Child of Slaughter

by James Axler

  Doc looked out at the crowd and wondered what he could say that might be appropriate without being a groundless claim. The shifters waited quietly, all eyes glued to Doc as if he was some kind of graven idol they were all worshipping dutifully.

  Doc cleared his throat. “Yes, yes, thank you.” He nodded and smiled, reaching for inspiring words like the ones Ryan often came up with in times of trouble. “My friends.” He cleared his throat again. “Your hearts are my heart. Your pain is my pain.” He paused. “Your dreams are my dreams.”

  The audience rippled with applause and a scattering of cheers and whistles.

  Doc kept talking. “We are bound together by this place and its unique properties. It has shaped our lives in the past, and we will shape its destiny in the future.”

  Loud whoops and cries and chants told Doc he’d struck a chord with the shifters, though he hadn’t really said anything of substance.

  “Will you join me in shaping that future?” Doc asked. “Will you all help me to create a brighter tomorrow here in the Shift?”

  The crowd roared in approval; the continued rain could not dampen their high spirits. The shifters, including Exo’s own troops, jumped up and down and howled with unconditional support.

  The waves of their appreciation washed over Doc, giving him a thrilling shiver. He’d forgotten how good it could feel, performing in front of an audience.

  As another shiver coursed through him, he opened his mouth to continue his speech and was cut off by Exo, who stepped up to drown him out.

  “Do you see how inspiring this man is?” Exo waved the lion’s-head top of the swordstick at Doc. “He was sent to us for a reason. He was put here to unleash our true greatness. And we will do everything in our power to live up to his great expectations!”

  That did it. Everyone in the crowd except Ankh went crazy, whooping and hugging and spinning and singing in the rain. It was a scene of absolute jubilation, ecstatic enough to move Doc’s own heart, though he was a prisoner with no stake in their celebration and no hope of escape.

  This time, Exo didn’t try to interrupt the party with more pronouncements. Grinning, he walked to the front edge of the stage, shaking hands with the audience below. When he wasn’t doing that, he was pumping his fists in the air and getting the “Hammersmith” chant going again.

  As for Doc, he just hung back and kept smiling, though his situation was completely out of control. Those cheering muties… What would they do when they discovered he was an impostor? How would they react when he failed to produce the results that Exo had promised?

  Doc’s eyes flashed across the crowd to Ankh, who seemed as close to an ally as he was likely to find. Ankh had his own dark motives and secrets, but perhaps he could keep Doc alive long enough for Ryan and the others to liberate him.

  Just then, Doc felt his stomach tighten. It bothered him that yet again he was relying on the kindness of others to save him from a scrape. How often had he faced a similar dynamic, in which he wasn’t able to rescue himself for one reason or another and someone else had to pull his fat out of the fire? It was not an uncommon occurrence, though it didn’t usually bother him to this extent.

  Now that he was on his own amid the shifters, his lack of self-reliance was eating at him. He was starting to feel as if it was high time he stepped up and saved himself for once. But he couldn’t, for the life of him, see a way to do it that lay within his capabilities and limitations.

  Suddenly, Exo pranced back to him, grabbed his hand and reeled around in a giddy dance. Doc would have preferred to trip him and send him sprawling on the plywood, but instead he played along…a little. He let Exo turn him one way and then the other as the crowd clapped out a sprightly rhythm. He even bobbed his head a bit to the beat, trying to seem like a good sport to the assembled shifters.

  Finally, Exo stopped, turned to the crowd and thrust Doc’s hand in the air. The muties shrieked and shook their own fists overhead in a gesture of joyous solidarity.

  “We have said our piece! The future is ours for the taking!” Exo dropped Doc’s hand and gave the swordstick a graceful twirl. “Now let the feasting begin!”

  As the locals in the crowd scattered, Doc wondered what their version of a feast could possibly consist of. He envisioned buckets brimming with squirming centipedes and maggots, skewers of still-twitching crickets, bowls of clattering, skittering cockroaches sprinkled with bristly fire ants.

