Critical Failures IV

by Robert Bevan

  Katherine wasn’t exactly sure what all this was adding up to, but she did her part. She took her giant bat form and lifted Julian by the arm he was holding the elf with.

  “Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow,” said Julian as Katherine flapped. “OW! Okay okay, bring me down!”

  When they reached the ground, Katherine changed back into a half-elf. Julian’s face was bleeding from a small cut on the side of his face.

  “What happened?”

  “Your unsteady flying happened,” said Julian. “As soon as the thing went rigid, I got sliced in the face.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” said Tanner. “That means it’s going to work.”

  Julian looked up at the suspended elf corpse. “I think I get what you’re going for, but that’s clearly a dead elf hanging from a ball of spikes. It’s hardly tempting.”

  “That’s what you’re here for,” said Tanner. “If all I needed was a button-pusher, I would have invited the whining bard. I need a sorcerer to bring that body to life.”

  Julian frowned. “I think you severely overestimate the power of my sorcery.”

  Tanner laughed. “I don’t mean literally. He’s got a spearhead in his brain, after all. But surely you know how to cast the spell Mage Hand.”

  “Yeah, I can do that. It’s a Zero-Level spell.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  Julian looked back up at the dead elf. “Wait a minute. You want me to Weekend at Bernie’s this guy?”

  “Again,” said Tanner. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You want me to wave his arms around and stuff so that he looks alive?”

  Tanner smiled. “Precisely!”

  Julian shrugged. “I’ve participated in stupider plans. So what then? We shout insults about his mother and hope for the best?”

  “I was thinking you might cast a Magic Missile at him.”

  “You really should have checked with me about whether or not I had all these spells you need before you went through all the prep work.”

  “Every sorcerer knows Magic Missile.”

  “Well what if I’d used them all up already?”

  Tanner shrugged. “Then I guess we’d shout insults about his mother and hope for the best. Can you cast the spell or not?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got it.”

  “Good,” said Tanner. “Get your ass up that tree, then, and use it.”

  “Why do I have to climb up a tree?”

  “You want the spell to come from as close to the decoy as possible,” Tanner explained. “And you need to see your target, hopefully without him noticing you. You’ll have more cover in the trees than you would from the road.”

  “What can I do?” asked Katherine.

  “Catch your friend when he jumps out of the tree.”

  “I’m going to jump out of the tree?” asked Julian.

  “We’ll see how long you want to linger in that tree when there’s a red dragon flying your way.”

  “Point taken.” Julian pulled himself onto the lowermost branch of the tree beneath the decoy and started climbing.

  Katherine watched Julian climb for a while, then looked at Tanner. “You really think this will work?”

  “If the dragon takes the bait, the dwarf’s armor should hold the blades in place while protecting the activation button from accidentally being pushed. With any luck, he’ll slice himself all the way down the esophagus before he realizes what’s happening to him, and the device will be lodged in his gut. The more he thrashes about in agony, the more he tears himself apart from the inside. Even if he manages to remain perfectly still, he’ll be out of the fight. One less dragon to –”

  “Motherffff—Ow,” Julian’s voice said from a suddenly flattened sapling.

  “Julian?” said Katherine. “I didn’t hear you cast the spell or call down or anything. And how am I supposed to catch you if you’re invisible?”

  Julian materialized on the ground. “I panicked! As soon as I hit him with the Magic Missile, he looked my way, and my brain told me to take every defensive measure I could at once. That included fleeing and activating the ring.”

  “Y-y-you really hit him?” Tanner’s voice was trembling with excitement. “Hurry up. Start moving the elf’s arms!”

  Katherine and Tanner helped Julian up and over to a position directly below the decoy.

  “Mage Hand,” Julian groaned. His fingers pointing down, he pinched the air like he was holding two beer bottles by their caps and waved his arms up and down.When Katherine looked up, the dead elf’s arms were waving just like Julian’s, suspended in the air by their middle fingers.

  Katherine wondered if that gesture translated. The dragon’s angry roar in response, she felt, was inconclusive evidence.

