Venom of the Gods

by Sebastian Chase

  "See you soon," she said, pulling away.

  I had become the savior of the world, but I reminded myself that it was a quick step from savior to martyr.

  "Very soon, I hope." I picked up the suitcase. "Back up a little." She stepped into a corner while I went to the door and gave it a swift kick. It blew off its hinges and slammed into the concrete on the far side of the hall. I gave her a reassuring smile and then blasted straight up, through several floors of the school, and into the cool night air.

  Knowing that I would be pushing my limits, I wasted no time in locating the direction of the English Channel and thundering off as fast as I could. In less than a minute, I had already burnt through over twenty miles and all of my energy. I landed in a small clearing in the middle of a large forest, drank four more bottles, and headed up again. I had to repeat this process several times before I was over the open water. I dropped the empty suitcase into the icy darkness below so no one would report finding it, and then flew on with grim determination.

  Soon, the American fleet came into view. The ships were dark, probably ordered to lights-out topside for security reasons. In my eyes though, they stuck out of the cold black ocean like Christmas tree lights. If I kept my speed up, I would be upon them in seconds, but the sonic boom would alert them of my presence. To prevent that, I slowed and skimmed low over the water. I counted on the low altitude and my exotic makeup to either confuse or be entirely blind to their radar, but it was just speculation on my part as I had never dealt with such technology. For all I knew, I could be a giant red light bulb on their radar screens.

  Closer I drew. Masts became distinct objects jutting into the sky, soft glows from equipment emancipated from bridge windows, and I could see security personnel standing watch on the decks. I chose the closest ship, a small frigate, as my first target. My goal was not to kill the young sailors en masse, as they were just following orders, but I knew many would still die on this night in order to sustain me.

  To minimize deaths, yet slow the invasion of France, I hoped to handicap the ships in a way that would either immobilize them or sink them slow enough to allow escape by lifeboats. From what I knew though, it would take more than just a single hole to disable a Navy vessel. First, before I could begin my carnage, I had to feed again. It was vital that I maintained my energy level high enough to support incredible speed and strength, and I already felt myself growing weaker.

  The gray frigate loomed in front of me, and just as I was about to smack the side of it, I angled up and over the side rail directly where I had seen a security rover walking around the aft deck. There he was, young and naïve, staring at the brilliant stars above and probably dreaming about the girl back home. I swooped upon him unseen, one arm wrapping around his torso, the opposite hand covering his mouth. I bent his head sideways, readying his neck to receive my fangs. I bit and his euphoria was instant. Drinking hard and deep, he was dead in thirty seconds, a casualty of war.

  After laying him down, I walked quickly through the shadows towards the superstructure. The smell of smoke caught my nostrils. Looking up, I saw another young man leaning over a side rail, puffing on a cigarette. I floated up in front of his shocked face. Before he could make a sound, I lifted my legs over the rail, came down next to him, and bit deep. His cigarette tumbled away as he succumbed to my power. Soon, he fell deceased as well.

  With energy once again coursing through my being, it was time to enact my plan. While I wanted to delay the taskforce, part of me also wanted revenge for the destruction unleashed upon France. I launched myself into the air, and then fell down silently into the black water, my claws at the ready. About ten feet down, I punctured the skin of the ship and kicked my legs in the opposite direction that it was motoring. A long gash opened, allowing water to instantly flood into multiple compartments. After a satisfactory distance, I swam forward and punctured the hull again, leaving another significant gash. Certain that two large holes would keep them busy, I swam up and flew into the air, which was not as quiet anymore. The ship's alarm was blaring and a stressed voice announced the flooding over the intercom. Lights flashed on topside while I eased away into darkness.

  I saw a destroyer closer to the hulking mass of the aircraft carrier in the center of the battle group. I silently sped towards it when, out of the corner of my eye, I perceived a hulking black mass surge out of the water. I stopped for a closer look. A whale? No, it was too big, endlessly rising up to a length of hundreds of feet. It was a submarine, and probably the very same one responsible for the nuclear attack.

