Blood God (The Hroza Connection Book 5)

by William Vitka

  I point to an area near Lincoln Park that looks quiet. That’s how far back we’ve been pushed. A full mile from the original engagement area.

  I shout. “Get Jade out.” I pant. “Just get her out.” I look to Harryhausen. “You, too. Kill anything that gets in your way.”

  Harryhausen chirps.

  DeVille nods. Cradles the broken robot form of her daughter. She looks at me. Bonnie’s face a solid metal sheet.

  If there was a point in saying anything right now, we would.

  They head off. Mother and daughter. Away from the unstoppable nightmare.

  I turn. Run at the worm. Can’t actually see my parents. Can’t see my own daughter. Her stupid boyfriend. The two kids Caleb talked into being saviors. They’re just indicators on my heads up display.

  All I got is hate in my heart.

  That makes me strong.

  The worm scurries along.

  I say to Clyde, “Talos warframes are powered by twin nuke plants, right?”

  Clyde sighs. Drawn-out at theatrical. Pure Price. “Yes.”

  I throw myself into the same laceration as Jade. Punch like some wild, drunken idiot. Blood cascades across my view. And I love it.

  The guts. The gore.

  Gimme more.

  They’ll see what I’m doing on radar if nothing else.

  I feel the pendulous throbbing of the parasite worm around me. The muscles as they push in. The tendrils as they constrict me. Like I’m surrounded by a stomach. Flesh walls and acid.

  My armor levels tick down.

  I tell Clyde, “I think you can do something I can’t.” I grab the weapons hanging in the cockpit rack. My Colt M1911. The Judge shotgun pistol. Mags and extra rounds.

  Clyde says, “I know what you’re thinking.” He pauses. “This body is as alien to me as it is to you. I ask only one favor: retrieve the data drive on the other side of your neural harness. It is shielded. The explosion should not interfere with it or destroy it.”

  I pull myself free from the neural spikes. They slide out like someone unseen dude’s been sticking needle dicks in my bones.

  “Blow those power plants on my call.” I grab the lighter-sized solid state drive that’s got all of Clyde on it. Shove it into a pocket on my combat vest. “Or as soon as me and the other emergent are clear, okay?”

  Clyde says, “Understood. Though I should point out that in five minutes, the organism’s acids will eat through my internals and render both myself and the power plants useless.”

  “Noted.”

  I can’t believe you’re leaving the robot.

  I crawl out Clyde’s neck.

  The landscape blurs by.

  Like being on a high-speed train.

  Except I’m in a cavern of torn flesh that wants to absorb me and, also, the train I’m riding is a parasitic worm three-miles long en route to the final bastion of humanity so it can eat everyone there.

  Otherwise, yeah, totally the same.

  I climb along Clyde’s melting form. Down his chest. Slip once. Land on my ass. I blast a whipping tendril with the shotgun pistol. Turn it into a mewling, leaky appendage. I crawl along Clyde’s crumbling arm. Look for a way to hurl myself outta the flesh cavern. Hit the ground. Hit the nukes.

  Gravity apparently doesn’t give a damn about my plans.

  I slip again. Catch myself. End up breaking the fall with my left hand—in a pool of acid.

  It dissolves my carbon glove in a flash. Burns into my palm.

  I shriek. Pull myself back onto Clyde’s arm.

  The acid doesn’t stop.

  I watch my skin sizzle. Pop. Slough off in wet chunks. There ain’t even time to bleed. My left hand becomes a useless mass of meat and exposed bone.

  This was all a really good plan.

  More tendrils strike at me. Try to wrap themselves around my face. Finish what my clumsy stupidity started.

  I pull the Judge’s trigger till the cylinder clicks empty. Holster it. No time to reload. I draw my Colt M1911. Crawl on my back along Clyde’s arm and shoot as I make my way toward the rushing ground outside.

  Almost there.

  A giant blade pierces the roof of the flesh cavern. Slashes down. Nicks my shoulder. Cuts open my carbon suit and gives me a solid gash that gushes blood.

