Skinners: Blood Blade

by Marcus Pelegrimas

  The diner was supposed to be west of Milwaukee off of I–94. Somewhere along the way, Cole dozed off until he was awakened by a smack on his arm. The second smack wasn’t so subtle and nearly cracked his head against the window. “What the hell?” he grunted as he sat up and immediately felt every kink in his neck and shoulders.

  “Get up,” Paige snapped. “There’s a revolver in the glove compartment. Take it.”

  “Is it time for the meeting already?” he asked as he fumbled for the gun.

  “No, but there’s plenty of Nymar there already.”

  “How can you tell?”

  Paige flexed her hand and steered the car off the next exit. “You might want to stay in the car,” she told him. “If things get ugly—”

  “If things get ugly, I doubt a locked car door will do me any good,” he interrupted.

  She brought the Cavalier to a stop and left her keys in the ignition. “Then get ready to drive away,” she said. “If you have to, just drive away and call MEG.” With that, she pushed open her door and jumped out of the car, with Cole not too far behind.

  They were parked in front of a diner that could have easily passed for an empty shell off the side of the road. The next lot over was filled with rows of broken gas pumps and a smaller building that was completely hollowed out. Judging by the layers of filth on the pumps and the boards in the windows of the neighboring building, the gas station hadn’t been open for a long while.

  Seeing no movement through the diner’s window, Cole tucked the revolver under his waistband and pulled his shirt over it. “What’s wrong?” he asked while running to catch up to Paige.

  She kept flexing her hands and shaking them every now and then, as if working out a bad cramp in her wrists and fingers. Her eyes were fixed upon the diner and only darted to him for a second. “Where’s that gun?”

  “I’ve got it. We shouldn’t just—”

  “Keep it ready,” she cut in. “You might need it.”

  He drew the gun and checked it over. He wasn’t an expert marksman, but he’d been to the firing range enough times to know how to flick a safety off. Reflexively lowering his voice, he asked, “What’s the matter?”

  “Something’s here,” she replied.

  That was enough to make Cole nervous. The parking lot had a few other cars in it, but even they had an eerie emptiness to them. Since Paige was approaching the front door, he stayed beside her. The closer they got, the more suspicious he became. The air felt heavier, and as they got closer to the diner, he could see some kind of dark liquid staining a few of the windows.

  After a few more steps, a putrid mix of rusty copper and rotten meat hit Cole’s nostrils.

  “Jesus,” he groaned as he pressed a hand to his nose and mouth.

  Paige shot an intent glare over her shoulder and shushed him, then held up her open hand in the universal gesture used by crossing guards around the world.

  Apart from telling Cole to stop, she also gave him a good look at the scars on her palm, which now looked like a fresh case of poison ivy. Before he could get a closer look, he heard something crash inside the diner. That was followed by a familiar half groan and half scream.

  “If you have to shoot,” she warned, “aim for the head or heart. Follow my lead and make sure you have a good target before wasting a shot.”

  “And what if I need more than this gun?”

  “There’s more weapons in the trunk,” she replied.

  The rancid smell was thicker now that they’d taken a few more steps toward the diner. Every time Cole pulled in a breath, he swore he was coating the back of his throat with blood.

  “There’s a lot of them,” Paige said. “It looks like this wasn’t a very friendly meeting.”

  “Is it the Nymar?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know for sure. Could be Nymar. Could be shapeshifters. Could be both.”

  Paige stepped up to the front door and pulled it open. They could now hear crashes and pounding from inside the place, but the main dining room was deathly still. Propping open the door with one foot, she bent at the knees and reached for one of her moderately fashionable, black leather cowboy boots. They came equipped with sensible heels and a club concealed in a sleeve that ran along the inside of each calf. She removed a club from her left boot while pushing the front door all the way open. The blunt weapon, made out of polished wood, was just a bit shorter than her forearm. She winced as she tightened her grip on the handle and took another step forward.

  There was another scream from within the diner, followed by the crashing of plaster and wooden beams as a body exploded through the narrow window where orders were placed and picked up. Chunks were knocked from the wall around the opening, leaving only the metal shelf beneath the window intact.