  Before he could find out exactly what was on the menu, however, Doc heard a deep rumbling noise from afar. Frowning, he heard it get closer, and then he could feel it shaking the plywood platform.

  Earthquake.

  Immediately Doc charged toward the cinder block steps. He was not yet on the ground when the shaking intensified, knocking him off the last block at a bad angle.

  He came down in the wet sand on his right hip. Wincing, he lay there as the earth kept moving, rocking him inside as well as out.

  Then he heard a creaking noise and looked toward it. Just as his eyes found the source of the noise, he wished they hadn’t.

  Less than twenty feet away, a mutie tower jury-rigged from rusty plumbing, automobile panels and zip ties was teetering from the quake. Worst of all, the tower was thirty feet tall and teetering in Doc’s direction.

  His eyes widened, and his heart raced. If the tower fell, it would come down on top of him. It would likely crush him under the weight of the metal panels and plumbing.

  Doc clenched his teeth and tried to get up, but the quake surged and threw him back down. Just as he hit the ground again, the tower creaked louder than ever and began to collapse, falling straight toward him.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ricky ran in a zigzag pattern over the wet sand of the Devil’s Slaughterhouse, barely staying out of reach of the charging hippo-porcupine.

  How much longer until the creature overtook him, or Ricky simply ran out of steam? He had to do something soon to end the chase while he could still survive it.

  The De Lisle had a round in the chamber, and Ricky could shoot it just fine on the run, but bullets bounced off that beast with no effect. Whatever its weak spot, Ricky wouldn’t have nearly enough ammo or time to find it.

  He cut a sharp right around a steep hill, and the monster swerved to follow him. Ricky had tried the same thing enough times to know he couldn’t lose the beast with that trick.

  But there was one maneuver he hadn’t tried yet.

  Heart and feet and arms still hammering, Ricky swung an even sharper right and bolted up the hill. He gave it all the juice he had left, launching himself as far as he could up the sandy slope.

  He heard the hippo-porcupine roar behind him, felt the thudding of its hooves on the base of the hill, and then heard another roar. This one came from the same low altitude as the first, and Ricky knew why.

  Stopping at the halfway point, he turned and saw the creature still at the bottom, pawing at the sand. The angle of the hillside was just too steep for the hippo-porcupine to climb.

  Looking down from the safety of the heights, Ricky considered various possible weak points on the animal’s body and settled on the eyes. Sitting back, he braced himself on the sand and sighted the carbine, fighting to keep a lock on the creature’s left eye while it roared and thrashed its head.

  He timed the shot just right. When he squeezed the trigger, the round slid right into the hippo-porcupine’s eye socket.

  The creature wailed and toppled over on its right side, making the ground shake a little when it hit. Ricky took a moment to catch his breath and wipe the sweat off his forehead.

  Then he started looking around for someone to help.

  * * *

  WHEN THE SEVEN-FOOT-TALL armored tarantula lunged to face Ryan, he darted around to its backside yet again, staying out of range of the beast’s front-mounted acid jets.

  Ryan knew he’d only bought himself another couple of seconds, but he was determined to put them to use. Armor plated and acid spewing the creature might
be, but Ryan had an idea of how it might be vulnerable in a way he could exploit.

  Taking a deep breath, he got ready, then sprinted around to one of the armored tarantula’s front legs. “Hey!” he shouted for attention, and banged on the leg’s plating with the butt of the Steyr Scout. “Hey, stupid!”

  In response, the creature’s black-furred head rotated down to pin him in its unblinking, many-eyed gaze.

  Ryan watched for the familiar twitching of the fangs that always signaled a release of acid. “Yeah! I’m talking to you!”

  The beast twisted its head back a little farther and made a sound like a belch crossed with a sneeze. Ryan tensed, ready to explode from the spot at any second.

  Then he saw the fangs twitch, and he knew what was coming. He lingered half a heartbeat more, then bolted away in the nick of time, just as the acid spray shot out of the creature’s maw.

