Topher Nightshade vs. The Camp of The Undead Apocalypse

by Drew Hayes

  Of course, the effect was somewhat marred by the horde of ghosts milling around the circle of red light on the island, but that was precisely what Kay and Auggie had come here to fix.

  “Look at that shit, made it safely, after all,” Kay announced, letting the engine die. She popped open the door and emerged from the driver’s side, then headed around to the back and popped open the trunk. “I’m going to start getting the gas jugs and liquor bottles prepped; you set up your autopilot doo-dad-fuckery.”

  Auggie slid over to where Kay had been, grabbed his bag of tools, and went to work. By his estimate, they could have the car ready to go in five to ten minutes. The drive up had taken surprisingly little time, thanks in no small part to the very driving skills he’d been critiquing from the passenger’s seat. It would be close, but if they hurried, they should be able to get the horde of ghosts destroyed before The Emissary arrived on the island.

  He’d no sooner finished that moment of calculation than he heard a boisterous cheer roar forth from the island. Though he was too far away to make out details, the way the ghosts were gathering up around one side, encircling a single spot, told Auggie all he needed to know.

  They were just a hair too late, and The Emissary had beaten them to the goal.

  * * *

  “That rat-bastard is fast,” Velt muttered. She gently knocked on the side of the canoe, getting the attention of Art and Clinton. “Full steam ahead, you two.” As the canoe began to move, Velt reached into the duffel bag at her side, pulling out several road flares and two plastic bottles filled with a milky substance.

  “Liquor?” Topher asked, getting his lighter and bug spray ready.

  “Pretty much. It’s mixed with non-dairy creamer for extra kick.”

  “Non-dairy creamer is flammable?”

  “Are you kidding? The stuff is super potent. It’s what stage magicians use to make fireballs,” Velt told him.

  “I see. So, you’re going to throw the liquor and creamer at them, then light it with the road flares?”

  “That’s the gist of it.”

  “Maybe next time, you should make water balloons,” Topher suggested. “That way you can just toss them, they break, and you’ve got a good spread, instead of just spurts from a bottle.”

  “You know . . . that’s not a terrible idea,” Velt admitted. “If I get out of this one alive, I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “Glad to help. Any advice for me?” Topher glanced over the edge of the accelerating boat. They would be on the island in less than a minute.

  “If it isn’t me, burn it. If you run out of spray, grab a stick and light it on one of the nearby fires to use as a weapon.”

  “How do you know there’ll be a fire for me to light the stick on?” Topher asked.

  Velt answered his question with an oversized smile and a jiggle of one of the bottles in her hand. That pretty much told Topher all he needed to know.

  * * *

  The Emissary was wet, his stolen body trying to shiver after the experience of swimming through cold water to the island. It wouldn’t hold up in this state for very long, but fortunately, he only needed it for one more task. After that, he’d shed it like a rotten cocoon and The Emissary would once more ascend to his glorious, fleshless existence.

  As he pulled the body onto the island, the spirits gathered around, letting forth a triumphant cheer at their leader’s return. These loyal souls were closer to wisps than true spirits; much of their strength had been sacrificed to feed The Emissary’s own power. He intended to see each of them restored, as well as every other follower waiting to cross over from their god’s domain. For millennia, they had served there, waiting for the ritual to be complete, earning a place to linger as the fruit of their efforts ripened. The Emissary would bring them all back, and they would be the rulers of this new, better world. The faithful would be repaid, and the blasphemers would be torn to dust and scattered on the wind.

  He barely had time to soak in the welcoming words of the gathered spirits, let alone begin the ceremony, before the first inhuman howl tore through the night. From the back of the crowd, a bright light rose. It was unlike the crimson taint that oozed from the waiting portal. No, this was clear and unsullied; it danced across the shadows, destroying all it touched. As the spirits parted, The Emissary could make out a pair of spectral soldiers lying on the ground, their forms rippling into nothingness as the fire devoured them whole.

