Blood of the Masked God (Book 1): Red Wrath

by Gehrke, Gerhard

  We stopped by my place. Carter hadn’t mentioned the giant Princess Pike–sized dent in his hood, but it was superficial and probably wouldn’t draw any attention from a cop looking to hand out a fix-it ticket. But for someone as meticulous as him, the dent must have been a constant irritant, even if the car was a rental.

  Incredibly, my scooter was still where I had left it in the red zone. There was a passive-aggressive note on it with plenty of exclamation points about moving it or else. I started the scooter up and pulled behind Carter’s Prius. Then I gestured to Carter to wait.

  The news hadn’t mentioned Princess Pike being arrested or taken to a hospital, so it was reasonable to assume she was still out there. We couldn’t linger. But I needed to check my place.

  Before going into my building I took a moment to listen, to smell, to catch any sign of Pike or her goons. Too much had been happening during our fight for me to catch more than a whiff of her, but my enhanced sense of smell told me one of her goons liked his menthol cigarettes. The more I thought about Pike, the more I remembered certain aromas standing out. I took a moment to concentrate. Lavender was in one of her products, maybe the shampoo. And did I detect Lady Speed Stick Powder Fresh? It was the same antiperspirant I used. Maybe I was imagining it. But now I detected none of those odors.

  Fixed to my apartment door was a notice of eviction. No more courtesy texts would be forthcoming, I guessed. I had seven days to vacate the premises—no, six, because it had been posted on Monday.

  The door to my studio was ajar. I saw bright scratch marks around the keyhole and deadbolt. Inside the place looked a mess. Someone had gone through all my stuff. Drawers were open and clothing had been taken from the closet and dumped onto the floor.

  Just the thought of anyone breaking into my space made me feel uneasy. My cozy apartment no longer felt safe. It was putting me on edge worse than when she’d been trying to kill me.

  My small gun safe was lying in a pile of broken wood that used to be my desk. The metal had been peeled open, the phone inside was gone. I searched the floor. There, by the broken remains of a potted plant, was the phone, broken in half. I picked it up and tried to power it up or put it together, but it was pointless. It had been smashed and twisted to pieces. The photo of my mom and dad was gone.

  I tried to conjure their image in my mind, but I was too upset. Both of their faces eluded me.

  Carter texted. Everything OK?

  I thought about grabbing up some more clothes in case the manager jumped the gun and changed the lock, but for now I didn’t care. The upstairs neighbor kids were raising a ruckus, and all the other sounds were crowding through the walls and ceiling and floor. I didn’t want to lose the place, but all of that would have to wait until later.

  All I had of my parents were now memories.

  Once a guy came up to my dad, my mom, and I when we were in the parking lot of a restaurant and threatened us and asked for my dad’s money. My dad handed over his wallet without hesitation. I cried after the mugger had fled, but it was only because I had been scared. Later that night when my dad tucked me in, I asked why he didn’t fight. My dad said because the mugger might have had a knife or a gun. Even without those things he still might have hurt us, he added. Giving up a wallet was a small price to pay for us to stay safe.

  I dropped the wrecked phone.

  Chronos had taken my hero away from me.

  I felt it in my gut. Today Chronos would show, and this time I wasn’t going to miss.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The morning was eventful, as predicted.

  A few new shootings throughout the country made the headlines, including one inside an office building in Midtown. A firebug had set fire to a school and a couple of churches up in the Bronx. There were also a dozen local car accidents, two of which had ended in fights.

  The cops were busy.

  Then two villains Lightshow and Gloom made a late commute appearance downtown. The villainous twosome, normally less interested in crime than making headlines and fashion columns, were using their light and dark powers to kill people. I knew something was amiss when a live video was posted of Lightshow taking out a news van as the crew was getting set up. Gloom, using his dark energy tentacles, fried the brains of a young journalist hoping for an interview.

  “This is it,” I told Carter. He was leaning on the back of the Prius and watching the news on his own phone while I sat straddling my scooter.

  “What’s the plan?” he asked.

