by Matt King
“Fuck me...”
He tried to get his gun pointed straight again, but the man was out of the water before Morris had a chance to move. A pair of swords came flashing through the air.
Even before the blades came down through his chest, Morris was crying. He was crying for mercy, and for his mom, his god damn mom who loved him so much she sent him off to military school the first chance she could get, and he was crying to wake himself up from whatever nightmare he was caught in. His cries stopped as soon as the air in his lungs began to bubble through the blood pouring over his chest.
As his vision began to blur, his last sight was of the sun glinting off the swords, and the terrible eyes of the man holding them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
August ripped his swords from the soldier's chest, unsatisfied.
Find him.
The mantra fueled him. Through the roots of the dead cypress, he saw another soldier coming out of the water. He threw the straps of his sheath over his shoulders and jammed one of the blades home, keeping the other close to his side. A second soldier joined the first on shore.
“You see Morris?”
“Last I saw, he was over there. Might’ve been him yelling.”
As soon as he saw the gun barrel, August grabbed it and pulled. He cut off the man's arm, then took him by the throat and squeezed until the windpipe crushed between his fingers. He pushed the body into the onrushing soldier, using his blade to cut through the back of the man’s knees while he screamed. August stabbed him through his heart as he fell.
Ahead of him, hidden by a clump of weeds, someone called out frantically for a report. August honed in on his voice, crashing through the vegetation until he found the soldier hiding behind a stump, bug-eyed and looking for monsters in the shadows. He turned to fire. August rushed forward, knocking the gun away before he could pull the trigger, and picked the soldier up by the lapels of his jacket.
“Don't! Please!” the cadet begged.
He whipped the man back on top of the log, impaling him on a broken branch.
Find him. Make him pay.
Gunfire broke out in the distance. A helicopter rushed out over the tops of the trees, its nose pointed to the sky as it fired wildly into the air. Hanging from the opened door on the side was a monster with dark skin coated with wet brown hair. August’s bloodthirst swirled like a storm through his head, but some fragments of memory still managed to rise to the surface. Shadow, he thought. Her name is Shadow. She used the runners beneath the chopper to move closer to the cockpit. As she slid forward, her weight caused the helicopter to nosedive toward the ground. The pilot tried to jump out before it hit the swamp. Shadow caught him, tearing the man apart as they fell into the water. They disappeared from view behind a stand of trees. The helicopter crashed, sending up a plume of fire and smoke.
The explosion brought soldiers out of the swamp, rushing toward the scene in staggered formation, every man with his gun out and firing toward the trees.
August ran after them. He cut down every man he caught, killing them before they knew he was there. Find him. Make him pay. He dove to catch the last one in the group and grabbed his foot to take him down. The soldier’s rifle flew from his hands. August pounced, but the man had his knife out before August could unsheathe his sword.
“Look who I found,” the soldier said, pointing the foot-long knife at August’s neck. He beckoned August closer. “C’mon, you son of a bitch. You don’t look so tough.”
August grabbed the soldier’s hand, stuck the point of the knife to his gut, and slammed him to the ground, pushing until the tip of the blade poked through the back of the soldier’s jacket. Blood poured from the wound, soaking the uniform.
“The fuck is that?!” someone yelled ahead of him.
Shadow came crashing through the trees with half of a soldier's body dragging behind her in one hand. An explosion of gunfire filled the forest. She lifted what was left of the man and used him as a shield as she ran forward. She threw the body at a group of men and then leapt through the air, landing on top of them. Her claws tore through the mob.
The tree next to August's head burst apart in a shower of splintered wood. Something hit his shoulder, splattering blood against his cheek. He dropped down with his back to the tree. A thick chunk of skin hung from his upper chest. He pulled it back in place and held it there to heal while blood streamed between his fingers.
The shot came from Building Z. A thin patch of trees stood between him and the Quonset hut. He kicked up a cloud of leaves into the air. The shooter took the bait, and as the gunshot hit the ground wide, August took off through the woods. More shots came quickly. A bullet skipped off a boulder near his feet, but he didn’t stop. He ran until he saw the roof of the hut. The shooter was on top, tracking him through a scope. Another burst of dust rose from the forest floor. As August got closer, the shots became more scattered.
He jumped up to grab the shooter’s uniform, dragging him down with a single pull. The man landed at August’s feet and pawed at his belt until he freed a knife from its scabbard. August grabbed hold of the hand with the knife and squeezed, twisting the wrist until the blade fell to the ground. He kicked it away.
“Where is he?” he growled.
The soldier clenched his eyes shut, pursing his lips against the pain. His legs wobbled. He shook his head.
August turned the wrist back until he had the forearm ready to snap. “Which building?”
The guardsmen couldn’t hold his screams back any longer. He stifled it as best he could before letting out a string of loud breaths. “No,” he said through a pant. “He’ll…kill me.”
“You think I won’t?!”
Back toward the swamp, the gunfire came to a stop. Shadow roared, victorious.
“Last chance…”
A drunken smile formed on the soldier’s face. “Already gone,” he said, grinning wildly. “Waiting…for you…”
He let out a stuttered laugh as his hand dipped to his side. He drew a gun from his hip.