  The acid splashed over the tarantula’s armored leg, bathing the lower knee thoroughly. Ryan, watching from behind the creature’s enormous body, held his breath. He’d known from the start that his plan might be faulty; it made sense that the monster’s armor would be resistant to its own acid.

  As the acid ran down the leg, the metallic plating sizzled and smoked. The acid was burning its way through to whatever vulnerable parts were within.

  Clenching his teeth, Ryan darted to his next objective—the front leg on the other side. “Hey! Hey, dummy!” Again, he banged on the armor with the butt of his rifle.

  And again, the tarantuladillo craned its dark face around to look his way. This time, the noise it made was a loud buzzing interspersed with guttural clicks. Whatever it meant, Ryan didn’t give a damn.

  But when its fangs twitched, all his attention zeroed in on them. Every muscle in his body coiled, ready to spring, and he waited just a second more.

  Then he sprung. As before, he bolted away just in time, as the beast’s powerful acid washed over its armor-plated leg. He heard the metallic material hissing as the powerful spray ate it away, exposing the once-protected parts underneath.

  His face etched with grim determination, Ryan ran around the great beast to the first front leg, which had been cooking just long enough in its acid bath. Swinging up the Steyr Scout, he pumped three rounds into the heart of the damage in quick succession.

  Then, as he back stepped, the knee buckled with a loud crunch like a toppling tree. The tarantuladillo thumped down hard on that side, cracking another two legs in the process.

  Ryan raced around behind it to the front leg on the other side and repeated the process. The Steyr Scout blasted three rounds dead in the middle of the sizzling hole in the creature’s armor.

  After which, that side of the beast crumpled, too. It now sprawled flat on the wet sand, alternately mewling and screeching as its own acid continued to eat away at it.

  That was when Ryan walked up onto its back as if he was stepping onto a stone. He jammed the longblaster’s barrel against the top of the beast’s head and cranked the trigger.

  The round he fired blew a hole straight through the tarantuladillo’s skull, ejecting its sizzling, acid-soaked innards onto the sand below.

  “Damn spider.” Ryan hopped off the creature’s back and immediately scanned the area for whoever needed his help the most.

  Quickly choosing his next target, he raced off through the rain, reloading the Steyr Scout along the way.

  * * *

  THE THORNY GREEN tendrils gave Mildred another tug, bringing her to within four feet of the amoeba-like blob. One more pull and she’d be hoisted into its slavering maw, ready to be devoured.

  It was time to make her move, the only move she could think of. Unarmed, with her ankles bound by tough tendrils, her options were narrowed down to one. The only alternative she could imagine was death.

  So in the brief interval before the next tug, she gathered her strength as best she could, drew in a deep, bracing breath and got ready. There was just enough slack in the tendrils for her to dig her heels into the wet sand. She pushed herself down so her knees were bent, and all her weight was focused on the foothold she’d dug.

  Here goes nothing, she thought.

  When the tendrils jolted her forward again, Mildred used the foothold as a pivot point and let the force of the jolt slingshot her up and over. Instead of being dragged into the blob’s maw, she shot to one side of it and came down hard on the big green pod that controlled the tendrils.

  The pod made a kind of whistling sound, like a deflating balloon, and compressed under her weight. At the same time, the tendrils relaxed their grip on her ankles.

  Mildred kicked her legs free and scrambled off the pod just as it puffed back up to its former size. Its tendrils thrashed wildly, writhing around in an effort to regain their grip on Mildred.

  But she was already bolting across the sand, going after her ZKR 551 revolver.

  Mildred could hear the tendrils slithering after her as she ran, close behind. She could swear she felt the tips of them tickling the backs of her legs, just about to make a grab.

  She dived for the weapon, then rolled and came up with it in her hands. She opened fire on the tendrils, blasting them back though they were still too tough to blow apart.

  Then, after a few more rounds, she leaped up and ran, hoping the tendrils weren’t infinitely expandable.

  They weren’t. Mildred sprinted another thirty yards before they finally stretched to their limit. They flopped on the ground then, pulled taut and quivering after Mildred as if they thought they might still be able to reach her.