  The sub surfaced not far from a large white ship that had a giant red cross on it and the name USS Mercy; no doubt a hospital ship to support the invasion. The only thing I could assume was that someone was hurt on the sub and required more medical attention than was available on the vessel. Confirming my suspicion, dim, night-friendly lights on the medical ship came on and I saw several sailors prepare to lower a small boat into the water. A brilliant idea occurred to me, but first I continued on to the destroyer.

  Several sailors stood topside, pointing at the now lit-up frigate that had started to list sideways. A sudden alarm on the destroyer shrilled, announcing general quarters and the lowering of lifeboats to assist the frigate. In the ensuing madness of sailors running topside, I found several opportunities to isolate men in dark shadows and feed upon them. Once again, I blazed into the sky, but this time I went directly through the destroyer's mast, sheering it in half, and then shattered several satellite dishes on the backside. I wanted to make communications and weapons targeting as difficult as possible. Not wasting time to observe the pandemonium caused by the falling mast, I headed for the submarine.

  The black Ohio-Class submarine bobbed gently in the water as the small rescue boat from the medical ship approached. I hovered in the air and watched a hatch open on the top of the sub and several men exit. They worked at pulling up a metal gurney with an injured man strapped into it. I wanted to wait for this person's rescue before attacking. While I felt crippling the sub was called for, my intentions didn't include harming the medical ship, and I was actually glad that it was in the area. Their services would be desperately required on this night.

  The sailors lowered the gurney onto the rescue boat and it sped away. Before the topside men could vanish back into the open hatch, I pounced upon the vessel. My hands slammed against the armored conning tower and I began to push. I could fly at thousands of miles-per-hour, but it took all I had just to get the submarine moving. Standing on the moist deck below me, the sailors yelled in alarm at the sight of me. I pushed hard and felt the beast of a machine begin to slip forward.

  A new person appeared from the open hatch, armed with a machine gun. He took careful aim and fired. Bullets sprayed off me, having no effect. I continued to urge the sub forward at greater and greater speeds with my target, a cruiser sailing next to the carrier, directly in front of us. There was a massive shudder and the submarine lurched with new resistance, causing the metal under my hands to cave a few inches. A surge of seawater behind the sub bubbled up as the engines went into reverse. At over five hundred feet long, I judged the forward momentum too great for the engines to overcome in time as long as I continued to push. The cruiser loomed large ahead, and the men on the deck took notice of it for the first time.

  "Holy crap! We're gonna hit!" one yelled.

  "Jump! Jump!" another said, and then vanished over the side, forgetting about the propeller in the rear churning like mad.

  The submarine slammed hard into the side of the cruiser, ripping metal apart with ferocious force. The remaining men topside fell into the water. The conning tower under my hands bent several feet, cracking at the base, but held. I continued pushing the sub deep into the giant hole now marring the cruiser's side, and soon the ship picked up the momentum and joined the sub as I forced both into the side of the aircraft carrier. The impact was incredible, made more so by the aircraft carrier's refusal to budge. The cruiser ripped into the side
of the carrier in several places, and left deep indentations in several others. In fear, some sailors jumped off both the cruiser and submarine, while those more brave tried to fight the flooding. Very weak from the incredible exertion, I joined the ones in the water.

  A throng of flailing arms and screaming men surrounded me in the cold darkness. I found one close, bit and drank, tasting a mixture of blood and saltwater in my mouth. We sank slowly, his drowning made more pleasant by a drop of venom. I finished and watched regretfully as he floated into the depths. Surfacing, I sought out more food that would allow me to sustain the battle. It swam right into my waiting mouth, and I took him to the depths as well. When I came up again, I heard someone yell worriedly about sharks. I grimaced, filled with guilt, but went for him anyway.

  Luckily for the remaining sailors in the water, I was now full, and someone had enough sense to shutdown the submarine's screw, which had claimed more lives than I had. I flew out of the ocean and into a sky filled with searchlights and rescue helicopters. For good measure, I blazed through a few more ship's masts and then landed on the deck of the carrier.

