El Sombra

by Al Ewing

  "Te meto la... verga por el osico... para que te calles... el pinche puto osico hijo de perra..."

  The General turned, looking to Master Plus, who was cowering in the doorway, staying as far from the immense machine as he could.

  "You speak the mud language. Were those directions?"

  Master Plus swallowed hard and shook his head. He looked sick, and the sweat was pouring from him as he bore witness to the torture. "No, Herr Generaloberst. Quite the opposite."

  Eisenberg nodded, looking down at the mangled body below him. "I don't think pain is going to work here, and I don't want him to die of blood loss before he's shown us where to find our masked friend. I think we need more subtle measures with this one."

  He turned, fixing his grey eyes on the fat man.

  "Get me Master Minus."

  "Okay. Okay... so let me see if I have this straight. Your father..."

  El Sombra furrowed his brow.

  "...is a massive, massive... massive asshole."

  Carina nodded, pouring herself another glass of water. She did not turn around. She could barely look at the windows now. "I feel like such a fool."

  "Don't. I know they aren't real and I'm still fooled. They almost seem like they're moving."

  Carina laughed. It was without humour.

  "They almost do. If you look at them long enough, you'll think you remember them moving... or someone walking across them... I don't know how they do that." She sighed, closing her eyes and burying her face in her hands. "Maybe it's magic. Why not? If I'm going to be locked up like a princess in a tower, it might as well be a magic tower."

  El Sombra winced and pressed his fingers to his temple, as though he was developing a headache.

  "Unnh. Unterschwellige... subliminal message. It's a signal or message embedded in another object so it passes below..." He winced again. This one had been buried deep. "... below the normal limits of perception. So the conscious mind cannot see it, but the subconscious mind perceives it and informs the conscious mind. In your case, it's a whole bunch of little messages in the picture telling you that it's real, and to stop thinking about it and accept it."

  Carina stared at him in shock.

  El Sombra smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. I must have picked that up somewhere."

  Carina reached out and touched his temple with the tips of her fingers. "Do you... do that a lot?" He nodded, looking down at the carpet as though he'd been caught doing something embarrassing. Carina drew back, realising in that moment how little she knew about this El Sombra, this man who had come in through her window and revealed everything she had known to be a lie. "Who are you?"

  He turned to look at her, and there was something in the eyes underneath the mask.

  She understood then that this was a man who would never lie.

  This was a man who would never stop fighting until ten minutes after he was dead - and even then, beware! Check the grave daily. Leave a candle burning in the dead of night and never turn your back on a shadow. Never again, for as long as you live.

  This was a man who had lost almost everything he had, and would hurl the rest into the fire - even down to what little remained of his soul - if that would save one life.

  This was a man who could never be stopped or bought or beaten. A man who could never be broken.

  Because he had already been destroyed.

  The reason he was what he was... was because his mind was damaged. Like a horse whipped with iron chains until it bled, he would plough on, hammering forward forever or until he died in the dirt, heart and soul burned to nothing in the inferno of his revenge.

  So this is what a hero is, she thought. This is everything my father, the bastard, the liar, is not. This is the woodcutter of the fairytales, the masked caballero, the knight, the man who can fight off an army with a smile, the one who will always be there for me if I ask but once. This is the hero. And he is mad.

  And he is in so much pain.

  "I'm sorry."

  "Sorry for what? I'm fine." He smiled brightly, his eyes not meeting hers, playing the reckless warrior as he did with everyone else. But she understood it was a front. There was an undercurrent of shame and anger in him that would never quite go away.

  Carina shook her head and looked away for a long moment, out at the statue, almost calculating. Then she smiled softly and led him to the divan, sitting him down gently. "Come on. Take the weight off your feet for a minute; they look like they could use it. I want to hear your story."

  "It's not something I like to..."

  "None of that. I'm going to fix you, El Sombra. You want to save this town, fine, but I'm going to save you. It sounds like somebody has to."

  He looked at her, blinking.

  "Now tell me your story. And don't leave anything out."