  At last, Mildred was able to stop running and catch her breath. She slumped forward, panting and sweating, with her hands on her knees.

  But she didn’t stay that way for long. Moments later, she straightened and looked around for any of her friends in need of help.

  * * *

  JAK STOOD, PANTING, his arms painted in blood up to the elbows. Moments ago, he’d wondered if there was a limit to how much damage the see-through lion’s body could repair on its own. If Jak kept hacking it up, would the animal continue to regrow and replace whatever was hurt or missing?

  He finally had his answer, and he didn’t like it one bit. He’d stabbed and slashed his way through the beast as if there was no tomorrow, butchering it between dodging snaps of its jaws and swipes of its giant paws. There was hardly an inch he hadn’t cut with his blade, often plunging it in up to the hilt and twisting with a vengeance, yet…

  Yet the lion was still alive and baring its teeth, glaring at him with its glittering dark eyes.

  “Hey, kitty.” Jak stood six feet back from the big cat but was ready to run at the first sign of pouncing. “Thought supposed have nine lives only.”

  The lion roared in reply and licked its muzzle, the same muzzle Jak had slashed to ribbons two minutes ago.

  Jak shook his head. “Starting bore me.” He slid the knife into its sheath at his hip and reached for the .357 Colt Python holstered beside it. “Been fun, but fun wearing off.”

  As the lion roared again, Jak swung up the Python and cocked it in one smooth motion. Squinting, he drew a bead on the middle of the creature’s forehead and squeezed the trigger.

  In that same instant, the see-through lion lunged to one side, so the round caught him in his left shoulder instead of his forehead. The impact blew apart flesh and bone, blasting them in all directions.

  With a strangled cry, the lion flew back to the ground, hitting like a sack of cement. It lay there, thrashing and groaning, as Jak approached with the handblaster held out before him.

  “Still not give up?” As Jak watched, the obliterated shoulder writhed, transparent shredded tissue kneading and reforming into new muscle and tendons. “Survivor like me. Kindred spirit.” He raised the .357. “Guess already know who walks away.”

  The lion mustered a final roar and scrambled to try to regain its feet, then crashed back down. Its body was fixing itself, but not fast enough to save its life.

  Unless, of c
ourse, a bullet wouldn’t be enough to kill it permanently. Jak knew it was a possibility, but what else could he do?

  Pulling the trigger, he blasted a round into the animal’s head, blowing it to pieces. Then he kept firing rounds into other critical parts, exploding the chest and abdomen with shot after shot.

  He stopped only when he ran out of ammo. That was when he took a closer look and realized the lion was still trying to resurrect itself. The little bits of it were twitching and pulsing on the sand, some squirming together and merging into larger pieces.

  Jak thought of kicking the lion’s remains as far apart as he could get them, then changed his mind. “If manage to rise from dead after that,” he said, “deserve second chance.”

  * * *

  AS THE PIRANHA-WASPS closed in from all around her, Krysty leaped into action. Surging with the power of Gaia, she spun and swept her fist in a circle, smashing away a swath of the creatures with one swipe.

  With the accelerated movement and heightened reflexes that came with the power, Krysty flashed this way and that, swatting aside bugs. But even as the ones she struck careened through the air, spinning like meteors to crash down on the wet sand, others jammed their stingers into her flesh.

  Blazing-hot bolts of venom shot into her, sizzling through her veins like napalm. Even as Gaia let her fight past it, pushing it back to the depths of her awareness, she knew a world of pain awaited her when the power faded. She just had to hope there wasn’t enough poison in those shots to take her life, or the battle she now fought would all be for nothing.

  When a cluster of the vicious fish-bugs went for her face, she clubbed it out of the way with the butt of the Glock. Then she pistol-whipped more of the things on her arms and legs and sides. It was better to leave bruises from the blaster’s butt than take more hits of venom from the creatures’ stingers.

  Speaking of which, though she wasn’t feeling much pain in her Gaia-empowered state, she had a sudden realization that she couldn’t take much more venom. A deep sickness was building in her gut and nerves and brain, and something told her she was nearing her limit.