by Joe Ducie
‘Ancient,’ she said. ‘Restless. Hungry.’ She paused. ‘Betrayed.’
The floral blouse and skin Bluebird wore faded away, melted, as did the reality of the kitchen around him. Before Drake stood a creature seven feet tall, thin, shaped in a rough approximation of a human, but with a nest of crystals growing out the back of her head like tree roots. He tried not to think how his crystal arm resembled the arms of the creature. And, as ever, sparks of blue and white ethereal light swam beneath her skin.
The kitchen had been replaced with something horribly familiar. Drake stood on the helipad on the southern platform of the Rig. Only now it was twisted and ruined, wrapped in bands and pillars of crystal from under the water. Of the other platforms he could see very little, just glimpses of the structure through the alien growth. A fierce Arctic wind bit at his face and ears – a wind he had hoped never to feel again.
‘Are we … really here?’ he asked. He glanced at the sky, strewn with thunderstorm clouds, and decided life had grown somewhat strange, over the past few weeks.
When the creature spoke, she still sounded like his mother, but the words echoed in his mind, and made his teeth hurt. ‘This is where we may speak. The game has changed, William Drake. Marcus Brand is blinded by his hate for you. This hate … is of no use to me.’
‘Those sure weren’t chocolate kisses he was sending me from the barrel of his rifle. Are you healing me again?’
‘He is a blunt tool. One, I believe, beyond sharpening.’ The lights in the crystal face formed a pair of pure blue eyes. ‘Stop him. Defeat him, William Drake, and I will not revive him again as I have done for you.’
‘This is the second time he’s killed me. Third time he’s shot me. What makes you think I can stop him?’ Drake pressed two fingers against his eyelids and fought against just sitting down and giving up. ‘Never thought I’d say that. Follow the web, Drake,’ he muttered. ‘Follow the web.’
‘I will not extend your life again,’ she said. ‘I cannot. Your mind is fractured, drowned in my radiance. And I will need you in the days to come. You must rest … learn. And grow strong.’
Drake clenched his fists and took a deep breath. ‘I can’t bloody sleep, can I? How much time is passing here? If Brand is hurting my friends –’
‘Seconds are hours here. Hours can be months.’
Drake took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He considered, and then nodded. ‘OK, I’ll keep playing. Fix me up good, no stupid kiss-shaped scars, and I’ll put an end to Brand. Already had a plan for that, anyway, before all that crystal nonsense burst from the sewer. You’re just getting in my damn way.’
The creature tilted her head and Drake swore he could feel a smile on that expressionless, spark-filled face. She reached a long, thin arm of crystal towards him. Drake took a step back and raised his hand.
‘One thing – I’ll fight Brand, but you leave New York alone. However you brought the crystal here, you take it away. All those creatures, as well. There’s too many people living here. You don’t get to hurt them.’
‘Agreed,’ the creature said.
Drake blinked. ‘What? Just like that?’
‘One city more or less will not make a difference in the war to come. Stop him, and I shall withdraw. Fail, and I will take the city. We have our understanding, William Drake.’ The creature pressed her hand against his chest and a blinding white light eclipsed Drake’s vision.
Hot fire rushed through his body, a torrent of power, and the world fell away. He blinked and once again stood in Times Square; his body had never left, and light as white as snow bled from the dozens of bullet holes in his chest, legs, and arms.
Only been a second, not even, he thought, glimpsing the horrified faces of his friends. No time to explain.
Drake’s body flooded with power, with alien light, and he hurled himself into Brand with enough force to smash concrete to dust. He grasped the melted Rig armour fused to Brand’s shoulders and threw him across Times Square as if he weighed nothing.
Brand, an ugly snarl on his face turned into surprise, bounced off the trunk of Whitmore’s limousine and rolled along the ground. The limousine rocked from the impact and, out of the corner of his eye, Drake saw Whitmore’s security forces, those that had survived the monstrous assault, move in, rifles raised. Whitmore waved them away, a dangerous, curious glint in his eyes.
He wanted Drake and Brand to fight.
