Beaten Path

by Martin Shannon

  “Pants, that way!” I shouted, directing the disembodied denim toward the open gate and the grave markers behind it.

  The animated denim unleashed another barrage of cringeworthy gyrations, but pulled up short when the first spear whistled past an outstretched leg.

  My dancing isn’t that bad… is it?

  Alligator Men by the dozens poured onto the slick pavement like a spilled box of rubber toys. There was some initial confusion, but it didn’t take long for those oversized reptile brains to put pants and people together.

  A second spear shot past my head and embedded itself in the dirt not far from the road.

  Time to go.

  The Midnight Riders had their sabers out and were on the defensive. Spears and black tar blades clashed on that narrow ribbon of asphalt. Not to be outdone, my pants did another little jig, waving its butt to the crowd of assembled fighters before making a break for the epicenter of the powerful Thinning.

  “Hey, quit hamming it up.”

  I avoided another stone-tipped spear and scooped up Private Petty’s saber. The Riders had their hands full, which gave me an opening to scramble past and follow that glorious denim.

  “Wait for me!”

  Spears skidded across the wet street, sending the pants and I into an improvised slalom routine.

  “We’ve got to get to the gate.” I pointed to the cemetery.

  My animated capris nodded.

  “I’m so glad you agree.”

  The pants shrugged their waistband, high-stepping to avoid a spear to the man-bits.

  “Nice work. Wow, that one was close—”

  A surge of Magick hit me like a fifty-pound cement sack to the midsection.

  Damn it, I miss being able to do that.

  I pitched forward and lost my balance on the suddenly shifting road.

  He’s conjuring something, crap!

  My Darkling was summoning without a circle, meaning whatever was about to come through that industrial-grade Thinning would be practically uncontrollable.

  The pants turned back, no doubt feeling the same oily darkness building around us like high tide.

  “Go! Get on the other side of the damn gate. That’s an order, you stupidly awesome high-waters!”

  Like a trusted canine, the enchanted denim hesitated.

  “Go! Now!”

  Another near miss from a wicked-looking spear provided the pants with their missing motivation. The mud-covered 501s saluted me, raising a cuff in a comical sign of unity.

  “What are you—lookout!”

  It was too late, the pants spun around only to find themselves at the mouth of a waiting Sobek Demon—my evil half had been busy.

  This was the full-size version of the demonic alligator that had come after Maurice. This beast made Grundel look like a pool toy. Silent and deadly, it rose out of the swirling mist and spilled over the pavement. The gator was as large as a school bus and easily twice as wide. Eyes like blood-shot beach balls stared down at us like my son looked at chocolate cake. “Pants, run!”

  My animated denim didn’t stand a chance.

  The Sobek’s jaws snapped closed, effortlessly snatching the clothes right off the pavement and out of my life. With a flash of teeth and a whip-crack of monstrous jaws, the enchanted high-waters tore in two. The Sobek Demon swallowed the left leg like I’d slurp up a stray noodle, and the right landed somewhere in the tall grass.

  I suddenly couldn’t remember which pocket I’d stuffed the photo wheel in.

  Please be the right.

  The monstrous Demon blocked my path to the cemetery, its colossal tail cutting a deep groove through the dark pavement.

  I turned to make a play for the remaining leg, but the Sobek’s claws cut off my route and threw sparks on the dark pavement. I jumped backward and into the waiting arms of a dozen or so very confused Alligator Men.

  “Listen, guys, I know it looks like your great grandmother, but don’t let that—”

  Barred teeth and soul-shivering hisses told me they weren’t really interested in what I had to say.

  Crap!

  I shimmied out of the way of an errant spear thrust, then danced around another swipe of the Sobek’s claws. My plan appeared to be going off the rails at a rather spectacular pace, which had me wondering exactly how I’d believed it would work in the first place.

  I was neck deep in that complex introspection when a booming voice cut through the rolling thunder above me. “Suck it, mega-gator!”

  What the?!

  A brilliant golden chariot roared over us. Heavily armored war horses dragged the shining spectacle across the sky, and in the driver seat was one remarkably well-muscled ex-Demon Hunter.

