The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two

by Barry Reese

  Pasarin rose to his feet, one hand held over his ruined nose. The gun he held trembled a bit, but Pasarin pointed it straight at Max’s head. “I’m going to kill you,” Pasarin said, almost sounding like he couldn’t believe he was actually about to win.

  CHAPTER X

  Blood Feud

  The Peregrine tried to remain calm, seeking a way out of this seemingly hopeless situation. He noticed that his other pistol, along with the Knife of Elohim, lay on the ground nearby. Once, not too long ago, Max would have used his burgeoning mental powers to just summon the weapons to him. But as with the prophetic visions that had once compelled him to take action against criminals, those powers were now gone, possibly forever.

  “It looks like the end of the road for you,” van der Decken hissed in Max’s ear. “You were a valiant opponent, I’ll grant you that.”

  The Peregrine took a deep breath, knowing that what happened next would decide his fate. “So… how are you going to do it, Pasarin? Let your servant slit my throat, or are you going to pull the trigger yourself?”

  Pasarin grinned cruelly. “Maybe I’ll let the zombies eat you alive. That would take longer.”

  “And it would be just like you,” Max declared. “You could stand aside and let somebody else do your dirty work for you.”

  “I’ve killed before,” Pasarin retorted. “And I’m more than ready to do it again.”

  The Peregrine tried to block out the pain he was feeling, and then he sprang into action, hoping that he’d live to see his wife and family again. Max leaned back hard against van der Decken, moving so quickly that the seaman didn’t think to cut his throat. He then leaned forward, flipping the man holding him forward and into Pasarin. The undead pirate and the businessman both fell to the ground while the zombies surged forward, ready to seize Max.

  The Peregrine dove for his weapons, coming up with both. He unloaded a dozen rounds in each zombie, driving them away from him. Then, while Pasarin and van der Decken climbed back up, Max switched weapons and slashed at the zombies with the Knife of Elohim. The mystic blade cut through their flesh like a hot knife through butter, ripping them to pieces. Two of them he beheaded, while the third took the blade straight between its eyes.

  Pasarin could scarcely believe how quickly the tide had turned. He shoved van der Decken forward, shouting “Kill him, you bastard! Kill him!”

  The sea captain roared, rushing towards Max with sword raised. The ferocity of Pasarin’s command would not allow van der Decken to hesitate. The blade fell, catching the Peregrine’s shirt as the hero jumped back. Several of the buttons off his shirt flew to the ground, and the Peregrine managed to deflect the next blow with the Knife of Elohim. The two of them performed a deadly dance, with flashing blades slashing back and forth. The pirate was far more experienced in swordplay, but Max’s training allowed him to hold his own.

  Just as Max snuck through the pirate’s defense and embedded his blade within the villain’s stomach, Pasarin reasserted his role in the battle. Van der Decken howled like a stuck pig as Max twisted the knife, but the attack was quickly broken off as Pasarin fired a bullet that ripped through Max’s left leg.

  The Peregrine staggered to one knee, now dripping blood from three bullet wounds. Van der Decken was seeping a massive amount of ectoplasm, his spiritual energy now pouring from the wound.

  Pasarin looked at his undead servant and bent to retrieve his fallen walking stick. He pointed it at the seaman and shook his head. “You really are a failure, van der Decken. And now that I’ve got Davies where I want him, you’re all the more useless.”

  Van der Decken’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t…”

  Pasarin’s lips barely moved. “Dispel.”

  Max watched in horror as the pirate’s body began to break apart into a foul-tinted mist. Van der Decken’s scream was bone-chilling, and Max knew that the undead pirate was being sucked back down into the abyss, to be tormented for eternity.

  “It’s just you and me now,” Max said, forcing himself to stand. He ached all over, and he was beginning to feel a little dizzy from loss of blood. “You can still surrender. The offer still stands.”