High above the cockroach monsters had settled on the crystal pillars and the skyscrapers, seemingly to watch Drake and Brand fight, as well. The spiders that were still whole and undamaged did the same, stopping in their tracks. None of them moved, even as the police and security forces continued to fire at them.
She’s keeping her end of the deal … now I have to keep mine.
Drake bled light. Bullets that hadn’t passed clean through him melted from the heat, while his flesh knitted itself back together. He felt no pain, not even a pinch, but the churning heat in his chest intensified and a wave of dizziness made him sick to his stomach. Over two weeks ago now, just after absorbing the Crystal-X, his body had healed itself. But not like this – he felt nothing, not even a small tingle from the light, as the bullets were forced from his body and the wounds healed.
As Brand started to pick himself up, Michael Tristan appeared on Drake’s left.
‘Your eyes are blue,’ he said. ‘Whatever you’re about to do, I guess you think it’s the right thing.’
‘You have them, yes?’ Drake asked.
Tristan nodded, as the drone spun around them over their heads in quick circles, recording everything. He dug into the backpack and produced two crystals, one as blue as lightning, the other as red as blood. The same crystals that Drake and Brand had created back at the train derailment in Newfoundland.
‘He did just as you said he would, mate. We can –’
Drake cut Tristan off as Brand regained his feet and howled at the night sky. ‘Just be ready!’
The light had healed Drake swiftly. He didn’t know how, but he’d hoped as much, although creeping fatigue pushed through the river of power. Even the light had its limits, given how much he’d been using it, and how much he’d needed to be healed. I can’t rely on this much longer. The creature had told him as much, too. His mind was drowning, which was just a fancy way of saying he was slipping. Going mad. His crystal arm swam with a whole school of sparks, moving in quick spirals. As Brand clenched his remaining hand into a fist and yellow lightning burst from between his palms, scoring the sidewalk, Drake’s arm erupted in blue flame.
The whole limb, from the tips of his dark fingers to the edge of his shoulder, was alight with undulating fire. He felt no heat. The ragged sleeve of his shirt was burnt away.
He met Brand halfway, in the heart of Times Square, but this time the madman was ready for him. Brand didn’t budge an inch as Drake slammed into him, going for the guard’s throat with his flaming arm. Brand’s crackling hand fell on Drake’s shoulder and a shockwave of conflicting energy, harsh yellow and electric blue, burst into the air and cracked the sidewalk beneath their feet.
‘You meet the boss lady?’ Brand asked, as he threw his power against Drake. ‘She heal you up again? We’ve work to do, Drake, you and me. Neither of us can die until that work is done.’
‘Actually,’ Drake growled, ‘she told me you’re fired!’
Drake met the attack with force of his own, intensifying the flames running down his arm until the fire was almost too bright to behold. Brand’s wasted hand on his normal shoulder, the shoulder untouched by crystal, burnt into his skin, but blue light met the assault there, as well, healing the burns as soon as they appeared.
That arm did feel like it had been set on fire.
Drake gritted his teeth and managed a feral grin. ‘That thing, she wants me to kill you.’
‘That thing is a god, Drake. She chose me, as I burnt in the Titan. She chose me!’
Drake stumbled back a step and Brand pressed forward.
He moved his left hand from Drake’s shoulder and gripped his crystal arm. The energy pouring from Brand sizzled against the crystal limb. For the first time, Drake felt something in his mutated arm – an intense heat and pressure, as fierce as if he’d submerged his limb in acid.
‘It’s bad news,’ Drake growled. ‘You have to see that!’
‘She saved me, and gave me the power to destroy my enemies – to destroy you!’
Drake barked a laugh. ‘Then how am I still standing, you bastard?’
Drake lashed at Brand with his free arm, but he couldn’t muster more than a fraction of the power rushing through his crystal limb. Still, he punched Brand’s ruined face and felt the man’s jaw break. Brand did nothing. He twisted his head to an unnatural angle and stared at Drake, stared through Drake, his coal-black eyes vacant and lost.