  “Maurice?”

  Resplendent in ancient Roman armor and swinging an impressive spear, the peanut vending powerhouse waved. “Hell yeah it’s me,” he shouted, pulling the reins and coming about. “What is it with you and alligators?”

  “Wasn’t it you that brought the last one?”

  The Centurion pushed up his helmet. “Oh, right.”

  The chariot hit the pavement and kicked up sparks, knocking aside two Alligator Men in the process.

  I swung Private Petty’s saber and deflected another spear, again pretty darn impressed with my nascent skill even with the former spirit long gone—the kid must have rubbed off on me.

  “What are you doing here?” I shouted, blocking the next thrust and slicing off its stone tip with the edge of Petty’s blade.

  Kid’d be proud.

  “I get one ‘thank you,’” the deceased peanut vendor cried, his war horse’s hooves clattering on the pavement. “You sort of saved my eternal bacon back there.”

  “Damn right I did.”

  “Yeah, so I get to come back long enough to even the scale.”

  Hot damn—it’s about time the dead did me a favor.

  I slashed back at another thrusting spear. “Go for the eyes!”

  The Centurion nodded. “Geez, man, everybody knows that.”

  How am I the last person to get this information?

  Encroaching Alligator Men pulled me back to the present. I had to let Maurice and his golden chariot worry about my Sobek problem—there was an enchanted pant leg that needed saving.

  Deep breath, Gene.

  “I’m coming, pants!” I cut a path to the downed denim with expertly timed fury. Whether the pants could hear me or not, I didn’t care—it was the thought that mattered.

  Clang!

  Narrowly bouncing off the saber’s hilt, that last stone-tipped jab was too close for comfort and forced me to break into a run in the general direction of the lost denim.

  Centurion Maurice cracked his whip and sent the powerful horses surging forward like an out-of-control theme park ride. The chariot’s wheels left glowing grooves in the dark pavement, and the Alligator Men, not sure what to make of another interloper, did what Alligator Men did best: they attacked. One of them caught the edge of Maurice’s chariot, but the newly deceased Demon Hunter peeled it off with a muscled leg kick to the snout. In doing so, however, he took his eyes off the monstrous Sobek Demon—bad move.

  “Maurice!”

  The Demon opened its jaws wide enough to consume the golden man whole.

  Maurice turned around just in time to pull the reins hard to the right—the horses obliged, but the chariot didn’t. Maurice and his golden spear sprawled out across the pavement directly in front of the beast.

  “Maurice,” I cried, changing my trajectory away from the lone pant leg. “I’m coming.”

  Undeterred, the golden Centurion pushed himself up and brushed off his armor. “I see it. You do you, Magician. Let me handle the kickass hero shit—”

  The Sobek’s claw blasted into the Demon Hunter, flinging his ghostly body into the tall grass while at the same time separating him from his spear.

  Damn it. The pants are going to have to wait.

  I switched the saber’s hand and dove for the spear, scoop
ing it up while skidding across the pavement.

  “Spear me!” Maurice cried, running out of the tall grass with his helmet askew.

  “What?!”

  “Give me the spear, damn it. I can take the shot.”

  “I’ve got it—”

  Maurice shook his head. “Somebody’s got your pants, bro.”

  The lost leg!

  I turned around to find Evil Gene with the flamingo now at his side as he dug his hand into the pocket of the what remained of my tattered denim. “Stop!”

  The Sobek roared and crashed down in front of me, scoring the pavement and blocking any path I had to the Darkling, its jaws wide and ready to consume me whole.

  There was only one option left.

  I tossed Maurice the spear as he raced past.

  “Thanks, bro. Go save your pants. I got this!” The deceased Demon Hunter launched himself, along with the golden spear, into the air and on a collision course with the monster’s mouth.

  43

  Small Holes and Big Problems

  “Maurice, wait don’t—”

  Too late.

  “Eat spear, Gatorzilla!” The golden Centurion disappeared inside the toothy folds of the beast’s oversized mouth.