  Master Plus's voice cracked and quavered in the still air.

  "Please, Herr Generaloberst. Please don't send that thing to my home."

  The General's face was as stern and cold as steel. He was enjoying the way the fat man squirmed.

  "What would you have me do, Master Plus? You heard what the man said. El Sombra is investigating the House Without Windows. Your house." He waved vaguely towards the shattered Jesus, who was desperately gasping for his next breath through a mist of blood. Next to him was Master Minus, dressed in his black hermetically-sealed suit, fiddling in his black medical bag. His truth serum had done its job adequately. It wasn't something he enjoyed using - it was clumsy and rarely gave good results - but it was tailor-made for cases like this, where the intensity of the pain and injury prevented the subject from resisting its effects.

  Master Plus looked desperately around at the immense metal monster standing behind him. "Isn't there some chance that he could have lied? It might be a bluff..." Master Minus said, hopefully.

  "If it is a bluff, we'll know after Der Zinnsoldat tears your dwelling apart and crushes everything that you love. Come now, Master Plus, stand up straight. This is your chance to show the Fatherland what a truly obedient servant of the Ultimate Reich you are. I'll be monitoring your reactions as the machine tears your home to splinters, along with anything else that gets in its way. You could really impress me, Mein Herr. It's quite an opportunity for you."

  Tears rolled down Master Plus' cheeks as he fell to his knees. "My daughter..."

  "... will have to pay the price for consorting with a terrorist. I'm sure Der Zinnsoldat will make it very quick." Eisenberg nodded, and the machine turned on its heel, marching forward on its huge crushing feet, one metal paw smashing a section of the wooden wall out and then flicking around like lightning to grab a length of wood for the furnace in its chest. Master Plus scrambled up, his chubby legs flailing as he tried to give chase.

  Master Minus sighed. "It's a shame the experiment has to end this way. Carina was a very strong-willed child. I would have looked forward to seeing how the Lying Window technology could be applied in the Fatherland, on those less prone to questioning their surroundings."

  Eisenberg turned to Master Minus. "I'm sure we have more than enough results to implement trials at home. Now, I need your professional opinion. What should we do with the priest? I was considering allowing Alexis another chance with him in the Great Square, but now I doubt he'd last the night."

  The hunched figure in the leather suit breathed in and out, the awful hiss of his exhalation seeming like some giant cobra readying itself to devour its prey as he loomed over the broken, crippled shell that had once been Father Jesus Santiago.

  "Allow me, Herr Generaloberst. It seems that poor Father Santiago has been severely injured by our rambunctious little toy."

  The eyes underneath the mask glittered like black diamonds.

  "I wish only to afford him... the very best of care."

  "So... that's everything? Yes, you can eat that."

  "Fankf." El Sombra nodded, teeth already busy tearing a large chunk from a yellow-skinned melon. While telling the story of what had happened to Pasito in the past ni
ne years, he'd been fidgeting - exploring the palatial surroundings, examining the covered windows with curiosity, and eating fruit. Mostly eating fruit. A detailed knowledge of vitamins wasn't one of the things he'd picked up during his nine-year fugue state, but he had a vague idea that it was a good idea to get plenty of them. Who knew when he'd get the chance again?

  He'd been amazed at how easy it had been to unburden himself. Usually the mention of Djego's name caused him terrible pain, but for some reason, Carina helped lessen that pain. When she asked, he could look at the past without the black bile crippling him. Ironically, it was probably something Djego would understand. He had had a vague knowledge of feelings like tenderness and love - albeit a crude, sophomoric one. Of course, with Djego, everything he knew about women was out of a book, or one of the old copies of The Pearl he had kept underneath his bed. A good thing he wasn't here now. El Sombra smiled and swallowed another chunk of melon.

  "That's everything. Well, up until I decided to investigate this place."

