Asskickers of the Fantastic

by Jim Stenstrum

  Upstairs, Naomi turned and aimed the porticon at Dementia, who ran up the stairs as the device was fired at her. Behind her, a large portion of the stairway vanished into the void. Naomi gave pursuit, but then realized she had just destroyed the route ahead of her. She turned and ran toward the other stairway at the opposite end of the building.

  Dementia was rounding the staircase and was headed toward the sixth floor when Danny suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs and fired his shotgun at her. Just in time, she hopped back around the corner and the blast missed her.

  Danny pumped the shotgun again. “You’ll never take me alive, copper!” he said in his best James Cagney impression.

  She could see his shadow on the wall, being cast by the light coming through the window behind him. Dementia looked around for anything she could use as a weapon, but saw only more dried cadavers lying on the floor. She yelled up to Danny.

  “I just want the girl, Danny. Let her go and we’ll leave.”

  He didn’t respond. She took a quick peek around the corner and he shot another blast at her, trimming the hair on the right side of her head.

  “C’mon, Danny. She’s not part of this. Just let me get the girl to safety and we can start up this ruckus again another time.”

  Danny thought about this a couple seconds, and then said, “All right, Demmy. You’ve got a deal. Come up and get her.”

  The corpse lying nearest to Dementia was a large man, over six foot tall she calculated. She picked him up by his belt with her one good hand and edged as close as she dared to the stairway.

  “That’s good news, Danny. At last you’re doing the right thing.”

  Before he could answer, Dementia bounded up the staircase, holding up the dead man like a shield, rushing directly at Danny. He was able to get off two shotgun blasts before she reached him, blowing big holes in the corpse she was carrying. She plowed into him with the dead man’s body, pushing Danny through the window behind him, where he fell six floors to the cement below.

  Dementia looked out the window and saw Danny’s body splattered on the pavement, blood pooling around his head. He must have crushed his skull against the cement, which ought to slow him down for a few minutes.

  Her side was on fire. Danny had tagged her with the shotgun and she was bleeding profusely. She put it out of her mind and climbed the stairs. One more floor to go was her single, driving thought.

  Finally, at the top floor, Dementia stumbled through the darkness. She was a goddamn mess. The loss of blood had weakened her to a foggy state. At the end of the corridor she pushed open a door, and in the center of the room was Crayon, sitting in a chair, staring blankly as if in a hypnotic spell. Against the wall was another pile of corpses, and behind Crayon was a huge, almost perfectly circular hole in the wall — doubtless where someone had been screwing around with the porticon.

  Dementia leaned close to Crayon and touched her face.

  “Crayon. It’s time to go, sweetheart,” she whispered.

  The girl gulped in a sudden deep breath, and came to life. She looked at Dementia queerly for a moment, and then spoke.

  “Dementia?” Crayon looked around the room, thoroughly confused. “Where are we? Where’s Rex?”

  “Not sure. Dead maybe. Come on, we have to get you out of here.”

  As she helped Crayon up with her one good arm, the girl stared at her.

  “God, what happened to your arm?”

  “We can have a long chat after we get you out of here.”

  Dementia moved to the hole in the wall and looked outside. It was a straight drop to the street, seven floors down. The top half of the fire escape been destroyed by the porticon, and it was a drop of twenty feet at least, and another fifteen feet to the left, to reach the remaining portion.

  “This is the only way out. We have to jump,” said Dementia.

  Crayon looked out the hole and saw the impossible jump.

  “Maybe if I was a space zombie.”

  “We have to try. Maybe I can swing you across to the fire… escape…” Then Dementia collapsed. Her great strength had given out on her at last.

  Crayon heard someone coming, forcing open doors in the hallway. She looked at Dementia lying helplessly on the floor, and began to drag her across the room.

  Moments later, Naomi returned to the room and saw Crayon still sitting in the chair, staring blankly into space. Scanning the room quickly, Naomi saw nothing out of the ordinary, and slammed the door.

  In the hallway, she called out in frustration.

  “Danny? Goddamn it, where the hell did you go?”

