by G A Chase
Yeah, yeah. Stop your preaching. I’ve heard it all before. She spit mud out of her mouth. “You make it sound like my doppelgänger brethren will be easier to fight than a normal human.”
“You already know better than that, which means you’re trying to distract me.”
He was right. She flung a fistful of swamp grass at his face and lunged out of the reeds toward his legs like an alligator attacking its prey. She barely managed to grasp his foot as he leapt away from her attack. Continuing her forward charge, she brought him down hard, but she released her hold before any lasting damage was inflicted on his joints.
Instead of the counterattack she expected, he got to his feet and stood over her with his fists on his hips. “Now you’re just boring me.”
During training, mercy was seldom well received. “Look, old man. If you hurt me, I’ll regenerate fast enough. You, however, could be out of commission for weeks if I turn all of my aggression loose.”
“How about you let me worry about that. We’re not playing out here. You start pulling your punches based on your opponent’s skill level, and those demons will eat you for lunch. Come on, little girl. Do your worst.”
He was goading her into embracing her doppelgänger instincts. From the age of seven, when she’d been trapped in hell without even her father to guide her, Joe and her other guardians had trained Sere to rely on her spiritual self as a way of containing the evil that came with her reproduction body.
“Stop testing me,” she said.
“Come on, hellion. Let me have it. Pussy.”
He was getting under her skin. The derogatory female label didn’t bother her, but she hated that he was treating her like a child who could be easily manipulated.
“Knock it off, Joe. I’m warning you.”
“Warning me?”
“You know what I’m saying. If I go all in and let go of my mental control, I won’t be able to stop myself.” The fear that she might not find her way back and become like every other doppelgänger had never been so pronounced.
He walked over to his field pack and pulled out his pump-action riot scattergun. She didn’t need to be told what was loaded in the chamber. Even from ten feet away, the paranormal shell raised goose bumps on her arms. He set the weapon against the tree.
“Best to find out what you’re capable of—and your limitations—out here in the swamp, where it’s just the two of us, rather than down in New Orleans where the loas of the dead might get called in.”
Joe had been more than just her instructor. Father figure wasn’t a term she could embrace, but for twenty years, he’d been the one whose approval she most craved. She was torn between wanting to impress him and wanting to protect him.
“You couldn’t shoot me even if I did go full demon on your ass.”
He nodded toward the shotgun. “It’s not a full load—just enough to dim your lights. Now, fight me like you mean it, or I’ll shoot you just to piss you off.”
A red tinge overlaid the swamp’s rich colors of early morning like a tinted lens. It was as if all of Sere’s education and conditioning had added layers of color to her perception of the world. She let go of her hold on reality, and the nuanced human emotions fell away, leaving increasing shades of anger. She attacked Joe with a savage fury she hadn’t thought herself capable of.
But all of her youth, physical training, and agility were countered by his cunning. Each gymnastic tumbling assault she made that should have resulted in a blow to his body was quickly parried with martial-arts moves, landing her facedown in the muck. The shades of red grew darker with every fall until all around her appeared as figures drawn in blood.
“Fucking shoot me, Joe!”
The old man was winded and hurt but undaunted. “Not yet. You’re only fighting with half of your skills, little girl.”
Like a computer booting up in her skull, her wrath sought out her combat training. Her next attack, though still wild demon in nature, would be supplemented by everything Joe had taught her. God, I hope I don’t kill him. Though she’d never had use for deities, for the first time, she hoped a higher power existed to save those she cared about from her.
She came at him much the way she had with her previous attacks, but once Joe had set up for his countermove, Sere somersaulted over his sweeping kick, landed with her legs wrapped around his shoulders, and spun halfway around his neck as if acrobatically twisting off the lid of a jar. With his head held precariously between her thighs, she grasped his forehead and leaned back to the point where his neck would snap.
Instead of feeling the satisfying bone separation that she both feared and craved, Sere fell backward hard against the trunk of a cypress tree. Joe’s knee came at her face so fast she didn’t have time to let go of his skull to protect her head from the blow. His knee hammered her head against the solid anvil of the trunk. The red that betrayed her lust for violence turned into the black of unconsciousness.
Sere came to with a splitting headache. Memories of a dream involving Jennifer Cranston making lunch for her son Bobby didn’t help. The woman had no culinary skills at all, which was quite the insult to someone raised in New Orleans. Sere’s blurry vision slowly focused on Joe rolling up the technology-laced strip of cloth. A computer cord twenty feet long snaked out to his cell phone, which was at a safe distance from her zone of signal-distorting energy.
“How did you manage it?” she asked.
“Countering your death grip? I’ve still got my little tricks.”
She rubbed the lump on the back of her skull. “I’m glad.” The mental cobwebs had her shaking her head. “I was going to kill you. I really wanted to. You shouldn’t have let me go that far into my primal hell-based instincts.” She felt around for the shotgun holes but found no rivers of blood streaming through her side. “Thanks for not shooting me, by the way.”
“I trust my training even if you don’t. You weren’t going to get permanently lost in that doppelgänger body. Now, tell me what you’re really afraid of.”
