The Devil's Standoff

by V. S. McGrath

  “That’s my girl.” He pecked her on the cheek, and she pushed him away halfheartedly. “You got a plan?”

  She studied their syrupy surroundings, the fires now a little brighter, the bullets trembling midair like minnows swimming upstream, the fireballs blooming like morning glory at dawn. The foot soldiers were advancing, their ragged lines swarming forward, bayonets gleaming. She breathed deep.

  Slow. Down.

  As her gut-deep inner instincts flexed, the world slowed, barely breathing. She’d bought them a few more precious minutes.

  The time bubble shimmered. There wasn’t enough time to do anything drastic to win the battle, but between her and the sharpshooting bounty hunter, they could do plenty.

  Ling slowly raised his hands, meeting the eye of the man who pointed a rifle at his face. “Don’t shoot. I’m not with the army, and I’m not here to hurt anyone.” Without looking behind him, he said, “Stubbs. Put your gun down.” As he predicted, the corn did not swallow them up again. Its power was not retroactive once it allowed would-be aggressors past.

  “Yeah, Stubby. Put yer gun down.” Jeremiah Bassett appeared in front of the crowd, eyes narrowed on them. “Or better yet, point it at me so I have a reason to shoot you.”

  Ling spotted Abby behind him, looking none the worse for wear. He relaxed a fraction as he and Stubbs were pulled down from their horses. “Mr. Bassett. I’m glad to see you alive and well.”

  “Sure you are.” He cocked his gun.

  “Did you go to Yuma?”

  The tightening of Bassett’s features told Ling he had. He pressed his advantage. “You know the Division only wants to help. I want what’s best for Abby. There is no stopping General Cabello now. He would not hesitate at killing Abby should he discover what she is. Or worse.”

  “Better the devil I know?” Bassett scoffed. “No thanks.”

  “Where’s Hettie Alabama?” Stubbs glanced around. “Isn’t that little witch usually glued to your side?”

  “She’s doing what decent folks do in situations like these. Helping to save people.” He eyed Ling. “You used to know what that meant before you threw your lot in with these despots.”

  “Don’t impose your highfalutin’ morality on the poor Chinaman, Bassett. He’s just picking the winning side and doing what he has to to make it in the world.” Stubbs’s laugh was uncomfortably snide for someone who had a half dozen guns pointed at him.

  “Mr. Ling?” Abby gazed at him steadily. She’d grown up some in the months she’d been away, though he’d always thought she had old eyes. Something about the light in those violet irises made him uneasy, though. She had changed.

  Cymon burst from the corn, barking. Luckily no one shot the mutt as he bowled a laughing Abby over, tail wagging so hard his whole body shook. Abby squealed and wrapped her arms around the dog’s thick neck. “Cymon! I knew it! I knew you’d save Cymon!”

  “We don’t have time for reunions,” Stubbs muttered. “Turn Hettie and Abby over to us and we can stop the attack on the village.”

  “You’ve been out in the sun too long, Stubby,” Jeremiah snorted. “You can’t do nothing. And El Toro would never let you leave the country with either Diablo or Abby, much less your own heads.”

  A boom shook the air, and the villagers cowered and screamed. “The gate has been breached!” someone cried.

  In that split second of distraction, Stubbs clapped his hands together, unleashing a pulse of power that knocked out his guards and pushed Ling to the ground. The Pinkerton agent scrabbled to his feet, grabbed Abby, and looped a leather thong around her neck.

  “What are you doing?” Ling demanded as the guns turned back toward the Pinkerton agent.

  “I will not be trapped in this godforsaken country a minute longer.” Sweat dripped from his forehead. “No one try anything. This is a choke spell. If I let go of this bit of leather, the little girl won’t ever breathe again.”

  Abby clawed at the snare, tears in her wide eyes. Jeremiah snarled, and his palms filled with blue fire. “You cowardly son of a bitch!”

  “All I want is Diablo,” Stubbs said calmly. He tugged on the thong, and Abby gasped. “Bring me to Hettie Alabama and we can sort this out like civilized folk.”