  She walked toward to the staircase and headed downstairs.

  As soon as the coast was clear, Crayon hopped off the chair and rushed over to the pile of bodies in the corner, pushing them off Dementia.

  “Dementia, wake up. Please wake up. I don’t know what to do.”

  She roused, but barely. Crayon pulled her free of the pile of bodies and propped her head up with a fatigue jacket she took off one of the corpses.

  “Listen to me,” said Dementia. “You have to get out of here. Try to get to the roof. They may not find you there.”

  Crayon walked over to the hole in the wall and looked outside. A leap to the ground was suicide and there was no way to reach the roof.

  “I can’t. There’s no ledge, no anything.”

  “Then you gotta run, kiddo. I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  “Run, goddamn it!”

  Crayon defiantly stood her ground. “Guess your psychic tricks don’t work so well when you’re bleeding out.”

  Dementia sighed and looked defeated as Crayon sat down next to her on the floor.

  “Don’t worry,” said Crayon. “Rex will come. He’ll get us out of here.”

  “He’s not coming, sweetheart,” said Dementia. “It’s just you and me now.”

  Outside the building, Danny picked himself off the pavement. Checking himself for damage, he seemed in good condition other than the side of his face hurt like hell. Then he looked around for a place to re-enter the building.

  Finding a boarded up window, he ripped off the planks and climbed inside a dark room. It was a bathroom, he realized, as he stepped into a toilet bowl. He stumbled around for a light, and was relieved to find the bulbs in this room were still working.

  Hitting the light switch, Danny looked into the bathroom mirror and was shocked at how badly the side of his face had been squashed in. It was completely flat on the right side and his eyeball was dangling by the optic nerve. He pushed the eyeball back into its socket and snapped his jaw back into place, which would at least allow him to talk.

  Danny found his way into the lobby, where he had kept a stash of weapons on a table. He grabbed an Uzi and a couple clips from the pile and walked down the dark hallway. As he approached the staircase, he noticed the elevator had crashed to the bottom and blown out the doors. Only withered corpses lay inside the wrecked car. He started up the steps, not realizing Rex was still unconscious and trapped beneath the car just a few feet away from him.

  In the top floor apartment, Crayon watched Dementia as she clung to consciousness.

  “Listen,” said Crayon. “How about if I gave you just some of my life energy? Can you control it? Can you stop it before you kill me?”

  Dementia looked at her blearily. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried. But even if I could, you would lose months, even years of your life. And I won’t do that to you.”

  “But if you can’t stop them, we’re both going to die.”

  “Forget it, I said.”

  “Just enough to get your strength back. Please. I can’t fight them alone.”

  “The answer is no, goddammit. Now shut up about it.”

  Crayon looked hopeless. She curled up next to Dementia and closed her eyes.

  “Then we’re dead,” said the girl.

  On the third floor, Danny was rounding the corner on the dark staircas
e when a blast from the porticon nearly sheared him in half. He hit the floor and the wall behind him disappeared. Daylight poured in through the hole and flooded the hallway, and he looked up to see Naomi standing at the far end of the hall, aiming the device at him.

  “Jesus Christ! It’s me, Naomi. We’re on the same team, remember?”

  “Danny, is that you?” She ran toward him.

  “What’s left of me,” said Danny, getting up from the floor.

  Naomi looked at his face with revulsion.

  “Danny! What the hell happened to you?”

  “I had a run-in with Dementia.” His eyeball popped out again, and he stuck it back into its socket. Naomi was furious.

  “That bitch! Look what she did to your beautiful face. I will kill her. I will fucking destroy her!”

  “Yeah, well, get in line. Where’s that big ape she was with?”

  “Oh, I got him good, Danny. The elevator fell on him.”

  “Good. Good work. Now we just need to get rid of Dementia.”

  “I just checked the room with the girl. Dementia’s not upstairs.”

  “Well, she’s not going to leave without the girl. We’ll have to take it floor by floor.”

  “Oh, Danny. I was so worried about you,” said Naomi. She grabbed his face and started kissing it.

