend Rifle. “Even cultists deserve medical attention and a decent burial.”
“Mother says burials are wasteful,” said Sasha.
“We won’t tell her that you helped,” I said. I looked to Elsa, who was scowling. “You’re the only official superhero here. You know it’s the right thing to do.”
“Don’t lecture me,” she grumbled. “Fine. We’ll spend the rest of the fucking night dragging corpses through the mud. Hooray.”
“Please watch your language,” said the reverend.
I sat down on the runway, my energy ebbing. It wasn’t blood loss that carried me down, though. “Is it just me, or does this mission already have the stench of doom clinging to it?”
“That’s just you,” said Elsa. “Jesus Christ, you’re a hundred times worse when you’re wet.”
“I like the way he smells,” said Sasha.
“Please don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, either,” said the reverend to Elsa.
“I’m not a Christian,” she said, placing her hands on her hips.
“That’s a shocking revelation,” said Reverend Rifle. “Are you at least polite?”
“Good luck, rev,” I said.
“We shouldn’t fight among ourselves,” said Sasha. “We have so much to do. It will go easier if we try to remain cheerful.”
“Good luck with
that, too,” I said.
To my surprise, Elsa smiled, an expression not ordinarily in her repertoire. “I can cheer you up, Harry.”
She took out another key fob from her belt and pointed it toward the ball of metal I’d dropped on the runway before getting my latest collection of future scars. The key fob chirped and the ball unfolded. A long, narrow, metallic head lifted up, the frame telescoping outward, all the silky, hang-glider looking parts stretching out, growing taunt. In a little under twenty seconds, the whole thing was fully open, and I stared at a robotic pterosaur with a wingspan at least forty feet across. And, yes! It had a saddle on its back.
“These are what we’re riding the rest of the way in,” said Reverend Rifle. “Man, you should see your face right now.”
I don’t know if I’d ever had that big a smile before. I mean, I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt. I couldn’t get the grin off my face for the next couple of hours, even when Sasha dug the bullets out of me and stitched me up. Later that night, a huge grin probably wasn’t the most respectful expression to wear while I carted corpses back to the village, but what are you going to do?
Chapter Twenty-One
Antiquated Absurdities
I WAS STILL GRINNING when we found the last bodies, locating them in the dark by the scent of blood and bodily waste. It looked like only four of the guys Reverend Rifle shot survived—not counting me—and three of those had been healthy enough to make it back to the village on their own. The last of the wounded was blessedly unconscious, so he couldn’t say anything crazy or insulting when he received first aid from a gorilla girl with big hooters.
Sasha carried him back toward the village while I slung the last two corpses over my shoulders. Elsa had stayed behind, complaining of a massive headache after straining her powers so hard. Even without the protection of her light bending, we weren’t too worried. By now, even the most idiotic cultist had to realize that shooting at us was a dumb move.
“So your mother thinks burial is a waste, huh?” I asked.