  The time bubble flexed and thinned when Walker left Hettie’s side, and time sped up the farther apart they got, so they stayed close. The bounty hunter played a demented game of billiards as he fired his weapons along lines that took out two or three soldiers at a time. The bullets slowed when they left the bubble’s purview, to the point where Walker could catch up in a few quick strides. It made for grisly entertainment, watching as they smashed through flesh and bone and opened up gaps in skulls and chests.

  Hettie had hoped to avoid killing anyone, but they couldn’t detain every soldier. The first man she’d tried to tie up slipped into her time bubble, and Walker had to shoot him. However this power worked, she didn’t have complete understanding or control of it yet.

  Her muscles ached as they dispatched the last few soldiers who’d breached the village wall, as if she’d been holding a heavy canvas high over her head to stay dry in a torrential downpour. “We gotta stop that behemoth.”

  “Can you open the hatch and get the guys inside?”

  She shook her head. “If I climb on top of that thing, I’ll pull it into the bubble. Gotta do this the hard way.”

  “Hard?” Walker lifted an eyebrow as she brandished the Devil’s Revolver. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you actually enjoyed using that thing.”

  She didn’t respond as she unleashed the mage gun upon the Mechanikal weapon. Time spun up to normal and chaos roared back to vivid life around them as the treads exploded off the wheels, and the machine pitched over and ground to a halt. Just as she was about to finish the thing off, her knees were bowled out from under her, and she went rolling through the dirt. The foul stench of death wafted over her.

  “Hettie!”

  That too-familiar stink of rot made everything inside her churn. She rolled to her feet and faced a chupacabra about the size of a large dog—a runt compared to the others she’d faced.

  “Small mercies,” she grumbled, aiming Diablo at the beast’s feet. A few quick blasts and the creature was melded to the ground, screaming and jerking as it tried to free itself. Walker put a bullet through its skull, and it flopped over.

  “Look.” He pointed at the bell tower. Raúl stood in the belfry, glowing baton raised as he spoke an incantation that resonated throughout the village.

  A guttural howl was echoed by a hundred more. The hunting cry of the chupacabra made Hettie’s flesh crawl. Diablo trembled with a mixture of excitement and anticipation.

  She climbed the gantry in time to watch a wave of savage destruction wash over the army. The largest and fastest of the chupacabra plowed into the lines of soldiers, goring them on their long horns, tossing bodies left and right effortlessly. Their long, grasping front claws shredded flesh, and their heavily hoofed hind legs crushed the bones of the fallen. They ripped through the army, blood lust and the need for destruction surpassing their hunger. Only when the second wave of shaggy beasts—smaller, slower, but equally as deadly—charged did the true carnage begin. The soldiers turned their guns toward the monsters, but many of them broke rank and ran. They didn’t get far.

  The gunfire thinned out and was replaced by screams and snarls.

  Hettie peeled her gaze away from the horror. “Time to get outta here.”

  Walker turned toward the bell tower. “Not without Raúl.”

  They ran for the great house. By the time they’d climbed to the third floor, the percussive gun and artillery fire had dwindled to a few resounding pops as the soldiers were mowed down or ran for their lives. The metallic tang of blood and cordite filled the air.

  Raúl was still holding the baton above his head, trembling head to
toe, sweating through his thin shirt. His heavy white sorcerer’s robe lay in a pool at his feet.

  “I could not raise a barrier,” he gritted. “But I have some control over most of the chupacabra. Look there—that is El Toro Cabello!”

  Sure enough, Hettie could see a large, distinctive figure atop a horse, a gun in each hand. A ring of men surrounded him, firing their weapons at the creatures closing in. One heavily muscled chupacabra bowled through the soldiers as if they were flowers in a field. It tore out the throat of the general’s horse. Cabello lithely dove off his dying mount and unloaded his pistols into the monster’s head. A second beast tried to flank him, but the general’s bullets found him, as well.

  A smaller creature raced out and clamped onto his arm, pulling him to the ground. Another beast pounced and grabbed his other arm, and the two dragged the screaming general toward their compatriots. They fell upon him like pigs to a trough.

  Raúl laughed almost hysterically. “A fitting end for a monster.”

  “Send them away now.” Hettie was sick to her stomach, but Walker grabbed her arm.