  Next to them, holding a sparking cylinder and a bottle, was that woman. Her right arm hung low, probably broken in the crash, and there were bandages wrapped around her appendages and head. One might have expected that to dull her ferocity, but one would have been exceptionally mistaken. She locked eyes with The Emissary and gave the smile of a jungle cat watching from the underbrush. There was no deception in her, no false overtures. Her sentiment was perfectly and honestly written across her face: she had come to sow havoc and reap destruction. In a strange way, The Emissary respected her candor. Though they were clearly entrenched on different sides of this battle, he found it impossible not to appreciate someone who entered battle with such earnest intentions.

  “You appear to have failed me after all, brother.” His eyes flicked to the edge of the body’s vision to take note of Irwin, who was trying to float quietly away.

  “N-no I didn’t! I haven’t failed you unless she actually stops the ceremony. If I deal with her right now, I’ve still done my duty.” Just as Velt did not conceal the violence in her intentions, Irwin made no effort to hide the desperate begging in his voice.

  Had the coward been a few steps closer, The Emissary would likely have destroyed him right then and there. However, Irwin was just far enough away that attacking him would require The Emissary to turn his back on Velt. Even at this distance, The Emissary did not see that action going well. In this situation, it was better to let her handle Irwin and hope his flailing failure bought them more time.

  “Very well. Go forth and prove yourself, brother. It is the last chance you will get.” The Emissary leaned back and raised his voice, bellowing to all the spirits clustered about. “That woman has come to stop our ceremony, to invalidate the countless years of sacrifice and effort we gave to create a better world. Kill her now, no matter what the cost!”

  Across the island, Velt licked her lips and tightened her grip on the flare. This was going to be interesting.

  * * *

  Auggie barreled out of the car, phasing through more of it than he bothered avoiding. If The Emissary had returned, that meant Velt and Topher would be charging in without waiting for them. Velt might be okay, but Topher would almost certainly end up in dire straits. Against fewer spirits, perhaps, they’d stand a better chance, and Auggie was going to do his damnedest to thin that horde.

  He grabbed one of the jugs of gas and slapped it into place, mounting it on the Charger’s exterior so that it would spill and spread on impact.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be rigging the pedal holder-downer thingie?” Kay asked, putting her own gas jug in place.

  “No time. Just get the car prepped.” Auggie grabbed a bottle of liquor and popped the cork, gently dousing the top of the vehicle in trails of booze. They’d stowed a few explosives in the car’s frame——items Auggie had pointedly resisted asking Velt why she kept on hand——but it wouldn’t hurt to make extra sure that everything flammable was given proper ignition. The plan was to light the top of the car on fire just before sending it sailing.

  “Do you have some shitheaded way of getting it off the cliff?”

  “Of course,” Auggie assured her.

  “Then why didn’t you use that in the first place?” Kay crossed her arms and halted work, staring at Auggie with the sort of defiance he’d been around her long enough to recognize as non-negotiable.

  “Because it’s dangerous,” Auggie said, continuing to do his own work. “And there wasn’t a need to take an unnecessary risk before.”

  Kay opened her mouth to object, but bef
ore she could, they both heard The Emissary screaming at his troops, demanding Velt’s blood. Kay’s words withered under the harsh reality of their situation. Velt and Topher needed their help, and needed it soon enough to still matter. A risky delivery method was better than sitting on the sidelines, watching their friend get massacred as the world ended.

  “Throw me some tape,” Kay requested, getting back to work even faster than she’d been going before. She only hoped the two of them would be fast enough.

  * * *

  Velt took down the first wave of spirits with a squirt of the mixture in her bottle—something she mentally referred to as bang-juice—and a few sparks from the flare feebly clutched in her shattered arm. Her right hand couldn’t do much, but it could fling sputtering flames about willy-nilly, which happened to be exactly what she needed it to do.

  The fire and liquid combined in the air, torching three of the weakly-formed attackers and causing them to dissipate within moments. Others were singed, but not outright destroyed. Unfortunately, the horde showed signs of intelligence; instead of continuing to rush forward and be burned away, they spread out, encircling her.