  The sword hacks. Chops away at the cavern till I can see the sky.

  And Caleb’s warframe.

  He says, “What the hell are you doing? Why did you set your power plants to explode?” He reaches in. Wraps a big metal hand around me. Lifts me.

  I groan. Cradle my ruined hand. “Wanted to buy us some time. Blow up the bastard.” I cough. “Good timing.” My shoulder spurts. “Good aim with the sword, too.”

  “You decided to do something smart in particularly stupid way.”

  I watch my blood dribble between Caleb’s fingers. Splash against the parasite.

  And then something interesting happens.

  Caleb sees it too.

  My blood eats into the worm bastard.

  Not enough to do any real damage. Not enough to make a difference...

  The words of the whacko cultist non-scientist feminazi Janice Brennan come back to haunt me: “Your blood kills.”

  Ain’t that a kick in the dick.

  I’ve never actually spilled blood on a parasite before.

  And I’ve been covered head-to-toe since the infection got loose.

  Caleb’s quiet for a heartbeat. Then he says, “We gotta go.” He holds my form tight. Leaps from the back of the wormipede. Hits the ground running. Tells the whole gang, “Everyone, beat your feet. We’re nuking the creature from the inside. And I’m talking about two hundred kilotons of boom. Armor’ll protect you, but don’t be any closer than three and a half miles. Head east. Should be okay when we get to the over side of the Hudson up here. Move.”

  Oh, delightful. “Armor’ll protect you...”

  This is gonna hurt.

  Caleb plows through the trees. The ones he doesn’t shear through, he blasts into kindling with his shoulder. I try not to die via splinter.

  I watch six other trails converge on ours. All the emergent except DeVille.

  Problem we got now is time.

  Supposed to make it across the Hudson before Clyde explodes. River ain’t that close yet. And we got about four minutes.

  Gonna be close.

  The worm howls behind us. Can’t keep up. Thrashes. Throws itself through the forest.

  We gain some much goddamn needed distance. Start tramping concrete instead of dirt in some sorta industrial area west of the Hudson Valley Mall. Wide stubby warehouses.

  Random Keefs wander below. Not many of the more evolved forms. Few stilt-walkers. No flesh-towers. Guess all the parasite needed to ruin upstate New York was the standard zombie.

  That’s racist!

  ...How?

  I’ve just always wanted to say that with urgency and a pinch of conviction.

  DeVille joins our mad dash from the south. Jade locked in her hand the same way I’m locked in Caleb’s. Harryhausen zooms by her head.

  We cut through a huge parking lot. Blow by a McDonald’s. Stomp through another, bigger parking lot.

  And then, hooray!

  A mall.

  What would New York State even do with itself if it wasn’t for malls?

  Jack shouts over his speakers, “Grenades! Level this motherfucker.”

  The warframes run and gun. Hammer the already-crumbling concrete structure with high explosives. Flatten the damn thing.

  Booker and Sarah jump. Don’t give a shit. Just wanna get where they’re going. They throw themselves through whatever obstacles there are.

  Concrete and steel and the remains of a JCPenney plus whatever undead assholes were still in the building
explode.

  The warframes are covered in dust and guts.

  I don’t look too good, either. Particulates and all sorts of random shit are getting stuck in the mushier parts of my arm wound.

  But for fifteen seconds, we’re blowing the budget on some Hollywood blockbuster.

  We splash through a grungy swamp on the other side. More woods. A park dedicated to whoever for whatever that sits on the bank of the Hudson.

  The warframes plunge into the water. The river reaches their chests. Caleb keeps me clear of the liquid. Holds me above it. While nothing attacks our machines, you never know what horrors wait under the waves.

  Once we wade to the other side, we hunker down. Watch the twisted worm scurry in the distance. It hasn’t slowed. If anything, it’s more frenzied than ever.

  The clock in my head ticks down.

  Three...

  Two...

  One...

  Nothing happens.

  Maybe I’m a bit off.

  Three...

  Two...

