Poseidon's Children

by West, Michael

  •••

  A walking cuttlefish lunged at Alan, fleshy frills billowing like a skirt in the wind. He pulled his trigger in rapid succession, buried four aluminum arrows deep in its chest. The creature vomited blood as it fell to asphalt, turning every color of the spectrum before it died.

  Alan turned to face his next opponent. The creature’s eyes rotated inward, its devilish underbite gleaming as it lunged for his face. He fired; his final spear hammered into the animal’s throat and punched through the back of its skull.

  Alan heard a growl and turned in time to see Larry grab Tellstrom’s scaly arm. The artist’s shirt looked as if it were bulging, stretching; Alan thought it was a trick of the rising heat, but then the fabric split. Larry’s back swelled, the skin shifting and folding, melting and thickening into a spiny dorsal ridge; his throat spontaneously slit open, as if an invisible claw had swiped his neck, leaving rows of bloodless lacerations.

  Gills.

  “My God,” Alan muttered; his hand went limp and the empty spear gun fell to the pavement.

  •••

  Larry’s face leapt forward to form a snout, and, when he blinked, his eyes turned a cold black.

  Tellstrom did not fight against Larry’s grip; he watched the change overtake him, then uttered a single word of gibberish. “Callisto?”

  Larry said nothing, didn’t even take time to wonder about his new condition. Instead, he took advantage of Karl’s shock and grabbed the relic; it came free of Tellstrom’s hand with an obscenely wet noise, audible even above the roaring blaze.

  Alan stood in the distance, staring at Larry with wide, stupefied eyes.

  Larry hurled the orb at him. “Catch!”

  Alan snapped out of his trance, plucked the artifact from the air and pulled it to his chest like a football.

  “Get out of here,” the artist told him. “Go.”

  •••

  Alan stood frozen for a moment, as if more time with the vision might help him believe what he was seeing. Then smoke and flame swirled all around him, rose up to devour his visibility, and he finally turned to run. A succession of smoky veils parted before him, the final one revealing a field of black glass.

  He hesitated at the water’s edge, afraid a swim might be just as deadly as the blaze.

  An explosion rocked the ground.

  Alan whirled to see a jet of flame streaking toward him. He dove into the tide, the orb still clutched in his hand, and a burning arm reached out across the surf, angry he’d escaped its grasp.

  He held his breath and kicked through the murky depths. Below, the water bled quickly from purple to black; if something nasty waited down there, he couldn’t see it. Alan’s lungs cried out for air, and, when he surfaced, he saw the reef.

  People.

  At least, Alan thought they were people. He didn’t know anymore. He looked over his shoulder at the inferno, realized he had little choice, and swam for the shoal.

  •••

  The weapon was gone.

  Karl Tellstrom lashed out at Larry with his armored tail, his spread tailfin slicing the Callisto’s side wide open.

  Larry roared in pain; his grip loosened for a moment, allowing Karl to twist away.

  Tellstrom whirled around, stalked after Alan with open jaws.

  Larry’s powerful legs propelled him into Karl’s back and knocked the large Charodon onto the pavement. They scrambled to their feet once more, circling each other.

  “Who made you?” Tellstrom demanded; reflected fires burned in his raven eyes, growing in intensity like the madness that fueled him.

  He charged.

  Larry darted out of the way; he reached out with his newborn talons and tore bands of flesh from Karl’s ribs.

  Tellstrom roared with rage and pain, then whirled around, foam dripping from his jaws; his hand rose to find his side covered in blood.

  “Now we’re even,” Larry told him through sprouting fangs.

  Karl’s nostrils flared, taking in a familiar aroma; his dark eyes rolled in their sockets, and he offered up a look of utter disgust. “You’re hers, aren’t you? That half-breed bitch turned you. I’ll kill you both!”

  Larry saw that Alan was now out of sight; he turned to face Tellstrom, unimpressed. “With what? Your weapon’s gone. Your followers are dead. You’ve got nothing”

  Karl rushed forward and Larry sidestepped him again. Tellstrom’s feet skid on the pavement, nearly tripping over the body of the creature he’d used as a shield; he regained his footing and faced Larry once more.