‘Can you hear her?’ he said with a sigh. ‘She’s trapped under the Rig, Drake. You were supposed to save her, but you’re flawed. We can’t free her yet. She hasn’t had time to grow, but that time is coming.’ Brand shook his head and focused his gaze on Drake – on his arm. ‘And you, my little daffodil, you don’t deserve this gift!’
With a roar Brand clenched his remaining hand around Drake’s crystal limb and a surge of sheer power rushed through his skeletal form. For a moment, Drake saw through his wasted skin, to the power flowing through his veins like blood. For a moment, Brand was as clear as crystal. He’s nothing but the light, Drake thought. That’s all he is now. No blood, nothing. Just held together by the light.
And a heartbeat later: How the hell can I kill that?
His resolve wavered and Brand exerted all the force at his command against Drake’s arm, using the ruined forearm of his handless limb for leverage. From a great distance, Drake heard chimes, and then the shattering of glass on stone. His eyes widened and he screamed ‘No!’ as a sharp spider’s web of cracks splintered along his crystal arm.
Brand cried out in triumph and Drake reeled as his arm snapped about halfway between his elbow and shoulder. The crystal limb broke away from the rest of his body and a fountain of sparks fell like a waterfall from the jagged stump as he hit the ground. The sparks splashed against the sidewalk and ran in streams around his form.
Brand held the rest of the dull, obsidian limb above his head and laughed at the sky, as the pool of liquid light from Drake’s arm ran under his feet.
Keep laughing … you’re standing in gasoline and smoking, buddy. Drake cast a look over his shoulder.
Tristan was there, crouched behind the limousine. Irene was with him. He nodded and threw the backpack across the space between them. Drake, his limb still bleeding light, forced himself up onto his knees with his good arm and caught the pack.
He reached in and retrieved the two colourful crystals.
‘Light them up!’ Tristan cried. ‘It’ll work!’
Drake did just that.
He tossed the crystals at Brand’s feet, into the pool of light, and thrust his stump of an arm in the same direction. A torrent of power struck the crystals, which were already glowing from the pool of spilt energy.
It took less than three seconds, as Brand tossed Drake’s broken arm aside and reached for the prize at his feet. He was too slow.
The crystals sucked in the light and did as they had done the night they were created. A split in the air formed, directly in front of Brand, and he leapt over the crystals as the portal opened, the air falling in on itself behind him as it rent a hole between Times Square … and whatever world existed on the other side.
Brand took another step forward, reaching for Drake as he shuffled back on his good arm towards Irene and Tristan. His friends grasped Drake from behind and pulled him to the back of the limousine as the force of the portal opening dragged Brand backwards.
Brand snarled and looked over his shoulder. He fought for a step forward, crackling with energy, but the force of the portal’s opening was too much. He fell back, arms outstretched, with a furious cry. Silhouetted against the portal, Drake watched Brand fall with a grim satisfaction. As he had seen back in Canada, the portal opened on a world of grey skies and ash-covered ground.
The portal swallowed Marcus Brand whole.
But not before an arc of wicked light, as thick as knotted rope, burst from his remaining palm.
The wild whip of power didn’t hit Drake, as he stood and gripped the trunk of the limousine. The whip didn’t hit Tristan, or Irene, as they stood beside him. It shot past within spitting distance of Noemi and Takeo, on the other side of the car. The light slithered in the air, moving like a snake, and struck Lucien Whitmore, who stood before his daughter. Whitmore raised his arm, dressed in his finely tailored suit, and the light wrapped around his hand.
Let it go, Drake thought. You idiot, let it go!
With a grunt and a flash of white light from behind his sunglasses, Whitmore threw the whip of energy aside – and it jumped to the next nearest person.
To Amy Whitmore.
Her father realised a heartbeat later what he’d done, as the light spun around his daughter’s chest and picked her up. The look of horror on his face was the first real emotion Drake had ever seen the president show.
And like a fish caught on a hook, Brand reeled in the line from whatever awful place of ash and crystal spiders the portal led to, and Amy was thrown through the air above the limousine, crying out for help.
Irene lunged for her kicking legs and missed.
Drake threw his only arm forwards, close enough to see the fear in her eyes, and his fingertips grazed the edge of her shoulder as she flew past.