  One...

  Nothing happens.

  Again.

  Jack says, “Where’s the kaboom? There’s definitely supposed to be an earth-shattering kaboom.”

  Caleb says, “Unfortunately, I think Clyde’s nuclear reactors have been destroyed by acid.” He hands me off to my mother. Like I’m a newborn at a family gathering. He says, “Protect your son.” Leaps back into the Hudson.

  Jack shouts, “Mother pusfuck.” He and Booker and Sarah tear after my uncle.

  If they’re talking to each other, it’s gotta be over internal radios. Cuz I can’t hear anything.

  What I see is Caleb’s warframe warning the others to get back. Flailing his hands even as he runs.

  The others slow. My father. Booker. Sarah.

  They turn around. Run toward the rest of us.

  I hear Aiden. “Shit. Get down.” He puts a heavy arm around Athena. Points to Catarina. Me . “Shield him!”

  The last thing I see is Caleb pounce on the worm. His swords punching down. Right into its face. Then a flash of white that blinds me for a few seconds.

  Catarina’s fingers close around me.

  My skin burns. Sloughs from me in droopy chunks. Slops against the metal of Catarina’s hand.

  My mother screams.

  20. The Only Thing Left Is Blood

  I waft in and out of consciousness for a while.

  Might be minutes.

  Hours.

  Days.

  Who fuckin knows.

  I’m not totally sure, either. But you’re welcome for keeping you alive.

  Nothing that happens next happens in a specific timeframe. It’s just stuttering images in my head. Little pieces.

  Guess heavy doses of radiation will do that.

  I see three huge blackened forms. The warframes who went after Caleb. Jack. Booker. Sarah. They walk toward me.

  They slink. Armor slightly melted. Charred. Blackened. Heads pointed down. Defeated.

  Three titans. Monsters to fight monsters.

  My father drags the remains of his brother behind him.

  Then there’s darkness.

  My eyes snap open again.

  There’s a ship above us. Three of em, actually.

  Goddamn flying saucers.

  I chuckle back into nothingness.

  Oh, this will go well.

  I blink and I’m in the medical area of the security offices.

  My family looks down at me. Plus Booker, Sarah, and Aiden.

  Against all instincts, I hate Aiden less.

  I can’t form words yet. Blisters line my tongue. When I try to talk, they pop and fill my mouth with some kind of wretched shit. Watery pus.

  My throat gurgles.

  I cough.

  Vomit.

  Send piss and shit through my catheters.

  My mother and father are there with towels to sop up my sick. Tears in their eyes.

  Fingers brush my face. My skull. No hair there anymore, I don’t think. Just touchy flesh.

  It feels nice.

  Hope my skin isn’t flaking off in clumps.

  DeVille’s face fills my view. She sniffs. “They’re trying to flush the radiation from your system. Be strong.” She squints at me. Turns and buries her face in Jack’s shoulder. “The worm got closer than we thought but Caleb...”

  Aiden says, “We’re here for you.” He holds my hand. “We’re here for you.”

  Booker crosses his arms. “You’re a tough motherfucker.”

  Sarah watches me. Her eyes examining. Hard to tell what she’s thinking... If she blames me for Caleb’s death...

  Athena says, “We won’t leave you, daddy.”

  I sigh. Exhale. I’d cry if I had the energy or the lubrication. “Smoke?”

  Catarina snorts. Sticks an American Spirit between my lips.

  I pass out before she can light it.

  * * *

  I wanna die.

  Let me die.

  Please let me die.

  Why won’t you let me die?

  We both know you got shit to do.

  You have to let me die at some point.

  You have to.

  I never agreed to that.

  We had a little breakthrough. Years in the making.

  You gave me a name.

  You think I’m gonna just let you die?

  I want life, fucker.

  You’re the only one I found who was too stubborn to die. If you die, I die. And I’m way too selfish to let that happen.

  I’ve kept you in a coma for a week.

  But there’s some bullshit afoot.

  It’s time to wake up.