  Larry shook his massive head. “Don’t you get it? Your home’s been blown to shit. It’s over.”

  Karl reached out for his comrade’s corpse, found the spear buried in its chest; in a single motion, he pulled the shaft free and plunged it into Larry’s shoulder.

  Larry howled; he stumbled back and yanked the arrow out. The open wound belched blood, then slowly closed as his body completed its transformation.

  The blacktop shuddered beneath them; gas pumps ignited at the docks, erupting into burning geysers. Tendrils of flame rushed toward Karl and Larry from the firestorm. They forgot one another and dove for the ground, feeling broiling heat across their backs as they pressed themselves flat against the pavement. The sound of the blast was the bellow of an angry beast, building, lowering in pitch, then transforming into a whoosh as the flares receded back into the burning wall that surrounded them.

  •••

  Tellstrom staggered to his feet and stared at the encroaching hell. This was not how his war, his vengeance was going to end; he had to get away from this new Callisto, had to think. When his eyes drifted skyward, he found man-made light on distant cliffs.

  The lighthouse!

  It remained standing, the only structure left in Colonial Bay.

  It’s a sign from Varuna! He’s still with me!

  Karl sprinted for the cliffs.

  FIFTY NINE

  Carol Miyagi saw the blaze through her fogged divemask; she pulled off her hood, yanked the regulator from her lips, and stared in disbelief.

  Barbara stood beside her on the sandy shoal, gave voice to her thoughts. “Tellstrom?”

  “The ones that destroyed the false church.”

  Miyagi pivoted toward the husky voice and found Jason’s toothy snout.

  “They done this,” he said.

  Carol’s eyes shot back to the flaming shore; she tried to find the docks, tried to slow to beat of her heart and the freefall of her stomach.

  Alan’s fine. He has to be.

  Peggy moved by them and her face and tail drooped; she fell to her knees, her glow dimming as the tears spilled from her eyes.

  Miyagi took a step toward her and noticed bobbing shapes in the water. At first, she thought it was flotsam and jetsam from Colonial Bay, but no, these were people. Survivors were swimming out to join them on the reef.

  “People are alive,” Carol said, directing Peggy’s attention to the wading figures. “I’m sure Alan and Larry are with them.”

  When the swimmers reached the shoal, they stood waist deep in the tide, not wanting to come ashore, their faces bathed in an odd mix of awe and horror. Miyagi scanned the menagerie behind her, then moved to the water’s edge, allowing these refugees to see a non-threatening, human face. “It’s all right. They’re...they won’t hurt you.”

  “What are they?” a wading girl asked; soot muddied her complexion even after the long swim. “Are they real?”

  “We’re real.” Christine DeParle came forward. Her voice was a far cry from the catty, combative tone it possessed when Miyagi first met her; it almost passed for reassuring. “We’re survivors, just like you.”

  Slowly, with steps that betrayed their mistrust and trepidation, the humans moved onto the reef and stood at a distance from their Poseidon counterparts; they shivered in the night breeze, looking back at the blaze they’d left behind.

  Carol searched their faces, saw one she recognized. “Brahm!”


  At the sound of her doctor’s name, Peggy was on her feet; she looked over, saw him come ashore with Ed. He offered Miyagi an acknowledging wave and both women inquired excitedly about their lovers.

  Brahm stared at Peggy with child-like wonder; he took a moment to catch his breath, then answered them, “Larry thought he saw Tellstrom...thought he had the weapon. He and Alan went to get it.”

  “Daddy?” When Christine saw Ed, her eyes lit up; she took a step toward him, then hesitated, unsure of her reception.

  The innkeeper bolted across the reef and threw his arms around his daughter. “I thought I’d lost you, baby.”

  “I’m sorry,” Christine sobbed. “I’m...I’m so sorry.”

  Barbara moved to join her family. “Thank Varuna you’re all right.”

  Ed let go of Christine, flung his arms around his wife, and held her to him. When Barbara wrapped her tail around her husband’s back, he pushed her to arm’s length, looked her up and down. “What’s goin’ on?”

  “We’re...we’re leaving Colonial Bay.”

  Ed glanced across his shoulder at the flames, then nodded helplessly.

