“Get down, get down, get down,” one of them shouted.
But Cakey and David had no time to react. The creature unleashed a high, ear-straining shriek, stirred the water and then rose up out of the pool. What had looked like a rounded back was, in fact, the top of an oblong head that surged toward the roof, easily seven feet tall. A massive, glistening yellow eye rolled about in its socket, and a beak-like mouth opened and closed. At the base of the head was a short, round body covered in chitinous plates, and out of the body, two dozen or more long, mottled tentacles. The tentacles, each tipped in a bony scythe-like claw, wrapped around the handrail as the creature pulled itself out of the pool.
“It's beautiful,” Cakey said, both hands clutching at his hair.
The soldiers who had entered the room backed toward the wall, and one of them fired instinctively. The bullet missed and ricocheted off the ceiling, but it startled the creature. Tentacles thrashed, ripping the handrail to pieces and gouging grooves into the walls and walkway.
“Don't shoot, don't shoot,” another soldier shouted.
But it was too late. The creature lashed out. One of its claws impaled the soldier who had fired, lifted him high into the air and slammed him against the wall. Blood spewed from his mouth and nose, from his ears and eyes. David heard bones snapping like dry sticks. Then he fell, broken and bloody, but the creature's anger was not sated. It loosed its hold on the shattered remains of the handrail and began a strange twisting motion, using three tentacles to spin its body. As it picked up speed, the centrifugal force moved the rest of the tentacles up and out, and the scythe-like claws tore into the walls. The soldiers at the door began backing out of the room, but the creature tipped its body toward them, and the claws pierced flesh, splashing gore around the doorframe and into the next room. David pressed himself as flat against the floor as he could, but he felt the sizzle of the tentacles spinning through the air mere inches above his head.
“Get the general,” someone shouted from the next room. “Get the general here right away! He has to calm it!”
The creature fell against the door, and the spinning claws shattered it, shredding metal plating and the wood beneath into a thousand fragments, ripping the frame from the wall. Then it forced its way through the jagged opening, still spinning, breaking away large sections of the wall, and moved into the next room. And then the walkway that Cakey and David were lying on gave way and fell into the room below. The pool, it turned out, was actually a long glass and metal tank sitting in a tall silo, the walkway near the top. As they fell, David pushed himself up, and when they crashed into the floor below, he threw himself into a somersault to absorb some of the impact. Bits of the wall and door rained down on top of him.
“You okay, kid?” Cakey asked, climbing out of the wreckage.
David rose, brushed the bits of metal and wood off his head and shoulders and nodded. They were ten feet below the top of the tank. He saw the massive hole where the door had been above them and heard the screams of soldiers and the thunderous crash of the creature's claws tearing through the next room. A ladder led back up to the top of the tank. David started up, but Cakey hesitated, stooping down to inspect the floor.
“Tank is resting on some kind of a platform,” he said. “A lift, maybe? Wonder if the ceiling opens, because it sure looks like the tank is meant to be moved.”
“What are you suggesting?” David asked, pulling himself up the ladder.
“Not suggesting anything,” Cakey said. “Just noticing. Noticing, kid. You ever notice things?”
He started up the ladder after David. At the top of the tank, David grabbed the rim and peered inside. The level of the liquid had dropped at least five feet, but that still left a generous amount for healing. He had a thought then, fleeting, the logistics of which escaped him—like a glimpse through a curtain, he saw people lined up in front of the tank, people with scabs on their heads, hands out, receiving cups of healing liquid. It filled him with a brief hope, a tiny spark of light in a very dark place.
But then the crash and thunder of the creature grabbed his attention, and the curtain closed. He looked over his shoulder at the ruined door and saw the queen of Wormwood, the angel of death, spinning through the next room, throwing bits of couches and tables and soldiers in all directions like the debris cloud of a tornado. One tentacle seized up a soldier and drew it toward that beak-like mouth, biting through flesh and bone. David clambered onto the narrow lip of the tank and leapt to the door, landing nimbly and stepping over a pile of wreckage.