  Rudely awakened sleepy-eyed sailors hustled to get rescue operations under way. Several helicopters stood at the ready awaiting pilots and rescue swimmers, and I saw the blazing afterburners of a couple of F-18 Hornets fired up to fend of whatever was destroying the fleet. So busy was the flight deck that my landing went unnoticed.

  I knew that the Americans would assume that France was behind this attack, so I wanted to disable the flight operations of the carrier to prevent an immediate counterattack. I considered forcing my way to the nuclear reactor of the ship and tossing it overboard, but fears of radiation harming the sailors nixed that idea. I tapped my foot, watching the blast shield rise for the F-18 launch, and then I realized that I was tapping on a long, slotted metal strip. Like a light bulb popping on over my head, I thought, the catapults! I was standing near the edge of the carrier's deck, opposite the command tower, and saw two catapults near me. The staged fighter jets occupied two other catapults on the forward runway. As far as I could tell, there were no others. I felt amazed at how easily I could neutralize such a formidable weapon.

  I picked my foot up and slammed it down hard, driving my leg into metal up to my knee, mangling the pipe below that carried the steam-driven piston. Leaving behind an Old-Faithful-sized geyser of steam, I casually walked to the other nearby catapult and did the same thing.

  "Hey, look at that guy!" somebody yelled. I looked up and saw a person wearing a green shirt pointing me out to his coworkers. "What the…? Look at his eyes!"

  Despite the golden flashlights sticking out of my face, they summoned the courage to approach, but instead of worrying about them, I decided to focus on preventing the fighters from taking off. With a high leap, I flew away and over the F-18s, and slammed down on another catapult, driving my knee hard into it. To be double sure the piston wouldn't work, I rammed my fist into the hole and tore at the inner-workings. A thunderous roar erupted and I realized that the jets were catapulting towards me. I jumped to the next and last rail just as that F-18 bore down on me. Its front landing gear crashed into my back and sheared off, causing the plane's blazing tail to take flight while the nose burrowed into the deck. Just as it started to flip end over end, the pilot ejected and vanished over the water.

  The other F-18 hit the section I damaged just moments before, instantly collapsing the front landing gear. The entire nose of the plane hit the flight deck and sent sparks flying as it careened towards the dark cliff at the end of the runway. Just before it slipped over the edge, that pilot ejected as well. Horrific explosions ignited at the bow of the ship as the planes slammed into the ocean. Satisfied, I drove my fist into the last catapult.

  A small mob of men and women dressed in the cheerful rainbow of colors known to carrier life, raced forward to investigate the fate of the pilots. They stumbled upon me in the process. Stopping just feet away, they stared as if they had encountered a rabid dog. I pulled my arm out of the catapult, stood, and looked back at them. I wondered, would they rush me, or would they run. Neither happened; they just stood frozen, confronted with a nightmare come true. Behind them, I saw my new target rising in the air, but first I required some information.

  "I regret any loss of life, but it was necessary to reach the ultimate goal. I will not hurt you. A woman landed here, flying in from France in a helicopter. Where is she?" I asked in a calm voice. No one answered. I took a step towards them and smiled, baring the bloody fangs that had freaked my wife out so long ago. "Where is she?" I asked once again.

  "I remember her," one sailor said. "It was a big deal because her pilot somehow broke his neck when he landed." Karen's work no doubt. "But she's already left."

  "Left to where?" I asked.

  "No one knows. It was some kind of covert thing. I helped launch the plane that took her a couple of hours ago."

  "How far is its range?"

  "With onboard fuel, just about anywhere in Europe, but with in-flight refueling, it could make it to anywhere in the world." My hope of finding Karen dwindled, but then an idea occurred to me.

  "What did she look like?" I asked, wondering how the demon managed to snag a ride so easily on a Navy plane. The group was silent. "Look, I am on your side. The one you call Raphael has deceived you into this war. I am here to save you from him and yourselves. I need your help."

  A young woman wearing a blue shirt stepped forward, looking surprised and uncomfortable at her own action. "A lot of us don't agree with what's going on," she said. "I heard a rumor that she looked hideous, like a devil or something. Someone said she was Raphael's lover and escaped France when the first, uh…bomb hit." Guilt washed over her face. "I heard on the news that Raphael is supposed to be coming to England, if that's any help."