  Pasarin raised his gun, but Max did the same. The two men stood facing each other, ready to deal death. “You’re badly hurt, Mr. Davies. You’re in no position to offer me an honorable defeat.”

  The Peregrine smiled grimly. “I’m going to kill you if you keep pushing this.”

  “At best, we will both die,” Pasarin answered with a shrug. “I’m willing to accept that.”

  “Your decision.” The Peregrine spun to his right, hitting the ground in a rolling tumble. Pasarin fired but his bullets were a foot away from hitting him each time. Max came up with his own gun blazing, catching Pasarin in the chest twice before the villain flew backwards, blood spraying into the air. Before he’d even hit the ground, Max had fired once more: a bullet that passed into one ear and out the other, leaving a bloody hole in its wake.

  Max limped over to stand over Pasarin’s corpse, feeling no pleasure in his victory. The entire affair had been one with its roots in jealousy, and no man should die for such petty reasons.

  “I’m going to find your son,” Max swore, looking at Pasarin’s blank eyes. “And I’ll do what I can to make sure he doesn’t grow up anything like you—but I will tell him you loved him, in a sick and twisted sort of way.”

  The Peregrine turned away from him, stopping to pick up two objects from the ground: the strange talisman that van der Decken had used to control the zombies, and the walking stick that Pasarin had leaned upon so often. Hopefully, Nova would appreciate the new additions to his collection of oddities.

  Slowly, with pain lacing each and every step, the Peregrine descended the hill.

  THE END

  DEATH FROM THE JUNGLE

  An Adventure Starring the Peregrine

  Written by Barry Reese

  CHAPTER I

  The Figure in the Mist

  1938

  Deep within the tiny African nation of Bordia lay a cave of wondrous design. Mother Nature had, through centuries of rain and wind, shaped the cave’s entrance so that it resembled nothing less than a humanoid skull, its mouth forming the entrance to the lair within. The local tribes dubbed this cave “The Revenant’s Lair,” for it was said to be the abode of a man who had lived continuously since the late 1400s, when a European sailor had gone overboard during a treacherous mutiny. The man had been found by friendly natives, who aided him in hiding his survival behind a mask. He became the Revenant, striking back at his betrayers by becoming one with the jungle he now called home. He stalked them like a hunter would his prey and eventually brought them to a violent sort of justice.

  In the years since, the Revenant had adopted the cave as his private residence. Though the natives attributed his constant appearances over the years to immortality, the truth was that he had married a woman while visiting family in England, bringing her back to Bordia. Their son had eventually become the second Revenant, and through the years more descendants had done the same, all operating with the same weapons and attire—a fearsome black bodysuit, skull cap, and domino mask.

  The current Revenant was the twenty-second in the line, born with the name Lee Pence. He was as young and fit as his father and his father before him. But his greatest attribute was the keen mind he possessed, which allowed him to outthink enemies of all types.

  In the section of the cave dwelling that he used as his library, the Revenant now sat before a mixture of herbs that were slowly burning, their smoke enveloping his masked face. Elsewhere in the home his wife and two children—both girls—were cleaning up after dinner. Because there had never been a female Revenant, he and his wife had tried repeatedly for a son. A woman dressed in the Revenant costume would doubtlessly destroy the legend of an immortal jungle protector… it would become clear that the most recent Revenant had not in fact been the original but rather just the latest in a long line. And the legend had power,
no doubt of that. Thus, a son was needed before it was too late. Already, the Revenant could feel middle age looming over him… he would grow slow and inevitably die. There had to be someone to follow in his footsteps.

  The Revenant sighed, pushing such dark thoughts away. He looked around his home and smiled. Despite the fact that he lived in the jungle, the Revenant kept a well-furnished abode that looked every bit as comfortable as any suburban house in America. His children sometimes accompanied him on journeys to the so-called “civilized countries,” but what they had seen only confirmed that their father was right to spurn the Western nations in favor of his jungle home. But even here danger lurked: the Nazis had recently come to Bordia in hopes of finding several mystical weapons that had been under the natives’ protection.