  Cole was so distracted by the sight that he didn’t notice the rest of the bodies strewn on the floor until the airborne figure landed on a few of them. He followed in Paige’s footsteps as she moved away from the door and took up a position next to a booth made for four. It currently held two diners who were facedown and bleeding on a mess of spilled nachos.

  Now that Cole was inside, he was nearly overpowered by the stench of raw death filling the diner. There were close to a dozen corpses laying at the tables or on the floor. Blood collected in pools thick enough to ripple when another body flew through the opening in the wall and landed on the counter next to a clunky cash register. Unlike the first body, the second one didn’t flop to the floor like a broken doll. He was coated in drywall dust and paint chips, but Cole still recognized him as the man with the shaved head who’d tapped on his window while Paige and Racquel had tried to deal with Henry.

  “Don’t move!” Cole said as he raised his gun and took a hurried step toward the counter. He was stopped by Paige’s hand, which slapped against his chest like an iron paddle. She pointed at the gaping hole in the wall behind the counter.

  Another face peeked out from the kitchen. Long, stringy hair hung from Henry’s scalp like a mane, and his drooping head wobbled as if only connected to his neck by a vein or two. Henry gripped the edge of the hole in the wall with thick fingers capped by long cracked nails. As he looked at them, he pulled himself toward the hole so he could launch himself through the wall at Paige. All she could do to defend herself was raise her single wooden club.

  Cole let his instincts take over and leapt toward Paige. Somehow getting to her before Henry, he wrapped an arm around her waist so he could knock her to the floor. Henry flew over their heads and crashed into a booth, breaking the table and crushing the dead people sitting there under his feet.

  “Get off of me!” Paige snarled as she shoved her way out from under Cole and turned toward Henry.

  Then Cole felt a steely hand grab his shoulder and haul him up to his feet. Twisting around to see who’d grabbed him, he found himself staring into Misonyk’s clouded green eyes. He didn’t waste a second before jamming the barrel of his gun into the Nymar’s chest and pulling the trigger.

  Misonyk staggered back, but only a few steps. He wore a casual gray suit and a starched white shirt that were now coated in everything from blood and drywall dust to the oily black substance that coursed through Nymar veins. His head hung forward, showing Cole the thick black lines that writhed slowly, as if caressing the top of his skull beneath his scalp.

  “I’m glad you came,” Misonyk said in a voice that was steady and calm despite the escalating war going on behind him. “Now you can see what happens to those who defy me. You can hear the symphony of their cries. Are you ready to sing for me?”

  Cole pointed his gun at the Nymar’s chest and pulled his trigger again.

  Each shot made a wet impact and sent a spray of oily black through the air. Before Cole could fire another shot, Misonyk snapped his hand out to grab hold of his wrist. The Nymar tightened his grip and twisted until Cole was gritting his teeth and hoping his arm would just hurry up and break so some of the pain could ease up. Meanwhile, he got a good lo
ok at the freshly made bullet holes in Misonyk’s chest, which opened to reveal strips of waxy muscle stretched over a solid plate of bone.

  “Better than you have tried to kill me,” Misonyk said in a rasping voice. “Since I know you Skinners enjoy your experiments, I’ll try one of my own.”

  Cole struggled to free his arm, but it might as well have been caught in a steel trap. He tried to point the gun at Misonyk, but his hand was quickly twisted painfully back in the other direction. When he tried to kick the Nymar, his feet slammed against solid, unforgiving muscle. As Cole tried to think of something else he could do, Misonyk peeled back his lips and opened his mouth to show a second set of fangs that slid from his gums and curled down beside the straighter fangs. From the bottom jaw, a third pair of shorter, thicker teeth sprung up like a set of stalagmites. Those worried Cole the most, since he knew there was no way in hell he’d be able to shake free if they sank into him. As Misonyk leaned his head back, a substance resembling spoiled milk dripped from the snakelike set of upper fangs.