August caught his wrist before he could fire and forced the muzzle of the gun up to the man’s chin, holding the trigger down until the last bullet fired. Chips of bone scattered across the soil. The soldier’s head fell back as his body gave a final seize. August pushed him to the ground.
He stood there for a moment in the silence of the forest, his torso covered with dirt and blood, and acknowledged for the first time that he was alive again, that he'd come back. As he looked over his shoulder at the bodies scattered across the woods, his chest rose and fall in heavy breaths. I'm supposed to be better than this. Better than him. A well of tears clouded his sight. He fell to his knees and began showering a flurry of punches into the dead man’s body, screaming as his fists snapped the bones of his ribs. No matter how hard he hit, the dead man would never be Coburn. He knew it, and yet he kept going until his arms burned from exhaustion.
Eventually, he got back to his feet, wiping away the grime from his damp cheeks. His breathing slowed. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the side of the porch post. When he opened them again, he saw the soldier’s body lying in a pile next to the landing. It seemed strangely foreign to him now. He turned away from it.
“August!”
August whipped his blades from their sheath. When he saw Bear come out of the woods, he put them back in place.
“You okay?” Bear asked.
August looked back to the empty Building Z. “I’m fine.”
Seeing Bear standing next to him again, shirtless, but dressed in his usual dusty jeans, felt a little like sailing through a hurricane and finding home on the other side.
“Thanks,” he said. “For coming. I don’t know how much longer I could’ve stayed down there.”
“You would've done the same for me.”
August thought it sounded as much like a question as a statement. Or maybe his head was too spent to know the difference. He bent down and rested his hands on his knees even though
he wasn’t tired. What he needed most was to steady himself.
“You sure you’re all right?” Bear asked.
He nodded, then inhaled deeply before standing again. “He knew they wouldn’t stop us. He sent them to die just to slow us down. If we hurry, we might be able to pick up his trail.”
“August, I didn’t come back here to help you find Coburn.”
“You want to go back, go. I’m staying here.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“Sure you can. You walk through those woods. You get back in your…how’d you get here again?”
“Doorway,” Bear said dryly.
“Doorway. Of course. Okay, then you go back through your door and you tell Her Highness that I’m gonna be a little late getting home.”
“Leaving you to do what? Fight the rest of his army alone?”
“If I have to.”
Bear shook his head. “You’re not thinking straight.”
“I can’t let him live. Not after what he did to me.”
“So you’ll risk it all for revenge?”
Yes, August answered in his head. He glanced over at Bear, who looked as though he might’ve heard the thought.
“Daddy’s still back at camp, August. Alone.”
The mention of Ray was another hand pulling him back from the deep. When he looked at Bear, he saw the urgency in his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”
Bear scanned the woods. “Think we’ll see any more on the way back?”
“If he left anyone behind, it’ll be the Horsemen.”
His partner accepted the news with a scowl. “Come on,” he said, “before it gets too late.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
An animal roared in the distance and the sound glanced off Coburn's thoughts like a rock skipping on water. His focus was on the shimmering slice of air at the edge of the woods. It rose from the ground, ending in a rounded peak at the top like a medieval castle door. Behind him, the footsteps of the Horsemen come to a stop as he approached the object. That they wouldn’t come closer didn’t surprise him. Their actions since capturing Dillon had been more cowardly than not. He was losing them to their superstitions about Dillon, but he only needed to keep hold of their reins for a few moments more.
He stopped a few feet away from the door. The energy in the air around it vibrated the hair on his skin. A metallic taste filled his mouth. He ran his eyes over the hazy image in the doorway. It was like looking into the distance on a hot day. Distorted shapes on the other side seemed to shift as the surface rippled. He could make out a few objects, one that looked like a dome and something larger that looked like a tree. Shapes of an alien world? He wondered. Ever since he first became aware of Dillon’s abilities, the thought of alien technology rumbled in the back of his mind. Dillon was no government experiment, he was sure of that. For all the science fiction stories about armies turning out super soldiers, the closest Uncle Sam had gotten was a healthy regimen of growth hormones—a fancy word for steroids—and those types never amounted to anything in Coburn’s line of work. But Dillon. Dillon was different. His strength was twice that of the strongest soldier, maybe more, but Coburn sought something else, something far more valuable.
He drew his hand to his neck instinctively. His fingers pressed into the soft tissue beneath his chin. He felt the lymph node there, hard and rounded beneath the stubble of his beard. His thumb touched the node’s twin on the other side of his neck. The swell shifted at his touch, soft and pliable compared to the rigid tumor under his fingertips. He withdrew his hand. His mind rang with doctor’s numbers and dates, predictions all, and all worthless to him. He needed answers. He needed a fix. And just when he thought his options were slipping away, along came Dillon. Dillon and his abilities. Dillon and his secrets. But now, now maybe Dillon wasn’t needed after all. He could feel it in his bones. What he needed—all he needed, perhaps—was through the haze. Once he had it, he would return his sights to Dillon, and the man would know tenfold the pain of his betrayal.