  "A huge help. Thank you," I said, and then jumped into the sky after a fleeing Sea Stallion helicopter.

  A rescue swimmer stood in the open side door, ready to retrieve survivors. I grabbed him and tossed him into the ocean. The winch operator jumped back in frozen fright; he quickly joined his partner in the water. With my eyes piercing the darkness, I went into the cockpit and placed my claws on the pilot's throat before he could react.

  "Take me to Heathrow Airport, now!" I commanded. The copilot appeared to have a moment of bravery and reached for his sidearm, but stopped when my gaze fell upon him. "That won't work. Give me the gun." With disgust in his eyes, he handed it over. "Gentlemen, I just need a lift to the airport. Help me and you will live. And do not attempt to use the radio." I placed the barrel of the gun firmly against the back of the pilot's head.

  "Rick, plot me a course," the pilot said.

  "We can't just let him…"

  "Do it! I retire next month and have every intention of seeing my new grandson."

  Reluctantly, the copilot went to work as the pilot turned the helicopter in the general direction of London, a little over a hundred miles away. The flight went perfectly most of the way, but then the copilot once again suffered a bout of bravery.

  Chapter 39

  "Five minutes until Heathrow," the pilot informed me.

  "Excellent!" I said, happy that I wouldn't have to kill these men. "Hover at this altitude about a mile outside of the airport boundary, and I'll take care of the rest."

  "We need to land. Fuel's low," the pilot said.

  "Fine. Get as close as you can and land in a field."

  The radio blared for the second time with a demand from Heathrow air traffic control to identify ourselves or risk confrontation with military jets.

  "Calmly tell them that you are an American military helicopter with an emergency," I told the pilot.

  "Rick, take care of it," he ordered his partner.

  Rick touched a button and spoke: "Heathrow, this is U.S. Navy Sea Stallion six-oh-four-alpha-lima. We've been hijacked! I repeat, we've been—" He saw me coming and turned a knob and punched some buttons so fast that I couldn't help but admir
e his training. "—hijacked by a dev…" I whacked him on the back of the head with the butt of the gun, using enough force to send him dreaming.

  "He'll wake up soon," I said, hoping that my pilot would remain calm. The comfortable hum of one of the engines sputtered and then ceased altogether.

  "I doubt it. He dumped what little fuel was left." The second engine sputtered, caught again for a moment, and then died. As forward momentum vanished, the nose of the helicopter assumed a downward angle.

  "We're going down!" the pilot shouted.

  I cursed my luck. "Unbuckle. I'll get you out of here," I said.

  "There's no time," he said in a voice full of defeat. Out the front window, I saw the source of his anguish. The dark tree line of a thick forest rushed rapidly towards us. I reached around the pilot, grabbed his harness and ripped it off.

  "Come on!" I yelled.

  He started to get up, but to my dismay, an incredibly large tree already filled the view out the cockpit window. I grabbed him, pulling him up and out, but then the rotors shattered into splinters, followed quickly by the front cabin. The trunk of the tree sliced through, ripping everything of the pilot away from me except his arm, which I held and stared at in morbid shock as the world exploded around me. Then it was my turn as the thick wood slammed into me with a shuddering thud, leaving me hanging in the air like Wile E. Coyote after suffering yet another embarrassment by The Road Runner. The top half of the tree cracked and then splintered away, following the twisted mass of the helicopter down. Once gravity realized it had forgotten me, I spiraled down after. Before hitting, I slowed and landed gently on my feet, still holding the pilot's severed arm.

  The wreckage of the helicopter lay under the canopy of trees: dark, cold, dead. The pilot would never get to see his grandson. I walked to it, void of hope, but had to check for survivors just to be sure. I found the pilot's seat, but it was empty. Since I unbuckled him, he could have been thrown anywhere in a last violent insult to his years of decorated service, courtesy of me. I dropped his arm and turned. The copilot's seat came into view, and I saw his body still secured firmly to it, a large branch protruding from his chest.