Little Amy disappeared into the portal after Brand.
Lucien Whitmore screamed.
Irene threw her arms around Will and stared at the portal in the air, at the ugly world beyond. Brand stood on the other side, Amy Whitmore in his grip, and pounded against the portal as if a wall of invisible glass, or a magical shield, barred his path back to New York.
He hurled his fist into the portal, as ash swirled around him, and was knocked back.
‘It’s only one-way,’ Tristan said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. ‘He can’t get back through!’
‘Then neither can Amy …’ Irene whispered.
Brand made to slam his fist into the portal again, but stopped at the last moment. He looked over his shoulder, at something out of sight, and then turned back to stare at Drake.
He held that stare for a long, awful moment.
Brand grinned and scooped Amy Whitmore up beneath his arm. She was in tears, screaming and thrashing. He disappeared out of sight on the other side of … wherever that was.
‘Bring her back!’ Whitmore roared. He grabbed Drake, tore him from Irene, and slammed him against the limousine. ‘Bring her back!’
Drake’s broken arm still bled crystal light, glowing drops, onto the street, but it was less now – a trickle where it had been a stream. He looked dazed, to Irene, and sick. His poor arm.
‘It wants you, Drake,’ Whitmore said. The president of the Alliance bunched Drake’s collar in his fists and pushed their faces together. ‘Can’t you feel it? It has called you here. This was meant to happen. Step through the portal.’
‘Uh, no.’ Drake actually laughed. ‘What? No. You do it.’
Whitmore glanced at the portal and shook his head. ‘Step through, return my daughter to me, or I will kill your friends,’ he said. ‘Soldiers! To me! I’ll start with the lovely Miss Finlay. I swear, Drake, I will splatter her brains across the sidewalk.’
He means it, Irene thought. She was no good at reading people, not like Will, but every instinct she had was telling her that Whitmore meant to shoot her – to shoot them all.
Drake lips formed a thin line. He was furious, Irene saw, more than he’d ever been. ‘Well, the way I see it, Mr. President, she’s been sent to a prison of your making. So who better to get her out than me, eh?’ He met Irene’s gaze and offered her half a smile. ‘You know where I need you to be
, right?’
Where you need me to … ‘What?’ She stepped forward, reached for him, but the cadre of Alliance goons that had surrounded the limousine made her pause. Why have the spiders stopped attacking? What happened? Half a dozen weapons followed her every move. ‘Don’t you dare! I don’t know what –’
‘You’ll let them all go,’ Drake said to Whitmore, and calmly pulled the president’s hands from the collar of his shirt and took a step away. ‘They walk now, Whitmore. All my friends. Hell, you’ll give them a private jet to where they need to go.’
‘You’ll step through the portal?’ Whitmore asked. He took a step away, too, and ran a hand back through his silver hair. ‘You’ll rescue my daughter?’
‘You gonna come with me?’ Drake asked.
Whitmore said nothing.
‘Didn’t think so.’ Drake scoffed. ‘And of course I’ll go after her.’
Irene rushed to his side. ‘You can’t go in … into that!’ She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. ‘You idiot. Look at your arm, look at that place!’
The portal had shrunk a few sizes. Where it had been half a metre taller than Brand, anyone passing through now would have to mind their head. Amy … I’m sorry.
‘You must go!’ Whitmore insisted. ‘Bring her back and destroy Marcus Brand.’
‘Figured out he’s not on your side any more, have you?’ Irene snapped. ‘Will … Tristan, talk to him.’
Tristan stood quietly next to Drake and paused before speaking. ‘He’s got that look in his eye, Irene. The one that got us off the Rig.’
Irene shivered as Drake wrapped his remaining arm around her and gave her a quick hug. He stepped away, towards the portal, and she had to force herself not to pull him back. He pointed a finger at Lucien Whitmore.
‘Your word, Whitmore, for what little it’s worth, that you’ll let them go. On your daughter’s life, that you’ll honour our agreement.’
Whitmore clenched his fists hard enough to turn his knuckles white. ‘You have it,’ he whispered. ‘Please, please just … go. Save her.’