The Gods' Day to Die

by David Welch

  She turned and faced the cavern. The ledge protruded two feet from the wall of the cavern, and was maybe three feet wide. She didn’t have much room for error. She reached for the gun, grabbing the strap and lifting it from where it hung. Turning back to the scene below, she slowly settled down, sitting cross-legged. She tucked the stock of the gun against her shoulder, and arranged her elbows until she was into proper shooting position.

  Looking down the barrel of the gun, she could just barely get a line on Lenka. An inch high, and her shot would hit the rock shelf that protruded over him. She took a breath to steady herself, and started to line up her sights with Lenka’s head.

  “I think we gotta tell him,” Des repeated.

  He knew Hera had no idea what he was doing, but figured she was smart enough to play along anyway. She did not disappoint. With a heavy sigh, she nodded, a knowing look on her face.

  “You don’t see another way?” she asked.

  “Not if we want to keep Theni alive,” Des replied.

  “Dammit,” she grumbled convincingly. “Fine. Tell the bastard.”

  Desmond spun around, turning back to Lenka.

  “What the hell is going on?” Lenka said. “Tell me what?”

  “Tell you that we can give you what you want,” Desmond said.

  “What do you mean?” said Lenka, sinking a little lower behind Athena.

  “Lenka, I’m not in my twenties. I was born in nineteen twenty-one,” he said.

  “Impossible,” Lenka said. “I know all the immortals. I would’ve heard about you.”

  “Well, I wasn’t born immortal,” he said. “Hera had me with a mortal husband.”

  “You’re lying,” said Lenka.

  “Well, I’d invite you to check our DNA, but I don’t see that happening right now,” Desmond said. “I’m older than you, Lenka. And I was mortal. I aged. Then, about six years ago, when I was in my late eighties, the family doctor says I have leukemia, that I have about six months to live. So in response to your words of a few seconds ago, I have looked down the barrel of that gun.”

  “I cannot trust a thing you say,” Lenka said. “You are trying to fool me.”

  “No, I am trying to deal with you,” replied Desmond. “And you wouldn’t be answering me and listening if some small part of you didn’t hold out hope that I’m telling the truth.”

  “As if I could trust your word,” Lenka spat.

  “Ask your mother, she’ll confirm it,” said Desmond, gesturing toward Athena.

  “Her words mean even less to me than yours!” Lenka shot back.

  “Well, whatever you believe, I’m going to tell you what happened. Stem cells, Lenka. Adult stem cells. The key to their immortality is in the bone marrow. It’s a single type of cell, a mutated version of a white blood cell. They call them blue cells. They run through their bodies and destroy any DNA or RNA that doesn’t belong. Any mutated cell that could go cancerous? Gone. Any nonstandard, outside genetic material, the kind you find in deadly viruses and bacteria, gone! They don’t age because there is no imperfection in the division of the cells! No free radical build-ups, no out-of-control mutation, none of that. All because of a single new blood cell.”

  He paused, waiting for a response. Lenka said nothing, just watched him warily. It’s working, Des thought to himself.

  “So we ask the family doc if he could do one of those bone marrow-stem cell transplant procedures, and he says I probably wouldn’t survive. I was pretty frail. Even had myself a styling cane. But, see, this doctor is a geneticist. Now, immortals don’t get sick, but they’ve spent the better part of the past twenty years trying to find some way to undo their immortality. I wasn’t lying to you about the depression and jaded stuff. They were hoping gene therapy could to the trick. Ironically, all he’s discovered is how to make mortals immortal, not the other way around. See, Doc Jedrick wondered what would happen if he put some of my stem cells next to some bone marrow cells from an immortal, see if he can get my cells to imitate them. So my mother volunteers a sample, my stem cells are put next to it, and holy shit! They imitate it. Doc kills off my bone marrow, injects the new stuff, and suddenly I’m producing blue cells.”

