by Nick Pollota
With a musical ding, the central elevator doors parted to display a score of werewolves with fire axes and pistols.
“Pinocchio!” I screamed, aiming the M-16 at the wall above the cage. Donaher added the firepower of his M-16 and we spent an entire clip chewing a hole in the wall. Crack!
After the initial shock of seeing us, and the gunfight with nobody, the grinning and drooling werewolves started towards us. Then with a sharp crack, the weakened elevator cable snapped and down they plummeted.
“Blast, this only bought us a minute at best. The safety brakes will stop them from crashing in only a few stories,” Donaher grumped, peering into the dark shaft.
“Only there aren't any more stories,” I reminded him.
Suddenly, light bathed his face as the cage left the shaft and dropped through empty air, building speed on its way to a rude visit to Mother Earth. Distant screams reached us.
As the doors automatically closed, we returned to business.
“Okay, now where?” I asked, glancing around.
“NASA doesn't allow you to charge admission to see the rock,” the priest said thoughtfully, flexing his big hands, “so it must be in a main public area."
“But immediately near your ticket booth to entice folks to see more marvels inside,” I added.
“Main conference room?"
Shouldering my assault rifle, I nodded agreement. There was a map of the floor on the wall. We smashed the glass and peeled it off the frame. Hmm, big hotel.
His finger stabbed at the map. “There it is. Down this corridor, make a left, three doors, right."
I rolled up the floor plan and tucked it into my belt. “Groovy. Let's go."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
We had only taken a step when Mike gasped in pain. I turned about and saw the priest taking a hand away from his right hip. The palm was covered with red.
“They must have shot me,” Donaher said, sounding amazed.
The priest started wobbling a bit, so I slid a chair underneath to stop him from falling over. Gently raising the cassock, I found his pants and shirt were dripping with blood. Tenderly, I probed for a wound.
He inhaled sharply. “It's in my hip."
“Can't get a tourniquet there,” I stated. Feeling in my pockets I found the bottle of healing potion. Empty.
“Mine's also gone,” Father Donaher groaned. He was a bit pale by now and starting to sweat.
That was the way most small-caliber bullet wounds worked. At first your body rejected the pain, but with blood loss it was soon undeniable. I touched his throat searching for the carotid artery. His pulse was up, yet his temperature was down. Sweaty and clammy. There was major internal hemorrhaging. He was dying.
“Wanna do a George?” I asked, feeling a lump in my throat.
He exhaled mightily and nodded yes.
I ripped off my white shirt and folded it into a pressure compress, using my tie to hold it in place. The belt would have worked better but I needed that to keep up my pants.
With Donaher's weakening assistance, I moved the chair to the wall and dragged a sofa in front. His back was protected and the furniture gave him some cover to hide behind. Good enough. Dripping sweat, Mike gave me a shaky thumbs-up, and I hurriedly departed. It was my job now. Alone.
Rounding a corner, I bumped into somebody holding a Wichita Thunderbolt .475 pistol. Adrenaline flooded my body and with blinding speed I aimed and fired the M-16 in the same motion.
Scowling in annoyance, J.P. Withers looked down at the line of puckered bullet holes in his chest, the gaping wounds exposing a wealth of odd-looking internal organs.
“Well, if you didn't want my damn help,” he growled, “you only had to say so. No need to be rude.” In a flash, Withers vanished.
“No wait!” I cried to the empty corridor. Blast the man! Then I paused. Wait a minute, if he gated in, then were the runes down? Was help on the way? There was no way to know. I hurried onward.
At a pair of double doors with tiny decorative widows set in them, I stayed low and peeked through. Exhibit Hall A.
Surrounding a ticket booth, sparkling layers of non-reality swirled and spun in a multicolored light show of dimensional instability. Countless phantasms strolled along, crossing from one world to the next: transparent fish swam by, ghostly flocks of birds, spectral racing cars, an ethereal cavalry charge, a spirited elephant stampede. The floor bucked and writhed like a living thing. The walls pulsed and the ceiling constantly broke apart, the acoustic tiles sliding over each other to endlessly rearrange themselves.