  The Revenant leaned into the mist, breathing it in. The scent was like roasted almonds with just the faintest hint of alcohol in its wake. The herbs allowed him to expand his consciousness, sometimes seeing into the near future or recent past. If the stories he had heard were true, then the Germans had massacred a small tribe near the Roanzique River and successfully spirited away a powerful relic. The Revenant needed to know what it was, and where they were taking it now.

  The Revenant’s head jerked as images flashed before his mind’s eye. The images came in spasmodic hits, like still photographs being illuminated on a moving wall. He saw a man dressed in an S.S. officer’s uniform, all black leather and polished boots. The man’s face was handsome but cruel, and one of his eyes… something was wrong with his right eye. It seemed to move in an unnatural manner with whirrs and clicks, as if it were a mechanical prosthetic painted to look like a human orb.

  The Revenant saw the man standing over the ruined corpses of the natives, another officer approaching him, not caring that he stepped over the bodies of women and children. The second officer held a small wooden box in his gloved hands and he held it out to the first man. “Herr Krupp, I believe we have it.”

  Krupp turned his mechanical eye on the man, accepting the box with a nod of his head. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Your men did fine work.” Krupp kicked at the remains of a dark-skinned woman whose skull had been bashed in. “Savages. We’re doing them a favor removing them from the world. There’s no place for them in the future.”

  The lieutenant nodded but said nothing. He supported the Fuehrer in all things, but was sometimes uncomfortable with the Aryan superiority that was being espoused. He had friends who were Jews and it was difficult to think of them as sub-human the way that many Germans claimed.

  Krupp opened the box and smiled coolly. Inside was a small mammal, no more than six inches long. It was hairless and possessed skin that was golden in color. It looked like some bizarre cross between human and animal, with features that were hideously ugly. “This is it… the creature that will ensure the survival of the Reich.”

  The images seemed to fade away from Revenant’s field of vision, leaving him alone in his library. His heart was hammering in his chest. The creature that the Nazis had stolen was a sacred animal, one that was almost as legendary as Revenant himself.

  He rose and left his room, hurrying outside. The rumble of thunder made the ground shake around him. Without even bothering to tell his wife where he was going, he sprinted through the jungles, finally coming to the village closest to his home. The tribe here had always been like family to him and he now sought out their shaman, an aged man who sat before a small fire, his eyes half-closed.

  The shaman didn’t look up to see his approach but he spoke as if he knew who it was emerging from the darkness. “They have the beast child,” the shaman said, with a sad shake of his head. “The prophecies say we are doomed.”

  “Tell me again,” the Revenant asked, kneeling beside the man who was like a father to him. The Revenant knew the prophecies as well as anyone, but still he wanted to hear the words.

  “The end of days shall be marked by the arrival of evil men. They shall awaken the sleeping beast and the world will soon die by fire.”

  “There must be some way to stop this. I can find them, find the beast and slay it.”

  “No,” the shaman said with a shake of the head. “You must not!”

  “I can’t stand idly by while this thing is allowed to mature!” The Revenant started to stand, baffled that his mentor would want him to do anything less than stop this travesty.

  The shaman rose to his feet, moving close to the Revenant. His hand dropped to the knife belted at his waist and he drew it in a rapid motion that belied his advanced age. The Revenant was too shocked by the betrayal to properly defend himself, and the blade was driven straight through his stomach, protruding out his back. Blood dripped to the jungle floor.

  “I am sorry, Spectre Who Breathes,” the shaman whispered, using one of the many local names for the Revenant. “But there is a cycle to all things. A time for beginnings and a time for endings. And this is that time.”

  The Revenant fell onto his back, the world growing black before his eyes. His last thoughts were of his wife and daughters, and of the heroic legacy that was about to die with him.

  CHAPTER II

  The Golden Goblin

  Atlanta, Georgia—August 1943. 2:35 A.M.