  Cole pushed against Misonyk to put as much distance as possible between them. He thought about pulling his trigger, but knew that would only waste a bullet. And then, just as he started to brace for the inevitable, his hand slipped free. Staggering back against an upended table, he brought his gun around and looked for a target. Unfortunately, that meant both of his eyes were wide-open to catch the spray of venom Misonyk spat into his face.

  Pain burned through his head. It was so intense that he crouched down and pressed both hands against his face. Even though the pistol grip was knocking against his head, he kept pushing, as if shoving his eyeballs all the way in to the back of his skull was the only option left open to him. “Son of a bitch!” he screamed.

  As the pain soaked into him, it lessened enough for Cole to open his eyes. The good news was that he could still see. The bad news was that Misonyk had already walked past Henry and was entering the kitchen through a swinging door.

  Cole tried to rush after Misonyk, but his feet skidded on the slick surface of the floor. He felt the tendons in his knees and groin beg for mercy, but managed to shift his weight and keep his legs beneath him. Just when he thought he’d be able to stand up straight, he felt the impact of Henry’s fists against the floor. The thump was enough to loosen one of Cole’s heels and knock that leg out from under him. His ass hit the bloody tiles and he reflexively reached back to brace himself. As his left hand slapped against the floor, he raised his right and fired a round at Misonyk. The shot punched a hole through the door, which didn’t prevent Misonyk from disappearing into the kitchen.

  By now Paige had climbed onto Henry’s back and wrapped one arm around his neck. She raised her other arm to lift something that most definitely wasn’t the club she’d drawn from her boot. This weapon might have been made from the same material, but it was almost twice as long and had a handle that wrapped around her wrists like petrified vines. The end was sharpened to a point, and Paige drove it straight down into the back of Henry’s neck.

  Henry let out a howl as he reared back and threw both arms straight out. When he ran out of breath, he stretched his ropy limbs to reach around and grab hold of Paige. Any other set of arms wouldn’t have been able to do much more than scratch or swat at her, but Henry’s joints popped and cracked in every direction. When he angrily punched the floor again, Henry made a big enough impact to keep Cole off balance. Rather than continue to struggle after Misonyk, Cole turned his attention to the fight going on in front of him.

  Henry’s gnarled arms and dangling head all twitched with a collective set of muscle spasms. His upper body swelled outward until the top of his head almost brushed the ceiling, and then he contracted in what seemed to be a deep exhalation until he was only slightly taller than seven feet. This allowed Paige to cinch her grip around his neck and wrap one leg around his shoulder. Every time she drove the pointed weapon into Henry’s body, the wound puckered up and closed on its own. Pasty fluid dripped from Henry’s mouth and dribbled from his chin. It looked like poorly mixed paint, mostly black but with traces of dark red. Henry finally managed to grab hold of Paige’s jacket and used it to throw her to the floor. She extended both arms and landed with a solid thump, but broke her fall well enough to work her way back to her feet.

  Henry looked around with glazed eyes to survey the grisly mess within the diner, and his loud panting caused his entire frame to rock back and forth.

  “They were loud. God…God told me to kill them!” he shouted, using a voice that was dredged up from the belly of a prehistoric beast. “You won’t lock me up again!” With that, his chest swelled and his arms flailed up over his head. Henry’s fists were only loosely balled, but they still took out chunks from the counter as they knocked against it.

  Seeing that Paige had put some distance between herself and the flailing creature, Cole fired his remaining bullets into Henry’s chest. The impacts caused the gnarled tangle of humanity to take a few steps back, which bought enough time for Paige to draw the second club from her boot. Smoke from the gun along with everything else must have affected his eyes, Cole realized, because the club now looked like a sickle, complete with long, curving blade and a handle that wrapped around her knuckles.

  “What do you want me to do?” he shouted.

  Before Paige could answer, a glancing blow from one of Henry’s arms knocked the wind out of her. She slashed at Henry’s stomach with the sickle, stabbed him with the first pointed weapon, then ducked out of Cole’s sight to avoid a powerful swing from Henry’s forearm.

  “Paige!” he shouted.