On the ground lay the charred bones of the Marine honor guard that accompanied the moon rock wherever it went. Behind the velvet ropes was a little old lady poised in the act of lifting the unearthly object from the Lucite base. Bingo!
Something hit me from behind. Burning pain filled my skull, and I felt my heart slow ... down ... and ... start again! Completely healed, I sat upright and blew smoke out of my mouth. The copper bracelet on my wrist gave one last tingle and went still. Whew. That was the third and last jump start I had ever experienced. My quota was filled. I could never again use the death-or-life emergency healing spell. Who ever had killed me had left too soon. They would pay for that mistake.
Once more, I peeked into the main exhibit hall. Stalking around on patrol was a werewolf holding a crimson-splattered fire axe. That was my blood and brains on the blade! Boy, was I pissed off now! In a curse that was more snarl than words, I kicked open the doors and cut loose with the M-16.
“Eat silver, bozo!” I screamed.
The stuttering stream of Army tumblers stitched the monster's torso, shoving him backwards until it hit the marble wall and collapsed to the floor, twisted and bleeding.
“...should have known ... silver bullets,” the monster coughed weakly.
Trying my best to radiate confidence, I moved towards the lady and rock. I was almost there, when the werewolf clawed at his chest, pulling one of the slugs free with a faint sucking sound. Intently, he stared at the grayish lump.
“Just a darn minute,” the beast growled, the flow of blood from its wounds noticeably slowing. “This isn't silver!"
“Hey, so I lied. Sue me, creep,” I sneered, hosing another clip into the monster.
As the air cleared, I could see that the nightmare creature had literally been cut in half by the fusillade. Howling in agony, the werewolf was writhing about on the floor, his claws digging sharp furrows into the crimson-splattered stone. Ha!
Then I watched in horror as the Scion werewolf pulled on its legs as a man would don a pair of pants. Whole once more, the beast stood and hobbled forward in a weak charge.
There was no time for this! Glancing at a huge clock placed prominently on the wall, I saw that one hand was spinning backwards, while the other hung limp. Swell.
“Gonna eat, then kill you,” the manbeast snarled insanely.
Slamming in the last clip, I didn't bother to reply. The heavy combat rounds made the creature jerk with every impact, but nothing more. Out of bullets, I hurled the rifle and hopped over the velvet ropes. There was still a chance to rescue the lady. I had a teleport bracelet. If I used it on her instead of me....
Something got my collar and I was yanked backwards to hit the floor. As claws reached for my face, I delivered a killing karate chop to the kidney. Now, I was no Mindy Jennings, but I had been trained by some of the best.
As the werewolf howled in pain from the dirty blow, I rolled to my feet and, spinning about, kicked the monster's knee, feeling the bone crunch under the edge of my shoe. The beast staggered and almost fell. Then he stood, whole and undamaged, rising to his full eight feet in height, and roared like the primordial beast it was!
“Aw shaddup,” I growled and kicked him in the groin.
Gasping in pain, the werewolf raked its claws at me. Gracefully, I bowed beneath the blow, stepped in and rammed both of my fists into the jaw of the creature with triphammer force.
Bruised, the werewolf
shook off the tap and butted me hard. I saw the ceiling go by as I went flying to smack into a wall with a sickening crack. Disorientated, I staggered to my feet. Bemused, the unshaven Scion agent laughed, a mistake that nearly cost him a jaw. Shouting a martial arts battle cry, I leapt and hit the man-beast in a flying kick, powered by my full hundred and fifty pounds of Wyoming ranch muscle. Kill me will you?
Spitting teeth, the stunned werewolf staggered about, so I pressed the attack home. Had to get this yutz off me so I could ‘port the old lady out of here. How close were we to O'Hare? How soon till the missiles blew us all to hell? My sunfist broke the nose of the monster, cupped hands slapped against its pointed ears rupturing eardrums. A finger jab nearly removed an eye. As I had been trained to do, I was concentrating on the werewolf's head, probably the only vulnerable spot the creature had. If any.
No longer bemused by this game, the enraged werewolf thrust his paws downward to rend me apart. I barely managed to duck out of the way, but even so, the front of my bodyarmor ripped and I saw three shallow red lines on my stomach beginning to ooze blood. Oh crap! This close to the epicenter of the ethereal vortex, the protective spell on my T-shirt had been nullified!
