by Josh Law
British jets had darkened the sky. The sea was clothed in U-Boats from the World War 2 era, along with Spanish galleon replicas that had been modified to the Modern World. Cipriano wriggled his bonds loose and climbed over the mast, somersaulting in the air to break his fall in steps on his way down.
He landed heavy on his heels and swung out with the razor wire he’d been lashed to the mast with. There were far more than seven guys. Cipriano recognized some of these men, but the rest must have climbed on board during his detour on Waker’s Island.
Cipriano was stunned to find American warships closing in on the waters. How many men had Guatavita corrupted to her cause? There must be a great wealth to be had indeed if she could have sabotaged 75% of the U.S. Armed Services.
He was wrong. They weren’t Guatavita’s men. A man called out over a loud speaker.
“Nicolas Avalon this is the Commander Morgan Bale of the U.S.S. Mazzaroth. Do not fire, repeat do not fire. This is a friendly fleet. Codename: ‘Fidelem Fratrem.”
Cipriano felt his stomach jump. If he wanted to escape his place on the market and these waters, then he would have to get back to the shore with the boys. He was still too far out to swim to the island. He’d need to hijack the ship.
He moved through the men, breaking their ribs with his open palms. They parted like trampled lilies in his path. Even then, there were now too many for him to wade through.
He spun on his heel as a massive hole was knocked in the stern. A rocket launcher had discharged. The ship was filling with water fast.
Cipriano began to scramble about the deck in a mad dash to find a Johnboat, a raft, a life-preserver or something.
He felt his blood turn to Jello within him when Nick, dressed in the regalia of an American Spec Ops SWAT officer, came crawling over the rail, rocket launcher on his shoulder. He trained it at Tito and the crew.
“Ah, yes. Hello, guys. Miss me?” His smile was like a devil. Tito’s whole crew took a step back, out of greater fear of him than of his rocket launcher.
“Ay! Not you! You, amigo, you’re bad for business!” Tito took fistfuls of his hair.
Nick smiled placidly and waved the rocket launcher at Tito’s face.
“Nah, I’m just inherently bad. Rounded at all the angles of my rotten core. We’re not here to talk about me, though. See, I was having a fairly decent day. Just rose from the dead, came down from the science kiln again. Fresh out of Hell just stretching my legs. Then the Doctor finds this life raft and says to me ‘Nicky, let’s save the soldiers coming to fetch us a few minutes and row out to meet them.’ I agree, it’s a good idea. We get this far and find you lingering in the water like backwash in a soda. What’s more, you’ve got one of my guys prisoner on decks!” He smirked, finger dancing around the trigger.
“What’s say you hand him over, huh? This is a cute little bath toy. Messing it up seems rather bully-kid at the sandbox of me, yeah?” He winked at Cipriano.
Tito and his crew hesitated. Nick rolled his head on his neck in annoyance, reached out, and squeezed the trigger aiming it directly for the mast. It shivered its timbers and knocked half of the surging crew in the water, speared through the backs of skulls and necks and even the ribs. They fell and floated in the surf like the rocks in gin, cold and dead.
“Yeah, I forget your English isn’t so good, Tito. Let’s try this again. Hand the Death Angel over and you can live to cower and kiss Guatavita’s buttocks another day!” Nick flicked his wet hair out of his eyes.
Tito looked nervously at all of his men that remained and back at Cipriano.
“This isn’t over, ‘mano. When I do catch you I will sell you to the Piracy Revival. This is only the beginning of the New World. Evil will reign and will bid high dinero for the likes of you.” Tito jabbed a shaking finger at him. Cipriano shrugged.
“I’ll look over my shoulder.”
He turned back to face Nick and felt his breath sucked from his body. Before he could even try to contain himself, he stormed to the kid and wrapped him in an embrace that made his spine crackle like peanut brittle. Nick laughed, training the rocket launcher for the sky battle darkened horizon behind him and embraced Cipriano in return.
“It’s one thing when they tell me that you died once, nino. It’s another to watch it happen.” He smiled. Nick laughed and nodded, shaking his wet hair on the sicario’s shoulder.
