He needed better information, so it was time to test one of the dirt piles. Quick searching yielded a small boulder. An explosion would signal that he was there, but he wanted Sombra to come sooner than later anyway.
Straining and grunting, James lifted the medium-heavy rock and carried it toward one of the suspicious dirt piles. He tossed the rock onto the pile and then jumped backward, throwing his arms in front of his face to protect it from shrapnel.
No explosion. No shrapnel. Nothing.
“That was kind of anti-climactic,” the bounty hunter murmured to himself.
He ran through the different types of mines Sombra might have buried before deciding most would be far too complicated for a necromancer hiding in the mountainous Mexican wilderness to manage, although there was still the possibility that they were remote controlled.
There also was the sobering reality that James was only seeing the areas where something recently had disturbed the soil. For all he knew, something had been buried in every square foot of the place.
Even if he didn’t know what Sombra had buried, he felt more confident that he wouldn’t be blown up if he took the wrong step. The more he thought about it, the more that made sense.
A necromancer just didn’t strike him as the kind of man who would litter the area with landmines. The mystery of the disturbed soil would have to wait until he caught up with the necromancer so he could ask him.
James crept farther along before dropping to his stomach at the sight of movement in the distance. He crawled along the cacti-infested dirt path. Just because he wanted the necromancer to come to him didn’t mean he couldn’t take advantage of a little surprise.
That better be you, you arrogant bastard, and not some coyote.
He took a few deep breaths. James suspected a major workout was coming.
Shay drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.
Fucking Brownstone.
He knew she wouldn’t leave him in the mountains without a way to get back, so now she had to risk her life and the artifact because Brownstone had a raging hard-on for catching the damn necromancer right away.
“It wasn’t like he was going anywhere,” she grumbled. “Fuck, he’s a necromancer. You probably have all eternity to catch the bastard.”
Shay pulled out her phone. It was time for the tomb raider to at least give her employer a little update.
“No signal, of course. Peachy.” Frustrated, she tossed the phone on the other seat.
She sighed and scrubbed a hand over her face. She’d need to start carrying a satellite phone or get a phone that could switch between cell and satellite service like Brownstone’s. It was always the little inconveniences that really got to a person.
Sure, an ancient rocket trap had nearly blown her apart and almost knocked her into an underground river; that was no big deal. But no cell service?
That was the greatest affront known to mankind.
She looked down the path James had taken. “Hurry up, Brownstone, before I die of boredom and the necromancer has to bring me back.”
18
James continued crawling across the rough ground, which was harder than he would have expected if only because of the arsenal he was carrying on his body.
Guess it was a good thing I didn’t bring the grenades after all, he mused.
He didn’t spot a living soul, human or coyote. Now he wasn’t even sure if he’d really seen movement, or if it had just been a trick of the light.
For all he knew, the necromancer might be able to turn invisible. It was true that the average bounty exaggerated their powers, but the smart ones also kept a few trump cards secret in case someone like James showed up looking for them.
“You have come a long way to die, gringo,” someone shouted in Spanish, their voice echoing around the canyon. “At least die on your feet like a man and not like a worm.”
Well, fuck. There went surprise. This is why I hate trying to do this ninja shit.
With a grunt, James pushed off the ground and started slapping the dirt off his body. A man stood about fifty feet away.
“No hablo español,” the bounty hunter shouted back. He saw no reason to let the man know his language capabilities. If he got lucky, maybe the other man would let something slip in his native tongue.
“Only a fool comes to a place like this without knowing the language,” the man shouted back, this time in heavily accented English. “I’m going to kill you, mercenary. I am Sombra the Deathbringer, and your life will make me stronger. You think you are the first gringo mercenary who has been sent against me? Here you are nothing but worm food.”
The necromancer wasn’t exactly dressed like some terrible master of dark magic with his worn blue jeans and a shirt with some Mexican cartoon fox character James didn’t recognize.
Something about the casual outfit unnerved James a lot more than if the necromancer had shown up in some ridiculous robe and antlered crown. It suggested Sombra was confident enough in his abilities that he didn’t feel the need for fashion-based intimidation.
James glanced down at his coat. He wasn’t exactly practicing fashion-based intimidation himself. Then again, he was confident in his abilities.
“Point of fact, I’m not a mercenary,” James announced. “I’m a bounty hunter. Jose Padilla, you have a class-five bounty on you, and I’m gonna bring you in. If you surrender, it’ll be a lot less annoying for both of us.”
Sombra barked a harsh laugh, shaking his head. “I’m not a criminal. I am Death.”
James chuckled. No one ever surrendered. He was really having trouble taking the guy in the cartoon fox shirt seriously.
“You find me funny, bounty hunter?” Sombra snarled.
Oh, he wants respect? Thanks for the leverage, asshole.
“I’m just saying… You’ve got a cartoon fox on your shirt. It’s not all that scary.”
Sombra chuckled darkly. “I took this off the last man I killed. I go through many shirts because fools like you think guns will work on me.” He narrowed his eyes. “Or are you Oriceran?”
“Nope. One hundred percent Earth-born, and all that shit. Still going to kill you, though.”