  "So you're saying everything I care about has either been torn to shreds or never existed in the first place?" Her voice was bitter as she lowered her head and wiped a tear from her eye. "I'm sorry. I don't usually cry, it's just... I knew where I stood. Even with that monster Alexis, I thought I had all the facts. Now... it's worse than just feeling stupid. I feel like there's not a single thing I can claim to know anymore. I was told the sun rises in the east. Is that true? I was told that two and two make four... God, it's horrible. Where does it end?"

  El Sombra reached to place a hand on her shoulder.

  "Well, I think once they're done here they'll just burn everything to the ground and everybody with it." He smiled. "But I'll kill them all before it gets that far. So you needn't worry."

  She looked up at him, frowning. "How do you always know just the wrong thing to say? Any more pearls of wisdom up your sleeve? I could write them down for future generations."

  He grinned. "I don't know. I was just about to ask if you were doing anything after I stab your fiancé through the heart and decapitate your future father-in-law."

  She shrugged. "I think I might be washing my hair... oh for God's sake, you can't even wait for an answer before you go for the satsumas. It's ridiculous. If I ate like you, father wouldn't need to put a lock on the door, I wouldn't be able to fit through it."

  He raised an eyebrow, chomping into the fruit, skin and all. "Mmmrpphhrm?"

  She winced as a jet of juice sailed past her left ear. "Dear lord, you've got the eating habits of a vulture. And the smell. What am I going to do with you?"

  "I dread to..."

  Boom.

  El Sombra snatched his sword. "Diablo! What in the hell was...?"

  Boom.

  "The walls are shaking! It's an earthquake!" Carina jumped up from the divan, running to flatten herself against the wall. El Sombra looked around for some kind of shelter, white knuckles gripping the sword.

  Boom.

  Carina felt the impact right through her. "Wait, I can feel something pounding into the side of the house. I think there's something climbing the..."

  Boom.

  A huge mechanical club smashed through the brick and plaster, three feet from Carina's head. She screamed, hurling herself forward into the masked man's arms - then looked back to see a terrifying metal giant tearing open the wall, masonry flying down into the street as it was peeled away by great crushing claws.

  "What is it?" Carina screamed, her eyes wide with a terror beyond anything she had ever experienced. The narrow, emotionless eyes looked back at her, burning, promising death.

  El Sombra breathed out, preparing himself. He muttered the name, almost under his breath.

  "Zinnsoldat!"

  CHAPTER SIX

  Feed The Machine

  The first thing El Sombra noticed was the smell.

  Oil and hot iron. Hissing copper, brick dust and the intangible smell of steam, mingled together with the strong stench of blood, fresh-spilled, smoking and bubbling against hot furnace-metal.

  The smell of efficiency in action.

  All the numbers crunched, all the plans made, the blueprints drawn up, all led to this - the sickly-sweet, almost medical smell of blood and steam. When the bastards had done with the world, all men would breathe this air, every day of their lives. Blood and steam and the smoke of the terrible automated processing factories that clanked and belched human fat into the sky in the heart of the Fatherland. The conveyor-belt monstrosities that carried corpses to the fire - the dead bodies of 'them', the 'others', the different ones with their skin, their faith, their love that could not be allowed.

  El Sombra occasionally gave himself a split-second for this sort of poetic reflection. But only one. He grabbed hold of Carina and swung her around to stumble back against the soft cushioning of the divan. An instant later, the monster charged, massive hands extended, fire blazing in its metal maw, the slits of its eyes glowing with an eerie light. For the machine, the brutal attack was simply the easiest means of completing its program. A quick, efficient strike. It was without rage, without malice. It took no pride in its ability to rend and tear. It was simply a tool.

  El Sombra judged the moment carefully. The creature was almost on top of him when he pitched himself forward, hands moving to grip each side of the chimney that jutted from the back of the thing. The elegant high ceilings of Carina's rooms allowed the monster to stand almost to its full height, which meant that there was enough space for what he had in mind. The muscles in his arms strained to support his own weight as he pivoted himself upward and over the charging monster, swinging on the hot chimney and vaulting over the network of pipes as though they were balance beams. The machine crashed into the wall on the other side of the room, knocking out bricks and mortar, and barrelled through into the small kitchen beyond - where Carina prepared many of her meals.