“It’s gonna take more than an IED to get rid of me, amigo.” He pulled back and winked.
“Let’s get out of here.” He nodded over his shoulder for Cipriano to follow, tossed the rocket launcher backward into the raft, and plucked his machine gun down from his shoulders training it to Tito’s men.
“Hola! I have to say I’m supremely glad to see you!” Alex was waiting in the raft. He reached up to help Cipriano down into it, noticing that the sicario was injured. Cipriano allowed himself to fall into the boy’s arms too. He held his breath feeling Alex’s strong, young arms encircle his shoulders. Alive from the dead. It was unbelievable.
“Check this, man! The Calvary’s coming and we’ve got the rest of the free-loving World backing us up now, eh? We might actually have a chance!” Alex turned to look at Nick who rejoined them. He was smiling despite the fact that his eyes were so tired.
“Rameses, grab an oar. What do you say we go have our appointment with Commander Bale, gentlemen?”
Chapter 11:
They were confused by the infamous legendary terror’s surrender. Chance took a step back, jaw dropped at a loss for vocabulary to describe this bizarre situation much less begin to ask questions.
“My family! They threaten to raise my whole family and infect them with this terrible disease that was caused by Medieval attempts of the God-players! Please, I beg you, believe that I am telling the truth!” The Count had shot his hands to the sky.
Brandon and Sally exchanged a look.
“I think he’s telling the truth, guys.” Sally looked from her brother to Bacardi uncertainly.
“Alright, let’s test him. You’re the infamous, super-human Lord Impaler, correct?” Bacardi perched on her heels. All around them the battle spun like the swift carousels of the damned.
“That’s what they called me, yes?” He nodded, licking his lips with a frown.
“Alright, then. Can you take care of that guy?” Bacardi pointed to where Marilyn and Caesar went hand to hand at the wheel.
Vlad grinned. He looked around the deck for something he could use and found a simple sponge mop that had been propped against the mast and had clattered to lying beside the railing in all of this commotion. He kicked it towards himself with his pointed boot toes and snapped the head off its aluminum handle over his knee, making a sharp spike.
With a hiss, he dove forward at a speed that made him appear to levitate. They could see now that he also was experiencing some bizarre electronic anomalies. With a shriek that silenced the entire battle, the Lord Impaler dove behind Caesar and drove the mop handle into the small of his back, hauling him up into the air and planting him like a flag in the center of the deck. Marilyn paused at the wheel, eyes wide with horror.
“Bloody Judas!” Guy Fawkes pushed his way forward, thrusting a finger at the Count.
“I don’t take your meaning. I owe no allegiance to you, child. We lived in different days, and I was forced to return to my wretched body from my troubled Grave and dance this fool’s waltz. I was forced from my native Transylvania to serve in the Labs of a psychotic queen wanting to revive an empire that sent itself intentionally to Hell. This language isn’t mine, this people isn’t mine. Even this Time is not for me. So, I am no Judas. You may eat your words, young lord.” Vlad spat on decks and rubbed his hands together. Hitler shrieked and drove the battle-ax he’d been witling away at Renee with into the deck, drawing a pistol from his coat.
“You know how the regime is framed! Once the insolents are dealt with, there is to be a contest of power in the Lady’s War Games. A contest of rules and discipline!” H
e jabbed his finger at the sky, outraged, pale face tinged the color of cherries.
“I’ve heard the stories they tell about you though I was not alive to see your day before the sun. I’m sorry now that I wasn’t there to end you. As for me, I will make my own destiny from here on out. I choose to walk before and my sword will sing for the Lady of the Ship.” Vlad turned to Marilyn and bowed.
“Your name, my lady?”
Marilyn’s jaw dropped.
“I-ehem-Oh, it’s Marilyn.”
“I serve the Lady Marilyn.” Vlad twisted around to face the angry ancient leaders as they all converged against him.