  Sally Pence hurried down the darkened, rain-slicked streets of Atlanta, her heart hammering in her chest. The only sounds to be heard was the steady click-clack of her heels on the pavement, as there seemed to be no one else out at this hour. It was after two in the morning, and Sally felt very alone in this crowded city.

  She was a beautiful young woman, twenty-five years old, with strawberry blonde hair and a trim figure. In college, she’d been captain of the pep squad, and in the years after school, she’d continued to maintain an athletic tone to her body. She wore a knee-length skirt and work-casual blouse, a string of pearls hanging around her neck. In her right hand was clutched a folder containing a dozen or more clippings from major newspapers and magazines from around the world. Taken separately, none of them would be worth killing over, but together they painted a chilling picture.

  It was that folder and its information that had led her out at this hour, for there were evil men who wanted that information, and she had sworn to keep it from them. Just before midnight, she’d noticed a car parked outside her home, two men seated within. They were watching her, waiting for her lights to go out. That she was under surveillance was not particularly surprising to her, for the man for whom she sometimes worked was often the target of criminal enterprises, and this led to Sally’s own endangerment from time to time. Sally didn’t mind this, as her own father had taught her that the needs of the many always outweighed the needs of the few. If she could help people, it was worth the risks to herself.

  With steely resolve, she’d dressed and snuck out through the back door, intending to make it across town on foot. Twice she thought she’d detected the sounds of pursuit but as reached the heart of the city, she finally began to relax: it seemed that she had, indeed, escaped the men who were chasing her.

  A sudden burst of shrill laughter echoed throughout the darkened street, making Sally jump. It sounded high-pitched and slightly mad, as if the laughter came from someone both deranged and dangerous.

  Sally looked about in a panic but could see nothing. As she was looking over her right shoulder, still plunging headlong down the street, a massive figure jumped from a nearby rooftop and landed directly in front of her. She ran into him, grunting from the impact, and fell onto her rump. The file she’d been carrying fell to the ground, its contents scattering.

  Sally’s eyes slowly rose, taking in the horror that now stood over her. The male figure was well over six feet in height and heavily muscled. He wore strapped sandals on his legs and feet, a purple loincloth with yellow trim, and heavy gold wristbands. His skin was a golden color and his face was misshapen, with razor sharp teeth and a flat, pug-like nose. He smelled like brimstone and sweat, making Sally gag in revulsion.

  The Golden Goblin bent low and snat
ched up several of the scattered pages, crumpling them in his oversized hands. “Are these all of them?” he asked in a rumbling voice. When he saw that terror had momentarily sapped Sally of her ability to speak, he laughed again, that same eerie high-pitched sound that chilled the blood of anyone unlucky enough to have overheard it.

  Sally found herself staring into the creature’s malevolent eyes, but instead of continued fear, she began to feel a surge of adrenaline. Her life hung in the balance, she was sure of it… and she hoped that she could somehow make her father proud. He had taught her how to handle herself in a tight spot, and they didn’t come any tighter than this, she reasoned.

  Without bothering to answer the brute’s question, Sally kicked out with a high heel and caught the Golden Goblin in the knee. The blow would have crippled a normal man, but the Goblin didn’t even blink an eye.

  The monster grabbed hold of her ankle and gave a powerful squeeze. Sally screamed as the bones rubbed together within her foot. “I’m only going to ask you this one last time, little girl. Is this everything?”

  “Yes!” Sally managed to squeak, her vision nearly blinded by pain.

  The Golden Goblin dropped her foot and Sally rolled over onto her side, fighting the urge to vomit. The Goblin bent to retrieve the rest of the papers, but a bright light suddenly shone upon him, and the villain found himself staring up into the headlights of an Atlanta police cruiser, which had pulled to a stop nearby.

  “Hey!” an officer was shouting, stepping from the vehicle. His partner was doing the same, and this second man already had his gun out and in his hand. “What’s going on here? Are you bothering this woman?”