  El Sombra moved to the hole in the wall, watching the monster closely to catch its next move. Perhaps there was a way to shut the machine down now, before it did any more damage...

  The massive engine seemed to lose interest in him for a moment, looking around the small kitchen. The infernal glow of its chest had softened to a dull orange, and the ape-like machine sought to remedy this, reaching out one of its gigantic paws and taking hold of a wooden chair - then crushing it into kindling. As the behemoth opened up the furnace doors in its chest, the masked man edged back towards Carina. He knew he had only a few seconds of grace left before the machine went back on the attack. That time would best be spent in trying to ensure Carina's safety.

  He turned to face her. "Quickly - out the window!"

  She looked at him without comprehension, and in that instant he heard a crash of thunder from the kitchen. His seconds were used up and the monster was awake again. Awake and ready to kill.

  "The window! Jump for it!" He pointed wildly, then dived to one side as the immense robot plunged a pair of huge metal fists through the remains of the connecting wall. Carina rushed towards one of the painted scenes, caught herself, then dashed towards the ragged open hole that displayed the true face of the clockwork-town, only to come up short.

  "It's so high up!"

  "One storey! Just jump!" El Sombra launched himself up and back, the metal paws clanging like foundry hammers as they slammed together in the space where he'd been a split-second before. He threw himself backwards, tumbling in mid-air to land as a cat does on the Persian rug. "Just jump!"

  Carina looked at him, fear written in her eyes. "I can't!"

  And she couldn't, El Sombra realised. Carina had always been scared of heights, in the way that children are until they learn that not every fall will hurt you. But for nine years, there had been no falling. Before that, her idea of a dangerous drop had been around six feet - the distance from her father's shoulders down to the ground. And now she had to leap from a second-storey window and land without injury, with no time to judge, while the building shook from the blows of a rampaging mech
anical titan. El Sombra cursed himself as he dived between the creature's legs, a brutal blow from the thunderous metal fists shattering the floorboards behind him. Stupid. Stupid.

  All right.

  Plan B.

  Jumping to the side, he grabbed hold of one of the red drapes that framed the false windows, tearing it down and holding it in front of him to attract the attention of the monster. It was an unnecessary gesture. The attention of the mechanical creature was fixed on El Sombra, in the same way that the sights of the firing squad are kept fixed on their target. The machine turned, watching carefully, as El Sombra stepped back against the heavy oak door, the door to which only Master Plus held the key. It watched him as he fluttered the red material, as he spoke softly, in low, hushed, almost reverential tones.

  "Toro. Toro."

  The machine hissed, cold and calculating, letting off another burst of steam. It flexed one massive paw, the iron joints creaking slowly in the silence of the room. Carina pressed herself into the far corner, tensing herself as she saw the terrible potential in that coiled-spring form, as it wound itself up, ready to unleash its full destructive fury.

  Then the monster charged.

  Like lightning, it powered forward, one huge mechanical fist like a battering ram slamming through the red cloth and into the oak with enough force to crack the massive door into two halves and tear those halves off their hinges, sending them clattering and crashing down the stairs. The power of the blow was enough to pulverise El Sombra's ribs, snap his spine, reduce his internal organs to pulsing red liquid.

  But El Sombra was no longer there.

  "Hey, zurramato! Over here!" He made sure the creature had a good view of him as he stood, one foot on the windowsill, framed by the false vision of unbroken Pasito. Then he drew his blade and leapt, all in one motion - his sword carving the canvas as he swan-dived, somersaulting to hit the ground feet-first.

  Der Zinnsoldat could not be angered, or aggravated. There was no emotion lurking within the heavy metal body and yet, something in the manner of the target - this human, this mass of flesh and organ, this inefficient skin of water and chemicals and bone - irked it. The mission of Der Zinnsoldat was to track this fragile flesh-thing and crush it into pulp. The capering and darting of the insect was preventing Der Zinnsoldat from fulfilling its mission. Its drive to live was disrupting the efficiency of the unit.