Soldiers fled into the tiled room, but the creature followed, buckling the wall and casting it onto the dais. David saw many, many soldiers—dozens of them—some at the curtain, guns drawn but refusing to fire, others gathered before and behind the contraption, gaping, caught, not knowing what to do. David ducked behind the broken half of a table and watched the creature tear its way through the remains of the curtain and move off the dais into the room. It ripped tiles from the walls and floor, broke open the hidden door into the concrete room, pulled the contraption out of the floor and shattered it to bits. Soldiers ran for the door on the far side, but they got caught in a tangle trying to force their way through, and the creature found them there, slashing them to blood and meat.
Cakey leapt over David and the broken table and dashed across the room, catching himself on the jagged edge of the shattered wall to gaze upon the ruin of the tiled room. David rose and went after him. The creature broke its way into the high entry hall, bringing down a huge section of the wall and ceiling. As the ceiling collapsed, men from the upper floors fell with it, many of them out of uniform, and landed in the heap of rubble. Some rose, looking around frantically, trying to understand what was happening. Others, too injured, did not.
There were bodies strewn about the tiled room, and not all were dead. A soldier grunted and dragged himself out from under a blanket of shattered concrete. Cakey snuck up behind him—the man had no gun on him, only a small knife in a sheath at his belt and an empty holster—and wrapped an arm around his throat. He lifted him off the ground, took the knife and tossed him aside. Cakey beckoned David and headed into the bare concrete room to the side. David followed, clambering over debris like a rat through a garbage heap.
“Isn't it wonderful?” Cakey said, sitting down on one of the concrete slabs and pressing a hand to his forehead.
David, hearing the screams, the crashing and madness behind him, shook his head. Wonderful? No, he didn't want this. The violence welled up inside of him like some growing shadow, some tangible dark thing, seeping into his blood, his breath, his belly. He wanted to be rid of it somehow. No more people getting hurt, no more fighting and killing rubes. He wanted something better.
Cakey rose, patted him on the chest and smiled. “Tockland wanted a spectacle, and they got it. We've given them the greatest show they'll ever see. Can't you hear the oohs and aahs of the audience?”
“People dying,” David said.
“Dying by their own instrument of death, oh, young Disturby,” Cakey said. “That’s karmic absolution for you and me. Come, let's go get our friends.”
Cakey rose again, and David turned toward the hallway that led back around the corner to the wide open room. And there he stood. General Joseph Mattock, his hat pulled low, cloak drawn over his shoulder, flanked on either side by soldiers. Shadows hid most of his face but for a glint of teeth and the end of a large chin. The soldiers pointed their rifles at Cakey and David.
“What have you done?” Mattock said, his high, hard voice dropping an octave. As if in response, they heard the crash of something massive—more of the wall, the ceiling, the whole room, perhaps—from the entry hall.
Cakey glanced at David and gestured with his hands, as if inviting David to respond. But David had nothing to say. He didn't want to talk to Mattock.
“We woke up your little girlfriend,” Cakey said. “She was pissed and commenced to killing everyone in sight. She’s putting on quite a show. Sorry you missed the ope
ning act. If you hurry, you might catch the grand finale.”
Mattock swept his cloak off his shoulders, revealing the multitude of weapons—pistols, knives, baton—on his belt. “She will settle down and sleep again,” Mattock said. “Damage will be repaired in time, dead men replaced with fresh recruits, and my reign will continue. But you two die now.”
Neither Cakey nor David had their rifles. They had been left at the bottom of the silo, but David felt the lump of the pistol in his pocket. He wasn't sure how to get to it without getting shot first. He was standing close to one of the concrete slabs but didn't think he could leap behind it before one of the soldiers pulled the trigger.
“How would you feel about a good old fashioned knife fight, General?” Cakey asked. “Have your men put down their guns, draw those knives and come at me. What do you say?”
“No interest,” he replied. He flicked one hand. “Shoot them.”