  By her count, she had one more good gush of bang-juice left, and maybe a minute remaining on the road flare. She had more of both, but with only a single arm, it would be nearly impossible to pull them out and still defend herself. So, one more fire-attack, and then it was down to hand-to-hand. That suited Velt just fine; she was far more comfortable using her own strength than she was with tricks and tools. They were useful, there was no denying it, but at the end of the day, she never trusted anything the way she trusted her own fists.

  As the spirits tried to form a perfect ring around her, one taking a spot directly at her back, she felt a blast of heat and then heard a ghostly scream of horrible pain. Topher emerged from the shadows, makeshift flamethrower at the ready, and took a spot defending Velt’s rear.

  “I thought I told you to stay put unless I needed you.”

  “Being surrounded on all sides seemed a lot like you needing me,” Topher snapped, flicking his lighter and staring down an aggressive-looking spirit.

  “Not sure if you’re overestimating them or underestimating me, but either way, I’m a little offended.”

  The spirits finished spreading out, the only hole in their circle the one that Topher was nervously, yet relentlessly, defending. Though they had no muscles to tense, each member of the horde appeared to be doing just that, flexing their internal might as they prepared to charge.

  Velt glanced away from them for only a second, locking eyes with Topher and flashing a weary smirk. “Five bucks says I take out double what you do.”

  “You’re on.”

  There were no more words, no more time for banter. The spirits raced forward, coming at Velt from nearly every angle. She put the flare next to the tip of the bottle and whipped both through the air, creating a thin but steady arc of bang-juice that caught fire as soon as it left the container. Within seconds, she was out of fuel, but two of the ghosts were burning. The bottle, already warped from the heat, hit the ground as she slammed a fist into the nearest spirit’s face. Clearly, it hadn’t been expecting a bare-handed offense, let alone an effective one. What it had expected made no difference as Velt’s attack carried through, lifting it off the ground and sending it rocketing through the air.

  She swept her leg, wincing at the pain as she took down two attackers from her left. Admittedly, it didn’t exactly knock them over, since they were playing fast and loose with gravity, but it still sent them spinning through the air, which gave her time to deal with the next spirit stupid enough to get within striking distance.

  Topher was behind her, doing a surprisingly good job of holding his own against the various spirits that had decided he was impediment enough to warrant some attention. His mini-flamethrower wasn’t potent enough to take out a spirit unless he caught them by surprise, like he had the first one, but it was capable of keeping the spectral attackers at bay. The only downside was that he could already feel the can getting light as the fluid ran low. He had three more cans stuffed in his waistband, as well as a small bottle of Velt’s bang-juice, but he was hesitant to grab another until the one he used was completely empty. After all, once he ran out of fire, he was going to be pretty much helpless.

  As Topher battled, one spirit hung to the sidelines, concealed by the others’ formation. Irwin watched as the big man sprayed and swept his flame, noticing the way he would periodically shake the can. It wouldn’t be a large window, but if he was quick, it would be enough. Irwin knew he could never take down Velt by himself; the growing count of beaten or fully-destroyed warriors proved that point thoroughly. What he could do was the same thing he’d always done: hide behind someone bigger and stronger.

  All-too-soon, Topher’s can of spray refused to cough up more than a few droplets. He let the can fall from his hand and reached into his belt for another. Just as his hand closed around the surprisingly cool metal surface, Irwin barreled forward from his hiding spot, sinking a hefty shoulder into Topher’s injured rib. It knocked him off balance, but still Irwin pushed. He put every bit of concentration he had into shoving the muscular man along. He managed to move him less than ten feet, but unfortunately for Topher, Velt was only nine feet away.

  She was fending off an attack from a trio of spirits, and by the time she noticed his flailing form, it was too late. Topher smacked into her and they both toppled over, falling to the ground. Neither was actually injured in the collapse, but unfortunately, they were both left prone, without weapons or defenses. The spirits needed no more invitation to seize the opportunity, and as Irwin quickly retreated from the impending fray, the others charged, ready to end this scuffle with a blow of deadly finality.