Battered from a training session, she was ready to answer that question. Truth was like an onion with layers that weren’t always easy to access. She sometimes needed pain to help her get down to the core.
“Someone in hell was pulling Monty’s strings,” she said. “I’m certain of it. I don’t think I can face a concerted attack alone.”
“Have you considered that you may be getting a little paranoid? If there were some malevolent organization in hell, Professor Yates would have seen something on his computerized diorama. After all, it was his equipment that first identified Monty as a threat.”
“He didn’t notice the seven demons that escaped hell last night.”
Joe gripped the barrel of his shotgun so tightly that Sere wondered if he was contemplating going on the hunt himself. “You could have led with that piece of information.”
“Sorry. Your training sometimes proves overpowering. ‘Never give out more information than needed, even to your allies.’ I believe those were your words.”
“What did the good professor have to say about our latest interlopers’ covert escape?”
“He’s working on it,” Sere said, unable to hide her snarky disdain, especially from Joe.
“You don’t trust him?”
“I trust him with my very existence. I kind of have to. But after my run-in with Thomas, I’m limiting how much I lay on that old man. I have my doubts about these puppet assistants he keeps creating. When it comes to those he works with, the professor is a little too free with information.”
Besides, she thought, the old man keeps limiting my powers. Why do all these people think they need to control me?
“I’m still not convinced this isn’t just a caravan of lost souls. Maybe some hell tour bus took a wrong turn and ended up sinking into the swamp.”
I wish, Sere thought. “Hell’s gate isn’t so easily accessed. I have Lefty swimming around, doing guard duty out in the swamp. With any luck, that big ol’ gator took out a
couple of my adversaries, but that’s not an outcome I can rely on.”
Joe’s eyes took on the cold, emotionless stare that indicated he was considering all options. “Assuming you’re right, what was the point in sending only one combatant the first time?” His military training was kicking in.
“I think Monty was a test—basically a proof of concept. My adversary would have known I crossed over. He would have tried to recreate my success but without knowing what the limitations were. He probably thought only one being could cross over at a time.”
Joe sucked on a blade of grass while leaning against the tree next to his shotgun. “Or he wondered what would happen to his test subject when he did make it out of hell. Each time Kendell and her gang crossed dimensions, their new bodies were based on their souls. You came through the portal more or less unchanged, but again, you possess a soul, unlike the doppelgängers in hell. From your archenemy’s perspective, there were a lot of unknowns. He might have feared creating a monster he couldn’t control.”
Sere had another worry—her enemy had to be able to watch the events in life. “Whoever’s behind the screen must know I’m the one who killed Monty. I may have dissolved the doppelgänger and won the fight, but in doing so, I exposed my strengths and weaknesses.”
Joe nodded. “A good leader learns from his soldier’s defeats. You think this small task force is his next move against you? While Monty was here, you were pretty convinced he was just after Mr. Fisher.”
He was right—she had not been outmatched by Monty. And combatting the doppelgängers individually, Sere still had a fair chance. But demons from hell without souls didn’t concern themselves with fair play. If a group of them came after her, she had no strategy in place.
“I’m still convinced Monty’s primary objective was killing his real and taking over the man’s life. That was what my enemy was investigating—to see if it was possible. When I foiled Monty’s attempt, I made myself the target for the lead doppelgänger. Ultimately, I still think the demons that make it through the gate want to take over the lives of their living reals. They can’t do that if I’m constantly sending their sorry asses back to hell.”
If she was right about the number of combatants being dependent on the number of people the doppelgängers killed, that team could continually refresh and grow with every new murder. On her side, she knew fewer than a dozen humans she could rely on, and each of them was far too easily damaged. Other than Joe Cazenave—and possibly Bart the meddlesome bartender—not one of her people was good in a fight.
“How can you turn that knowledge to your advantage?” Joe asked.
“An army means a chain of command, and that means whoever is behind the breach between dimensions has to trust others. I don’t have to worry about coordinating my efforts. Whatever force came through the gate last night doesn’t have the capacity for independent thought. The more of them there are, the easier they’ll be to defeat, because the one in charge will have his hands full operating so many drone doppelgängers. And if he loses control of his squad, they’ll individually head down to New Orleans to fulfill their primary purpose of taking over the lives of their reals. There are only so many routes from the swamp to the city. Those doppelidiots’ homing instinct will give me a goal to defend.”
“If it were you planning the attack, would you opt for small groups of coordinated skilled assassins or a military platoon?”
I’d go alone, she thought, but admitting her recklessness to Joe had a way of resulting in another intense training exercise to show her the folly of such an action. “I have the benefit of having you on my side. Fortunately, there’s no Joe Cazenave doppelgänger for my opponent to call on.”
“Why do you think I spend so much time in this godforsaken swamp?” Joe said.
“Hey, this is my adopted home you’re talking about. Without skilled teams, I would expect brute force over hidden snipers. If I can isolate each soldier, my odds are pretty good. If they bum-rush, however, I’ll have my hands full. My four-barrel shotgun only holds four shells, and a single shot isn’t likely to drop a full-grown doppelfucker.”