  Desmond paused for a moment, letting all that sink in. He had no idea if what he had just described was at all possible. He was winging it, using what he’d picked up about stem cells and cancer. He hoped he sounded sincere enough that some small part of Lenka might believe him. Give him a reason to hope, to delay doing something stupid, at least until Artemis got in place. Des prayed that Lenka was as in the dark about medical science as he was. Looking to the man, he guessed that to be the case. Lenka’s expression had softened, and the way his eyes worked back and forth, it was clear the wheels in his head were turning.

  “Didn’t take too long to take effect,” Desmond continued. “Within four months the leukemia was gone. By six months my arthritis was gone. I had cartilage again! The muscles I still had became more flexible, they healed quicker. I could exercise and actually build muscle, not just slow the decline! My skin got tighter, more elastic. Day by day, the lines on my face faded and vanished. Hell, I could get erections again! You know what it’s like to have sex after twenty years of impotence? It’s awesome, that’s what it is! So two years pass, and I look in the mirror. Looking back is an eighty-three-year-old man in a twenty-nine-year-old body! Youth wasted on the young! Hah! To hell with that!”

  “Even if I did believe you,” Lenka began, “I could never trust you to do this procedure on me. Your family would kill me at the first possible moment. So it doesn’t matter.”

  “Well, Zeus might do that. You killed three of his sons and his ex. But I think he might postpone his attempts at revenge if it means his daughter isn’t added to the list,” Desmond said.

  “And you think I’ll let Athena go on your word? That I’ll just trust you to live up to your end of the bargain and give me immortality?”

  “If you give up this vendetta . . . maybe,” Des said. “Hard to say. They really do hate you. But this is your only shot at life, Sidorov. Either you get shot down here, or choke on your own blood in the years to come. Take the deal, and you’ll have your chance at—”

  A shot rang out. It streaked in from Desmond’s right, zipping toward Lenka. The bullet missed by millimeters, tearing strands of graying hair from his head. Instinctively, Lenka jerked back, looking around to find the shooter. In that brief second, the barrel of his pistol arced back several inches away from Athena’s head.

  Athena dove toward the floor, throwing her arms around her head. Lenka’s eyes went wide as he realized he was exposed. Before he could react, three guns opened fire on him. Ares, Hera, and Zeus blasted away on full auto. Dozens of rounds ripped into Lenka’s chest. His body armor failed under the assault. He flailed back, slamming into the cave wall. The sheer force of the impacts kept him upright for a second more. Then finally he crumpled, dead before he hit the ground.

  32

  Olympus, Inside Carev Vrv, Macedonia

  Silence engulfed the cavern, interrupted only by Athena’s labored breathing. Desmond swallowed, the adrenaline of his stall-at-all-costs bravado fading away. Fear replaced it.

  Did I really just rant at a trained, ex-KGB assassin?

  Before him, Athena managed to pull herself to her knees. She seemed as stunned as the rest. She stared at Lenka’s lifeless form, as if she couldn’t believe he was actually dead. Her motion stirred the rest of the immortals out of their freeze. Hera dashed forward and tossed aside the splintered boxes of the barricade. She dropped to her knees beside her step-daughter, taking her into her arms. Zeus walked forward slowly, still in disbelief. His eyes fixed on his daughter.

  Tears streamed down Athena’s face. Her anguish was silent at first; then came the sobs. She buried her face in Hera’s shoulder and bawled uncontrollably.

  A hand clasped Desmond’s
shoulder. He spun around, nerves still on high. It was Ares.

  “Did you make up all that shit on the spot?” Ares asked.

  “Most of it,” Desmond replied, getting his breath under control.

  “Impressive,” Ares said, the respect evident on his face. “Arty always does fall for the strange ones.”

  “Sorry about that whole ‘genetic mistake’ stuff,” Desmond said.

  Ares shrugged. “Well, you weren’t wrong. But who really cares? We won’t be immortal for much longer.”

  Ares chuckled, then headed for his sister. Desmond turned back to the reunion, and found Zeus curiously absent. He’d walked past Athena, and now loomed over Lenka’s body. He gripped a combat knife in his right hand, the muscles of his forearm knotted impossibly tight. The man’s massive chest rose and fell dramatically with each breath, unadulterated rage etched on his face.

  Desmond took an unconscious step back, despite the distance already between them. Who had lost more than this man? Three sons, a sister, a wife . . .