  “Hettie.” He pointed toward the west gate. Two figures hastened through. She immediately recognized Abby walking stiffly ahead of someone, her hands tugging at her collar oddly. She heard barking. Cymon? Confusion and a strange lightness filled her. And behind them—

  No.

  Walker said, “I’ll take care of Raúl. Go!”

  Hettie flew down the steps, bile pumping into her chest cavity. She skidded to a stop before them, Diablo raised and pointed at Stubbs’s head. The man had something around her sister’s neck, and Abby was struggling to breathe.

  “Try anything and your sister dies,” the Pinkerton agent shouted.

  “Listen to him, Hettie,” Uncle said behind Stubbs, his eyes and gun trained on the agent.

  Ling emerged from behind Uncle. “This was not part of the plan, Thomas.”

  “My plan was to get Diablo and get out of here alive and in one piece,” Stubbs barked. “It’s simple, Miss Alabama. Relinquish the Devil’s Revolver to me, and I’ll let your sister go.”

  “There’s no guarantee of that,” Uncle warned Hettie. “He could take Abby as insurance we won’t go after him. It’s what I’d do.”

  “You’re not helping,” Hettie snapped. Diablo ticked in her hand, growing heavier.

  I can kill him without harming Abby.

  You might not kill her, but his spell will.

  The mage gun fell silent, as if it hadn’t considered that fact … or didn’t care.

  Cymon trotted up to her and butted his head against her thigh. Hettie smoothed her free hand over his big skull in reassurance, telegraphing that she did not want him taking a chunk out of the Pinkerton agent. Not yet.

  The howls of the chupacabra grew louder, closer. Hettie’s skin lifted with goose bumps, almost as if she could sense them seeking out the kindred power that called to them—their demon brethren, trapped in a prison of blackened ivory and metal. She hoped Raúl’s control kept them at bay a little while longer.

  “There’s no way for you to leave the village with all those chupacabra out there,” Hettie said calmly.

  Clearly the Pinkerton agent hadn’t anticipated the infernal creatures’ presence. He licked his lips.

  “Ling,” Stubbs said over his shoulder. “Come here. Take the brat. If they kill me, the spell still holds.”

  Uncle whipped out his gun and pointed it at Ling. “I don’t think so.”

  “Kill him and she dies.”

  Uncle regarded Stubbs thoughtfully. “Protecting a Chinaman isn’t like you, Stubby. You two shacking up or something?”

  The Pinkerton agent ignored him. “Tsang, get your ass over here and take the girl. If they were going to shoot you, they would’ve already.”

  Ling eyed Uncle and slowly edged around him. Stubbs thrust Abby at him, the snare still cinched tight around her throat. “There. Mission accomplished. Now call the cavalry and get us out of here.”

  “I see now.” Uncle nodded. “You need a Division man to perform an emergency extraction. What is it, Ling? Unsanctioned teleportation spell? You know that’s considered an act of war under the treaty.” Ling’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t reply.

  Stubbs flexed his hand, and the thong tightened around Abby’s neck. “I’m not joking around, Miss Alabama. Hand over Diablo now!”

  Ling grabbed his shoulder. “Stubbs, she can’t breathe! Let her go!”

  The Pinkerton ignored him. “I’ll kill her. I mean it!”

  Abby scrabbled at the tie. Her lips turned blue as she collapsed to the ground, and she writhed like a caught animal. A dust devil surged to life around her. Nearby a barrel lifted into the air and burst into flame. Startled, Stubbs’s concentration broke, but the noose only tightened further. Abby kicked her heels in the dirt. A cart sailed into the air and exploded against the wall.

  If Hettie didn’t do something soon, Abby would kill Stubbs accidentally, and herself along with him.

  Maybe I can shoot the tie off her neck. Maybe I can slip into a time bubble and remove it—

  No.

  Diablo showed her in a blink what would happen in both cases. The spell was too strong, and the mage gun knew any action against Stubbs would result in Abby’s demise.

  What am I supposed to do?

  Diablo’s weight quadrupled, and Hettie nearly dropped it. She wanted to, because it had only one answer to her question.