  Tanner took Katherine’s hand and squeezed it tight. If her heart could beat, it would have been pounding.

  Just like that, the visible sky through the gap in the forest canopy was replaced by flashes of scaly underbelly, which came to a halt like a rabid dog having reached the limit of its leash.

  If the dragon’s anger roar was loud, its pain roar was deafening.

  “Let’s get out of here!” Tanner shouted, keeping his grasp of Katherine’s hand as he ran for the road.

  They followed Julian, who was sprinting like his ass was on fire.

  Clearing the forest, they met Dave, Chaz, Stacy, Tony the Elf, and a bunch of old people who had come out of hiding to watch the spectacle.

  The dragon did as Tanner had predicted. It thrashed its tail, beat its wings, set fire to a semicircle of trees, but did not move more than a few feet in any direction.

  Breathing fire soon gave way to vomiting blood as the creature’s wings flapped weaker and weaker gusts. Its final roar was like that of a wounded walrus. Finally, it went limp, hanging in the air with only its head and the tip of its tail swaying inches off the ground.

  The old people clapped enthusiastically.

  Chapter 41

  They were all dead. All of Randy’s new friends from the Whore’s Head Inn. All of his “disciples”. Every one of them gone now, and it was all his fault.

  Looking down at the ramparts, all Randy could see were charred, smoldering bodies lying all over each other, their efforts not having made a lick of difference. The air was thick with smoke and the scent of roasted meat. It turned Randy’s stomach.

  The dragons were setting every flammable building in the city alight, zombies were running rampant in the streets, and the big flying boat was practically on top of them now. Professor Goosewaddle had thrown every spell he could think of at it, but hadn’t so much as scratched the hull.

  “You done fucked up good this time, Randy.”

  Randy turned around to find Denise, completely unharmed, standing at the top of the stairs. “Denise! You’re okay!”

  “No thanks to you.”

  “How did you survive the fire?”

  “By not being in it,” said Denise. “I got down off the wall as soon as your back was turned.”

  “You’re a coward,” said Randy. “You know that?”

  “So says the hero hiding up here in the tower.”

  “I was here at the request of the king. Ain’t that right, Professor?”

  Professor Goosewaddle nodded.

  “You tell yourself whatever you got to say to get through every day, but it’s this new self-righteous bullshit act you been running is what got all them folks out there killed tonight.”

  Randy’s eyes and cheeks burned with shame and frustration. “I know.”

  Denise looked like she was going to say more but shook her head. “Don’t matter none now. What’s important is that we’re still alive.”

  That wasn’t what Randy needed to hear. He stared despondently out the window at the bodies on the rampart. The boat shone its green light along the bodies and up the gate tower. When it shone on Randy, he doubled over with a sudden wave of nausea.

  “Listen, Randy
,” Denise continued. “This party’s gone to shit. We need to get back to the inn, and you need to let me do what I got to do to get Mordred to send us back home.”

  Randy’s insides were churning. He wanted to throw up, but nothing was coming out.

  “Well, well,” said a raspy voice at the door. “Look who it is.”

  “Friend of yours?” said Professor Goosewaddle.

  Randy looked up. The man at the door was badly burnt. Randy might not have recognized him if not for the smoothness of his shaven head. “Stuart?”

  “How’s the view from up here?” said Stuart. “Can you see my dead wife?”

  “Stuart,” Randy choked up the words, delirious with pain. “I’m sorry.”

  “My wife is dead, Randy. I wanted to come up here and tell you that.”

  “Well,” said Denise, gazing down at the wall. “You’re half right.”

  “What?” Stuart limped to the window. “Rose!”

  Randy shook off the pain as best he could and grabbed Stuart by the leg. “No, Stuart. That ain’t Rose.”

  Stuart wrested his leg free, kicked Randy hard in the face, and climbed out the window. The pain in Randy’s probably broken nose was nothing compared to the pain in his twisted guts.

  Denise shook her head. “You know, you see that shit play out in every zombie show or movie, and you think real people would know better. Guess I was wrong.”