Again, I ducked under a fist the size of an express train. Diving past the hairy titan, I tripped on the ropes. Frantically rolling aside, a hairy foot slammed on the floor, cracking the marble and just missing my head. Since it was so close, I did the only logical act and buried my teeth into the shin of the monster. Hey, any damage done to an opponent, no matter how minor, was a point in your favor. Crunching hard, my mouth filled with the coppery taste of warm blood. Bleh. How do vampires live on this stuff?
Strangely, the werewolf screamed from the tiny wound as if he had lost a limb and violently shook me off. Taking advantage of the situation, I scrambled to my feet, grabbed a hairy arm and tossed the giant creature over my shoulder in a classic judo throw. The monster hit the marble wall like a sack of wet newspapers advertising cement and slid to the floor, leaving a grisly trail on blood to mark its passage.
Forcing itself to stand, the groggy creature turned to face me eye-to-eye. Eh? When had the beast shrunk in size?
Then, shrieking in pain, the werewolf seemed to blur as ripples of change spread outwards from the trivial wound in its leg. Hair follicles withdrew into the skin, its jaw shortened, fangs shrank, and ears became round and pink.
Catching my breath, I had a flash of understanding. According to the legends, if a werewolf bit a person, they became a werewolf. So maybe to cure a werewolf, what you had to do was bite him? Well, waddayano.
In stark terror, the transforming monster tried to escape, but I tripped him. Scrunching his face, the Scion agent tried to countermand the transformation. But it proved unstoppable, and soon I was towering over a naked man with the most amazingly innocent expression on his face.
“Why, I am cured!” he cried joyously. “It is like I have awakened from a bad dream."
Oh brother, now tell me the one about the magic bunny. I guess my expression revealed my feelings, because he went pale.
“Don't you believe me, officer?” the runt asked, with a sickly sweet grin.
Now how would he knew I was a cop unless he remembered his actions as a werewolf?
“Should have copped the Fifth, pal,” I said, slamming the cowardly killer smack in the bazoo with every ounce of strength I possessed.
The blow nearly succeeded in melding nose to ear. Spinning like a drugged top, the scrawny bastard spewed blood and teeth as he toppled to floor, nowhere near as dead as he deserved.
Turning, I kicked over the ropes and advanced for the rock lady. But then from the midst of the raging dimensional storm came a dark flash, followed by a sucking retort. Everything went calm. And with a sick feeling in my stomach, I knew the fly spell had just been cancelled.
The hotel was starting to fall.
Retreating a meter, I charged at the old woman. Instantly, I was bombarded by delusions of madness: scenes from my personal past, movies clips, TV commercials and vignettes from the legitimate theatre. Struggling to retain my sanity, I fought my way through the phantasmal hordes of historical figures and cartoon caricatures. Step by step, I advanced. Grimly determined to reach her or die. My heart began to pound wildly. It was difficult breathing. My skin tightened painfully, my bones shifted positions, my hair began to grow ... Jumping Jesus, I was becoming a werewolf!
As ghostly bicycles raced through the room, I threw myself forward against the hurricane force of the space-twisting rift. Stretching until I thought my joints would pop, I just barely managed to slip the bracelet on her skinny wrist.
Home! I mentally screamed. HOME-HOME-HOME!
Instantly, she vanished. Taking the transdimensional vortex along with her. Whew!
Still braced counter to the ethereal winds, I was caught off balance and hit the floor. Success! Chicago was safe! Ouch, landed on my car keys.
My joy dimmed as giant cracks appeared in the floor, and the ticket booth collapsed. The whole damn hotel was shuddering from the raw velocity of its unchecked plummet. I always knew this job would kill me someday. Well, at least it would be quick.
No. Wait a minute, I'm in a hotel for an occult convention!
Adrenaline rushing in my veins, I glanced about. With the departure of the moonrock, I could not see clear to the other side of the exhibit hall ... and a line of dealers’ booths. Struggling to keep my balance on the disco-dancing building, I huried over and did a fast inventory of the magical paraphernalia: crystal balls, books, pyramids, Tarot cards, Quija boards, cassette tapes, knives, rugs. Rugs! Yes! But my sunglasses were long gone. How was I supposed to know which was real and which was sham?