  “Zeus!” Hera called.

  He didn’t turn, just remained looming over the body. Des didn’t know what he intended to do with that knife. There had to be sixty-odd bullets in Lenka’s body. How much more mutilated could it get?

  “Zeus!” Hera barked with a forcefulness that made Des jump. “Your daughter needs you!”

  Zeus turned. The rage drained away, and the face of the man Des had come to know over the past few weeks returned. The big man dropped the knife and paced over quickly. He fell to his knees beside Hera and Athena, wrapping them both in a bear hug. Athena buried her face in her father’s chest. Her battered body shook visibly as she wailed. Ares stood nearby, watching, the grief clear on his face. But he let them have the moment. Athena might have been over fifty-six hundred years old, but at that moment she was a terrified girl crying in her father’s arms.

  Aphrodite dashed in, and stopped beside her husband. Ares slung an arm over her shoulder as she wiped tears from her eyes. Whether Aphrodite’s tears were of happiness that Athena was alive or grief over what had been done to her, Des couldn’t say.

  They seemed frozen again, nobody moving. Artemis finally arrived, wearing a torn camisole and a half-dozen scrapes. She walked up next to Desmond and stopped, watching. She wiped a tear from her own eye at the sight.

  “I missed,” she said uneasily.

  “Did you?” Des asked. “Lenka’s dead.”

  “I should’ve had him with that shot,” she said. “It’s dumb luck that he reacted the way he did.”

  Desmond shrugged. “Maybe. But he did. And he’s dead. So, miss or not, your idea worked.”

  She shook her head, still disappointed with herself, but said no more about it. They watched for a few minutes as Athena’s sobs started to quiet and her composure returned. She remained in her father’s arms, though, clinging as if she thought her rescue were some dream and she’d wake up back in chains.

  “You didn’t miss,” Artemis said from his side.

  “I had the easy job,” he replied.

  “When I asked you to distract him, I didn’t think you’d chew the scenery,” Artemis said. “You could have a future in Hollywood.”

  “Nah,” Des replied sarcastically. “All those fools try to trade up when they get famous. There’s no way in hell I could ever trade up from you.”

  She grinned, and pulled him close for a kiss. Beyond them Athena had gotten to her feet, and was wrapping Ares in an embrace. Then came Aphrodite, who chattered in Vesclevi through her own tears. Des didn’t need to know the language to know she was telling her how worried she’d been. Finally, Athena walked over to them.

  “Thank you,” she said to Artemis, hugging her. Athena turned to Desmond. Abruptly she flung her arms around him, pressing her still-naked body against him. Desmond felt incredibly awkward, but embraced her anyway.

  “I don’t know who you are, but thank you,” she said in English. “You have no idea what kind of balls it took to talk to him that way!”

  “Uh . . . thanks,” he muttered. Behind him Zeus approached, a blanket in his hands. Athena released him, and wrapped herself in the blanket. She pulled it tight against herself. Relief washed over her as she clad her body for the first time in months.

  “There still is one thing we should take care of,” said Hera.

  They turned to locate said thing. Hera stood over the helpless form of Duscha Sidorov. The drugs had worn off enough that she could get to her knees, though she still wobbled and fought for balance.

  Hera said, “What do we do with this one?”

  She grasped Duscha’s hair and yanked it back to bring her head up. The girl shrieked, pawing ineffectually at Hera’s hand. Ares spun around, focusing on the trembling figure of Duscha. Athena and Zeus looked ready to snap.

  “We let her go,” Ares said.

  All eyes in the cavern spun to him. He stepped forward from Aphrodite, walking up in front of Duscha. He looked down at the young woman, seeing the bleary eyes and the lax expression. She was still too drugged to show real terror.

  “We’re not murderers,” said Ares in Vesclevi, to hide their discussion from Duchsa.

  “She is,” Hera replied in the same language.

  “We don’t know that,” Ares said, then turned to his sister. “Athena, did you see her kill anybody?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Athena replied gravely. “She deserves to die.”

  “Did you see her kill anybody?” Ares repeated.