  The Sobek Demon’s jaws clamped down hard, and I could have sworn I heard the clink of metal on bone.

  Damn it, you glorious bastard.

  Lost in the visual of the peanut cavalry’s demise, I wasn’t paying attention as the Midnight Riders seized their opportunity to surround me. The Sobek moved to enjoy its Maurice feast, and when it did I found my Darkling, photo wheel in hand.

  He still needs to get to me…

  The Eternal Shame dripped from the Riders’ blades. Black as pitch, it speckled the ground where they circled. They’d cut their way through scores of Alligator Men who were laid out like stacked cordwood around them.

  “Okay, now… Let’s remember, guys, the fashionable Gene wants me alive…” I said, using Private Petty’s blade to keep them at bay.

  One of the Riders lunged, slashing with his black tar saber. I caught the blade with mine just in time and cast it aside with a flick of the wrist. Private Petty’s saber cut back quickly, turning a defensive move into a strike all of its own. The silver sword left a clean line through the tar.

  “Ha!” I shouted, almost in spite of myself. Michael would have been proud. My excitement was short lived, though, as the wound sealed itself almost instantly.

  Son of a…

  The Riders attacked in unison, their blades moving almost too fast to follow. The saber and I fought back with everything we had. Silver and black metal clashed in the night air, and each parried slash sent flecks of shameful tar sailing toward me, only to evaporate against the gleam of the silver blade. All around us, Alligator Men pressed in and filled the space with their scaly bodies.

  “Who’s next?” I shouted, continuing my wild slashes.

  Something rumbled behind me. The Sobek gurgled and puckered up its massive jaws like a toddler at vegetable time.

  Come on, Maurice. Stop messing around!

  The golden spear burst through the Sobek’s neck, along with a flood of noxious bodily fluids and one bile-coated Demon Hunter. “Ah yeah! Now that was worth leaving the third quarter for!”

  The Sobek pitched its body forward, slamming against the pavement and sending a wave of Alligator Men running. Apparently witnessing the large Demon being brought down had shaken their morale more than a little, and the remaining reptile men ran for the tree line.

  “Great work, Maurice,” I said as I went back to parrying slashes from the Midnight Riders. “How about you get down here and help me with these guys?”

  The golden man pulled himself out of the rapidly disintegrating monstrous remains. “No can do. I’ve got to get back to eternity. The fourth quarter is about to start.”

  “Fourth quarter?”

  “Oh yeah. It’s a tight game, but I like your odds—call it a hunch,” he said, uprighting his chariot and climbing back on. “Don’t let me down, Magician.”

  Black blades slashed like a windmill of deadly precision and it was all I could do to just keep up.

  The Centurion started to yank the reins, then stopped. “Oh, before I forget. I might have torn a ‘tiny’ hole in the Thinning just now…”

  “What?!”

  “Quit your bellyaching. It’s like,” Maurice held up his fingers, “this big.”

  The Centurion snapped at the reins and his horses were off, roaring across the pavement and then up into the boiling sky. “On, Snacker! On, Mixins!”

  I backed up toward the black cemetery gate, carefully stepping over the Demon’s fading remains, all while keeping a sharp eye on the Riders’ blades.

  Just a little further…

  Once again, I was too focused on the Midnight Riders in front of me to notice Evil Gene sneaking up behind me. The flamingo-carrying Darkling caught me completely by surprise and trapped me with his arms. He dropped the plastic bird in the process.

  “It’s over, Gene. The band is getting back together.”

  “Right, but I’m lead vocals—you can be the bass player. Do it now, Eddie!”

  Little Ed’s face reappeared at the edge of the road behind the Riders. He waved, then dug in with his wheelbarrow and made a break for the street.

  “I stopped his heart!” Evil Gene shouted, squeezing my arms.

  “What? The Little Wooden Boy? You’re way behind on current events.” I slammed an elbow into my Darkling’s ribs. “Little Ed’s reveal was earlier. He shops in the garden section now.”