  “…help…me…”

  Those words hadn’t come from Paige. They were weak little mumblings coming from the counter in front of the shattered section of wall where the order window used to be. Looking in that direction, Cole found the first man who’d been tossed into the dining room.

  “Please,” the man creaked. “Help.”

  For the moment, Paige didn’t need any help. She was cracking the handles of both weapons against Henry’s head to make it looser than ever at the end of his neck. Henry wheeled around to face her, which placed him between Cole and Paige. Once Henry stepped aside, Cole could see that Paige was now carrying a sickle in each hand. Although the curved blades looked more suited for cutting wheat, they sliced Henry just fine. Paige bared her teeth in a half snarl and half grin as she continued to swing.

  “I can handle him while you reload,” she said to Cole. “If I don’t make a dent after a few more tries, aim for his head. Not anywhere else, you hear me? Just the head.” Without waiting for so much as a nod from Cole, she swung her right weapon toward Henry’s ribs. Henry turned and batted her away with ease.

  “Reload,” Cole grumbled. “Reload with what?”

  As he tried to decide if he should run back to the car and look for more bullets, he felt something grab his shirt. He looked down to find the man who had been begging for help a few moments ago.

  Deciding to kill two birds with one stone, Cole reached down to support the man under one arm. “All right,” he said. “We’re going outside. You gotta be quick, though.”

  At first it looked as if the man was agreeing with him by nodding weakly. After letting his head fall back, however, he revealed the fangs on his upper and lower jaws. There was no mistaking the hunger in the Nymar’s eyes as he set his sights upon Cole’s neck and lunged for it.

  Throwing the wounded Nymar away from him, Cole nearly tripped over a few of the closest bodies. Chunks of their necks had been torn out as if flesh had simply been scooped away from bone. That sight only confirmed what he had already guessed as to the grip of those lower fangs.

  The Nymar’s teeth clamped shut, but only after his back had hit the floor. Having missed Cole without so much as scratching him along the way, the Nymar arched his back and let out an anguished moan.

  Henry snapped his head toward Cole so quickly that it looked as if it might come off. When he caught sight of the Nymar at Co
le’s feet, he cocked his head to one side until it was almost level. His gaze was knocked off-kilter once again as Paige dropped the handle of her weapon onto his temple and followed up with a kick that snapped his chin straight toward the ceiling.

  Wheeling around in a crazed flurry of arms and fists, Henry knocked over tables and chairs with one wild swing after another. He hunkered down until he was closer to the size of a normal man, but the shape of his body was more gnarled and contorted than ever. His left fist sailed toward Paige, but she was able to hop away. Henry’s knuckles sent a chair flying, but his next attack was quicker.

  Even though Paige was able to raise one of her weapons as a shield, there was more than enough force to send her skidding across the slippery floor. She grabbed onto a table and pulled it down with her so it could shield her from Henry’s next swing. A meaty fist cracked the thick plastic tabletop. Paige waited for the next blow, but it didn’t arrive. Instead, Henry loped over to the Nymar on the floor.

  Cole circled around Henry and reached for Paige’s arm to help her up, but almost got one of her weapons jammed down his throat. “Easy,” he hissed. “That thing’s distracted.”

  Paige blinked furiously and gathered herself up so she was crouched behind the table and ready to spring. “What’s distracting it?” she asked.

  “Looks like our friends with the fangs are good for something after all.”

  Taking a quick glance over the table, Paige watched as Henry stood in front of the Nymar and lowered his head. He then wrapped both arms around himself as if hugging his own stomach. The Nymar tried to scoot away, but Henry flew at him before he could get far. Shouting incoherently, Henry swatted at the floor and sent tiles through the air. With the same reckless abandon, he swiped at the Nymar’s chest and ripped away several layers of flesh and bone. “You!” Henry grunted. “Justliketheothers! Justliketheothers!”

  The Nymar grabbed onto Henry’s wrist and had just enough strength to keep the gnarled fingers from reaching into his exposed rib cage. Once Henry’s hand came free, the Nymar flipped over and got to his hands and knees. Dropping his face to the floor, he lapped up some of the blood that had pooled there and then sent his leg straight back to pound against Henry’s midsection.