  “Ow ow ow ow ow.”

  “Oops. Sorry.” She tenderly wiped the lipstick off his flattened face.

  “C’mon, let’s get this over with.” Danny slapped a clip in the Uzi and the two continued up the stairway.

  Four flights up, Dementia and Crayon lay on the floor of the apartment, waiting for the inevitable outcome. Crayon seemed almost at peace as she nestled comfortably on Dementia’s shoulder.

  Dementia looked at the girl, breathing softly, resting quietly. She gave her a little pat on the head.

  “Hey, tell me something. How’d you get a name like Crayon?”

  Crayon looked at Dementia.

  “It’s Karen, really. My baby sister pronounced it ‘Crayon,’ and it just kinda stuck.”

  Dementia laughed, making Crayon smile.

  “Where did ‘Dementia’ come from? You have a baby sister, too?”

  Dementia looked thoughtful. “Yeah. I did. A long time ago.”

  Then came the sound of doors being smashed in. Danny and Naomi were one floor below, and were no longer being subtle about their search methods. They were smashing in every door of every apartment, and getting closer.

  Dementia looked urgently at Crayon.

  “All right, listen to me carefully. I’m going to hold your hand for just five seconds. If I pass out, pull your hand away. I’ll be draining off your life energy very quickly. Do not go more than five seconds.”

  Crayon sat up, listening attentively.

  “Are you sure about this?” asked Dementia.

  The girl shook her head yes, and held out her hand.

  Below them were more sounds of doors breaking and furniture being thrown about. Danny’s voice could be heard distinctly now.

  “We’re comin’ to get you, Demmy!”

  Dementia looked at Crayon and weakly took her hand. “Remember, no more than five seconds. I just need enough strength to walk.” Crayon nodded nervously.

  Then Dementia closed her eyes and concentrated. At once, she jerked and convulsed as new energy coursed back into her body. Crayon looked startled, but did not let go. She watched as sparks of green light danced across her skin and surged into Dementia, and she began to count slowly to five.

  “One Mississippi… Two Mississippi… Three Mississippi…” said Crayon, softly.

  She watched Dementia’s body writhe as color returned to her face, and her gaunt features filled out. On “Five Mississippi,” the girl tried to pull her hand loose, but Dementia gripped it harder. Crayon was getting scared, and tried to twist her hand loose, but the woman had a grip like a bear trap. More and more of her life force flowed into Dementia, and she was panicking. Then she saw that Dementia’s arm was growing back, pushing through the bandage, first as a stub, then as a long vestigial appendage, and then forming nerves and flesh over solid bone.

  Crayon allowed this process to continue, and stopped trying to wrench herself loose.

  Chapter 17

  The Vault

  Rex drifted in and out of consciousness at the bottom of the elevator shaft, with two tons of metal and five corpses sitting on top of him. His mind wandered about untethered, not knowing where he was or even when he was.

  Romania returned to his thoughts.

  He was back in the Great Hall, hanging naked in chains from a huge iron chandelier, his body raised above the floor a couple feet, and he could see the members of Lord Spiderback’s court watching him. Rex had no idea how long he had been unconscious – perhaps hours, perhaps days. Across the room he could see several people looking at him, but it was a blur and hard for him to make any sense of his surroundings.

  Then he heard Bruno’s voice speaking to him. He tried hard to focus on her through the fog.

  “Rex. Time to wake up, Rex,” she said, almost musically.

  Rex peered at her through swollen eyes. He could make her out, and Springer and Lars standing next to her. They were dressed meticulously in period clothing, and they smiled up at him. But these were sickening smiles, wicked smiles, exposing hideous fangs.

  The fog in his head was lifting. Rex presumed he had been drugged again. His body was wracked with incredible pain, yet somehow he was still alive. Spiderback entered his line of sight, stepping in front of the others, and he spoke.

  “Whatever you are, Rex, you’re certainly not human. My slaves have bitten you dozens of times, yet you do not turn. We’ve broken your bones, we’ve drowned you, and we’ve even tried to hang you. Yet somehow, you stubbornly cling to life. You fascinate me, my friend, and your companions have convinced me that you could be of great value to our cause.”