“Vlad Tepe, you are a blood lusting, charlatan fool! This is not our world and not our right. Our destinies have already been determined. We are all traitors, assassins, mutineers, and above all else dead men. We will serve the Lady and contest like gentlemen for the right to stand before her as the warriors of the Realm. The best men will stand in the sun and the losers will return to the land of the dead as vassals for the great mines in the Pits of Greed.” Guy Fawkes drew forth a rapier and held it to Vlad’s throat.
“For traitors and cheats, there is only one circle in Hell. The Outer Darkness will be your reward, Lord Impaler. Make no mistake.” He spat on the decks. Vlad chuckled.
“Any man can align himself with stupidity. With witches who manipulate with words because they have no real power. It takes a man with strong heart to dare to take a risk. To take his chances when the bars of his prison peel back. Perhaps I am a traitor and a cheat, but against evil persons that I do not lament wronging.”
“Stand against us, then. We have become like gods in our damnation. We were the men of power and great fear while we walked the earth. Can you, one low-ranking prince, riddled with unexplained disease and the subject of many senseless wives’ tales concerning vampires, manage to fend off the lot of us?” Fawkes smiled even as the sword quaked in his hand.
“I can try.”
“Give them enough rope and they’ll hang themselves…” Renee leaned closer to Clark who looked on in amaze.
“So, I guess now we know why she’s brought them all back to the land of the living. Some kind of botched natural selection. Let the gladiators determine the ballot. Suddenly our standard crappy Global politics don’t seem so bad.” Clark held his breath. His eyes were trained to the horizon, hoping. In the fray, the Calvary had almost been forgotten. The optimistic doctor had been counting the minutes, waiting to see when they could turn this thing around.
Chapter 12:
U.S. Marshal Emerson Child had taken everything Marilyn Avalon had told him over Riggs’ walkie as gospel truth. He thanked God for that. If he had waited a few more days to heed her warning then he would be too late to intervene in this moment.
They say pride goes before a fall. With Guatavita and her guards, this would always ring true. So focused were they with their campaign to intimidate the Globe on live camera that they had no expectation of Child breaking through their ranks from within.
With a sudden rousing yell, Child’s fellow marshals and a team of secret service agents he’d contacted posing as Guatavita’s own cabinet of guards reeled and turned on the men that were guarding the President. Shots were exchanged on either side of the board. The men fell dead and were unnoticed by Guatavita’s counsel away on the hill at the Lincoln Memorial.
“Mr. President, sir.” Child extended a hand lifting President Payne off the ground.
“What in God’s name is going on? First there’s zombie teens and a whacked trial for what happened in Durango and now we’ve got visual on all of Hell rising!” The President’s hair was standing on end. One of Child’s medics pressed closer, swiftly examining him while one of the guards began to fit him into body armor.
“Your guess is as good as mine, Mr. President. All I know is that this whole coup has been diverted by said zombie teenagers and their mothers. I received a tip from Marilyn Avalon over radio roughly a week ago that gave me insight necessary to infiltrate this situation and recover you. I apologize for letting them bully you, sir, but we had to wait for the opportune moment to spring.”
“No, I understand and I’m glad that you did. Now we just have to take back the house. Do we know who’s still loyal to us on the inside?”
“Most of the guys that are in our corner have shipped to the general local of the Panama canal, heading for the vicinity of Waker’s Island.” Child looked over his shoulder. They couldn’t see the beach from where they stood but they could all see the smoke.
“Ah, I see. Waiting for the guest of honor to get here, yeah? I’d personally like to meet this Nicolas Avalon. It just boggles my mind how a high-school graduate is at the forefront of inciting the revival of the Allied powers to deal with this situation.” The President shrugged with a grin.
“Yes, sir. This entire family is deserving of the civilian’s equivalent for Medal of Honor, in my opinion.” Child smiled.
“I have to agree with you there. In the meantime, we’ve got to round up everybody we can and get them down to the docks. If Avalon’s guys can cut through, then they’ll need to be given access to the shore so we can overtake Guatavita where she’s held up in the Lincoln Memorial. She’s going to use our own monuments and national treasures against us. It’s the ultimate low of demeaning.” The President looked to the sea. There seemed to be a commotion. A dispute in the ranks of Guatavita’s men amongst themselves. He held his breath. The self-proclaimed Queen of New Maya might have unintentionally become Modern Pandora. Opening Hell was no sure thing. What would the consequences be for the average person?