  Athena sighed, and shook her head slowly.

  “Then we’re not killing her,” Ares said.

  “We can’t let her go,” Hera said. “We just killed her father. She’ll take up his mission and come after us.”

  “Doubtful,” Ares said. “Her father had connections and leverage on powerful people. Her father had power. She has none of that. She’s not Lenka.”

  “It runs in the family,” Athena said bitterly. “She’s no different from her father or grandfather.”

  “I know you believe that,” Ares said. “But she broke like a twig. I didn’t have to lay a hand on her, and she was bawling like a little girl.”

  “A little girl who carves people with knives,” Athena spat.

  “She was raised a monster,” Ares said. “I’m not doubting that. But she was broken out of it too easily to be a true sociopath. You saw her expression when Lenka chose his hatred for you over her? This is a girl who has been playing the part of a psycho, and has realized very quickly how in over her head she is.”

  “Does it matter?” Hera said.

  “Yes,” Ares replied. “She’s a captive, a helpless one. She’s not shooting at us. Hell, she doesn’t even know where she is. We’re not going to kill her in cold blood!”

  “My blood’s plenty warm,” Athena growled.

  Zeus stepped forward, meeting Ares’ defiant eyes.

  “Did your God put you up to this?” Zeus asked.

  Ares matched his father’s glare, but said nothing.

  “So what if He did?” said Aphrodite from behind him, in clear English.

  They turned to her. She was sitting with her back against a stalagmite, her face streaked with the traces of her tears.

  “I mean, we’re all here, and we’re alive,” Aphrodite said. “We’re alive. All of us! There were at least forty of them, against six. Even with the advantage of knowing the tunnels, there is no way all of us should be alive and standing. Sure, Ares and Artemis were probably always going to get out alive. And I figured there was a fifty-fifty shot of Zeus surviving. But me? Hera? And Desmond? We’re not soldiers, we’re not even warriors!?”

  The words hung in the air as thoughtful looks crossed many faces. Aphrodite got to her feet, moving behind her husband.

  “Look, I’m not saying I’m a believer, but I think today at least Ar
es has earned the benefit of the doubt. If he says God wants him to let her go, then let her go,” she said.

  Zeus sighed, and rubbed at his forehead.

  “You have any thoughts on this, Desmond?” he asked.

  “So I didn’t get most of what you were saying back there, but from the English parts I assume you guys were talking about whether to let Duscha go, right?” he said.

  “Yes,” replied Zeus.

  Desmond looked at the girl for a long moment.

  “Murder is different than self-defense,” he said. “I say we hand her over to the police.”

  “For what?” Hera replied. “We can’t exactly present evidence of her crimes to the cops without spilling our little secret.”

  Desmond shrugged.

  “Then blindfold her and take her someplace, dump her there,” Desmond said. “We can’t just murder her. I killed people today, but I’m not gonna put a gun to some defenseless girl’s head. Even if it is a really fucked-up head.”

  Hera sighed. “So we’re split.”

  “No,” Zeus replied.

  Now all eyes turned to him. Zeus looked at his wife and daughter.

  “They’re right,” he said. “We’re not killing her.”

  “She knows who we are,” Hera countered. “And has reason to want us dead!”

  “I know,” Zeus said. “We’ll go with Desmond’s plan. I’ll blindfold her and take her far away from here.”

  “And if she comes after us a year from now?” Hera said.

  Zeus switched to Vesclevi, saying, “I will make sure she understands the consequences of such an action.”

  Des didn’t ask for a translation.

  “Blindfold her,” Zeus said, then paused, looking at the corpses strewn behind the barricade. “And get everything you need together. We’re getting out of here. I’m not spending another night in this damn tomb.”

  Carev Vrv, Macedonia

  Ares and Aphrodite walked through the forest of Carev Vrv, slowly making their way to the valley below. They were alone. Zeus had gone ahead with Duscha slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Hera walked a hundred yards ahead, rifle still in hand. They hadn’t seen anybody remaining outside when Ares had closed the door, but you could never be too careful. About a hundred yards behind him, Artemis and Desmond walked.