  I turned the key and started the scooter engine. “I’m going to get close this time. I won’t be checking my phone. Meet me in front of the Metahuman Museum in case I need a pickup.”

  He appeared momentarily confused, as if we hadn’t gone over this already. But finally he nodded, and he started saying something as I put the scooter in gear and tore off. This time we were near the garage exit. I would have little problem navigating traffic. For Carter it would take a while. By the time he made our rendezvous spot, it would be over.

  The thought of Chronos showing and me finally ending it in the next hour thrilled me. But I cleared my head. I had earplugs in again, which helped muffle the world, as loud as it had become. My revolver hung in the holster under my left arm. An awkward fit with my jacket buttoned tight. The rifle case was once again strapped to the back of the scooter.

  Driving was a greater challenge than expected, as my reflexes made me want to overreact. Maybe it was nerves. I needed to relax but it wasn’t possible. Instead I sped up, narrowly missing side mirrors and random lane-changers as I rocketed through traffic.

  Up ahead I saw police cars not able to get past the gridlock along with a big truck marked Emergency Services. They were going in the same direction I was, but this time they were bringing out the big guns. I guessed the truck contained the city’s supervillain response team, basically SWAT with a few extra tricks up their sleeves. With traffic like it was, I would get there first and would have a few minutes to set up without being interrupted.

  As I sped closer, I saw pedestrians running in the street in the opposite direction from the scene. I passed a couple of vehicles that had been outright abandoned. Smoke filled the air. One guy with a dog and a briefcase in his arms shouted an obscenity at me as I zipped past him. Drivers were laying on their horns but now no one was moving. Up ahead, car doors stood open, so I had to brake hard and putter to the sidewalk. I made it another half block before stopping.

  A woman with her two children rushed past, the kids barely able to keep their feet on the ground. I pushed the scooter next to a utility box and got off. The rifle case strap was caught on the rear rack. As I worked to free it, someone approached holding a small handgun at his side. The tiny silver thing almost looked comical in the man’s hands.

  “Give me the keys,” the man said in a scratchy voice.

  I hesitated. At first I thought it was one of Princess Pike’s goons, but it was another man, someone I had never seen before. His nervous bloodshot eyes darted about erratically.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  He shook his head as if the question didn’t make sense. “I said give me the keys.”

  Then I realized he wasn’t there for me, but for my scooter.

  “Okay, fine,” I said. “Just give me a sec while I get this off and you can have it.”

  He raised the gun so it was pointing in my face. His tongue flicked out to lick his cracked bottom lip. The hand holding the weapon had a slight tremor. His eyes twitched.

  I reached into my jacket pocket and found the keys. “I’m giving these to you. Now point the gun away.”

  Suddenly I felt it. The urge to move. His finger was squeezing the trigger and I sidestepped without thinking. His little pistol snapped off a shot. My ears rang with pain even with the earplugs. He had a surprised look on his face, as if he hadn’t even expected his weapon to fire.

  “How did you do that?” he asked even as he corrected his aim so it was pointing at me again.

/>   I had no idea what he had seen as I moved. Was I a big blur? I wasn’t waiting for him to fire a second time. I flung the keys at him as I rolled to my right. He used the gun to shield himself. My revolver slid easily from the holster and I pointed it up at him.

  He froze as he stared down the barrel of my much larger weapon.

  “Find another ride,” I said.

  The man ran. He still had his silver gun in his hands. I should have disarmed him, but the whole incident had taken me by surprise. Amazingly, no one else was nearby. I holstered the revolver and finished freeing the rifle case. I didn’t bother with my padlock for the scooter. The tweaker thief had wasted too much time already.

  A series of blaring police horns a half block back broke the air. They were getting closer. I had to move.