  Randy contemplated using divine power to heal his nose, but it felt selfish when so many others had suffered so much more. He put the thought out of his head.

  “Goddamn, them zombies can pack a punch,” said Denise. “Um… We can go ahead and cancel Stuart’s ticket home.”

  The pain in Randy’s guts began to subside, but there was no relief to his crushing despair. He’d had everything he ever wanted in life. Friendship, camaraderie, respect, acceptance. He’d been part of something. He’d mattered. And now it was all gone.“I… I didn’t know it would be so… so hopeless.”

  “Despair not, my friend,” said Professor Goosewaddle, producing a worn, Naugahyde-covered book from within his robes.

  Randy’s vision was blurry through tears, but it looked like…“Is that a Bible?”

  “I’ve been reading up a bit.”The professor opened the book and scanned down a page. “Ah, here it is. Psalms 34: 17 and 18.”

  “Aw shit!” said Denise. “That’s the one from Pulp Fiction, ain’t it? Goosewaddle’s ‘bout to fuck some shit up!”

  Professor Goosewaddle ignored Denise and read his selected passage. “When the righteous cry out, the Lord listens; he delivers them from all their troubles. The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; he saves those whose spirits are crushed.”

  Denise frowned. “That ain’t the one from Pulp Fiction.”

  “Of course!” said Randy. “It’s just like the king said.” He smiled at Denise. “I know how to make this right!”

  “Randy, you already done shit in the chili. There ain’t no making this right.”

  Randy bowed his head and folded his hands. “Our Father, who art in heaven, hollow be thy name.”

  “Hollow?” said Professor Goosewaddle.

  “Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”

  “Jesus Christ, Randy,” said Denise. “This ain’t the time.”

  “Give us this day our daily bread,”

  “Bread!” the professor spoke in a reverent whisper.

  “…and forgive us our trespasses…”

  “Come on, Randy. Shit in one hand and pray in the other, you know? We gotta bounce!”

  “…as we forgive those who trespass against us…”

  “They’re coming up the stairs!” said the professor. “Guard Randy!”

  Randy heard the lumbering footsteps climbing the stairs, but dared not open his eyes. “And lead us not into temptation…”

  “You back the fuck up!” shouted Denise. This was followed by a grunt and a crash.

  “…but deliver us from evil.”

  The groans of at least a dozen zombies rose from the direction of the staircase.

  “Randy, I need your help!”

  Randy’s heart quickened. “Forthineisthekingdomthepowerandthegloryforeverandeveramen!”

  When he opened his eyes, he saw Denise standing at the top of the stairwell. She held her axe in front of her, but seemed to have reservations about using it. She kicked zombies back down the stairs as each one lunged at her.

  “I can’t hold them back much longer!”

  “Hang on!” said Randy. “I’m coming!”

  “This way!” shouted Professor Goosewaddle from outside the east window. He was on a knotted rope, climbing up to the roof.

  Denise waddle-ran past Randy and looked out the window. “That rope ain’t tied to nothin’!”

  “It’s magic!” the professor’s voice called down. “Hurry!”

  The idea of climbing a magically suspended rope must have been preferable to facing whatever was coming up the stairs, because Denise didn’t hesitate long before grabbing the rope and pulling herself out of the window.

  The front of the zombie crowd reached the top of the stairs, and Randy’s worst fears were realized when he recognized familiar faces.

  Frank, even in death, continued to lead his people. Half of his face, and his entire beard, had burnt away, but it was definitely him. His little zombie-gnome groans had a certain distinction. Randy could hear Frank’s voice in them.

  Behind Frank were two soldiers, their armor having been warped by dragon fire, and their forearms little more than blackened meat on bone. They had tried to shield themselves from the flames.

  Gus, the queer half-orc who Randy had been eager to talk to again, stood head and shoulders above the rest of the zombies piling into the top floor of the gate tower. He shoved his way past the soldiers and stepped over Frank, his dead eyes staring, hungry for Randy’s living flesh.