  Salt poured from an expertly placed hole in the wheelbarrow and streamed out to finish the now perfectly unbroken line that surrounded the entire cemetery. Little Ed had locked us in, just like we’d planned, and now it was my turn. I reached out to the Thinning, probing the edges of that untamable tide of Wild Magick, and gathering up the power I’d need to end it all.

  There was no mirror, but we had the photo wheel.

  Can I do it?

  “Nice try, Gene,” the Darkling said, his words hot against my head. “It just means we’re all trapped in here together.”

  Magick. I needed a lot of it and fast.

  I found the hole in the Thinning Maurice had left. It was a good bit larger than Maurice’s two fingers had led me to believe, and to make matters worse something was gathering around it from the other side.

  Guy comes here to save my butt and ends up leaving cigarette burns on the couch.

  I could fret about the hole all I wanted, but without that Magick I was a sitting duck. I knew this was going to be a long shot, but it was a shot, and that was more than most people got.

  Especially people like me.

  I sucked up the Wild Magick, siphoning it from the Thinning like I was pulling gas through a cheap plastic hose. Just like gasoline, it burned my chest and turned my stomach in on itself. This was fiery Magick beyond rational thought, and it was downright terrifying, but even with Mother Nature by the short hairs I was still locked in a death match with the Darkling. His Magick was stronger, alien, and more powerful—it was the House, all but unstoppable and deadly. To stand on the other side of it made me question everything I’d ever known.

  The Darkling spun me around and pulled me toward him, putting his eerily similar face directly across from mine. “You can’t win, Gene.”

  The photo wheel spun in my evil twin’s hand.

  “Who said anything about winning?” I dug into the Thinning for all it was worth. Wild Magick surged through me like a live wire—it was now or never.

  The paper disc in his hand shined, but only a single image remained for me. It wasn’t enough to win.

  It’s been a good run. Now, see it through to the end.

  I grabbed the edge of the wheel and pulled.

  Rip!

  Something tore, but it wasn’t what I thought it would be. Lost in the scorched disc, I’d forgotten about the hole Maurice had left in my Thin
ning, but that didn’t stop the crashing wave of Wild Magick. The tear gave way like tissue paper, and when it did the resulting surge of Magick threw Evil Gene and I to the ground.

  Yeah, it’s just a small hole—not anymore.

  Wild Magick roared over us like badly planned fireworks, singeing my eyes and forcing me to look away. My Darkling wasn’t doing much better—Evil Gene had covered his own eyes and was searching the ground for something.

  He’s lost it!

  I scrambled to my knees and forced my eyes open against the swirling lights—I had to find the photos before he did. The paper wheel with its burnt edges blew past me in the wind. I reached for it, but found my hands being pulled back by something else, something that wasn’t my evil half.

  Ashen-white fingers gripped mine, coated in the burning flakes of fiery embers. Those fingers lead to hands and arms that looked like spent logs from a long-forgotten campfire.

  New Dead.

  Fire and ash poured through the hole in the Thinning and brought with it scores of New Dead. The burning fingers of the damned pulled me away from the picture disc and I could only watch as the wind blew reconciliation from my reach and directly into the waiting arms of Evil Gene.

  Thanks to me, we’d just opened a hole in the Thinning and filled this salt-locked space with the fiery evil of Hell itself.

  Isn’t that just special.

  44

  Everything Burns

  “Little Ed.” I pushed back against the clawing hands of angry New Dead. “He’s got the wheel.”

  The wooden man stepped into the massive salt circle, his machete in hand. “What do I do?”

  “Get it back!”

  The Alligator Men might have all but cleared out, but there were still two Midnight Riders, and they’d never back down again—the tar would see to that.

  I swung my fist and connected with the sunken coal-black eyes of a New Dead, only to find the body immediately replaced by another. There were too many of them. The hole in the Thinning must have been roughly the size of the Dad Wagon by now, and the fiery damned poured through it like lemmings.

  Evil Gene held up the photo wheel to the bright light of the Magickal tear and turned the pictures until he found what he wanted. “Bring him to me,” he snapped, and the New Dead surrounding me obliged. Burning hands and scorched fingers pulled me to my feet and dragged me toward the Darkling.