  Another man crawled from the tide.

  Peggy tapped Miyagi on the shoulder and pointed. “He has the weapon.”

  Carol’s eyes ignited with joy and she waved her arms wildly in the air. “Alan!”

  He smiled, returned her wave.

  “He was with Larry?” Peggy asked, hopeful.

  Carol nodded; she removed herself from the group, anxious to wrap her arms around Alan, to tell him at last that she loved him. “Where’s Larry?”

  Alan shook his head and held the golden orb aloft; he looked completely spent. “Larry was still fighting Tellstrom when he tossed me this.”

  Peggy’s smile faltered; her eyes flew back to the inferno, scanning the flames for signs of life. “There...on the lighthouse. I can see two people on the catwalk.”

  Brahm followed her gaze, squinted, but saw nothing. “What would they be doing up there?”

  Christine wiped the joyful tears from her face and moved away from her parents. “Karl goes there to think.”

  The sound of a gunshot filled the air.

  Alan arched forward and a flower of blood bloomed from his shoulder.

  Miyagi’s eyes widened; her mouth moved speechlessly, unable to find words to express her shock. Alan dropped the alien weapon, fell forward into her arms. Carol eased him to the ground; she saw the alien relic sink beneath the waves, then looked off into the darkness, trying to glimpse her lover’s assailant.

  Something shambled toward them from the gloom, a glistening .45 pistol hunkered in its hand; it appeared rotted, the living corpse from a horror film. A jagged pit gaped where its nose should have been, and its cheekbones sat exposed, white boulders rising from scarlet mud. One of its eyes had gone white, scalded and unseeing, while the other searched the crowd. It wore black; a suit, burned and stained, and what had been a trenchcoat billowed in the wind, tattered and torn into a shabby cape.

  The melted thing opened its mouth with great effort, and its newly fused lips snapped apart. “Where is he?”

  Brahm was at Alan’s side in a flash; he ripped open the man’s shirt, gave the wounds a quick examination. Carol saw blood run down her lover’s chest and back, and felt her insides churn. Brahm wadded Alan’s torn shirt and pressed it firmly against the archeologist’s shoulder.

  After a moment, the doctor looked up at Miyagi. “The bullet passed through.”

  He said it as if it were a good thing, but as Miyagi watched the fabric turn red, she didn’t feel good at all. She gave her attention back to the gunman.

  “Where is he?” it roared again.

  Roger Hays; even agitated, Carol knew the sound of his voice. Slowly, stone faced, she took a step toward him, anger boiling within her as she stared into his single, unrepentant eye.

  Hays turned his pistol on her; water still ran from its metallic surface. “That’s far enough, Carol.”

  She took another defiant step and the smell of burnt flesh assaulted her nostrils.

  “I’m warning you —” Hays roared.

  Carol whirled around, kicked out with her leg, and her foot struck Roger’s hand. The gun flew into the gloom and disappeared. She brought her other leg up, drove her heel into Hays’ chin, and propelled him backward.

  He regained his footing and lunged at her, a mixture of saliva and gore trailing from his bony chin.

  Carol feinted a jab, caused Hays to halt his charge and blunder back a step. Then, she whirled around again, thrust her foot up into his chest, and sent him tottering back, fighting to maintain his balance.

  He couldn’t.

  Hays fell to the ground and his head rolled listlessly at the end of his neck.

  At that moment, Miyagi could’ve stopped and turned away, but fury and fear conspired within her, pushed her to stand above Roger, ready to bring her fist down, to smash his skull like a moldy pumpkin.

  “Stop it,” Barbara snapped.

  Carol’s head jerked up and her eyes locked with the old woman’s.

  “Just...stop.”

  Miyagi glared down at Hays. His eyes rolled in their sockets, blood bubbled up between his tattered lips. She’d hurt him badly. Slowly, Carol’s rage dissolved and she backed away, unwilling to believe what she was almost capable of.

  Half buried in moist sediment, the golden orb, the Wrath of the Gods, sensed rage. Somewhere nearby, there was a hand that longed for a weapon as badly as this weapon longed for a hand. The sphere stirred; it rolled out of the water and across the shoal. When it found Roger’s palm, it opened, its vacant interior swallowing each of his digits, quenching its gnawing hunger to be filled.