  Help Abby. End her suffering.

  No.

  She’s going to kill everyone here, and then she’ll die alone.

  No!

  With a cry, Ling opened his palms and clapped them over Stubbs’s ears. White power burst through them as Ling sank his magic into the Pinkerton agent’s head.

  Stubbs stiffened, eyes bulging. His face relaxed, and he slumped down to the ground.

  The thong around Abby’s neck released abruptly, and she coughed as she gulped air. Hettie ran to her and ripped the snare off. Tears rose to her eyes as she hugged her sister tight.

  Uncle pointed his gun at Ling. “Just ’cuz you killed Stubbs doesn’t mean you get a pass.”

  Ling gazed at him calmly. “I didn’t kill him. I put him to sleep. I couldn’t think of any other way to disable him without harming Abby.”

  “I’m still not letting you take her.” Uncle took aim.

  “No.” Abby put her hand on Uncle’s arm. He looked startled to find her addressing him. “No, Uncle. He saved Cymon. He saved me.”

  He was about to argue, but then a howl pierced the air as the chupacabra rallied. They were straying into the village, past the downed gate, snuffling, seeking, fur, claws, and jaws dripping with gore, insatiable, starved for chaos. They turned their eyes toward the fresh, warm bodies in the square.

  Hettie inhaled sharply. “Get back to the farm and get ready to run for the hills,” she said to Uncle.

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll buy you some time.”

  Without the barrier, the wall around the village proved no challenge for the chupacabra, who used their sharp claws and strong, mountain-goat-sure hind legs to scrabble up the stone. The men on the gantry were quickly overwhelmed. The remaining soldiers united with the villagers they’d been attacking minutes ago to fight the demon creatures.

  Ling followed Jeremiah as he half dragged Abby back toward the farm.

  “I can help!” she cried. “I wanna help Hettie!”

  “Nothing we can do for that hardheaded idiot.” He yanked on Abby’s arm, and she pushed away from him.

  A ball of muscled fur slammed into the old sorcerer, bowling him to the ground. Jeremiah rolled to his feet. The chupacabra’s razor-sharp claws had opened a shallow gash across his chest from armpit to armpit.

  Ling drew and unloaded his pistol into the chupa
cabra’s tough hide. The bullets sank into its flesh like pebbles splashing into a pool. The beast turned toward Ling with a snarl and charged. He tried to sidestep the monster, but its long, protruding horn caught him in the side and wiped him across the dirt like a soiled dishrag.

  Jeremiah shouted a brief incantation and released a bolt of fire that smacked the monster square in the face. It roared, but the flames were quickly smothered, and the creature paced toward the old sorcerer.

  “That’s right, ugly, come and get it.” Uncle threw another fireball, drawing it away from Abby. The chupacabra rushed him, becoming a blur of muscle. It caught him with one horn and tossed him high and far. The old sorcerer landed hard about ten feet away, groaning.

  Abby screamed. The creature advanced on her, drooling.

  Ling shouted. He was too far to get to her. The monster lunged—

  A smaller beast crashed into Abby’s attacker midair, ripping and gouging as they tumbled through the dust. The two bashed heads, horns locking, claws tearing at each other. What Abby’s savior lacked in size it made up for in speed and ferocity. In seconds the smaller creature pinned the larger one and tore its throat out. It gave a fearsome howl as the vanquished chupacabra made a final convulsive twitch. Slowly it turned toward Abby, heaving in deep, shuddery breaths.

  Ling picked up a large rock and hurled it at the beast. It glanced off its hide, and the creature glared at him, snarling. A long scar stretched across its face.

  “No, Mr. Tsang!” Abby held up her hands. “She’s just a baby.”

  The scar-faced chupacabra watched warily as Ling edged toward Abby. He grabbed her hand. “Are you all right?”

  “Uh-huh.” She grinned over at Baby Scarface, who was tearing open her comrade’s belly and leisurely feasting on its innards as if it were a potpie. “Thank you, Baby!” she called.

  Jeremiah got up slowly, groaning. Blood dripped from the open gash across his chest. “We need to get out of here. I don’t have enough juice to fight off any more of those things.”