“Then why not send a dozen doppelgängers or a hundred? He’s got demons to spare.”
“Monty murdered seven people on his killing spree. You were the one who taught me not to believe in coincidences.” She had to share that. Joe needed the complete picture to run his analyses.
Joe let out a long, low whistle. “Interesting. I’m no expert when it comes to hell’s rules. When you see your aunt Kendell again, don’t play cagey with that piece of information.”
Who says I’m going to see her? Sere thought, but she knew better than to get in an argument with Joe over the obligatory family visits. “The connection is still just a theory. I’ll continue watching the horizon each night.”
“If you’re right, these seven outlaws from hell would likely pick up where Monty left off. The more dead people, the more openings from the beyond.” Joe fell silent as if his thoughts were taking him somewhere he didn’t want to go—and worse, didn’t want to share.
“Then I’ll just have to stop them before they get frisky.” She enviously eyed his riot gun. “Too bad that thing only fires one shot at a time and is so damn big.”
“I’ve never known you to rely on guns. You’ve got your combat knife and hand-to-hand training. Ultimately, those are what you need most. Just don’t underestimate your opposition. A semiorganized band of mercenaries only needs to distract you long enough for one of them to get in a well-aimed shot.”
Hopefully, whatever they were using as ammunition wouldn’t be as deadly as the paranormal shells from hell that she had stashed in the ammo belt laid over her saddlebags. She also had Joe’s secret stashes, although she only knew the location of a couple of them. He’d designed each of his caches to be accessed in cases of emergency, and they weren’t just filled with weapons.
“If things get ugly, I could sure use access to a field med kit,” she hinted.
Joe rolled up the computer cable and put it back in his backpack. “No dice. Professor Yates informed me about your little break-in. Besides, you’d need a cellular connection. If you get hurt so badly you need immediate attention, there’s no way you could set up the phone. I will, however, give you my human medical supplies. If you get shot or knifed, stem the bleeding, get word to me, and trust your skills.” Joe rummaged through his pack for the nearly useless medical kit.
Sere began to see red. Why won’t anyone do what I ask? I had an easier time in hell. “Fine. Don’t give it to me. I’ll just stay on a fifty-mile leash from you. Much farther than that, it’s unlikely you’d reach me in time with that vintage motorcycle of yours.” She glared at him, hoping he’d get more anger from her stare than from her words.
He snickered, which only further enraged her. “I can just see you. The snarling dog at the end of her leash, barking and threatening everyone beyond her reach. How about that bartender of yours? He’s witnessed you heal enough times not to be freaked out by your unique anatomy.”
He’s seen enough of my body already, she thought. She didn’t want to rely on Bart, but at least he was mobile. His Ducati Monster could reach her a hell of a lot faster than Joe’s BSA Spitfire.
“I’m not crazy about the idea, but if that’s the best you’ve got, I’ll take it.” And con Bart out of the kit later.
“I’ll see that he gets it and knows to keep it handy at all times.” Joe put the mostly useless human medical equipment in an oilcloth satchel. “You know, there is an alternative to going on the hunt. You’re welcome to stay at my cabin for as long as you want. If you’re right about them coming after you, there’s nothing wrong with facing an enemy from a well-fortified defense.”
Her head still hurt, but at least she was able to stand up. “Weren’t you the one who taught me that sitting in a bunker was like being a crawfish in a pot? Eventually, someone always comes along and sets a fire under your ass.”
Joe handed her the waterp
roof pouch. “This situation is slightly different. Being prepared isn’t the same as hiding. But if you’re so afraid of being trapped, I’ll gas up my BSA and ride with you. Someone having your back might not be a bad thing. You don’t have to face this alone.”
I can’t risk you getting hurt, but admitting her fear for his safety wouldn’t go over well. “Can’t have you slowing me down, old man. Besides, I’ll need you to run interference on any police reports between the Northshore and New Orleans that might draw attention to me.”
He retrieved his well-used pump-action shotgun. “Just the same, I’ll be ready if you need me.”
15
Chapter 3
After a day of combat training, the ride on her motorcycle through the humid air and shadowy light of dusk calmed Sere’s adrenaline-fueled nerves. Fighting required her to be focused only on the threat directly in front of her. Such all-encompassing attention, once satisfied, had a way of busting loose the logjam of potential dangers to reveal the strategies available to her. She headed north toward where she’d seen the green light show.
Someone in hell had it out for her. Of that she was certain, even if those around her weren’t yet convinced. As she’d won the last round against Monty, her nemesis must have upped the stakes. That meant the seven doppelfuckers that corresponded to the green fireworks weren’t just demon frat boys out for a night of terror on Bourbon Street. They were coming after her.
Then there were the loas of the dead to consider. They were a constant looming threat, like a shadow whose source she couldn’t identify. If there was an increase in doppelgänger-on-human murders, the guardians of the divide between life and death would get suspicious. All of her fighting skills wouldn’t do a damn bit of good against spirits whose intent was to retrieve her soul from the living. At least in New Orleans she had people who understood and might be able to intervene, but running for safety wasn’t going to stop the demon apocalypse.