“Here we go, boys. At this moment, you’ll have to treat me as one of your own and I’ll be taking advice from your tacticians. Lead the way. Didn’t get your name, man?” The President tilted his head studying the Marshal.
“U.S. Marshal Emerson Child, sir.” The Marshal nodded feeling that this was in no way important at the moment. The President clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“Lead the way, Marshal Child.”
The Marshal blanched, hesitating.
“Come on, son. Nicolas Avalon is 18. If he can do it, then so can you.” The President winked.
The Marshal produced his .44 Winchester from the folds of his coat and nodded.
“Right. Here we go.” The Marshal felt his lips curl in a tiny smile. Nicolas Avalon was proving to be the mascot of every young and reluctant man faced with the unhinging jaws of Hell. He was one such man and he clung to the image of the boy’s young face with all that he could muster, allowing his courage to sink into his bones. One man’s strength inspires it in others. Emerson Child would need all the strength he could conjure for the task before him.
Chapter 13:
The battle on deck had been madness before. This was a sin before the eyes of heaven, as the blood flew and the wounds closed to bleed again.
It was a constant race for their lives, to avoid the crossfire of the now distracted Maya puppets. Finally, Renee, Chance and Peyo managed to dive in and pluck the Prescott kids one by one out of the mix, tying them to gunwale by nylon cords they’d found in the forecastle. They suspended each of the children on the outside of the ship, desperate to keep them out of the cage match’s ring. As Marilyn tried to maneuver her way through forests of turn coat Navy craft, Renee, Chance, Dr. Clark, Chief Riggs, Peyo, Cipriano’s men, Whitehorse and the Wakers took up their rifles and the last of the ammunition and posed themselves over the children’s heads, picking off anyone from the enemy vessels that threatened to take a shot at them.
“Okay, Captain. Seems the ‘God-Players’ have turned on each other. So, now what?” Renee twisted over her shoulder, reaching for another fistful of rounds.
Marilyn’s answer never left her throat. Her eyes were raptured to the sky where there was the sudden mighty rush of engines.
“Glory and praise the living God! The Calvary is finally here!” Marilyn broke into tears. She could see her son standing in at a jet’s open
hatch door.
They had taken their own sweet time. After Commander Bale had rescued the little group out from the Waker’s Island area, he had transported Rameses into the care of the UN officials that had flocked the sea. He sailed the boys and Cipriano back to Panama City where they had boarded a U.S. jet. That was a little over 4 hours ago.
So much can happen in 4 hours when you’re facing the end of the World. Nick stood at the jet’s door’s ledge readying to jump. Alex stood behind him silently studying him.
“Alright, boys. I’ve timed it. You jump in the next 30 seconds and you should land directly in the center of the decks. God be with you, it looks like a madhouse down there.” Commander Bale adjusted Nick’s pack. The boy was looking down at the decks with glazed over eyes.
“You okay, man?” Alex grabbed his shoulder.
“I-just…Do you think we can really save our family, Alex?” He turned to face his brother. For the first time, Alex saw a flicker of doubt shadow Nick’s face. He laughed at him, feeling humor prickle in his gut as his eyes crossed. He clapped him on the back and shook his head.
“Dude, if we can rise up out of Hell, we can do just about anything, right?” He winked.
“Your brother has a point, Avalon. Keep it real, man. The World is pretty much counting on you now.” Bale held his thumb up.
“Uh, so this is the part where you guys are supposed to tell me there’s no pressure.” Nick grinned and looked down into the smoke.
For the first time in his life, the cocky youth felt his confidence slipping away. This was the third death he’d suffered and he wasn’t even 20 yet. It seemed to him that the celestial realms were intent on his dying young. How long did he have before his luck ran out and that was it? Would he be stuck in Hell when this was over?