  The rifle case wasn’t very heavy, but it was clunky and awkward as I jogged along as quickly as possible. A group of men and women ran past me. Up ahead a half dozen people were taking cover inside the entryway of a bank. The air above the stopped traffic blinked with a burst of dark energy. Several of the windows in the nearest buildings shattered, and melted holes appeared in the windshields of the cars below. A brilliant flash of sparkling white exploded up ahead like a million flashbulbs going off at once. I ducked and closed my eyes but my retinas still suffered from momentary burn-in. As my vision began to clear, I pressed on.

  The intersection ahead was piled with wrecked vehicles.

  Two figures moved about. One man wore a black uniform and a mask. He climbed on top of a cop car. Black pulsing fire radiated from his skin.

  Gloom.

  Floating a few feet off the ground near him was his partner, a man who shone bright like a stadium light. A mane of white hair trailed behind him.

  Lightshow.

  Around them at least a dozen vehicles had been crushed or burned and now they were taking turns at blasting away at a city bus. Both could throw energy from their hands. The side of the bus looked scorched and most of the windows had melted. Its tires were flat. And a number of people were huddled inside the wreck.

  Something was wrong with the two villains. Neither had been inclined towards random violence, content to terrorize the posh world of New York City high fashion, which had apparently turned its back on both of them. They kidnapped, they robbed, they made statements and sometimes destroyed property when it fit their ideology. But wholesale wanton murder? Not these two.

  I hiked the steps up to the lobby entrance of an insurance building. There, under the shadows of its massive columns, I opened my rifle case. The situation was perfect. The moment was right. As I screwed the barrel onto the body of the rifle I realized I would have no better opportunity. Chronos had to show up.

  The base of one of the pillars made a perfect place to rest the rifle. I attached the scope and put my eye several inches behind it. This was fairly close range. I knew I was untrained and hadn’t had time to practice recently. But this close, even a child could put a round center mass on a man-sized target. There was glare coming off some windows of the building across the street. Trying to ignore it, I kept both eyes open and watched Gloom and Lightshow.

  Neither seemed to be in a particular hurry. Sirens whupped, still some distance away, but the cops would hoof it if they couldn’t get closer with their truck. Lightshow let loose a long, stringy blast of light that took off a corner of the bus. Both men were laughing.

  I watched them through the scope. One trigger pull and either villain could be taken out. Surely with the amount of carnage they had wrought, they deserved it. The people in the bus deserved to live. But they weren’t my target.

  Gloom’s turn came next, and he stretched both hands before him as Lightshow watched. Dark crackling fire struck the bus in its center and almost tore the vehicle in two.

  The survivors were cramped into the back half. A woman was waving one hand high and shouting as if trying to surrender. I grew more nervous. I could interrupt the mayhem. Adjusting my sights, I lined up on Lightshow. My finger touched the trigger guard. It would take me twenty seconds to ready a second round. Gloom would either flee or freeze up, not knowing exactly where I was as the rifle’s report echoed around him.

  Yet I hesitated.

  Where was Chronos? This was his territory, his city to defend. He had never allowed anything like this to go on for so long. Yet I had beaten him to the scene.

  Lightshow blasted a wheel off the bus. Gloom fired more ribbons of dark fire at the street. The asphalt began to bubble and the side of the bus started to smoke. The people trapped inside were being cooked. They were screaming. And the two villains laughed.

  Something momentarily blocked the glare from above. I looked up to see a shadow floating a hundred feet up above the intersection. He was hanging midair, looking down at Gloom and Lightshow. They saw him. I knew how fast Chronos could be. I looked back down my scope and switched between both villains. When Chronos came down, I would be ready.

  Gloom and Lightshow just stood there, but Chronos didn’t attack. I looked up. He wasn’t doing anything. Maybe it was a trick of my eyes, but I saw him nod ever so slightly at them. An acknowledgment, or a signal. Neither Gloom nor Lightshow responded.

  A moment of silence followed. The distant sirens and police cruiser horns all stopped. All I could hear was the crying of the people in the bus. It was as if the city itself had paused to catch its breath.

  Then Lightshow erupted in a geyser of brilliant energy directed upward. Chronos was enveloped and he quickly spun away, striking the side of a building. A shower of glass exploded where he struck. But a moment later he launched from the building and arced down towards the street.