“You are nothing more than a fool who will soon be my lunch.” Sombra spread his arms to either side. “I will enjoy killing you, stupido. I will drink your soul and use your body as part of my army.”
“What army?” James shook his head, twisted around, flung the coat back, and whipped out his .45 before looking at the necromancer again. “I want to thank you.”
“For killing you?” Sombra pursed his lips, his voice respectful. “You are not as stupid as you look. You should be honored to die at my hands.”
“I won’t be dying.” James shook his head. “Well, everyone dies in the end, but I’m not gonna die at the fucking hands of a dumb cartoon-fox-shirt-wearing douchebag like you.”
The necromancer’s face tightened and his voice was harsh. “I will enjoy killing you.”
“Yeah, sure. Anyway, I was thanking you for being in a place where I can go all out without worrying about hurting anyone.” The bounty hunter pointed his gun directly at Sombra. “Also, thanks for being an asshole in Mexico instead of the United States. You’ve make this bounty even easier.”
Sombra’s face scrunched in confusion, and James took more than a little pleasure at disconcerting him.
“You see,” James continued, “up north, it’s hard to find dead-or-alive bounties. Everyone’s very concerned about due process. Down here, though, they are all over the place. If you want to surrender, now’s the time. Otherwise, I’m not holding back, and I can’t guarantee you’ll be breathing at the end of this.”
The necromancer laughed. “You shouldn’t have told me you weren’t Oriceran. Now I know you’re nothing to fear.”
“I’ve run into a lot of criminals who said the same thing. And now they are dead or in jail.”
Sombra snorted. “I wondered what sort of man would have the courage to face m
e alone. Now I know you’re nothing but a fool…un tonto.”
James shrugged. “You know, you make King Pyro sound humble—and that’s saying something.”
“I’ll make your death long, slow, and painful.”
“I’m more generous than you.”
“More generous?” Sombra frowned.
“Yeah, I’m gonna kill you quickly.” The bounty hunter rushed forward and squeezed off three quick rounds.
Sombra jerked each time a bullet hit him in the chest. He collapsed to the ground, blood blossoming from his wounds.
“All talk, no walk, huh?” James frowned. The bounty hunter slowed his advance, keeping his weapon trained on the downed man. Too easy. Way too easy. No level five went down from a few bullets.
“I am Death,” Sombra growled, pushing himself back up. Blood leaked from his mouth. “You can’t defeat me. You can only delay your pitiful end.”
The bullets had torn into Sombra’s fox shirt and chest, splattering blood everywhere. A red-black glow surrounded the man, and his eyes turned solid black. The wounds started sealing themselves.
“Fuck,” James spit to the side as his eyes stayed on Sombra. “That’s not helpful.”
“Your weapons are useless, and when I drink your soul I will be whole again. You can’t kill death. You can only succumb to it.”
James slapped a hand to his forehead. “Oh, fuck.”
“Yes, yes, now you know fear.”
“Nah, not fear. I just forgot the first rule of hunting zombies. Always go for the headshot.”
Sombra ground his teeth. “I am no zombie. I am Death.”
“Yeah, you keep saying that. It’s starting to piss me off.”
Now that James was only about ten yards out, instead of fifty, it was easy enough to snap a round into the other man’s head.
Again, Sombra jerked back, but this time he didn’t fall to the ground. The glow around him intensified, and the flesh grew back almost instantly.
James grunted. “You’re a lot tougher than you or your shirt looks.”
The necromancer shook his head, which was still glowing. “Your death comes, mercenary. The army advances.”
James muttered, “Bounty hunter, not mercenary. Shit, get that right.”
Scratching and crunching echoed through the canyon. The bounty hunter jerked his head around, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
A rotted hand burst from the ground, followed by another, and then a head. Half the skin was missing, leaving a permanent skeletal half-grin.
“Motherfucking zombies,” James snarled through gritted teeth. “So that’s what you buried. I think I would have preferred mines.”
Bodies erupted from the ground all over the canyon. Men and women, some fresh, some just scraps of flesh barely holding together. More corpses emerged from the ground, these from areas that hadn’t looked freshly disturbed before.
The only advantage James could see was that all the corpses had at least some actual skin and muscles move on them. Sombra couldn’t apparently make bones move by themselves.
Even the Granite Ghost didn’t have a good idea how to take down a skeleton.
None of the zombies moaned. The scratching of their hands in the dirt and the shuffling of their feet in the dust and gravel provided the only noise.
James’ skin crawled. Magic bothered him because it made things complicated, but necromancy violated the natural order in a perverse and fucked-up way. Even the stupid top-hat ferret was a living thing.
He grunted. “I’m gonna fuck you up, you piece of shit.”
“How do you kill something that is already dead, idioto?” Sombra shouted. “I am beyond death. I am beyond life. I am beyond God. I am beyond the Devil.”
“No,” James replied. “You’re beyond my patience, asshole. I hope the Devil’s got some real creative punishments ready for you when you get to hell.”
About a dozen zombies had surrounded James and were shuffling toward him in jerking movements with their arms outstretched.