Cakey grabbed David by the arm and fell back behind the concrete slab, moving with such speed that David had no time to brace himself for the fall. The soldiers opened fire, and David heard bullets sizzle past him, buzzing like a bees. Then he slammed into the sharp edge of the slab with his ribs, lost his breath in a rush and landed on top of Cakey. Bullets continued to crackle, some hitting the corner of the slab, blasting off bits of concrete.
When the shooting stopped, Cakey pulled off one of his gloves and tossed it into the air. The soldiers opened fire again, hitting the glove multiple times before realizing their mistake.
“Hold your fire,” Mattock said. “Go down there and get them. They have nowhere to run.”
David drew the pistol from his pocket and showed it to Cakey, who gave him a thumbs-up. They heard booted feet moving down the hallway and into the room. David waited until they were close, then thrust the gun up over the slab and took a shot, aiming blindly in the direction of the footsteps. A soldier grunted, and they opened fire again. He pulled the gun back down.
“You hit?” one soldier asked.
The other grunted again, took a step and fell with a thud.
“He's hit!”
“Take cover and return fire, you idiot,” Mattock hissed.
“Where can I—?”
David raised the gun again and fired, aiming toward the sound of the voice. The soldier stopped speaking mid-sentence. David rose from the slab to find both of the soldiers on the ground, still alive but writhing, the first one clutching his stomach, the second his face. Mattock stood at the end of the hall, frozen in place, his lower jaw jutted out in the first appearance of concern.
“How’s that knife fight sound now?” Cakey said, rising up beside David. “No guns. A blade in your hand, a blade in mine, stabby versus stabby.”
Mattock rubbed his hands together, seemed about to speak, then turned suddenly and fled around the corner. David took at a shot at him, but it was too late. The bullet hit the wall where Mattock had been and buried itself in concrete. Behind them came another great crash and a loud metallic thud, as of a heavy metal door toppling to the ground. Judging by the sound, David guessed that the creature had moved outside the building.
“Shall we chase down our dear General Mattock?” Cakey asked.
“I guess we have to,” David said.
The soldiers on the floor were not dead. There was a spreading pool of blood beneath them, but they continued to thrash and moan. David felt revulsion—he did not want to be responsible for this suffering, even if he'd had no choice. He gave them a wide berth as he headed down the hallway.
“If we get out of this alive, I'm done fighting rubes,” David said.
“Whyever for?” Cakey asked. “There are still so many of them left in the world."
David couldn't articulate it, nor did he think Cakey would receive it. He had lived in Vern's world as a victim of violence. How could he explain it to a wild man like Cakey, how fear settled in the belly like a constant sickness, how worried thoughts never quieted, even in the calmest moment? That was not the world for him, and he would find a better one if he got the chance.
Even though he said none of this, Cakey clapped him on the back, as if he'd read his thoughts, and said, “Tell you what, David, if there's a morning beyond the ever-night, we'll see if we can't find a new destiny for all of us.”
“Okay,” David said.
They rounded the corner in time to see Mattock on the far side of the wide open room, slipping into the guard station and kicking the door shut behind him. They hurried after him. Here in the wide open room the bodies lay, spread outward from a point like radiating lines from an impact—yes, and Cakey had been that impact. But the right wall of the room had collapsed, and a mountain of wreckage filled the space, metal and concrete and wood, and through a small opening, they saw the ruins of the massive entry hall and the cloudless sky above. Most of the soldiers, those left alive, appeared to have fled, and the screams now sounded distant.
They raced into the guard station. More bodies here. David almost tripped over one—had Cakey killed this one or had he? He didn't recall and didn't want to. He had to do a little hop to keep his balance. They rounded one more corner, and here was the corridor lined with prison cells, here more bodies. As they entered the corridor, they saw the edge of a black cape disappear behind an open cell door. They heard Annabelle's little squeal of surprise.
“No, you get out! You get out!” she screamed.
There was a shot, but whether she fired it or Mattock fired it, they could not tell. David thrust the pistol out in front of him, ready to fire, ready to empty the magazine if that's what it took to end this forever. Cakey had only a knife, he hadn’t bothered to pick up any of the discarded guns along the way.