  “I’m sorry, Gus,” said Randy. He grabbed the rope and pulled himself up just in time to pull his foot away from Gus’s grasp. Gus fell forward out of the window and plummeted to the wall, where he crushed two more zombies. The rest of the zombie crowd at the window reached up for Randy as he scooted up the rope.

  Randy looked up. It was indeed disconcerting to see the top of the rope sticking up like a middle finger to gravity. But up was the only way to go, so Randy climbed.

  Denise and Professor Goosewaddle were both hugging the top of the conical roof. The blue wooden shingles looked fine from ground level, but up close, they showed signs of severe decay.

  The angle of the roof also presented a problem. It was a little too steep for Randy’s liking. He slowly marine-crawled his way to the top and joined the others.

  “Now what?” asked Denise.

  “Just hold tight and wait for Jesus,” said Randy.

  “Wait for – Randy, have you lost your goddamn mind?”

  “He’ll come.” Randy had no logical reason to believe his prayer would work. Praying had never solved any of his problems back on Earth. His mama had tried to pray the gay out of him, but that hadn’t worked for shit. But for some reason, Randy had absolutely no doubt in his mind that this prayer had been heard and would soon be answered.

  “Bullshit,” said Denise. “It don’t do you no good mumbling Our Fathers when what we really need is a Hail Mary.”

  Randy nodded. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt. Hail Mary, full of grace –”

  “Shut the fuck up, Randy,” said Denise. “I meant like in football. A last-ditch act of desperation. A long pass into the end-zone, hoping that one of your receivers can – What the fuck are all those people doing?”

  The roof of the South Gate tower provided an excellent view of the city, all the way to the royal palace. Randy, too, thought it odd that people had stopped running away from the chaos at the gate, and now seemed to be running toward it.

  “Maybe they figured they ain’t got nothing to lose, and decided to stand up for themselves?”
<
br />   “Doubtful,” said Professor Goosewaddle. “They’re unarmed, unorganized, and still clearly terrified. They’re running from something.”

  The tower shook as a giant white leg stepped out from behind the palace. Giant, that is, in relation to the palace. It was actually pretty short for the plump white body it was connected to.

  “Holy fucking shit,” said Denise. “It’s the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.”

  That had been Randy’s first thought as well when the massive creature lumbered out onto the main avenue, but something about it was wrong.

  “Uh-uh,” said Randy. “Stay Puft wears a sailor’s hat and a blue sailor’s collar. That thing’s wearing a white scarf and a chef’s hat.” He gulped. “It’s the Pillsburg Doughchild.”

  “Have you two lost control of your senses?” asked Professor Goosewaddle, his old eyes welling up with tears. “Do you not know the face of the New God, Jesus Christ, when you see it?”

  “The what?”Pieces started falling into place in Randy’s mind. That cheap, Naugahyde-covered bible. Goosewaddle had swiped that from a church. His peculiar reverence for bread. He’d taken Holy Communion, gotten it fixed in his mind that Jesus’s body was made out of bread, and jumped to a conclusion when he’d seen an ad for biscuits or crescent rolls somewhere. The game had created the image of its new god according to the description that Goosewaddle had provided the High Priestess. “Oh no. Professor, we’ve made a terrible mistake.”

  Denise’s face was a mask of confusion and terror. “What did you do, Randy?”

  The towering mass of sentient dough smiled and waved at the screaming Cardinians as it waddled toward the South Gate. With each step, the flaming skeletons of the city’s more stalwart buildings collapsed in on themselves.

  “Foolish mortals!” boomed a voice from the bow of the flying boat, which had stopped advancing. It hovered just above the western part of the southern city wall. A figure stood, dressed in black armor, its glowing red eyes peering out from the shadow of a great horned helmet, its skeletal hands raised in clenched fists.

  “Is this the best resistance you can offer? This impressively large, yet oddly adorable golem? Your efforts insult your future king. The sun has set on the day of the living. Once my dragons reduce your pitiful champion to a smoldering pile of ash, I shall rule a city of the dead. Dragons, attack!”