Gathering air into my lungs, I shouted a Word of Power above the deafening noise of cracking concrete. A rug at the bottom of the pile seemed to tremble. Maybe it was just my imagination. I yanked it free, sending the rest of the carpets tumbling to the floor. Then again, maybe not.
The doorway collapsed and the windows exploded. Icy winds howled throughout the hotel tearing the fixtures off the walls.
Rummaging in the debris, I found an assortment of ornamental daggers. Hoped they were clean. Snatching a serpentine kris, I sliced my palm and squeezed a fist letting the drops fall onto the carpet.
“One is for thy weaver.” Drip. “One is for thy master.” Drip. Oh hell, what was next? Ah, yes. “One is for thee.” Drip, drip, drip. “And three is for me."
Nothing happened.
As the building started to break apart around me, I angrily dropkicked the carpet. “Fly, damn you!"
Instantly, the woven cloth went rigid, hovering at knee level. Banzai! Grabbing another carpet, I hopped onto the Egyptian Express, wrapping the second rug tight around me. God, I hoped this worked.
The curtains and carpet burst into flames, and a steel I-beam pierced a wall, coming dangerously close.
“Get me out of here!” I commanded.
Wafting casually, it headed for the stairs.
“Straight through the window!” I screamed. “And don't spare the horsehairs!"
In a shower of glass I was suddenly outside the hotel and flying through the starry sky. Yowsa! When this thing cut loose, even George would be impressed with the speed. I decided to name it Runner.
Shucking my protective wrap, I craned my neck to watch the building fall. Sadly, I observed that the individual pieces had joined together and it was a completely whole ten-story building hurtling down towards ... hey, that wasn't O'Hare! Or Chicago!
No, it isn't.
Jess!
Who else, pumpkin?
No coherent thoughts came to mind.
How sweet. I love you too. And to bring you up to date on current events, using his and Kathi's wands, Raul gated the whole damn building away from any populated area.
Brilliant! Where?
She told me, and with a contented smile, I settled in to watch the show. From this high upward, I should have a splendid view
of the crash.
A trail of flame stretched out behind the rocketing hotel like a comet's tail. Knifing through the cloud layer, the hotel reached and went past Mach One. With a sonic boom, the building broke apart again, the chunks continuing like a shotgun blast.
What remained of the hotel crashed precisely in the middle of Hadleyville, West Virginia, instantly converting into 700 million ergs of pure radiant heat.
In a blinding flash, the stores and homes disappeared, everything pulverized by the sheer force of the concussion. Jagged cracks spread out from the impact point like earthy lightning bolts. Motionless for a million geological years, the nearby Appalachian Mountains danced from the shock waves, but maintained enough integrity to contain the brunt of the nuclear-grade explosion.
For a split second, the twisted skeleton of a subterranean base was silhouetted in the hellish fury. Brought into view and annihilated. Feebly, the volatile chemicals in its armory added their pittance of destruction to the violent display. Fusing into fission, the structures vanished in a strobe sequence, the lambent vapor converting metal and stone into radiant flame. Layers of bedrock dissolved. Then the sheer mass of the planet pushed back against the ravening onslaught, and the plasma blast rebounded. Superheated gasses belched forth from the bottom of the incandescent crater in a deafening roar, coruscating flares leapt for the sky and boiling smoke formed a clean mushroom cloud overhead.
Clutching the fringe of Runner, I held on for dear life and rode the volcanic storming as best I could.
After what seemed an eternity, the rumbling vibrations ceased, and an eerie stillness enshrouded the decimated headquarters of the Scion with a graveyard peace.
EPILOGUE
We never heard from the Scion of the Silver Dagger again.
After Kathi beat her mage, and Jess killed her evil counterpart, they rushed to join the fight, rescuing George and saving the good Father's life. Mike had been one heartbeat away from death. He walks with a wooden cane these days. But a cane from Remington Industries that fires 12 gauge shotgun shells, of course.