  Rex’s memory returned. He had been tortured, and had endured it for many months – initially to break him and, failing that, then to see how much pain he could tolerate.

  Lars took a step forward. “Lord Spiderback has agreed to let you join us, Rex. It is a very great honor.”

  “Join us, Rex, and the torture will stop,” Springer chimed in, walking up next to Lars.

  Rex could not believe his ears. He was horrified. Then he heard Bruno’s voice as she walked up to him, and touched one of his dangling feet.

  “There is no point in resisting. Join us, Rex. Worship Spiderback and live forever.”

  Rex looked down at Bruno, standing before him in a red silk gown. And he could see, to his great revulsion, that she was pregnant – perhaps five months along. He could not bear to look at her any longer and shifted his gaze back to Spiderback.

  “Send me to hell, you fuck,” Rex told him. “If it takes a thousand years, I will return and destroy you for this outrage. I will destroy you and your army of damned vermin.”

  Bruno turned away from Rex and walked over to Spiderback, taking his arm.

  “Oh well, we tried. Send him to hell then,” said Bruno with a dismissive wave of her hand.

  “Hell it is, then,” said Spiderback, who gave a signal to the attending guards.

  Rex was lowered from the chandelier and chained to a gurney. As he was rolled away, he watched the faces of Springer and Lars laughing at him. And he saw Bruno, grinning and hanging onto Spiderback like a lovesick school girl.

  Minutes later, Rex was brought to the same vault that once held Spiderback captive, and he was chained to the metal floor within. The huge steel vault was closed and locked, and Rex stood alone in the darkness.

  And there he remained. Without water, without food, without light, without air.

  But Rex did not die. He was starving, and mad with thirst, but he did not die.

  The first strange thing that happened was that, even in total darkness, his eyes quickly adjusted to the blackness. The vault was completely empty; there was nothing
he could use as a tool to pick or break open the manacles holding his arms and legs. He could see the huge chrome-coated bolts holding the chains to the floor, and he pulled at them, but knew at once these chains could restrain an elephant.

  Despite the obvious futility of such an effort, Rex pulled on the chains even harder, focusing on one bolt in particular. He would pull on the chain with all his strength, and then rest a minute. Then again, and again, like that for hours. For three months he pulled on that chain, concentrating all his effort on that single bolt.

  And then, on the 107th day, it happened. But not the thing he expected.

  His hand passed freely through the metal cuff, and the chain clattered to the floor. The chain remained fastened to the bolt on the floor, but incredibly the hand he was using to pull on the chain had passed through the manacle, as if his hand had become no more solid than steam. Rex was alarmed by this at first, but an inspection of his hand saw nothing unusual. It was intact and uninjured.

  So he turned his attention to his other hand, pulling mightily on the chain, this time concentrating entirely on his wrist and not the chain or the bolt holding it. He did this for only a day before this hand too, amazingly, passed through the manacle.

  Was this mind over matter? Dimensional fluctuations in space-time? Or perhaps darkest sorcery. He did not know what power allowed him to free himself, but this was an ability he had never possessed before – or at least had never been aware of before. Rex was different, he felt different, perhaps he was always different.

  The manacles holding his ankles to the floor took only a few hours each to escape. Then he turned his attention to the vault door. No interior mechanism could be seen. This place was designed to be an inescapable prison, not just a vault. Rex placed his hands against the vault door and pushed with all his might. After several minutes, he stepped away, and then pushed again for several more minutes. He stepped back again, but this time his hands were stuck inside the steel door. They had sunk an inch into the vault door itself, and now seemed to be part of it.

  He pulled at his hands frantically, trying to wrestle them loose. Finally, after a few minutes of desperate twisting and pulling, he yanked his hands free again. He breathed a sigh of relief, and looked at the door. There were no marks at all on it. Somehow his atoms had found a way to pass between the atoms of the steel door — like two galaxies colliding, but with every star missing every other star — and without disturbing the electromagnetic fields that such a passage would normally cause.