  21. I Am the Antidote

  I open my eyes.

  I’m alone in my room.

  The lights stutter.

  The camp’s sirens blare.

  Guess that explains why nobody else is here.

  I prop myself up on my elbows. “Crap.” Feel the peach fuzz of hair regrowing on my face and scalp. My left hand is back.

  There’s a bottle of whiskey, a pack of smokes, and my Zippo on the table near my bed. My rucksack with, I assume, my meager belongings sits to the side. A double-barrel shotgun’s been laid next to it.

  Guess someone thought I’d need the weapons.

  Not a good sign.

  I light a cancer stick. Listen as someone unlocks the door to my room.

  Dr. Davidson walks in. His face calm as the door closes behind. A stark contrast to his demeanor when the mimics were running around in here.

  And there’s a new addition to his face. Some makeup he sure as hell wasn’t wearing before: a red triangle on his forehead. One with a tail leading from the bottom.

  I say, “Doc, you motherfucker.”

  Davidson opens his mouth. No words come out. Instead, a mimic tendril hurtles toward me.

  It hits my lips. Tries to force itself through.

  Succeeds.

  I taste the warm tendril. Coppery and leathery. And chewy.

  Horribly chewy.

  I bite into the tongue tendril to stop the squirming appendage from getting down my throat. Hold it with my teeth. Grip it with both hands. Pull it from my maw.

  Thorns form under my hands. Pierce my skin. A defense mechanism to get me to let go—one that doesn’t have the end result the mimic wants.

  Blood pumps from my wounds. I slather the tendril with the red glaze of my hemoglobin. It’s unpleasantly like jerking a monster cock off.

  The Davidson-thing howls.

  Its tendril decays in my hands. Goes limp.

  Teehehe.

  I drop the tongue. Grey death eats its way up the tendril toward the mi
mic’s confused face. I lunge for the shotgun. Check the load. Aim. Pull both triggers.

  The blast throws the mimic back. Slams it against the closed door with a splash of gore. The skin around its throat rips from the pellets. The Davidson-thing thrashes on the ground. Starts to change. To morph into another form to attack again.

  Flames engulf the bastard. It mewls. Groans. Gurgles. Smokes. Dies.

  Huh.

  Self-immolating monster.

  How convenient!

  I crack the shotgun open. Inspect the spent shells. Read the stamped copper: 12 GA W. PHOSPHORUS. I arch my eyebrows. “Good call, Plissken.”

  I unzip my rucksack. Check to see what other goodies there are.

  A new carbon mesh suit to cover my nakedness. My Colt revolver. Holsters. Tactical vest. Combat knife. Boots. More incendiary ammo—for both the Colt and the shotgun. And there’s two canisters. About the size of soda cans. They’re marked: TESLA GRENADE.

  Neato.

  I get dressed while the mimic cooks. Throw my bag over my shoulders. Stuff loose shells and bullets into the pockets of my tactical vest. Load the Colt and the shotgun.

  I kick the charred remains of the mimic away from the door. Rotten thing doesn’t fight back, so I think the white phosphorus rounds get an A+.

  Daylight streams through the hallway windows. Burns my eyes. But lets me see that the place is stained with bodily fluids. I don’t recognize all of em. Blood. Vomit. Piss. Darker shit that might’ve come from the mimics while they were absorbing people.

  I approach the windows. Peer out.

  The camp’s in the throes of chaos.

  Screams and shouts and the sounds of combat reach my ears through the din of the fort’s alarms.

  Spartans and robots stand together in the courtyard against a swell of mimics that rampage along the walls and buildings. They keep their backs to the entrance of the underground bunker entrance. Their flamethrowers and arcs of electricity keeps the ravenous mimics at bay.

  Flashes of blue cut across the camp. Turn mimics into smoking ash.

  I look up at the tenements. So many floors with shattered windows. A man goes tumbling through glass on the fifteenth floor of one apartment building. A mimic clings to him. They land together in an explosion of organs and flesh.

  Then the mimic continues to absorb him.