  * * *

  Across the island, the bulk of the spirits still lingered around The Emissary, providing a protective buffer in case one of the humans got free. He stood over the red circle in the ground, countless magical runes all piled atop one another. How many had died to provide the energy and power needed to fulfill this ritual? How much time had been sacrificed, all leading to this moment when their efforts would finally bear fruit?

  The Emissary raised the hands of his pilfered body and began to recite the rites of the final ceremony: final, not just for his goals, but final for the world of the living. With the first word, he could feel the power on the other side of the portal trembling, the undead god scratching at the steadily weakening barrier. Only a little longer now, and that barrier would be torn asunder.

  Only a little more, and the world would be changed forever.

  * * *

  “Are you sure about this?” Kay asked, her words coming just before the warped roar of the makeshift engine shuddering to life.

  “Not particularly, but I don’t have the luxury of time to doubt.” Auggie helped Kay out of the car, then slid into the driver’s seat and gripped the wheel. “Tell me as soon as you light it. I won’t have a lot of time.”

  “That’s sort of my fucking point,” Kay snapped. She pulled out her lighter and glanced at the tremendous amount of gas and liquor shining on top of the Charger’s orange paint. “This is fire, and the whole point of doing this is that fire hurts ghosts. If something goes wrong, you could get roasted, too.”

  Auggie’s translucent hands tightened around the worn leather of the wheel. “I can think of worse ways to go than saving the world. Maybe there’s some sort of action-hero section in Heaven for people who pull that off.”

  “Since when do you believe in Heaven, or Hell?”

  “Let’s just say I am feeling far more open to all manner of possibilities,” Auggie replied. “Now, please light the car on fire.”

  “I wonder if other girls get told that multiple times in the same year,” Kay mumbled. Auggie might have been tempted to ask for clarification, but there was no time. She ignited the lighter, pressed it to a central spot coated in flammable liquid, and watched the fire bloom. With a sturdy k
ick to the tire, Kay whirled around and yelled at Auggie.

  “Go!”

  Auggie didn’t need to be told twice. He slipped the car into drive and slammed down on the gas. For the barest of moments, the tires spun uselessly. Then they finally caught traction and the Charger zoomed forward, racing toward the edge of the cliff. They’d parked far enough back to allow for the maximum buildup of momentum, enough to get the car launched in an arc that would terminate at the island’s center. At least, that was how Auggie’s calculations estimated it would land.

  Glancing to the ground, Auggie could see the shadows flickering about as the fire spread. He just had to get the car over the cliff, and he’d be fine. His foot pushed on the accelerator with all its might, willing the vehicle to go just a little bit faster. In the end, it didn’t matter if he survived this, but he couldn’t let anything go wrong before the car was airborne. Auggie kept the wheel steady, and though he had no breath to hold, he tried to take a deep gulp of air anyway.

  The Dodge Charger flew off the side of the cliff, and for one beautiful moment it hung in the air, suspended by momentum. In that freeze-frame, it almost seemed to be a flaming chariot, delivering vengeance from a god on high. Then, as it always does, gravity asserted itself, and the flight metamorphosed into a fall. The hood dipped down, and just like that, Auggie and the car were on a crash course for the island.

  Though Auggie did consider his life less important than the wellbeing of the entire world, he didn’t want to die unless necessary. He jerked on the handle of the door, popping it open with minimal force. As he leapt out of the falling Charger, taking care to interact with physical material in order to push himself clear of the fire, his foot accidently kicked the center of the steering wheel just as he shoved himself into the air.

  As the fiery vehicle, strapped down with explosives, gas, and liquor, fell toward the small patch of earth amidst the watery terrain, a strange melody blasted out, catching the attention of humans and spirits alike. While all noticed it, and therefore became aware of the impending impact of fire and metal, only Topher actually recognized the song.