Bullets exploded from his gun into four zombies in rapid succession—four perfect head shots. Other than jerking slightly from the impact, the zombies showed no reaction, just kept moving toward him. One turned slightly, revealing that the bullet had blown out the back of its head.
Okay, head shots didn’t work. Damn it.
“Well, fuck.” James reloaded his gun and then pulled a .50-caliber Desert Eagle from a holster. It was time to go full John Woo. He spun, blasting with both guns, this time going for the legs and knees.
Blowing their lower legs off at the knees slowed the zombies down, but didn’t stop them.
Now missing their legs, the animated bodies pulled themselves toward him. James opened up with both guns on the closest zombie, putting hole after hole into the body. It finally stopped moving, but that left him with the rest to deal with. He didn’t have enough magazines if it’d take dozens of bullets for each one.
Another wave of zombies closed on him. There was no intelligence in what was left of their faces. James kicked the crawler nearest him, sending it flying several yards away, but several more zombies, both crawlers and upright zombies, came closer. They reached toward him, some with normal hands, others with sharp skeletal fingers.
James kicked, punched, and fired bullets into the bodies trying to drag him down. Several grabbed him from behind, squeezing with surprising force. He slammed his elbows into the zombies behind him, sending them sprawling to the ground. He holstered his ineffective pistols for the moment and charged forward, trying to rush through the thicket of living dead.
Fuck these guys. Chop off the fucking head and the dragon dies.
Zombies grabbed at his jacket, face, and legs. The damn things were slow, but by now hundreds filled the area. His rush toward Sombra brought him only to a group of cacti and more zombies.
“What the fuck?” James exclaimed, jerking his gaze back and forth to find the man in the huge crowd of walking corpses. “Where did you go, you little bitch?”
“Do you realize your mistake now?” Sombra shouted.
In a reversal of the militia encounter, the necromancer’s voice echoed throughout the canyon. Combined with the distraction of hundreds of shuffling feet, James couldn’t pinpoint his target’s location.
Talk about getting what you deserved. The bounty hunter snickered.
“Why don’t you stop hiding among these rotters?” James called. “If you’re so tough, come after me and prove it.”
“You thought it’d be easy, didn’t you? I’m sure back in America you’re big shit, gringo, but here, I am Death. I have nothing to prove to you, other than that I can destroy you.”
“At least he doesn’t call himself King Death,” James muttered.
The bounty hunter delivered savage punches and kicks to the zombies around him. He held no delusions that he’d be able to take out a zombie by punching it; he was just trying to keep them off him until he could find Sombra.
At this point, so many zombies choked the area that short of the Mexican military blasting away with artillery or an air strike, James couldn’t win.
It didn’t matter. The asshole had to be in the crowd still, probably somewhere close. He’d want to stay close enough to gloat. James could use that against him.
“If you’re Death, why don’t you come and take me on man to man? It’s hard for me to think you’re anything but a chickenshit hiding behind all these rotting skinbags.”
“The wolf can howl at the moon all it wants,” Sombra shouted, “but that doesn’t mean the moon has to listen.”
“Fuck. I hope your zombies kill me soon so I don’t have to listen to more of that kind of bullshit. It’s more painful than getting shot.” James shook his head.
The bounty hunter pulled out a knife and stabbed at a closing zombie, but it didn’t seem to notice. More kicks and punches followed, but zombies continued to block all his escape routes.
With a roar, the bounty hunter rushed
forward, smashing into several zombies and sending them flying, only to run into another thick layer of the beasts.
He yanked out a gun and blasted a corpse point-blank in the neck. Its head popped off with a surprising lack of blood, and the body collapsed.
James grunted. “Huh. Need to take the heads off? Wish I would have brought a machete. Live and learn.”
More dead hands clawed and tore at his clothes, ripping his pants and adding more damage to Shay’s not-so-favorite coat. James blasted another zombie in the neck, but the bullet passed clean through, leaving the zombie’s head hanging to the side and the creature still active.
The bounty hunter grabbed a zombie by the legs and threw it into several closing on him. They all went down in tangle of limbs.
“Fucking Sombra. If you’re supposed to be the Deathbringer, then bring the actual death!”
All the zombies stopped moving. They just silently swayed in place.
James took the opportunity to reload, wondering if he’d finally convinced his quarry to stop running and face him. If he could kill a zombie with enough damage, he could kill a necromancer.
“I win,” Sombra whispered from behind him.
James spun just in time to see the necromancer rushing forward, his hand covered in a dark glow. The necromancer’s palm landed right over the bounty hunter’s heart.
Fuck! I’m sorry, Father McCartney.
A screamed filled the air. A few heartbeats passed before James realized it wasn’t him screaming, but Sombra the Deathbringer.
The necromancer’s eyes flared red as his shrill cry echoed through the canyon. He slowly sank to the ground, shuddering and twitching as his skin shrank in on itself, his eyes blaming James for lying to him.
About what, James didn’t know.
“Didn’t see that coming,” James murmured, scratching his eye as the zombies fell, inanimate, around him.
Shay fidgeted in the car, resisting the urge to open the door and charge toward the gunfire she’d been hearing.
“Not my problem,” she muttered. “I made that clear to him. Have to establish some sort of limits.”
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