Mattock reappeared, stepping out of the cell and nudging the door shut. David started toward him, but Cakey grabbed his arm to pull him up short. Mattock had Gooty clutched to his chest, a gun held to his head. Gooty's eyes were shut, a trickle of blood running out of one nostril. He moaned softly and twitched but hadn't the strength to hold up his own weight and hung limply.
“If you hurt the girl, if you hurt any of them, I'll rip you to pieces,” David said, and how he wanted so badly for the tenor of his voice to match the seething animal rage inside of him—and how it did not!
“I did not hurt the girl,” Mattock said. “She took a shot at me and missed. But I will kill this one, I will kill them all, if need be. Lower the weapon.”
David, despite the poison coursing through his body and the red veil dropping down over this thoughts, lowered the pistol.
“Now, look,” Cakey said. “Whether or not you shoot poor, sick Gooty there, we're going to murder your stupid self, General. What's the point?”
“Then do it,” Mattock said and cocked the hammer. “Do it. Or turn and leave this place, leave Tockland, and we'll part ways as if we never met.”
“Tempting offer,” Cakey said. “What do you say, kid?”
David was trembling so badly, he could scarcely hold the gun. It was as if all of the anger he'd ever felt, every drop of poison in his guts, every moment of sickness burning in his belly, had all gathered together at once and focused upon this one man, this king of plague, this tyrant of misery.
“Fight me, General, and we end this forever,” David said.
“Boy, are you utterly mad?” Mattock said and, remarkably, he laughed. He tapped the barrel of the pistol against Gooty’s temple. “Dancer of death, why would I put myself at a disadvantage? To please your profound desire to—how did you put it—rip me to pieces? No, instead, I will count to three and pull this trigger.”
“And then you die with Gooty,” Cakey said.
“One.”
Cakey glanced at David. And was there, at last, some hesitation in his eyes? Some self doubt? A hint of Gavril Tugurlan showing through the skin dye?
“What do you say, David?” Cakey asked. “Shall we take the offer? Part ways with the old general here, as if we’d never met?”
“Two.”
/> David, shaking, struggled to get the words out. “Put down the gun, let Gooty go and fight me, Mattock, and let's end this forever. The last act of a sick show that began when you brought us to Tockland.”
Mattock sniffed and shook his head. “No, this is the last act, boy. Three.”
But Gooty roused himself suddenly, grabbed Mattock’s wrist and thrust the gun upward. It fired, but the bullet hit the ceiling. A fine mist of concrete rained down. David saw his chance and charged. Mattock tried to point the gun at him, but Gooty still held onto his wrist, forcing it upward. And then Mattock kicked his feet out from under him, and Gooty went down.
“Die in your sickness,” Mattock spat. He aimed the gun at Gooty and fired. Once, twice, one shot in the neck, one in the chest. Gooty flopped onto his back, eyes wide, a long, wheezing breath escaping through his lips. And then he was still.
David flung himself at Mattock. The general tried to raise the gun again, but David caught his arm, forced it against his body and tackled him to the ground. They both got tangled up in the cloak, as David tried to wrestle the gun out of Mattock's grip. Mattock lashed out with teeth and hands, biting at his face and grabbing at his ear, twisting it. At some point, Mattock's gun fired again, but David had no idea which way it was pointed and had no idea if he’d been hit, every inch of his body burning.
“David, get up,” Cakey said. “Let me take over for you. I can handle him.”
“No,” David said. “I will end it.”
Mattock's teeth gnashed at his cheek—David smelled the earthy stink of slime on his breath. The tip of his incisors scraped David’s skin. Then David drove his forehead into Mattock’s face. This caused the General to convulse, and, in the second that he loosened his grip, David pulled the gun out of his grasp and flung it away.
“It will not end this way,” Mattock said through clenched teeth. “Not for me. Not like this.”
He worked his legs up under David and kicked out with surprising strength, launching David away from him. Then he hopped to his feet, swept his cloak back and drew his knives. David landed on his back, rolled head over heels, turned it into a handspring and wound up on his feet next to Cakey.
Shadows of Tockland Page 35