  The relic rejuvenated him.

  He sprang to his feet, stared at the golden glove that glowed ominously on his right hand. Barbara had said the weapon would teach its owner, would explain itself and its power to him. And, as she looked at Roger, Carol could tell he knew; his lips curled into a hideous, tattered grin, and his working eye shot to her.

  Miyagi took another step back, horrified.

  Hays’ well-mannered, educated voice was now a manic screech. “Where’s the animal that butchered my son!”

  When Carol looked into his eye, she saw nothing human; it had all been burned away. She never wanted to believe Alan’s accusation, but there was no denying it now. Roger Hays was a monster, a heartless, soulless monster. It was all he’d ever really been.

  Carol pointed to the blazing shore, careful not to take her eyes off Roger’s new weapon. “He’s at the lighthouse, now leave us alone!”

  What remained of Hays’ face jerked toward the cliffs, and his lips twitched into a snarl. When he raised his arm, the dimly glowing relic sparked. The orb was a sponge; it soaked up the man’s desire for vengeance, stored it until it could hold it no longer, then projected it toward the lighthouse.

  SIXTY

  Larry chased Karl through the fire with newfound speed and grace. His legs pumped like pistons; they now resembled the hind legs of a dog, his clawed toes clicking against the pavement as he ran. Amazing and strangely invigorating sensations flooded him; he felt new muscles flex, felt hot winds blow against expanses of alien skin on his back, arms, and head; oddest of all, he felt the pull of his thick tail as it swung to and fro behind him.

  There were other senses as well.

  He could smell Tellstrom’s scent, even through the smoke-infested air, could hear the beat of the creature’s racing heart and could even see him running through distant curtains of flame. It was as if Larry’s consciousness had been transported, and he had to keep reminding himself that this body was in fact his own.

  His mind shouted questions, demanded answers; how had this happened to him? Brahm and Alan argued genetics in his head, telling him that it was the work of enzymes, enzymes that could be passed from one creature to another. Peggy had scratched him. Did that do it? Had that been enough to — ?

&nb
sp; Larry remembered coupling with Peggy in the temple.

  Didn’t Preston compare the infection to AIDS? Yes. He did.

  Larry banished all the queries from his mind and tried to focus. How this happened didn’t matter, at least, not now. What mattered was that the strength and power of this new form gave him a fighting chance against Tellstrom, a chance to end this, to protect Peggy and everyone else. The consequences to his everyday life could be fretted over later.

  He leapt from the flames and found himself at the base of a rock wall; Tellstrom clung to it, scaling the stone face toward the lighthouse that loomed overhead. Larry’s talons dug into the bluff like metal cleats and he pulled himself up, flames nipping at the thickened skin of his heels and tail as he did so. Larry clawed at the stone outcroppings, dug himself a new hold, then repeated the process; his confidence grew, and soon he ascended the cliff-side as swiftly as a cat might climb a tree trunk.

  Tellstrom glanced over his shoulder, saw that Larry had gained ground on him; he growled and smacked his pursuer in the face with his armor-plated tail.

  The force of the impact caused Larry to lose his grip; he slid down the cliff, madly scratched for purchase, and finally dug himself in.

  Karl clawed his way to the summit, scrambled for the lighthouse.

  Larry resumed his climb; he crawled into tall, dry grass that lined the cliff and saw that a windblown spark had already ignited it. Soon, the sea of fire that drowned the rest of Colonial Bay would come lapping at the lighthouse door. Larry ran, remembering the night Susan’s animated corpse stalked him along this same path. Then, from a place in his brain where he kept nightmares locked away, Larry heard her gargled voice:

  You should’ve left Colonial Bay when you had the chance.

  Tellstrom had smashed his way inside, left the door rocking in the hot wind.

  Larry entered cautiously, used his new senses; thick smoke masked other scents, made it hard to see clearly, but he heard the rhythm of a pulse other than his own...distant...above him. He lunged up the metal staircase, took two or three steps at a time. Beyond the spinning beacon, a glass doorway stood open and waiting; Larry took a step toward it.