He stuck his hands in the pockets of his coat and turned to face the Horsemen. They stood in a line at the edge of the road, too scared to come any closer, but too loyal not to obey. Coburn knew their allegiance was tied to some idea they had between them that he was a sort of vessel for God’s punishment on Earth. He had played upon this for as long as he could, but he recognized the change once they saw Dillon and witnessed his powers, and Dillon was smart; he would notice it and take advantage. But his friend, his friend seemed to have something different inside. The Horsemen, even as good as they were, weren’t likely to survive an encounter with that one. He smiled at the thought.
An explosion in the distance sent a tremor though the ground. The Horsemen turned their heads to the woods.
“Our guests will be returning soon,” Coburn said.
The Horsemen looked to each other, then to him.
“I need time to carry out my mission. I want you all to stay here and keep those two from coming through. Do you understand me? No man goes through this door but me.”
Slowly, like children being told to do their chores, they nodded in reply.
He solidified his orders by catching the stare of each of the men before turning to walk through the portal. That’s what he hoped it was, wasn’t it? A portal to whatever world gave Dillon his gifts. He would seek out the people responsible and take the powers he needed if they weren’t offered freely. He touched the handles of the weapons hanging from his belt, ran his fingers along the smooth, curved wood.
He walked forward with a smile raising the corner of his mustache. He hesitated, not out of fear, but out of a desire to savor the moment. The image rippled. Reaching out with his hand, he touched the surface as though he were testing the water before jumping in. Warm currents rose through his fingertips, welcoming him, urging him on. After a deep breath, he stepped through.
A wave of vertigo struck as soon as his body broke the plane. His breath stilled. After finding his footing, he stood in place, waiting with his eyes shut. A cold wind swept across his face, filled with the scent of wood. He opened his eyes. As he took in the new world, his expression wilted.
He stood not in an alien world, but in a primitive campsite adjacent to a hiking trail. An oversized tent stood beside a tree, making up the silhouette he’d seen on the other side of the door. His disappointment turned to anger. He let it seethe before reminding himself that this wasn't a setback; it was simply another stop along the path. A delay, not an ending. Nothing would keep him from what he sought.
An oxygen canister leaned against the tree roots, with a long strand of plastic tubing attached to the nozzle. He knelt and held his hand over the fire pit. A faint wash of heat warmed his fingers. Used, but not recently. Probably lit the night before. Judging by the size of the footprints on the ground, they belonged to Dillon’s friend and his father, two people he should’ve eliminated when he’d had the chance. It wasn’t a mistake he meant to repeat. Dealing with the father while the son was away seemed the best course of action. Killing the man, though, would have to wait. For now, he was more useful as collateral, an assurance that if Dillon couldn’t be threatened with the loss of his own life, then maybe the loss of another might bring him to reason.
The old man’s path was easy enough to follow in the damp soil. The circular indentations of a cane littered the area in front of the tent.
Coburn followed them like a string of breadcrumbs into the woods. Only a few yards down the trail, he found the cane lying in a pile of damp leaves. The tracks went on. He followed them until a new set of footprints appeared. He drew his weapon even though the woods were silent and still. The old man had visited with someone before moving ahead, dragging his feet along the dirt path in short, stuttered steps, but the second set of prints hadn't followed. He kept his focus on the surrounding trees as he walked on.
He recognized the smell of blood as he rounded the elbow of the trail. There, split apart from neck to navel, was the b
ody of an old man, shriveled and broken. Someone had stolen Coburn’s chance to bargain the man's life. He looked around for footprints, and found something that made his heart leap—circling the body were wide indentations ending in four clawed toes. Whatever killed the man wasn't human, and it wasn't of this Earth.
The sound of voices snapped him out of his thoughts. Dillon was back. Coburn took to the woods, content in the knowledge that his goal was within reach once again. All he needed to do now was follow Dillon to its source.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
When August saw the Horsemen through the gaps in the trees near the road, he didn't bother to hide. There was no reason to. He knew from experience that if you could see the brothers, it's only because they wanted to be seen. It also meant that they'd seen you first, and running only made it easier for them to shoot you in the back. Just behind them, something shimmered in the air. He remembered seeing the same strange glow before the attack at the church.
Bear crept beside him and pointed. “The camp’s on the other side of that doorway,” he said in a hushed voice.
August's stare switched to the compound. He wondered if Coburn was inside, puppeting his attack dogs from afar, or if they were just another layer in his plan to stall them. He had a feeling Coburn was long gone, even though it wasn't like him to leave his pets behind. He looked back to the Horsemen. His gut told him something had changed in them as well. The Horsemen he knew would’ve already been charging toward them. Coburn had their skills honed to a point where a single brother could outmatch any man. The four of them together were a wrecking crew with no equals, and they knew it. It was their nature to attack their targets quickly. Something was wrong.
Beside him, Bear’s breaths quickened. He gave off a scent of ozone.
“Wait,” August said. “The only advantage we have on them is surprise. Don't let them see her yet.”
Bear looked at him, confused. “So what do we do?”