  Gloom was ready for him. A fan of dark flame bloomed from one hand. The cone struck Chronos dead-on. The Star Son was on fire. Smoke bubbled from his skin. But his forward momentum carried him down to the street, where he landed right between the two villains. Gloom paused his assault and moved to get a better position. Lightshow’s hands both became small suns as he closed in on the hero.

  I realized I was caught up in the whirl of action. I was there for a reason, yet if I gave Chronos a minute he would put an end to both of the murderous men. I lined my rifle up with him and tried to see through the scope. With Lightshow shining so bright, it was impossible. I had to squint and shield my eyes just to make out what was happening.

  Chronos absorbed a couple of blows from Lightshow’s dazzling hands. His body smoldered where the blows landed. Lightshow had no fighting form and was just whaling on the hero. Then Chronos slammed him hard with a punch that sent the villain sprawling down to the broken asphalt. The suns in Lightshow’s hands dimmed. Chronos didn’t hesitate. With no show or spectacle, he stepped over to Lightshow, pulled him up, and punched him in the face. A spray of blood hit the ground.

  I got the rifle on target but the burn-in on my retinas made seeing clearly difficult. My heart, my breathing—it was all going too fast and I couldn’t calm down enough to take a clear shot. I found myself trying to hold my breath, but that made my sight picture shake.

  What I managed to see sent a shiver through my body. Lightshow’s face was a pulpy red crater. Chronos held the limp villain up by the front of his uniform and turned to look at Gloom. I couldn’t hear what the other villain was saying, but he looked scared and was backing away.

  Chronos let him leave and just stood there.

  The police were coming up the street. The folks trapped in the bus were helping each other climb out of the slagged wreckage, but at least a couple of people were transfixed by Chronos.

  This was it. My moment. My shot. But now Lightshow was in the way. But wasn’t he a murderer too? Dozens of people were seriously injured, if not dead, in the wrecks of cars lining the street. One bullet would hit both of them, and Lightshow wouldn’t slow the 50-caliber slug down much.

  At that moment I knew I wouldn’t pull the trigger if it meant killing Lightshow. Chronos was different, maybe not human, a superpowered insect or alien who
had killed my…

  I had to clear my head. Chronos turned ever so slightly. I had a shot.

  Then the slightest tremor went through my hand on the rifle grip. The rifle wobbled. My head wanted to jerk away even as I thought about pulling the trigger. It was my own hyperactive reflexes anticipating the recoil. I bit down hard on my lower lip. Tasted blood. I was in control, I reminded myself. If I turned into a quivering mess at this critical instant, if I couldn’t finish what I had set out to do so many years before, then my whole life was a joke.

  I clenched my fist to control the tremor.

  Someone was stepping closer to Chronos. An EMT in a dark blue uniform and a baseball cap with the ambulance company logo on it had his hands spread wide and was saying something. I exhaled and watched through the scope as the man tried to get Lightshow’s limp body from Chronos. Another EMT and a cop stood nearby, while other responders were escorting the bus survivors away.

  Chronos didn’t reply, but stood stiffly in the middle of the intersection with a confused look on his face as he considered Lightshow and then the EMT. Smoke from a burning car wafted past. The EMT, as if tired of waiting on the hero, took Lightshow under the arms and pulled him away. I zeroed in on Chronos’s face. It twitched. Something in his eyes flickered as if a light had switched on. In a blur, the hero took a half step forward and swatted the EMT. He was knocked away, Lightshow spilling from his grip. The EMT landed hard against a nearby car. I couldn’t see him, but he didn’t get up.

  A shout went up from the cops and other responders. Chronos stood staring at the hand that had struck the man as if it were a foreign thing. The EMT’s partner ran over and I heard him cry out.

  “He killed him,” the partner said.

  I pulled the stock snug into my shoulder. I was stone. My mother and father, Chronos, Carter, me—none of us existed. It was just the rifle and a target. I let out a breath, touched the trigger, and squeezed.